Backpack student Ashaar Ali talks with media professionals of color about how who they are deepens the stories they tell.
Every story begins with a choice: who to center, what to frame, what to leave unsaid. For people of color working in professional media, those choices carry weight beyond the byline. A headline can echo a stereotype. A narrative decision can shape how an entire community is seen. And when the story reflects your own community, the responsibility feels closer to home.
For students of color entering media, the challenge extends beyond breaking into the industry and the quiet question of whether their identity will be welcomed once they arrive. The professionals interviewed for this piece remember that uncertainty. They also remember the moments when identity became not a barrier, but a lens, a compass and a source of strength that guided their work. While conversations about diversity have become more visible, questions about belonging persist.
Identity shapes the work in both subtle and profound ways. It informs ethical decisions, storytelling choices and the way professionals engage audiences.
Jafranee Johnson-Holmes, earned media manager at Post Consumer Brands, brings that perspective into corporate decisions: “I work from a lens of being very socially and culturally sound… Everything I do, I vet through that lens.” Even in smaller, everyday decisions, she considers how audiences may interpret tone, framing and representation, working with an awareness of the communities she reflects.
For Jeremiah Stephens, video editor at Shinebox, the personal connection comes from bridging professional skills with community impact. “It gets personal in that sense, where that's really essential to myself and my core beliefs. To have the ability to connect that to my work life and the people in the workplace, it's really something special to kind of bring those worlds together,” he explains. From pro bono video projects for organizations like Free Bikes 4 Kidz to volunteer initiatives supporting unhoused youth, his work demonstrates how professional expertise can serve communities directly, turning technical skills into tangible impact.
The conversations showed a broader truth: people all move through the world differently, and when you share background or identity with someone, those paths intersect a little more.
Jada Jesberg, a producer at Colle McVoy, describes a different dimension of responsibility: creating pathways for others. For her, being a person of color shapes the decisions she makes when bringing in vendors, casting talent or mentoring aspiring advertisers. “It is my goal that the industry becomes really diverse and is a great representation of what the general population looks like,” she says. Through mentorships, organizations like Boundaryless and employing nontraditional casting choices in campaigns, Jesberg works to expand access for students of color seeking industry experience. Representation, for her, is both visible and structured — it shows up in who gets hired, who gets seen and who gets to tell the story.
For professionals of color, the responsibility for representation is deeply personal, and safe, supportive environments can make all the difference. Jesberg reflects on the encouragement she receives from her agency when faced with pressing social issues: “They've just allowed safe spaces to talk again as ‘human humans’ instead of ‘advertising humans’ about the feelings that we have about ICE being all around and about our neighbors being targeted or whatever it might be.” For students first entering the advertising space, the sense of support is crucial; it models how workplaces can acknowledge humanity alongside professionalism.
What emerged across conversations was not a singular, uniform experience, but a set of shared patterns. Mentorship, guidance, education and community surfaced repeatedly across interviews. Professionals described the pressure to represent not just themselves but entire communities, alongside the rewards of offering mentorship to younger students or colleagues. Nancy Yang, a senior editor for the Minnesota Star Tribune, emphasizes the importance of modeling inclusivity from an early stage: seeing someone like herself succeed in a newsroom and prioritize representation helps others envision a path forward. Similarly, Jesberg encourages aspiring advertisers to see the field as navigable, even when access points may feel limited.
The foundations for this approach often begin in school.
For Dymanh Chhoun, a multimedia journalist at Sahan Journal, the connection between identity and storytelling is inseparable. “It’s always personal. Everything is always personal, because it’s happening in the city you grew up in. There’s memories,” he says. Reporting in South Minneapolis means working in the neighborhoods in which he grew up — places layered with memory long before they became national headlines.
When he covered the 2020 protests, he wasn’t entering unfamiliar territory. He was standing blocks away from where he once rode the bus and visited friends. The memories, along with his identity as a professional of color, serve as a guide — a reservoir of understanding — that impacts every story he tells. He experiences his work through a mental photobook, flipping through memories of neighborhoods, streets and moments that echo in the lives he now reports on. Each part of the past informs aspects of the future, adding depth, context and genuine empathy to the stories he captures.
Growing up Cambodian American, raised in South Minneapolis, Chhoun understands what it means to navigate systems as both an insider and outsider. “I'm a person of color. I'm Cambodian American… I grew up here. I'm proud to be American. But I also have Cambodian ideas.” That perspective shaped who he interviews and how he frames stories. At Sahan Journal, where coverage centers communities of color, he goes directly to the people most affected: “I don't have to worry about, oh, you know what? Let me look for a Caucasian person, a white person, to interview. I can focus on people of color, their experience with this protest, and that's easy for me.”
The confidence sharpened at the Hubbard School. Chhoun credits former adjunct faculty Mike Zerby with expanding how he understood photography and journalism. “Mike Zerby… he was great at photography,” Chhoun recalls. “He experienced going to Iraq. He showed an emotional photo that when you see, you cry because of what happened there. He was a great teacher.” For Chhoun, whose parents survived the Cambodian genocide, those lessons felt personal: “Having a mom and dad that experienced that, then going to school and having a teacher who was out there, not just by the book, but was street smart and book smart… he knew I was good at photo and video.” Zerby’s class exposed students to the responsibility behind the lens — not just how to capture an image, but why it matters.
Years later, when protests erupted across Minneapolis and he found himself documenting unrest and grief, he realized he had been prepared. “I was ready for this. I was prepared for it from the teachers and professors at the University of Minnesota,” he says.
“There's not a lot of Cambodians that are journalists, videographers, reporters or producers,” he says. “There's not a lot of Cambodians actually, in Minnesota. It's almost 0%. I might be the only one that represents my community… And there's not a lot of us out here in this kind of job.”
The stakes, he knows, are real. When responsibility is heightened, so is the need for accuracy, fairness and intentional framing while the margin for error narrows.
What these professionals demonstrate is not that the industry is easy, or that representation erases challenges. It’s that perspective is not a liability. It’s an asset. Their experiences offer reassurance that what is often perceived as a barrier can, in practice, become a defining advantage. The stories you grew up with, the neighborhoods you know and the memories and perspectives you carry — they are not distractions from your career. Your identity deepens the work that you do and is woven into every decision that you make. Your perspective matters, and when held with care, it becomes the engine for meaningful, responsible storytelling.
For students of color stepping into media, uncertainty is real. So now more than ever, we need your voices and your untold stories to shine light on the unique experiences that space our journalistic landscape. The stories yet to be told require the people who understand them best.
By Ashaar Ali, Backpack student
Editor's note: This post has been updated to align with AP Style.