I had the opportunity to speak with journalist extraordinaire and the longest-serving Black White House correspondent, April Ryan. April and I talked the state of American journalism and the trauma involved in pursuing that profession during Donald’s time in office, and we reminisced about School House Rock!
[Transcript edited for length, clarity, and flow.]
MARY
April, I think you said it’s been 29 years, and you’re still having to deal with what’s-his-name. You’re also an essential contributor at The Contrarian here on Substack, so please check that out. April, it is so good to see you.
APRIL
It is an honor to be with you. I understand family dynamics, but to go against a family member like that who happens to be president of the United States—twice, and worse this time—I tip my hat to you. I’ve dealt with the external pressure, but you’ve had both internal and external. That’s extraordinary.
MARY
It’s a lot. But you’ve had to deal with Donald far more directly than I have, and I don’t know how you’ve managed to hang in there. He has demonstrated utter contempt for your profession and for you personally at times. So, I tip my hat to you for continuing to do the essential work you do every day.
APRIL
Let me say this, and you’re in the mental health field, so you understand: it’s been a struggle. I’m not joking. This time around, I had to think seriously about how I was going to approach it because I said to myself, I’m not going to let him remove me from something my working-class parents worked so hard for—never imagining I would one day be at the White House. That’s a big deal for a descendant of enslaved people.
He doesn’t want to talk about slavery or civil rights, but I’m here and I’m not leaving. The problem now is that he doesn’t want me around him. That’s fine. I don’t want to be around him either. I can still cover the White House without being in his face, because it’s simply too much.
I still talk to my therapist every week. There is trauma. If you say something critical, trolls follow you on social media. They follow you around. I change my appearance often so people don’t recognize me. People don’t realize the trauma and the reality of your life once Donald Trump puts your name in his mouth. As long as I speak truth and lean on the First Amendment, that risk is there.
I’ve adopted what I call strategic reporting. You’re not going to find me in court in Georgia like Don Lemon. I can’t. It’s too much. That Sunday, Don was in Minnesota, reporting inside a church. I called him and said, “This is such powerful on-the-ground reporting.” Next thing I know, he’s in Los Angeles and he’s arrested. Then Georgia Fort. They took his phone. I texted him and didn’t hear back. DHS now has every call and message I sent him.
It’s serious. He didn’t get his phone back. I went through my own phone wondering what I’d written. And history shows us that when authorities go looking, they often try to find something. I don’t think there’s anything there, but they’ll comb through everything. It’s not right.
MARY
What’s happening to journalists is increasingly dangerous. For a decade, Donald has made clear that he intends to undermine journalism and erode public trust in facts. That causes trauma we rarely discuss.
You’ve pledged to stand firm despite real threats, while so many in corporate media have capitulated, leaving journalists like you isolated. I’ve always been struck by moments in the White House briefing room when a reporter asks a legitimate question, Donald insults them, and no one else follows up in solidarity.
APRIL
Exactly. I respect the office, so I refer to him as President Trump. But I understand your point. If journalists had stood together earlier—when Jim Acosta was targeted, when I was targeted, when Abby Phillip and Yamiche Alcindor were targeted—we might not be here today. Instead, there was distancing. “That’s happening to them, not me.” I’m from Baltimore. I come from working-class roots. I recognize bullying when I see it. Many in that room had never encountered someone like him. They were afraid.
When I received death threats, I was furious at the White House Correspondents’ Association. I asked what they would do to support me. The response was tepid. I’ve challenged the WHCA and the National Association of Black Journalists when necessary, including when they invited him. After so many Black and brown journalists have lost jobs in this field, and after he called himself the fox in the henhouse, that decision deserved scrutiny. There is fear. There’s intimidation. Why else go after the IRS? Why seize Don Lemon’s phone? These tactics are meant to chill speech.
MARY
And the problem now is compounded by the White House press operation elevating propagandists while sidelining experienced journalists. That shift erodes solidarity and accountability.
