By Percy Mercer, Writing Specialist
February 28, 2023

So far this year, three journalists around the world have been murdered.

One of them was my friend.

Dylan Lyons was, in a word or two, an enthusiastic journalist. After spending years in J-School together at the University of Central Florida, it’s the one thing I can easily say sums him up. He worked hard to earn his place in front of the camera, always wore a suit and tie, and though he couldn’t write scripts for anything, he made up for it with the quality of his video and voice-overs. He was dedicated to telling stories, and during our time together in school, his reporting was often done in between snarky jokes and endearing laughter. We competed against one another on how many stories we could publish. He badgered me about my photography, and I quipped at him over grammatical mistakes. We weren’t anything close to best pals, but we enjoyed one another’s company.

He died last week on assignment while reporting on the murder of a nine-year-old girl in Pine Hills. The same man who killed her took Dylan’s life and severely injured his coworker: photographer Jesse Walden. The two journalists work for Orlando’s Spectrum News 13, a television broadcast station that covers nine counties in Central Florida.

In the blink of an eye, Dylan was gone. His vigil took place this past weekend outside UCF’s communication building – right outside the student newsroom we worked in for years, learning to tell stories with impact. Our professors, our colleagues, and our fellow Knights – student journalists who are in the process of learning the same things we did – spoke of Dylan and the legacy he’s left us.

His vigil was quiet aside from the occasional sniffle, and the dark square we stood in was illuminated only by the flickering flames of candlesticks. Hugs were given with glassy eyes and sad smiles, and appreciative nods were offered to the media who came to tell the story. Those who spoke didn’t take long; what can you say about something so terrible, when it shouldn’t have happened at all?

According to the Committee to Protect Journalists, a nonprofit dedicated to collecting data on protection, violence, and freedom of the press around the globe, 43 journalists have been killed in the last two years. Many of them were killed in crossfire. Others were intentionally murdered for daring to give a voice to the voiceless. More – like Dylan – died on assignment.

It’s not uncommon to hear reporters say that we know the risk when doing our job. We’ve studied those who have gone before us and given their lives to tell the truth; it’s terrifying, but someone must do it. We take precautions – wearing press credentials to identify ourselves, carrying go-bags in our cars, always tag-teaming assignments when there’s a higher risk involved, and only going to crime scenes after it’s deemed inactive by police or government officials.

Sometimes it’s not enough. Sometimes, the systems in place by individual reporters don’t make up for the lack of them coming from the industry itself.

The problem, at least partially, is sourced from a deeply toxic “hustle culture.” The harder you work, the more likely you are to be recognized for the things you do, which might provide you with a living wage and the ability to focus on longer-form stories that can prompt change, shine a light on a subject that isn’t heavily reported on, or expose injustices. Reporters are taught to say “yes” to everything that comes their way to garner favor with editors, no matter the subject or the amount of toiling away the story takes. Hours of work might go unpaid, and effort is likely to go unappreciated. Competition between other news networks and the urge to be the first on the scene is drastically emphasized, despite how the internet and social media have reduced the need to make print deadlines.

Because of that, the pressure is on. If one reporter declines an assignment because of a safety concern – something encouraged by law – another will take it. Journalists might feel obligated to hustle for stories that get them into scary situations or cut corners in terms of their own safety to get better access, better quotes, or better pictures. Editors might look the other way.

I’m scared for my friends who go out and report on the news in their hometowns, especially in increasingly polarized communities where “the media” is seen as an enemy rather than a neutral party. I fear for their safety when they leave for assignment; it’s no longer a concern only when reporting on dangerous events, but an everyday worry when it’s time to get to work. If Dylan died while taking what precautions he could, who else might?

Changes need to be made in order to protect reporters. Safety needs to become more of a priority. Journalists need to be in an environment that actively promotes the ability to decline assignments when danger is involved.

If not, how many more deaths will these factors play a part in?

How many more people will have stories like Dylan’s?

How many more friends will I lose?