Witnessing the staff at Interrobang navigate this time of loss has been both challenging and deeply moving. I have been watching from the sidelines as the final issue of the Interrobang comes together with heartfelt sentiments, funny memories, and accolades for people who deserve more than just another long day at the office, writing their own eulogies. The morbidity of this whole exercise is heartbreaking.

When someone passes away after a long and fruitful life, we often try to comfort our friends and loved ones with phrases like “they enjoyed a long life” or “they were ready to go.” Although these words may not alleviate their suffering, they help us feel a bit less inadequate for not knowing how to offer comfort. However, the death of the Interrobang was sudden, tragic and (potentially) avoidable. There was no diagnosis to grant it a renewed lease on life, no new diet or course of medicine that could have saved it. A small but mighty uprising sparked hope for a while but has yet to summon the storm needed to breathe new life into it.

Having spent years in the trenches with writers, rebels, and creatives, I have come to appreciate them as heroes, each one a beacon of resilience and inspiration. I mourn for them and with them, acutely aware that nothing anyone could do would ever truly make things “better” or fill the void that the Interrobang leaves behind.

Empty phrases like “thinking of you” or “gone too soon” written in a card or on a Facebook page is a thin veneer of sentiment, masking the absence of genuine emotion. They are hollow words against the profound grief and loss felt by those truly mourning the Interrobang and all that it stood for. It is a stark reminder of how easily we can hide behind platitudes, avoiding the raw, uncomfortable reality of genuine empathy and connection.

The Interrobang is more than just a chronicle of over 50 years of student journalism. It united people within the college and the community through funny stories, creative challenges, and the unique clash between company culture and journalistic integrity, with the latter always victorious. However, this is the unfortunate moment where the victor is defeated and dying a painful, yet dignified, death as we all witness the silencing of a once robust and dynamic voice.

The rhetorical trinity of logos, pathos, and ethos, be damned.