In Defence of the Printed Word

World News Day reminds us that journalism, whether in print or pixels, is a trust that must be earned every single day.

The thud of the newspaper on my doorstep each morning is a sound I cherish, a quiet rebellion against the digital cacophony that has consumed our lives. As the world gallops toward a future of AI-generated headlines and algorithm-driven narratives, this simple act of a human hand delivering ink on paper reminds me that news is more than information. It is intimacy and trust. And that trust is not accidental. It recalls my journalism studies in 1983, when we were taught that a newspaper was a sacred trust, not merely a commodity. The weight of that lesson has never left me. It is a trust that World News Day, observed on September 28, reminds us must be earned anew, every single day.

Early beginnings

News has always been a storyteller and a quiet provocateur. Long before the whir of presses or the glow of smartphones, information travelled by human voice. In ancient India, news was carried not in columns but in rhythm: drum-beaters stood in village squares, their booming voices announcing the king’s decrees, victories in distant battles, or tax demands that would shape a farmer’s season.

These broadcasts were blunt but effective - the first mass media of their age.

Centuries later, during the colonial era, news took on a more dangerous, subversive character. The newspaper, though ostensibly a neutral record, became a subtle battlefield. A government notice might occupy one column while a coded message of dissent, worded carefully to dodge censorship, was slipped into another. Ordinary readers became adept at reading between the lines, drawing courage from words that said less than they meant.

For those who read them, newspapers are more than sheets of paper. They are akin to confidants. The rustle of newsprint with morning coffee is a daily comfort, almost like a shared secret between a publication and its people. That spirit of connection has today migrated to glowing screens, but the essence of news – of the human urge to know, to share and to understand - has never lost its voice.

Many meanings

The theme of ‘truth in journalism’ is the very core of World News Day, born from the understanding that an informed citizenry is the lifeblood of a democracy. Yet what does ‘news’ really mean to an ordinary person? For me, it has always felt like a complex blend of needs, not unlike our relationship with food.

At its most fundamental, news is about survival: a farmer scanning the skies and checking the monsoon forecast, a family tracking the rising cost of onions, a small business owner poring over policy changes that might alter his future. These are needs as basic as bread.

Then there is the news that resembles a sugary snack in form of the celebrity scandal, the shocking accident, the gossip that momentarily amuses but quickly fades. We indulge, but it rarely nourishes.

And finally, there is the sustaining meal, the serious journalism that enables us to understand the politics, economics and social currents shaping our lives. This is where the true measure of journalism lies - not in its ability to distract, but in its capacity to empower.

News, when honest, can stir powerful emotions. It can provoke anxiety with stories of global conflict, or inspire hope with accounts of resilience against impossible odds. But its highest calling is empowerment. A citizen who grasps the contours of a government’s budget, or who understands the fine print of a new bill, is a citizen who can participate meaningfully in democracy and refuse easy answers.

But here lies the double edge. Precisely because news stirs emotion, it can also mislead. ‘Fake news’ often spreads more quickly than truth because it is designed for instant gratification. Real news, with its nuance and factual grounding, can feel slow and unsatisfying.

Fake news, by contrast, preys on confirmation bias, offering villains to despise or heroes to cheer. It tells us what we want to hear, serving up a fleeting rush. Small wonder that a dog biting a man is routine, but a man biting a dog is news.

The historical evolution of journalism traces a fascinating journey from rudimentary scribes to today’s global digital networks. The printing press was the great disruptor: it democratised information and turned the newspaper into a force that rulers could neither fully control nor ignore. Over centuries, newspapers shed their early role as mouthpieces for power and grew into watchdogs for the public.

Today the challenge is not scarcity of information but its credibility. We are drowning in a flood of data, memes, doctored clippings, and deepfake videos. The very idea of a shared factual reality is under siege. This is a new battlefield where the painstaking craft of verification becomes the ultimate weapon against chaos. The Watergate scandal in the 1970s was not merely an exposé but a demonstration of journalism’s ability to humble the most powerful. The Panama Papers investigation showed how dogged cross-border collaboration could unravel the secrets of the wealthy and well-connected.

Press freedom

For this reason, press freedom cannot be treated as a luxury. It is one of democracy’s vital organs. When the press is shackled, the public is blindfolded. India’s Emergency in 1975 remains a chilling case study when civil liberties were suspended, dissent crushed and the media reduced to a chorus of officialdom.

Thomas Jefferson’s famous remark, that he would prefer newspapers without government to government without newspapers, captures this tension. He later bristled at a critical press himself, but the principle endures. No democracy survives long without a free, irreverent and questioning press.

Today, threats to journalism are subtler than outright censorship. They come as economic coercion, legal intimidation, or coordinated campaigns of online harassment. Social media, initially heralded as liberating, now enables trolling at industrial scale. Yet even in this climate, the stubborn spirit of inquiry persists. The decline of print is real, and in many places irreversible. Young readers rarely touch a broadsheet, and presses fall silent each year. But journalism is not dying; it is migrating. Digital platforms have lowered barriers, giving new voices a stage. They have also multiplied noise, accelerating the spread of falsehoods.

Yet it is often local news that proves most enduring. A report about a pothole in one’s neighbourhood, an exposé of a corrupt municipal officer, or a story about a local school outperforming expectations connect directly with people’s lives. They remind us that truth, however globalised the news cycle may become, remains tethered to the ground.

Perhaps one day my grandchildren will never wait for a folded paper at the door. They may swipe holograms or hear bulletins whispered by a chip in their ear. Yet I hope they will still pause to ask: Who told me this, and why should I believe it?

Ultimately, World News Day is not about the press alone. It is about us - the readers, listeners, and viewers - who must demand sharper, more honest reporting. The unfinished story of news is a story we are still writing, together. And so, each morning, I continue to cherish that thud on the doorstep. It is the slow meal amid fast food and the indispensable irritant that keeps democracy alive.

(The writer is a Bengaluru-based political commentator. Views personal.)