Editor’s Note: All opinion section content reflects the views of the individual author only and does not represent a stance taken by The Collegian or its editorial board.
It is acutely disrespectful to be proud of work that isn’t fully yours, but it is a particularly disgusting thing to be proud of work that is simply a plagiaristic amalgamation of everyone else’s.
Even further, to stand by this work and publish it under the guise of journalism — when it is, in fact, a byproduct of the very machine built to wither the literary platform it stands on — desecrates the name and reputation of the news, journalists and, above all, opinion writing.
On Aug. 24, billionaire investor Stanley Druckenmiller published an op-ed under the The Wall Street Journal’s opinion desk, critiquing the U.S. Treasury secretary, Scott Bessent, for intervening in the U.S. bond market. While the story was undoubtedly entrenched in some opinion — Bessent used to be Druckenmiller’s protegé, though the two now seem to be publicly at odds — it wasn’t entirely his. By Aug. 25, Druckenmiller proudly admitted he had in fact used AI when writing the column.
As I’ve expressed time and time again, we use opinion writing to connect. It is a gateway to empathy and understanding, the world written from someone else’s eyes, a point of view no machine could properly emulate. And in a desk that centers on lived experience, columnists and their respective editors should assumably condemn the invention built to decenter human voices. After all, virtually no news outlet or journalist stands to gain any career momentum from AI.
But even in the face of a blundering — and very public — mishap, with trust in the news already on a global decline, rather than using this spotlight to re-establish journalistic integrity, WSJ editorial page editor Paul Gigot backed Druckenmiller and named AI “a fact of modern life.”
If journalists needed yet another warning sign that much of American media has forcibly given up, this may be it.
I entered college amid a completely different academic landscape than what it resembles now. Though artificial intelligence did exist three years ago, it was clunky and inconsistent then — a weaker, less-threatening version, especially for journalism students. Students didn’t use it much for homework assignments, college applications or newswriting pitches — at least, not in my first year. But as my passion for the field intensified, so did the white flags, and before I could fully grasp the instability of my career, it was already beginning to crumble at my feet mere yards before the finish line.
We’ve now grown so accustomed to the presence of AI in academic spaces — the syllabi briefings, experimental lessons and promised repercussions of its usage if proven — that many of us assume a universal shame in being caught.
The harsh reality is that much of our shame — especially for those whose careers don’t risk AI replacement — is manufactured by a looming threat of academic expulsion. Outside of academia, in a society that views chatbots as an enhancement to knowledge and a tool for the workforce, less and less social repercussions exist to reinforce that shame. Why feel bad for the “leg-up” if step stools are encouraged at every crossroad anyway?
It is true that I, like many of my peers, have contemplated fleeing the journalism field before I even graduate. In this job market, I truthfully do not know if it is still worth the constant headache and miserable pay. I hate how it’s made me question my morals — for as much as I love being opinion editor, I do still weigh the value of expending 10 times the effort writing a genuine column all while media moguls platform AI op-eds with tenfold the views.
In these moments, however, I hold firm and reassure myself there is one ultimate, inescapable repercussion for those who believe in the legitimacy of AI writing. One repercussion that cannot be outrun or effaced, no matter how widespread AI becomes: A loss of humanity. The more you utilize AI, the less you are able to instinctively tap into key critical thinking that often evokes empathy.
It is so horrific to masquerade a mimicry of the human experience as a human experience itself. It is more horrific to witness a supposed source of original content like a newspaper defend such mimicry. I don’t know what this means for journalism yet, and I am saddened by the thought.
We simply are not human if we cannot feel and share. These two actions will always define writing, storytelling and purpose. To defend and protect editorial work — real, human editorial work — is to stand for empathy, which will far outlast any synthetic version of critique or caring.
And at the core of it all, that’s all there is to it: empathy. Believe what you’d like, but at the end of the day, we’re all leaving here, and without room to bring anything with, there lies more weight in what we leave behind. Do not let your legacy be filled with words that are not yours, written by something that cannot feel.
Reach Emma Souza at letters@collegian.com or on social media @RMCollegian.
