A legacy of people, trust, stories that mattered

A Newsday reader catches up on the major news of the day in San Fernando on October 14, 2024 -

As the pages turn for the final time, I find myself reflecting on a journey that spanned almost three decades—one defined by stories told, lessons learned, and bonds formed.

The criticisms came. I’d like to think I developed a thick skin, but instead, it was my stubbornness (from birth) that made me persevere. We were always told as journalists that if someone praises you, then you aren’t doing something right and that if they don't, then you are doing it right. I’ve had my fair share over the last almost three decades. I thank each and everyone who supported me over the years, who trusted me to tell your stories.

I joined the newsroom towards the end of June 1996, just days shy of my birthday; still a teenager, stepping into a world I was only beginning to understand. I had always known I wanted to be a writer. I wrote stories in old copybooks; it was in my blood. My father was a journalist, and although he left the profession before I arrived, journalism never truly left him. I watched him cut and paste headlines, lay out pages for his advertorials, and hammer away at his trusty typewriter, crafting stories with care. I think I knew then, this was the direction I wanted my life to take. Even after I joined the newsroom, my dad remained my unofficial editor, always calling in the early days with advice.

I always shied away from the limelight, wanting my name and my work to earn your respect. I became a journalist to make a difference; to educate and inform. I hope I did that.

By the time I joined, the tools had changed. Computers replaced typewriters, but the heart of storytelling remained the same.

My first boss, Mr Clevon Raphael, then Sunday Editor, became a mentor, as did so many others. The late Mr Lennox Forde gave invaluable guidance, as did Mr Horace Monsegue. And although intimidating at first, the late Therese Mills was incomparable as Editor-in-Chief. She shared her stories not merely to reminisce, but so that we could learn from them. She encouraged, supported, and criticised us when it was warranted.

Jada Loutoo has been a journalist at Newsday for 29 years. -

We were always a family. We spent more hours together in the newsroom than we did at home. I remember them all—Lara, who became my daughter’s godmother; Veela, Sam, Gyasi, Curtis, Lincoln, Rico, the Keiths, Renée and Erica, and countless others. Those in the pagination department, like Damian, a brother. Sasha who ran the administrative part of the office with precision. I also remember those who have left us—Nalinee, Rattan and Sureash—whose presence and contributions remain etched in history.

Among all the memories, one stands out: the birth of my daughter. I worked right up to the day before she was born. We were in the office writing stories off the television because the wire services were down after the September 11 terror attacks in the United States. We pushed through to bring out an evening edition and our usual next-day publication. The next morning, I got up and dressed for work—but I never made it to the newsroom. Instead, I had to detour to the hospital. Ken and the late Mr Babb visited me there, and later at home.

Throughout the years, her sacrifice endured; waiting long hours in the office, missing birthdays and other events, even casual weekends and vacations. “Oh God, you always working eh,” she said, more often than not.

She remains my rock.

Mr Babb, another indomitable spirit, always said, there is always a story to tell. He often illustrated this with an example of a reporter assigned to cover an event, only to encounter a fire. The reporter left and returned to base with the excuse that there was no story, missing it entirely.

Mrs Mills, a staunch Roman Catholic, also taught us that perspective mattered. She once told us that, to her, the Bible was the first form of journalism; stories passed down to inform, to teach, and to bear witness.

It was that same spirit that carried us through ambitious ideas and long hours. Mrs Mills encouraged us when a group of young twenty-somethings pitched the idea of a magazine for young readers, Rave. We sat together, held strategy meetings, and brought it to life. Newsday even took a stand one year, boycotting the media awards.

Over time, the newsroom family grew smaller as some moved on to other media houses, and others pursued careers outside journalism. I, too, left for a short while, returning later as assignments editor—managing daily newsgathering operations by selecting, planning, and assigning stories to reporters and photographers; keeping track as the day progressed. As fate would have it, I was later thrust back into reporting as Court Editor, covering legal matters—an important but often neglected beat. I still “ran the desk” on weekends and public holidays to bring out the paper, working closely with staff across departments.

My most recent Editor-in-Chief, Camille—who celebrates her birthday seven days after mine—continued that tradition of leadership.

Though the family dynamic changed over the years, the camaraderie never truly disappeared. Newsday was never just a newspaper. It was a family. And as it closes, it leaves behind more than printed pages; it leaves a legacy of people, trust, and stories that mattered.

Thank you for trusting me to tell yours.