APRIL
Walter Cronkite must be turning over in his grave. I remember watching him say, “And that’s the way it is.” Today, the tone is very different. I worry about independent journalists—Don Lemon, Georgia Fort, Jim Acosta, Katie Phang, Brian Karem, Jen Rubin, Norm Eisen, and so many others. There could be a moment when efforts are made to regulate or suppress independent voices. People are turning to Substack and other platforms because they’re not hearing certain truths elsewhere. That makes some in power nervous. I believe in America. I believe in the First Amendment. When the executive, legislative, and judicial branches fail to check and balance one another, the Fourth Estate—the press—becomes even more critical. Senator John McCain once said that without a free and independent press, we drift toward dictatorship. We are losing that safeguard.
MARY
And when media corporations prioritize profit and access over protecting journalists and pursuing truth, the damage compounds.
APRIL
Look at what’s happening at CBS and The Washington Post. The Washington Post once broke Watergate. Now it’s struggling under corporate pressures. It makes you ask: who are we becoming?
MARY
The imbalance of power when a president singles out an individual journalist cannot be overstated. It’s dangerous. That’s trauma. And layered on top of that is the assault on the profession itself.
APRIL
We are not healthy as a democracy. I’m 58 years old. I’ve never seen anything like this. We must respond with action—voting, reading, understanding civics, organizing with like-minded people. Bernice King told me recently: don’t be surprised. This isn’t normal, but we must deal with it as it is. We cannot simply react in shock. We must act.
MARY
And yet you remain in the fight.
APRIL
I would dishonor my parents if I walked away. They valued education deeply. I’ve had four presidents call me by name. I’m not supposed to be here, historically speaking. The 1968 Kerner Commission emphasized the need for more Black journalists to help bridge divides. Richard Nixon shelved that report. But I’m still here. People say this is my ministry. It’s not. It’s what I believe I’m called to do. The Bible says your gift makes room for you. My gift still makes room for me. I’m not ready to retire.
MARY
And we are grateful you aren’t.
Before we close, I want to turn to the news that Reverend Jesse Jackson has died. He was a towering figure in American life. April, you knew him well.
APRIL
Reverend Jesse Jackson was far more than a civil rights leader. Yes, he was one of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s lieutenants. After Dr. King’s assassination in 1968, he went to Chicago and founded Rainbow PUSH Coalition in 1971, focused on economic and political empowerment for Black Americans. In the 1980s, he helped negotiate hostage releases. In the 1990s, I met him when he came to Oriole Park at Camden Yards to push for more Black leadership in Major League Baseball. He later became an invaluable source when I covered the White House.
He was instrumental during Bill Clinton’s presidency, including in efforts to bridge the digital divide. Even today, many communities lack adequate internet access. He understood that digital access meant access to opportunity.
I traveled with him to Gorée Island in Senegal. We stood at the Door of No Return. He encouraged us to pour libations and call out our ancestors’ names. I called the name of my ancestor, Dollar Brown, who was sold on the auction block in Fayetteville, North Carolina. It was one of the most moving experiences of my life.
He ran for president twice. He mentored political leaders like Ron Brown, Alexis Herman, David Dinkins, Doug Wilder, Donna Brazile, Leah Daughtry, and Minyon Moore. He galvanized voter registration efforts that influenced generations.
He once told me this nation rests on pillars—Abraham Lincoln and Dr. King among them. I believe Jesse Jackson himself became one of those pillars.
MARY
He was often unfairly described merely as a transitional figure between Dr. King and Barack Obama. That diminishes his legacy. He was a force in his own right.
APRIL
Absolutely.
MARY
April, thank you—for your courage, your clarity, and your commitment. And thank you for honoring Reverend Jesse Jackson with those reflections.
APRIL Thank you. I look forward to having you on my show soon.
MARY Anytime. And perhaps soon, we can share tea in person.
APRIL Ginger and turmeric.
MARY Perfect. Thank you all for joining us. Please support April’s work and independent journalism wherever you find it. We’ll see you soon.
