Autistic Perspectives: the death of journalism in the West

How Neurodivergent and Trans Writers Are Reclaiming Journalism in the Age of Collapse and Algorithmic Censorship

Legacy media is collapsing—but in the margins, neurodivergent and trans writers are building something new. This is a story about power, narrative control, and what happens when we write without permission.

Introduction

Imagine your the average Politico reader and you come across this article. You might take it as a worrying wake-up call on the accelerating collapse of the journalism industry. You might notice that just in the past week or two, nearly all major news outlets have made significant cuts to their newsrooms - the Los Angeles Times slashed 20% of its journalists, Time magazine cut 15%, and similar carnage at Sports Illustrated, Business Insider, Condé Nast, and more. Revenue from advertising and classifieds has evaporated due to the internet. This means legendary newspapers and magazines are shrinking quickly or shutting down entirely, with no end in sight. As a reader who relies on these publications to stay informed, you might find it alarming to see such an outright crisis unfolding. If the outlets you depend on can’t survive, where will you get in-depth, trustworthy reporting on vital issues? The author makes clear this isn't just a bump in the road - the old news business model is gone for good. Whilst a few national papers like the New York Times transition to subscriptions, most can’t make that work. It feels like we’re witnessing the industry transform into a shell of what it once was, which poses real questions for the future of journalism and democracy.

Take a breath …

Thankfully, I’m not the average Politico reader, and likely neither are you. I think I know what’s really going on and what we can do about it. This is because I know that the trend of affluent individuals owning news outlets to advance their own agendas has deep roots in Western journalism. This practice stretches back to the early days of newspapers in Europe and colonial America. Wealthy merchants and politicians would often launch papers to try to influence public discourse around pet causes or gain leverage with lawmakers.

For example, in the late 1700s, Alexander Hamilton founded the New York Evening Post for just these reasons - using it as a platform to promote the Federalist party he helped create as well as attack rivals like Thomas Jefferson’s Democratic-Republicans. This set an early precedent for the rich treating papers as their personal mouthpieces.

Later, press barons like William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer surfaced in the 19th and 20th centuries. They acquired chains of major publications specifically to underscore their outsized political voice. Hearst in particular pushed for sensationalist, pro-war articles that backed his expansionist worldview, revealing the unchecked power media moguls held before regulations limited monopolies.

In the modern era, many prominent papers and outlets have billionaire owners that influence coverage based on their principles and vision for the country. The Washington Post has belonged to the billionaire Jeff Bezos since 2013. Critics argue his pro-business perspective has impacted reporting priorities after the acquisition. Similar accusations surround Patrick Soon-Shiong - biotech entrepreneur and the current owner of the Los Angeles Times since 2018. This repeats the storied tradition of the elite holding stakes in news dissemination. Whilst journalistic standards provide some insulation, billionaire control of prominent publications still enables the shaping narratives and public opinion to no small degree in service of an agenda. Few Americans probably realize just how consolidated information remains under the auspices of the very wealthy few.

The real reason Journalism Schools were created

Journalism schools and formal training programs emerged in part to set standards and instill ethics to counteract the excesses of wealthy publishers using newspapers as personal tools.

In the early 20th century, as major newspaper chains consolidated under the control of powerful owners like Hearst and Pulitzer, there was growing concern over the lack of impartiality and accuracy in reporting. These publishers were clearly pushing agendas and sensationalism.

This helped spur the establishment of the first journalism schools at places like the University of Missouri and Columbia University. The goal was to train professional journalists in ethical practices like sourcing standards, fair representation of opposing views, transparency around conflicts of interest, and maintaining independence from external influence.

Over time, more journalism programs sprouted at universities and professional associations like the Society of Professional Journalists codified strict ethical guidelines. The ideals of objectivity and non-partisanship in journalism became more firmly rooted.

So whilst the press barons of the 19th and early 20th centuries brazenly used their outlets to serve their own political and financial interests, the rise of professional journalism training helped rein that in to some degree and set expectations around transparency and impartiality. However, as this article suggests, there remains concern over billionaires buying up major outlets like the Washington Post and skewing coverage. So it's an ongoing tension.

Does anyone read traditional media anymore?

Whilst newspapers and magazines still attract a subset of loyal readers seeking in-depth reporting, print media’s future remains in question given mounting concerns over sustainability. Producing millions of physical newspapers and glossy magazines every day exacts a real environmental toll in terms of water usage, chemicals, and carbon emissions.

