Last week I was listening to an interview with the actor Simon Pegg, in which he talks about the slow demise of an age-old form of entertainment. “Theatrical cinema is on the ropes,” he said.
“It’s doing everything it can to not be – 3D, Imax, capes, spaceships – but the fact is our homes are becoming like cinemas, so people are __more inclined to stay in. That’s a shame, because you lose that communal experience of seeing films together.”
A few minutes later the news came through that Mike Gilson had left his role as editor of the Brighton Argus. Described as a “regional press heavyweight” and “one of the good guys”, Gilson’s departure seems to represent another nail in the coffin of traditional local news.
I got my first job as a trainee reporter in early 2008, on the condition I would take driving lessons and pass my test within six months. That summer, as I clumsily manoeuvred around the streets of west London, my instructor gabbled frantically about Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac and the US sub-prime mortgage market. I had no idea what he was on about, less still how the financial crash would impact on my chosen profession.
It didn’t take long: readers decided to stop buying newspapers and advertisers withdrew from the pages. Something had to give, so soon after I felt that first swell of pride at seeing my byline under a splash headline, the cuts began. Newsrooms shrank; cover prices increased; wages were frozen; offices closed; editorial teams merged. The biggest loss of all has been the staff. I have lost count of the number of colleagues who either decided to cut their losses and move on, or were shown the door. Hardened senior journalists, with years of experience and bulging contacts books, have been replaced by keen but green university graduates – or not at all.
Those of us who remain have seen our working practices turned upside down. We file straight to the web now, with the print product seen as an afterthought amid the endless drive for clicks. Everything is stretched and everyone is stressed. Council meetings, court hearings and matters of genuine public interest are not covered as they once were. Social media, wonderful though it is, is replacing the underrated art of chatting to the bloke in the pub as the primary form of news gathering.
Morale is low. Staff photographers are rare. Young reporters, some among the most talented writers you could wish to meet, are becoming disillusioned and looking elsewhere before they get their feet under the table. Times are hard, but journalists are nothing if not stubborn. We’re used to fighting for what we want and ready to fight to defend our vocation.
The reason most of us become journalists is to uncover information, to dig for truth, to highlight what would otherwise remain unseen. It is not to sit at a desk for eight hours a day, scrolling through Twitter, writing clickbait headlines to chase ever-inflating online audience targets. Earlier this year, realising the groove in my office chair was looking __more worn than the soles of my shoes, I had something of a professional crisis. I wondered whether the adventurous reporter I hoped I was, who loved nothing more than knocking on doors in search of a scoop, was becoming yet another faceless office drone. But lately my faith has been restored.
Our editor is encouraging us to get out of the office and spend more time on “proper news”, and we are seeing the results. We are covering some hugely important issues, including the closure of Plymouth’s GP surgeries; a police investigation into financial irregularities at a student letting agency; and worrying revelations about the restoration of a historic theatre. The claims in each of these stories were met with repeated denials before the truth – or some fraction of it – eventually came out.
There is great work happening up and down the country. The Manchester Evening News’ exposé of a jaw-dropping cover-up at Pennine Acute NHS Trust is just one example. It came about through old-fashioned tenacity, revealing a scandal that could have wide-ranging implications.
Writing in Press Gazette, Mike Gilson says the decline of local papers is causing a “profound democratic deficit”, warning that if they disappear there will be nobody left to hold authority to account. He believes the printed word can survive in some form; of that I am not so sure. Online is surely the final destination for all information and entertainment, but that does not have to mean the death of quality journalism.
I cannot speak for the people who own and run media companies. They are trying to find a new model for making money from news, and I hope they succeed. Our industry, like that of cinema, is facing an almighty fight for its future. But we don’t need special effects, flashy gimmicks or two-for-one offers. We need an army of reporters who still know how to ask the right questions and poke their noses into the right corners. The rest will take care of itself.