‘Cause my heart’s become a crooked hotel full of rumors

As a journalist, you have to keep your hand close to your chest. I always thought this was more of a cautionary tale taught in school: don’t make your opinions public, don’t have a bias. But who cares about me? Who’s actually paying attention to the things I say to my friends or on social media? Well, someone somewhere will be paying attention and that can really bite you in the ass if you’re not careful.

With race returning to the forefront of the media and all of the stories of suspected police brutality, it’s hard not to want to share an opinion, or a comment or even like a status on Facebook.

I told my cousin recently, “I haven’t made a comment one way or the other about the Michael Brown or Eric Garner or Tamir Rice case because I don’t want people to know where I stand on these issues in case I’m asked to cover something related to the topic. I’m scared to even like news stories.”

I know this may seem asinine, especially since a good journalist can write without showing an ounce of bias and ensuring the story is completely fair, true. But in this day and age of technology always getting the better of the least cautious, I’m too afraid to take any risk. And I guess in a way it paid off because tomorrow I’m covering a protest against the deaths of Brown, Garner and Rice.

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