Print may be dead but the need for journalism is eternal

What a terrifying time to be a journalist. The news business, like the wider world in general is in a state of flux. The journalism industry is trying to find its bearings; to make sense of itself in an era in which sitting down to crack open a broadsheet in front of the fireplace for a two hour current affairs binge is sniffed at.

Fast paced, bitesize information is now the order of the day. Who wants to read a 1000-word feature length comment piece on the rise of ISIS when you can take a scroll through your twitter feed and skim through the same information in half the time?

What a terrifying time to be a journalist

The proof is in the pudding; the rise of the instant information age has coincided with plummeting newspaper sales. Publications that once shifted over a million copies with ease in their heyday are now struggling to hang on to relevance.

As we moved into the second half of the decade, the prognosis grew even more bleak. The question became not if, but who and when. Which of Britain’s venerated old media giants would collapse first?

Publications… are now struggling to hang on to relevance

With Rupert Murdoch’s empire still secure behind the might of The Sun (much to the country’s dismay), the Daily Mail and Mirror spinning enough sensationalist headlines to hang on to public attention and The Guardian defying financial logic whilst running at astronomical losses, the axe would ironically fall on the country’s youngest mass produced publication.

On February 12 this year, news broke that the subtly left leaning, non-conformist firebrand of a broadsheet: The Independent would cease its print run at the end of March. The announcement was met with a muted nod from those in and around the industry.

The axe would ironically fall on the country’s youngest mass produced publication

Nobody cried, nobody wailed, they just accepted it. For the paper’s readership, its journalists, and little old brand ambassadors like myself, the countdown began in earnest. With each and every edition we came closer to the final chapter in the paper’s 29-and-a-half-year history.

The inner journalistic geek, and lover all of things novel in me knew I had to get to get a copy; even if it meant dragging myself to the ends of the earth to do so.

Nobody cried, nobody wailed, they just accepted it

Yesterday the date finally arrived. As planned, I went out of my way to procure the paper and believe you me, it wasn’t easy. A quick scan of my favoured local newsagents on a late afternoon stroll turned into a panicked power walk.

It became apparent that people had headed out in force to grab their slice of journalistic history, emptying the paper from the shelves in the process. By the time I reached my local Tesco Express, asked a bewildered shop assistant where the paper rack was and snatched a copy before paying in exact change, a surreal reality dawned on me.

It became apparent that people had headed out in force to grab their slice of journalistic history

This could very well be the first of many sprints to the shop to clasp the farewell edition of a national newspaper. Cherishing that musty old paper odour, struggling to fold over the pages and ruing my failed attempts to read the thing from cover to cover could very soon become a set of feelings consigned to the past.

Sifting through the final edition of The Independent wasn’t quite the sorrowful experience I expected it to be though. This was a chance for the paper’s editors to continue as they mean to go on, whilst still acknowledging the industry’s rich past.

This could very well be the first of many sprints to the shop to clasp [a] farewell edition

Behind regular news coverage and some wonderful souvenir supplements, this was an optimistic celebration of the magnetism of journalism at its very best, driven by originality and innovation.

It took the form of an ode to tradition, entailing echoes of Fleet Street, old school printing presses, and the figure of the rogue, dogged reporter armed with a notepad and pen, sniffing out a scoop from a mile away. The special pull-outs chronicling Indy’s three-decade history reminded me of an unescapable reality. Good journalism is integral to the fabric of our society, no matter what form that journalism may take.

Good journalism is integral to the fabric of our society

The world needs newsmakers to bring facts to life. To connect dots of disparate information and help us make sense of both the tragedies and triumphs that capture the public imagination. Print may be unsustainable from an economic standpoint, but the essence of old media goes beyond the law of basic supply and demand.

Doing the rounds on Twitter, footage released yesterday documented the paper’s final moments. The Independent’s staff welcomed the last physical copy with an old practise from the days of Fleet Street; “banging themselves out” by drumming on the desks of the office in unison, loud and proud to celebrate the end of an era.

Drumming on the desks of the office in unison, loud and proud to celebrate the end of an era

They smiled and clapped safe in the knowledge print may be dead but the need for news is eternal. Long live journalism.