What We Choose to Remember: A Conversation on Justice, Journalism, and the Stories We Tell
By Shawna Seldon McGregor
At the Denver Press Club on a Friday evening in May, a room full of journalists, media makers, and local storytellers gathered for a conversation with Arizona-based journalist Ruxandra Guidi, who was in town to talk about her latest podcast series, Happy Forgetting, an anthology of audio essays that explores racial justice movements in America, and more poignantly, the stories we remember, misremember, or erase altogether. Moderated by journalist and audio producer Ann Marie Awad, the conversation ranged from craft to conscience, from historical trauma to hopeful disruption.
Guidi, an immigrant from Venezuela, shared how her outsider’s lens shaped the project. “This country hasn't dealt with the past,” she said. “We haven’t had a reckoning. And yet we keep writing the next chapter as though the last one was settled.”
Each Happy Forgetting episode is deeply personal, narrated not by Guidi, but by producers and storytellers embedded in the history they recount. One contributor reflects on Freedom Summer and what wasn’t taught in classrooms. Another, middle school teacher and Geechee descendant Fu Mak, confronts betrayal from within his own community. Guidi didn’t want objective “voice of God” journalism. She wanted opinion. Rawness. Ownership.
There was no performative optimism in the room that night. “None of the episodes end with a bow,” Guidi said. “That’s the point.”
And yet, what emerged wasn’t resignation. It was responsibility. Responsibility to rethink how we edit and elevate voices, especially those systemically marginalized by legacy media. Responsibility to acknowledge that activism doesn’t always come with a protagonist. That storytelling is a collective act.
Ann Marie Awad helped guide the conversation to what many of us were thinking: What do we do now? In 2025, when progress feels more precarious than permanent, how do we keep going?
For Guidi, the answer wasn’t lofty. It was local. Some suggestions she made:
Support and/or accurately cover protests.
Donate to your ACLU chapter.
Help immigrants learn English.
Small actions. Tangible outcomes.
For Awad, the answer was community. The ColoRadio monthly gatherings exist because, as she said, “We needed each other.” Journalism—and storytelling—can be lonely and difficult work. So is justice. But neither has to be.
There was a shared recognition that we must do better. As editors. As communicators. As storytellers. As listeners. As community members.
What stuck with me most wasn’t a single quote, but a simple truth: It’s not over. It’s never over. It’s just another chapter.
The arc of justice may be long, but so is the memory we are still shaping: one story at a time.
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