A Facebook Thread Becomes a Bigger Question
The conversation began as many modern debates do: with a Facebook post, a strong opinion, and a comment thread. What followed was unusually constructive. Rather than devolving into noise, it became a catalyst for genuine reflection.
A friend and local journalist, Andy Roberts, shared an article lamenting the effective death of The Washington Post’s sports section. The piece was angry, raw, and unapologetically accusatory. It framed the decision not as an unfortunate economic necessity, but as a moral failure. The implication was unmistakable: if Jeff Bezos, the paper’s owner, can afford to subsidize the losses, then choosing not to do so is an act of greed.
Bezos may very well be a greedy billionaire but that framing struck a nerve. Not because it lacked empathy, but because it oversimplified a problem that is far more complex, structural, and unresolved.
A Perspective Forged at the Intersection of Technology, Storytelling, and Business
My view on this issue is shaped by standing in three different worlds at once.
First, as a career technologist, I have spent decades watching technology disrupt markets that once seemed untouchable. I have seen entire industries reshaped not because the people in them were greedy or careless, but because they failed, or were unable, to adapt fast enough. In technology, disruption is not a moral judgment. It is a force. Businesses that recognize it early and evolve sometimes survive. Those that do not almost always fail, regardless of intent or legacy.
Second, I am an amateur writer who loves stories and the people who tell them. I understand why the loss of a newsroom, a section, or a beat feels personal. Journalism is not just content. It is craft, culture, memory, and human connection. The anger and grief expressed by displaced journalists make sense, because what is being lost is not only a job, but an identity and a calling.
Third, I am a business owner who subsidizes two small media outlets using profits from my technology business as a way to give back. I do this willingly, and with eyes open. But I also know exactly what that subsidy is. It is finite. It is conditional. And it does not magically solve the long-term sustainability problem. Subsidization buys time to experiment, to learn, and to try to build something durable. It is not a permanent replacement for a working revenue model.
Holding all three perspectives at once makes it hard for me to accept simple villains or easy explanations. I can acknowledge leadership failures and missed opportunities while still recognizing that disruption sets hard boundaries on what is possible. Caring deeply about journalism does not exempt it from economic reality any more than loving bookstores saved Borders.
The Revenue Model Didn’t Just Crack. It Collapsed.
For most of the twentieth century, journalism ran on a remarkably stable model. Advertising paid the bills. Classifieds underwrote reporting. Print circulation provided predictable revenue. Newsrooms grew large because the economics allowed them to.
That model is gone.
Digital advertising did not replace print advertising. It displaced it. Google and Meta now capture the overwhelming majority of digital ad spend, leaving publishers to fight over scraps. Readers trained by the internet expect free content, unlimited access, and constant updates. Subscriptions help, but they rarely scale fast enough to offset the losses.
What looks like mismanagement from the outside is often the inside view of a business whose foundational assumptions no longer hold.
The Owner’s Dilemma: Subsidize, Shrink, or Stop
This is where the debate turns moral, and often breaks down.
There is a growing belief that wealthy owners have an obligation to indefinitely subsidize journalism simply because they can. But running a business at a loss is not a moral act. It is a strategic one. Losses do not disappear. They are absorbed by someone, somewhere, for a finite amount of time.
I operate Catchmarksportsnet.com and Catchmarkcommunity.com at a loss because I believe in the work. But I also understand the hard truth. Subsidies buy time. They do not create sustainability unless the underlying model changes.
The Washington Post lost $77 million in 2023. Its audience was cut in half. Sports coverage, by the paper’s own data, struggled to compete with political coverage for attention. Those are not philosophical problems. They are economic ones.
Poor execution can accelerate decline, but it does not mean the destination would have been different. The uncomfortable possibility is that even with better leadership, sharper focus, and faster experimentation, the economics may still not have worked.
Expecting any owner, regardless of wealth, to absorb losses forever is not a plan. It is a postponement. This is the hardest truth for people who love journalism. Quality does not guarantee viability.
We Have Seen This Pattern Before
Journalism is not unique in facing this kind of disruption. In fact, the pattern is familiar to anyone who has watched technology reshape industries over the past twenty years.
Retail is an obvious example. Traditional brick-and-mortar chains collapsed not because their owners were greedy, but because e-commerce rewired consumer expectations around convenience, price, and selection. Some retailers adapted by investing early in digital platforms, logistics, and omnichannel experiences. Others delayed, protected legacy structures, and disappeared.
Streaming did the same to television and film. Cable bundles, once thought untouchable, unraveled as audiences moved to on-demand, subscription-based models. Networks that treated streaming as a side project lost relevance. Those that rebuilt around it survived, albeit smaller and leaner.
Higher education is now living through a similar reckoning. Institutions that assumed prestige alone would sustain enrollment are discovering that cost, flexibility, and perceived value matter more than tradition. Online programs, alternative credentials, and employer-driven learning are reshaping the market whether universities like it or not.
Even professional services, long insulated by reputation and relationships, are being disrupted. Accounting, law, and consulting firms are facing automation, AI-driven tools, and clients who expect faster, cheaper, and more transparent outcomes. Firms that adapt their models are holding ground. Those that do not are slowly hollowing out.
In each case, disruption forced painful tradeoffs. Legacy scale became a liability. Sentiment did not stop it. Nostalgia did not reverse it.
What the Future of Journalism Might Look Like
The future of journalism is likely smaller, more focused, and more fragmented. Fewer massive newsrooms. More niche outlets. More direct relationships with audiences. More audio, video, and community-supported models.
Some experiments will work. Many will fail.
What probably will not return is the era when advertising quietly paid for everything, allowing journalism to avoid hard questions about value, differentiation, and audience willingness to pay.
Anger Is Understandable. Answers Are Harder.
The anger in the article is real, and justified. People lost jobs. Institutions lost pieces of their identity. Something meaningful diminished.
But framing every contraction as greed avoids the harder conversation. How do we fund journalism in a world that no longer pays for it the way it once did?
Until that question has a durable answer, even well-intentioned owners, talented journalists, and beloved sections will continue to collide with reality.
That isn’t cruelty. It’s disruption.
And disruption does not care how much we loved the old model.
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