Consider that producing newsprint paper requires around twice the energy as that needed to make copy paper. Estimates indicate a Sunday newspaper generates about five times its own weight in greenhouse gases like carbon dioxide through harvesting trees, operating printing presses, and distributing bundles via fleets of gas-guzzling trucks.

Many magazines follow a similar resource-intensive process for manufacture and distribution. One 2018 life cycle study found a typical consumer mag requires 136 gallons of water and emits 5.1 pounds of carbon for each issue. Annually, global magazine emissions total around 36 million metric tons - comparable to the yearly emissions output of Portugal.

Of course, relying solely on digital devices carries its own carbon footprint. However, numerous experts cite studies showing overall climate impacts to produce electronic publications remain significantly less than print versions even given e-waste and server energy usage.

As societal values and policies shift to promote sustainability, print media’s disproportionate and readily avoidable environmental costs make its future uniquely questionable. Whilst print loyalists still prefer papers and glossies today, calls to curb needless emissions may force more rapid digital transitions to protect the planet. Nostalgia alone likely cannot save resource-draining printing presses and gas couriers over the long term.

Envisioning a future of grassroots "Micro-Journalism"

As more people, especially youth, shift to getting both news and entertainment from social platforms and AI search, an opportunity exists for transforming local journalism. Rather than depending on large corporate publications controlled by wealthy owners, future news could take an extremely grassroots, community-centered approach.

The model would rely on volunteers and micro-publishers (like Substackers) serving their city or special interest by responsibly aggregating and verifying the torrent of daily social posts. Using web tools, they could filter and compile relevant updates and perspectives from local Twitter threads, TikTok videos, Instagram accounts, and Nextdoor exchanges. This could distill a real-time information bank reflecting authentic local happenings and conversations.

AI could assist by surfacing and fact-checking popular incident reports to flag potential misinformation. But the emphasis would remain on human curators preserving each community’s unique voice. The end result may read messier than polished New York Times reporting, but would authentically channel raw stakeholder passions and challenges.

This hyper-decentralised, crowdsourced take on local journalism aligned with readers’ social habits and special interests could rebuild struggled newspapers’ role. But instead of parachuting in distant corporate owners pursuing their own profit or political motives, news would organically emerge from stakeholders themselves. Platform cooperatives, non-profits, or micro-subscriptions could fund operations sustainably (like the value 4 value model I employ here).

Whilst messy, such intensely community-rooted journalism may resonate more meaningfully for many than reporting dictated by elite gatekeeper priorities. It would require adjusting expectations and finding virtue in authenticity over slick packaging. But such a social, collaborative news future could deepen civic engagement on a human level.

But what about the journalists?

Here are some possibilities for how journalists could adapt if grassroots community information centers largely replaced traditional media jobs:

• Become curators for local information hubs - Journalists could lend their verification skills to vet and compile tweets, videos, posts into daily briefings reflecting community happenings. Their training suits aggregating quality first-hand reporting from residents.

• Create personalized newsletters and podcasts - Drawing on large followings from their prior roles at papers and networks, experienced journalists could produce subscription news products tailored to niche viewer interests and distributed online.

• Teach community journalism skills - Former journalists could conduct classes at libraries, schools, and town halls to cultivate local residents’ abilities to capture newsworthy stories and fact-check sources on prevailing apps and platforms.

• Provide coaching/consulting - Practiced journalists could offer paid coaching for community publishers on best practices in reporting, interviewing, profiles, investigation techniques, and editorial standards to uphold quality.

• Sell in-depth features to large platforms - Skilled long-form writers could target their articles or investigative pieces on Substack, Medium, YouTube based on audience interests and get compensation from resulting subscriptions and views.

• Ghostwrite/edit memoirs and non-fiction books - Experienced writing and editing talent from newsrooms could find new income channels applying their skills to producing manuscripts for public figures or thought leaders wanting to engage book readers.

The key for struggling career journalists may be transferring existing skills into either serving localised contexts or producing personalised media products aligned with how modern audiences consume information. Their training has value if applied creatively to current realities.

You see, for generations, talented journalists fueled newspaper empires by tirelessly covering stories that drove demand for lucrative print ads and sales. Yet whilst publishers and shareholders banked swelling profits enabled by reporters’ labor, newsrooms saw little of those spoils. Instead, even award-winning staff endured low pay, job instability, and constant layoffs as soon as business conditions shifted.

