News Is Not Dead. It's Just Looking for a New Home

By Mika Horelli, BRUSSELS

I sent my stories by fax and dropped slides in a mailbox thirty years ago. Today, I'm watching how media morphs with its users quietly and constantly. This story is about subtle adaptation and why news won't disappear, even if its home address keeps changing.

I've been a journalist for about thirty years now. Before that, I spent a decade in advertising. First as a copywriter and then as a co-founder of a Helsinki-based start-up agency, Erma & Horelli. That chapter gave me something invaluable: a practical understanding of business. I've been grateful for it ever since.

We sold the agency in the early '90s as Finland's economy hit the skids. I took off to figure out what to do next. When I started reporting as a self-made journalist from Copenhagen in the mid-90s, I sent my stories via fax or dictated them to an answering machine. Someone back in Helsinki would transcribe the recordings by hand. Email technically existed, but most editors refused to use it since Scandinavian letters became unreadable gibberish because email clients back then couldn't handle anything outside the basic English alphabet.

Photos were sent by mail. If I dropped the slides into a mailbox at Copenhagen Central Station on Wednesday, they'd make it to Finland by Friday. That gave me a couple of days to finish the piece before faxing it.

Digital media was just a twinkle in the internet's eye, and even the most democratic countries still tightly controlled who got a license to broadcast radio or TV. Social media wasn't even on sci-fi's radar.

Thirty years on, it makes you wonder how the paths we took got us to where we are.

No one seems to sit at the breakfast table with the paper and a cup of coffee anymore. Okay, maybe someone still does—but something fundamental has shifted. News consumption used to be a shared ritual. Now, it's a fragmented, endless stream. One swipe, one click, and you're in another world. Traditional media still exists, but it's standing on thin ice to borrow a Finnish phrase. And yes, you can already hear the cracks.

Trying to talk about "the media" without putting a time stamp on it is like forecasting the weather without a date. It's constantly changing, and it often happens quietly. But in that quiet, a lot is going on. Europe's media landscape is in the middle of a historic shift, not driven by a single invention but by a sweeping change in behaviour. And it starts young—like, twelve-year-old young.

Newspapers haven't disappeared; they've just moved online. In Finland, digital circulation revenue is growing by over nine per cent annually, while print is still declining. None of that's surprising; digital subscriptions are easier, cheaper, and constantly updated. People haven't given up on the news; they've just given up on how they used to get it.

In the UK, local papers still reach most adults. But streaming platforms and social media are pulling attention away, especially from those used to routines—no more morning headlines, afternoon tabloids, or the 6 o'clock news. The news rhythm today is algorithmic, personalised, and emotional.

When social media arrived, it didn't try to mimic journalism; it introduced its counterpoint: instant, opinionated, and unapologetically curated content. They don't even pretend to be news outlets on YouTube, TikTok, or Instagram. Yet people go there for information, explanation, and a feeling.

In that environment, traditional newsrooms face a double bind: They must stay credible while staying relevant, and they must do that while slicing the same budget across websites, apps, podcasts, videos, and every possible platform.

According to PwC, spending on books and periodicals is declining across Europe. Streaming and digital entertainment are up. The change isn't loud or sudden, making it dangerous for anyone not paying attention.

If you break down media habits by age, you see the real fracture in Europe. Under-25s live in a digital world where print is a novelty. Sometimes, it's a quirky design element, just nostalgic kitsch. Their media use is constant and visual, mostly filtered through social platforms. Reading the day's main stories in order already sounds like a museum piece.

Middle-aged audiences are the in-betweeners. They toggle between their phones and TV, might still subscribe to a newspaper – digitally, and keep up with social media. They're media generalists, not trendsetters. Their choices are shaped by habit, practicality, and trust.

People over 50 still form the backbone of traditional media. They read print and watch TV as it airs, not in chunks or clips. But even in this group, the shift is fundamental. More and more are using smartphones to read the news, not because they want to, but because the alternatives are slowly disappearing.

As the media's ecosystem changes, so does its business model. Paid digital services are gaining ground, but most people are still cautious about paying for content. What is the one thing legacy media has going for it? Trust. Study after study shows people still see traditional outlets as more reliable than social media—especially in an era of misinformation and fake news.

That trust is a huge advantage, but it's fragile. It's not a given—it's a deal constantly renegotiated between the media and its audience. Every headline, every clickbait, every factual slip reshapes that deal. Meanwhile, digital-native media plays by different rules: it doesn't necessarily aim for truth, just for attention.

The future of traditional media isn't print—but it isn't death, either. It's a transition—a shift toward a new role where depth, analysis, and context matter more than speed. Traditional media can't outrun TikTok, but there’s still a seat at the table when we need nuance, accountability, and perspective.

If old-school journalism can maintain its values while adapting to new tech and reading habits, it still has a shot at surviving in Europe's media landscape. But that won't happen by accident.

We'll need to listen to different age groups, understand how news fits into their daily lives, and build bridges—not walls—between the old and the new.

News isn't disappearing. It's just looking for a new home.

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