Lynne Duke Says Goodbye…Dramatically

Here, we present WaPo Buyout Taker Lynne Duke‘s farewell note to her colleagues, obtained by FishbowlDC. It is, clearly, the longest, most dramatic farewell note yet (exhibit A: “Through these stories, I found my voice. More importantly, I found my humanity.”).

To my colleagues, my comrades: I have always felt that journalism is a calling, that we should come to it out of a deep desire to stir social thought, make change, help someone in need, hold the powerful accountable. And yes, we also try to entertain, and when we do it well we also offer some enlightenment. So a few nights ago, as I laid awake flashing back to all my stories, I wondered if I measured up to my own standards, if I’d done the kind of journalism I admire. I thought of Sheila Holt-Orsted and her quest to find some justice for her family, which consumed contaminated water for several years. That water, they believe is the reason so many of them have had cancer. So Sheila fought the state of Tennessee through her first bout with cancer, and now she is continuing her battle for justice even through her cancer, now stage four, has returned. I thought of U.S. Army reserve First Lt. Jullian Goodrum, an Iraq war veteran, who was nearly court-martialed for going AWOL when he checked into a private psychiatric ward after being turned away from an army clinic in the throes of a meltdown caused by his PTSD. And John Vigiano, the retired New York City firefighter who waited at ground zero day after day, month after month, with his brothers in uniform forming a cocoon of friendship around him, until the remains of his two dead sons, his only children, were be found. And then I remembered Jean Demescene Baragondoza,a Rwandan postal worker and refugee hiding with his family in the bush beside a dangerous road in a Congo-Zaire war zone. I was traveling through the region when suddenly this man emerged from the tall grass. He dusted off his dirty blue blazer and we chatted a bit, with the constant report of automatic weapons fire cracking in the middle distance. He told me there were many bodies in the nearby hills and that he and his family laid down and dragged themselves through the bush to escape. He asked me to carry a message to the outside world. It was simple — “Tell people that we need help” — and yet it spoke profoundly to this man’s belief that I, a journalist, was capable of bringing help. He wanted food, shelter and safety, when all I could offer was a righteous piece of reporting on our front page about world leaders trying to decide if the refugees adrift in Congo were significant enough to warrant help. I have always been humbled by this kind of trust — Mr. Demescene’s trust. Telling of peoples’ struggles — and living up to their faith — has shaped my journalistic life, for I have tried to practice a journalism that offered comfort, rescue, even a bit of advocacy. Through these stories, I found my voice. More importantly, I found my humanity. I will forever be grateful to The Washington Post for the privilege of being this kind a journalist at this great, great newspaper. Lynne Duke

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