As a teenager, a relative of mine brought me to their office one night. They were in a mid-to-senior level position in a prominent newspaper, and the late-night excursion felt like a secret little school trip. Only this time, it was relevant to me, and actually interesting.
The office itself was nothing radical. What made it interesting were the stories of how the newspaper did its business in a radically changing environment. It was the mid-2010s, digital was yet to succeed print as the main revenue generator, but it was only a matter of time. The paper shuffled its teams accordingly. My relative was on the digital team, on a funky night shift that allowed them to set the tone for what people would wake up to the following morning. Plus it gave them a cool as hell schedule in which to socialise.
Some other interesting tidbits stuck with me. The property supplement was, adjusted for expenses, by far the most profitable aspect of the paper[1]. How journalists positioned themselves in order to deliver not just the next headline, but the insight into why things were happening the way they were. And which journalists - most of which had moved onto other pastures - were dull or weird as hell.
At this point in life, I still held enthusiasm for being a journalist. I had been able to read the newspaper from around the age of three - my uncle whose paper I borrowed still loves to bring this up. I held this eagerness for more than a decade, using forays into blogging, photography, and writing as potential entry points into the profession. But even then, the opportunity was narrowing. My relative warned me of the flattening of hierarchies that digitalisation would bring. Writing just about what a politician said, or what a "famous" person did, would ensure you get squashed by someone who wrote the same thing, but cheaper. And this was before AI entered the picture.
Their subsequent advice still stuck with me: If you want to be a journalist, focus on the subject matter in which you need to be an expert in, rather than how to write about the subject. Learning the former takes decades, the latter years - sometimes less.
The advice was strong and well-supported. I took a degree in a business area rather than a pure journalism degree, feeling that I could build expertise working in the field, then pivot into writing later. As it turns out, working in my business field turned out to be a grueling never-ending slog of repeatedly stretching myself to breaking point, busting my ass for people who didn't care if I dropped dead the next day, for a dogshit salary[2]. I escaped, and found myself in better pastures. Still working hard for pointless endeavours, but getting paid better for it. The desire for journalism had long drifted.
There is some enthusiasm still lingering. The art of persuasion via slow-form text still appeals to me. Though the profit-making side of the world has moved on from it.
I now look at Ireland, and wonder how I ever could have thought becoming a journalist was possible. The starting routes are all closed off; the only entry-level positions available are ones churning out slop for media entities that will cease to exist once the tide shifts. There is no ladder to climb. The Irish Independent and Irish Times do not hire young recruits - they pull in a never-ending slew of people pushing lazy opinion pieces, mostly via pay-per-article contractor agreements. No other private media enterprises in Ireland are profitable any more, and surely will inevitably fall amidst the shifting tides.
Senior editorial and correspondent roles in journalism become advisor positions in government, with disturbing frequency. This is reflected in the pieces that are written about consecutive Fianna Gael governments. There is simply no incentive to rock the boat. Political roles are far more stable than modern journalist ones, so why not kick the ladder away for everyone else and save yourself?
Where is the anger about catastrophically bad healthcare coverage [1, 2, 3, 4], nonexistent infrastructure [1, 2, 3], or a diabolical housing crisis caused entirely out of vested interests and deliberate inaction [1, 2, 3]? It does not come from those who've positioned themselves close to power.
Here is the current political editor of the Irish Times in action. The original headline read: "Choose a €20 bottle of wine, not a €40 one, and other life advice from a political editor". In a cost of living crisis, this thinly-veiled sneering is all they had to muster. The Times often change their headlines once a sufficient amount of clicks have been achieved, in order to retain its self-imposed respectability.
And here is the duty editor. Consider my linked articles above on healthcare failures. This is all they have in reponse - running straight to the founder of an anti-trans hate group to push the bar of "debating" our existence even lower.
What do I have in common with these people? They have cushy jobs, and another guaranteed one after this one crumbles. They own the roof over their heads, and hold private health insurance. They do not go to the same social circles as you or I. It's a private club, and the door is firmly shut.
It's my opinion that not a single journalist works at the Irish Times, nor the Irish Independent. There is no in-depth reporting, no insightful coverage, no digging through the sea of lies. There is only the obvious clickbait, and the subtle clickbait.
I can name some actual journalists in this country. I've interacted with one, and had good interactions with them. Another keeps the masses well-informed during elections. And one keeps our national broadcaster a little bit more honest. But it's a pathetically small list.
Of course, intelligent long-form analysis still exists and is appreciated. The Guardian's The Long Read still stands out as having thoughtful insight, and is the sort that should be the cornerstone of every semi-decent newspaper. Plenty of interesting articles have been picked up and posted on this little site. I just wish it was even the slightest bit more viable.
Wrapping up my tour of their office, my relative and I walked home, at close to midnight. They gauged my future plans; I probed their political opinions with, in hindsight, silly naivety. It was the last time I ever felt such enthusiasm about uncovering how the world operated.