Originally published on Poynter Online

"You've always been there, but you really don't count."

Those are the words of a young man named Juan in Miami, who suddenly feels pushed into this dehumanizing corner: You don't matter any more.

Why? Because he graduated from high school.

For most of us, turning 18 and leaving high school feels like being paroled from the long sentence of adolescence.

But for Juan, it's like being convicted for something you didn't do.

The Colombian native is among a unique class of people in the U.S. He's an undocumented immigrant who journeyed to America at age 6 with his parents.

The fact that Juan's family broke the law to come here matters to many -- but not to the U.S. Supreme Court. Some 25 years ago the court ruled that all undocumented children are entitled to a free public education.

But once they graduate from high school, all bets are off. You can't work. You can't get a driver's license. You face deportation. A bill to legalize these students has languished in Congress for years. Critics say we shouldn't unfairly reward people who immigrated here illegally.

Newspapers have long written stories about the murky no-man's land facing these students. I’ve edited many. But surprisingly, Juan's personal story, the most powerful I've seen so far on the issue, did not come from a mainstream newspaper. Or a magazine. Or TV.

In fact, it didn't even come from a traditional journalist -- but from the emerging social media-stream.

Juan's story is told in a video and essay produced by the Movement Vision Lab at the Center for Community Change, based in Washington, D.C. The Movement Vision Lab, an online space that started last year, says it brings together grassroots organizers and activists to discuss visionary ideas for humanity's future. I guess they're not a bunch of slackers over at the lab.

 And they don't lack a story-teller's sensibilities. The short video offers an intimate, poignant portrait of Juan, a boy from Bogota who now dreams of becoming a NASA engineer. Its power comes from hearing Juan's story unvarnished, in his own voice.
 
He talks about how his parents wanted a better life for their kids and how his trek to America was ingeniously disguised.
 
"I was very young ... so at first I thought I was only coming here to go see Disney World in Orlando. Six years went by before I went to Disney World."
 
Beyond designing satellites and space shuttles, Juan says he simply wants to make a difference in people's lives. However, there's the stubborn "but" that handcuffed him the second he turned 18, the "but" that says he has to pack his bags because people don't want him here. In the video, shot and edited by Carolyn Projansky, he reflects on the thin line between patriotism and nativism.
 
"There isn't any way for me not to feel like I’m an American," he said. "I was raised in this country and everything I do revolves around, you know, being a part of this community and fighting for it and supporting it and some day doing things that will represent the nation and will represent the ideals that I was raised by."
 
Like many newspaper nerds, I live and love words. But watching this video is an ego-deflating reminder many print journalists must reconcile: A powerful visual story can kick the pants off a 35-inch weekender.
 
Now this doesn't mean we stop doing ambitious enterprise work. But we shouldn't assume print is the best medium for documenting a story.
 
So the question we must continually navigate in this multimedia Web world: What is the best way to tell a story?
 
If we've written several stories about kids like Juan and about the federal legislation that would help them, is it time for a fresh approach?
 
We should remember that strong characters yield strong options. If during an early story conversation, a reporter tells an editor that he or she has a compelling voice like Juan, should they consider getting out of the way and letting him tell his own story?
 
Or is the story best suited for hybrid journalism? Sally Kohn, director of the Movement Vision Lab, wrote a thoughtful essay to accompany Juan's video.
 
Or should we figure out how to present the story by sharpening its goals? For example, do we simply want to provoke conversations and interactions -- hallmarks of social media -- among our readers about undocumented students? If we do, I’m not so sure 35 inches of text will always get you there.
 
While we pioneer our way through these questions, people like Kohn are already braving a new world.
 
The 31-year-old former psychology major got wedded to activism as a student at George Washington University. Kohn, a native of Allentown, Pa., did a stint in law school, but is consumed by the calling for social change, having worked at places such as the Ford Foundation and the Urban Justice Center.
 
At the Movement Vision Lab, she says they're still fumbling around with innovative ways to tell stories while exploring new terrain.
 
"We work with organizations that are trying to change things in their community,” said Kohn, who's also senior campaign strategist at the Center for Community Change.

"But most of the way we deal with media is reactionary. Journalist calls, we answer questions. For a lot of groups the power of new media opened up new windows. For one, now maybe we can communicate stories in more direct ways. It even provokes us to think about how we can tell stories in bigger, broader ways. And not thinking about just communicating stories through a reporter."
 
Kohn doesn't see herself as a fancy media producer. However, she makes the fascinating argument that social activist groups are genetically coded to tell stories.
 
"We've always been storytellers," she said. "The history of community organizing is about storytelling. I would come to your house or church, you and I would sit down, and I would ask you about your life, and I would hear your story. And out of that, we would figure out what in your community we want to change and connect you to others who want to change."
 
But if we have other people running around and audaciously telling their own stories, are newspapers doomed? Not if we learn from Kohn and her cohorts. I asked her to describe her thought process behind telling Juan's story, which was filmed at a meeting of immigration advocates in February.

Her answer was simple: "Have real people as experts on their own lives."
 
We often do the reverse in stories. We quote a string of experts to comment on the lives of real people.
 
Clearly the missions of journalists and social activists differ in one important sphere: We explain. They advocate.
 
But despite that difference, despite the fact that our ranks are thinning while social media disciples are growing, we are bound by the desire to tell stories no one else will.
 
"You are in the press world, me in the organization world, but we find ourselves in similar places," Kohn said. "The conversation is happening because of the new tools and these old ways of doing things are dead or dying. Now, because people can click to sign a petition, we think we don't need rallies. Same point in the media. The problem with that is new tools are empowering ... but what hasn't changed is the people who have always had more voice, more power, more ability to take action are going to be able to use these new tools. Our role is to make sure Juan's voice is still going to get out there."


Mizanur Rahman is the immigration editor for the Houston Chronicle.