LOGAN JOHNS

On November 5, 2024, I left home at 7 AM with a heart full of anticipation and joy. It was election day, and I was certain that Vice President Kamala Harris—a Howard University alum and fellow Jamaican-American—would make history as the next president of the United States.

I headed to Howard University, the epicenter of Black excellence, to meet with fellow student journalists and professors at the forefront of graduating future leaders of the Black press. Our “war room” buzzed with enthusiasm. I sat among my classmates and professors—future Pulitzer Prize winners, Knight Award for Public Service recipients, editors-in-chief and news bureau chiefs—each of us feeling the momentousness of the moment. Kamala Harris’s candidacy symbolized more than a political milestone. It felt like the long-awaited arrival of America’s reckoning, a step toward fulfilling its promise of equality and justice for all.

For us, her potential election was not just a victory; it was reparation—a symbolic “40 acres and a mule.” We dared to dream of what her presidency could mean for Blacks around the world.  But as the night wore on, the cracks in that dream began to show, and the harsh realities of this nation’s continued racism and sexism became evident.

A Harsh Awakening

By mid-evening, optimism gave way to a sinking realization: America was not ready for Kamala Harris—or for the truth she represented. Her campaign had been monumental, but her loss illuminated the fact that America was still fighting the Civil War. 

We have never truly lived up to the “United” in the United States of America. Kamala Harris’s defeat was not just about electoral politics. It was a reminder of how far we have yet to go in confronting institutional and systemic racism. 

That truth crystallized for me when I interviewed a man who once considered running against Marion Barry, the legendary former mayor of D.C. He spoke with a cynicism that felt like wisdom, telling me:

“It doesn’t matter who’s president. One way or another, the truth will come out.”

His words struck me. They reminded me that transformative change rarely comes from a single leader, no matter how groundbreaking. Real change is a slow, simmering deliberate struggle—one that demands collective action, persistence, and a refusal to quit. If only I had more patience. 

The Weight of Witnessing

At 10 PM, I once again stepped onto “the Yard” on Howard’s campus to document reactions. The mood was raw and heavy. My younger sister, a Howard freshman, was in tears. Many of my peers were visibly distraught while others tried to hold onto fragments of hope.

I hesitated to share my growing doubt, not wanting to rain on the spirit that was on campus just a few hours earlier. Yet, as I gathered perspectives from students, staff, community members, and visitors from around the country, I saw something profound: resilience. Even in heartbreak, there was an unspoken determination to keep pushing forward, to fight for the justice and equality we knew Black America deserved.

The night was historic, though not in the way I had hoped. It was a masterclass in witnessing: I saw both the unrelenting resolve of the Black community and our allies and the sad truths of the nation we call home.

What Comes Next

This election was a turning point for me, not just as a citizen, but as a journalist. It reaffirmed my mission: to show the world the unvarnished truth of Black life in America. Like the trailblazers of the Black press featured in the documentary The Black Press: Soldiers Without Swords, I aim to chronicle our victories, struggles, and complexities with honesty.

Kamala Harris’s loss is not the end of our story—it is a chapter in a larger narrative about power, race, and resilience. Moving forward, I am committed to pursuing a career in journalism as a multimedia storyteller. Whether through broadcast, photojournalism, or long-form writing, my work will focus on amplifying the voices of the African diaspora and advocating for racial justice.

I envision creating documentaries that explore the impact of Black pain in the media on mental health and public perception. I want to investigate whether racism should be classified as a public health crisis and develop series that examine these issues in-depth, airing on platforms like the Black Star Network,  PBS, 60 Minutes, Revolt TV, or even my own network.

As a street photographer inspired by Dawoud Bey, I hope to capture the fullness of Black life—the beauty, resilience, and humanity often overlooked. My photography exhibitions will pair visuals with long-form essays and documentaries, challenging negative stereotypes about Black life and telling the stories that need to be heard.

The Journey Ahead

We are not defined by any single loss but by how we rise, fight, and demand better for ourselves and future generations.

My work begins now.