This cycle of exploitation was based on surplus value extraction - the unpaid excess effort journalists contributed above their wages. When a star investigative journalist reeled in engaged readers and Pulitzer Prizes, media executives reaped windfalls from selling advertisers access to that loyal audience. The journalist generating the underlying content value only collected a minimal salary unrelated to their contribution to revenue.

Likewise, when viral writers built big digital followings, publishers leveraged that unpaid influence to dominate on social platforms. But the breakout talent rarely shared in the returns.

This dynamic mirrored Marxist concepts of surplus value siphoning but escaped public outcry, perhaps because of journalism’s cultural cachet. Regardless, it enforced broadly stagnant incomes for talented reporters and editors struggling financially despite powering money machines.

Looking forward, the death of traditional journalism funding models offers a chance for reinvention free of old exploited arrangements. As prominent news figures transition to subscriber-funded indie formats like Substack or podcasts, they stand to finally earn returns commensurate to the profits their content capability enables. The post-industrial media ecosystem could empower journalists to be paid what their labor is truly worth, not suppressed wages to maximize executives' margins. For gifted reporters, the revolution may turn out financially liberating in the end.

The fall of journalistic institutions was always a crisis of ethics before economics. Perhaps now, we writers can build something better.

— May 2025 Update —

A year on, little has changed—and everything has.

The implosion of legacy journalism has accelerated, as predicted. Gannett, fresh from its merger with Alden Global Capital, now resembles a corporate vacuum, hoovering up public trust alongside regional titles. Layoffs are no longer news—they’re ritual. The Los Angeles Times operates more like a PR consultancy. And Sports Illustrated? Briefly resurrected by AI-generated content before being quietly shuttered again.

What has changed is who’s writing the story.

Because in the ruins, something unexpected is blooming—led not by the old press elite, but by those we were never meant to hear from: neurodivergent, queer, trans, and multiply marginalised writers who’ve carved out homes in the platform margins. Notably, Substack, Patreon, Ghost, and newsletters shared in locked Discords or WhatsApp groups.

This isn’t a sentimental tale of “finding our voice.” We’ve always had voices. What’s new is the infrastructure—however fragile—that lets us speak without permission. Our writing doesn’t fit the editorial mould: too long, too tangled, too emotional, too “agenda-driven,” too full of em dashes and layered parentheticals. Too autistic. Too trans. Too real.

And so, of course, the algorithms try to make us disappear.

Shadowbanning, deranking, and opaque moderation policies disproportionately affect writers whose identities challenge the status quo. Posts that name structural violence get flagged for “sensitive content.” Essays on autistic communication or gender euphoria are marked “unprofessional.” Entire newsletters disappear from search results, inboxes, even RSS feeds—not for violating any rules, but for threatening the dominant narrative economy.

Because let’s be honest: traditional media institutions didn’t just collapse from market forces. They were always gatekeepers. And the rise of decentralised writing platforms terrifies them not because of “misinformation,” but because they can no longer dictate the frame.

We are not supposed to be narrators—we are supposed to be subjects. Quiet ones. Case studies. Marginal notes in someone else’s story. But here we are: writing, publishing, connecting. Building fugitive networks of truth and kinship. Not always polished. But always ours.

This shift isn’t just technological. It’s ontological. The who of journalism is changing—and so is the what. Neurodivergent and gender-diverse writers often think differently about time, causality, responsibility, and resolution. We don’t separate fact from meaning, or emotion from rigour. Our pieces aren’t “takes;” they’re tracings—of harm, of hope, of systems shifting in real time.

And this—this—is why they want us contained. In the digital ghetto. In the algorithmic basement. In the shadow realm of “personal blogs” instead of “serious journalism.”

But we’re not going back.

The platforms may change. The tools may shift. But the real revolution is already happening—one hyperlink, one paid subscriber, one whispered signal boost at a time. It’s happening when we write in public and don’t apologise. When we reject the myth of “objectivity” used to flatten our voices and erase our lived knowledge. When we gather—imperfectly, urgently—in the comments, in the margins, in the mess.

Meanwhile, the collapse of legacy media has created fertile ground for something far more insidious: a fusion of propaganda and power so seamless that former cable news anchors now sit in cabinet positions. The distance between “opinion” and policy has all but vanished. The gatekeepers didn’t lose control—they changed uniforms.

So no—this was never just an economic story. It’s a story about narrative capture, and the quiet refusal to be captured. A liberatory moment, if we choose to make it one. For once, the bylines aren’t just theirs. They’re ours.

And if you’re reading this—if you’ve made it this far—you already know: you’re part of what’s next.