Stop pretending journalism matters on its own

I've spent years in newsrooms watching us rationalize our diminishing relevance. We craft elaborate theories of change, chase algorithmic success through SEO and social, and tell ourselves comforting stories about speaking truth to power - all while our actual influence fades.

The hardest lesson I've learned is that journalism doesn't matter just because we say it does. The most painful part of this realization? I was complicit in this self-deception. At Radio Free Europe and other institutions, I saw how easy it was to mistake activity for impact, to confuse reaching people with helping them.

My wake-up call came through countless conversations with journalists working in exile and under pressure over the past years. In these spaces, the flaws of our institutional approach to journalism become most apparent - and so does the potential for something better. When governments block your website and platforms won't distribute your work, you're forced to confront hard questions about relevance and impact.

While many exile media operations remain stuck in broadcasting mindsets and donor-pleasing performance metrics, some of the most innovative approaches to genuine audience service are emerging from these challenging environments. Their experiences taught me that journalism focused purely on "truth"-telling, without considering service, inevitably shrinks into an echo chamber of diminishing relevance - regardless of how noble the intent or how factual the reporting.

This has led me to gradually question my thinking about media impact. I used to believe deeply in theories of change - those carefully crafted narratives about how journalism transforms society. But increasingly, I find myself drawn to a different framework: a theory of service. It's not a complete shift yet - I'm still wrestling with what this means in practice. When I catch myself starting with what I think people should know, I try to pause and ask instead what might actually help them navigate their lives better.

The difference feels profound, even if I'm still figuring out how to fully embrace it. A theory of service forces a kind of humility and specificity that makes me uncomfortable in productive ways. It challenges my assumptions about what makes journalism valuable. Sometimes I still catch myself slipping into old patterns - the comfortable role of the journalist who knows what stories matter. But then I remember the conversations with readers who found unexpected utility in stories we thought were important for entirely different reasons.

This reframing is messy and ongoing. There's a constant tension between the craft of journalism and the imperative of service - between what we're good at doing and what people actually need. I'm learning that these aren't necessarily in conflict, but aligning them requires a kind of openness to rethinking what we do and how.

Helping people > telling stories: a media reset

A theory of service forces us to be specific about who we serve and how. It pushes past vague promises about informing the public to concrete questions: How are we helping people make better healthcare decisions? Understand school choices? Navigate housing markets? If we start measuring success not by reach or engagement but by actual utility to real people, everything changes.

For media funders, this shift could be transformative. Rather than perpetuating trickle-down systems of generic content creator patronage and rent-seeking, they could support ventures that demonstrate real utility to communities. The strongest media organizations I've encountered understand that people don't seek out journalism for journalism's sake - they want solutions to problems, ways to improve their lives, recognition, community.

This isn't about abandoning the craft of Journalism - the skills of critically and empathically seeing, observing, understanding, and conveying remain vital. But these skills must serve genuine human needs, not institutional self-preservation.

I've found this realization oddly liberating. When we stop pretending that journalism matters on its own and start focusing on being genuinely useful to people, we open up exciting new possibilities. The path forward isn't about holding some imaginary line or pleading with platform broligarchs for their goodwill. It's about competing on utility in a marketplace of time and attention. It shouldn't be too hard to compete on this in a kleptocracy, right?

The question isn't whether journalism matters. The question is: are we helping anyone? If we're not, maybe it's time to stop pretending that we do.