A decade ago, the social theorist Francis Fukuyama wrote a provocative essay titled “The End of History?” In it, he argued that market economics and democratic politics were slowly sweeping the world and that their triumph would gradually erase most historic strife. It was a dubious prediction, but the phrase stuck. So let me modify it to suggest a less momentous change: The end of news.
The Internet and the explosion of cable and satellite TV channels are blurring the boundaries between news and information. This does not mean the end of newspapers or TV news programs. It surely means that they will lose influence and dispense less “traditional” news.
In 1969, when I started as a newspaper reporter, news mainly meant “hard news.” It focused on crime, politics, government, disasters, scandals and sports. Since then, “soft news” has mushroomed.
During this evolution, writing became more relaxed, more personal and occasionally better. An obsession with “facts” gave way to “analysis,” opinion and bias. But one constant remained: News consisted mostly of what editors said it was. Now, even this defining characteristic is eroding before cable TV and the Internet, as they spew out vast amounts of semi-processed information.
The result is that it’s hard to say what news is. On a survey last year, the Pew Research Center asked: “There are so many ways to get the news these days that I don’t worry when I don’t have a chance to read the paper or when I miss my usual news programs.” Three-quarters of respondents agreed, 36 percent “completely” and 40 percent “mostly.”
Not surprisingly, newspaper readership has slipped as a share of the population. In 1965, 71 percent of adults said they had read a daily paper the previous day; in 1997, only 50 percent had.
Perhaps the traditional media can halt these drops. Mark Willes, chairman of the Times Mirror Co., argues that newspapers can defy forecasts of decline by better advertising their advantages.
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Of course, competition for readers’ attention is fierce. But the resulting “information overload,” Willes says, puts “a premium on the editorial function”–deciding what’s important and what’s not. People want to be told what’s “news.”
I hope so. The typical paper today is a superior buy to one 30 years ago. It has more stories on more subjects. It is not a single product but a bundle of products (sections for news, sports, business, lifestyle, health, cooking, science, etc.). The idea is not merely to satisfy readers’ various interests. It is to attract readers with different interests.
But suppose the habits of the various audiences change. Suppose sports fans don’t read the sports page but rely on ESPN and on-line sports services. Traditional TV faces the same problem. It’s as easy to click on Court TV as NBC.
Because this splintering of audiences threatens the advertising and profits of newspapers and broadcasters, it also affects the nature of news. For years, journalists and academics have criticized “greedy media monopolies” for “shortchanging the news” to fatten profits. These attacks were exactly backward. As long as newspapers and broadcasters were highly profitable–and enjoyed market power and captive audiences–they provided a fair amount of space and freedom for news. Growing competition changes this.
Commercial pressures creep more into news judgments. Sensationalism has historically aimed to raise circulation or TV ratings. These forces have intensified, and editors respond. If a story won’t sell, why bother?
So, what’s “news”? An editor of mine recently resigned to join an on-line service. I confessed to feeling slightly obsolete. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re safe–you’re `content.’ ” Content? And to think: Once I was a newsman.