Zichen Wang strips away the sentimental fog surrounding China's state-sanctioned Journalists' Day to deliver a stark, data-driven verdict: the profession is not merely struggling, it is actively eroding the transparency required for a functioning society. By citing a specific economic study on bank lending, Wang moves the conversation from abstract complaints about "traffic" to the tangible financial costs of disappearing local news. This is not a eulogy for a dying industry; it is a forensic audit of how the loss of "hard news" directly increases the cost of capital for ordinary businesses.
The Economics of Silence
Wang begins by dismantling the self-congratulatory rhetoric that usually dominates November 8. He observes that the industry is suffering from a "stagflation" where content volume explodes while real influence and income collapse. "In many public incidents, people rely even more on personalized sources than on mainstream media," Wang writes, noting that the crisis is "visible to the naked eye." He recounts a chilling conversation overheard in a restroom at a professional seminar, where one journalist asked another, "Does your newspaper still publish?" and received the reply, "Ah, whether we publish or not—what's the difference?"
This anecdote is not just a sad story; it is a diagnostic tool. Wang argues that this "powerless self-mockery" stems from a genuine lack of confidence in the value of their own content. He insists that "sentimentality is shameful" in the face of such existential threats. The core of his argument is that the industry must stop engaging in "career makeup ritual" and start proving its worth through utility.
"Whether a newspaper exists or not makes a huge difference. Whether news exists or not makes a huge difference."
Wang bolsters this claim with a rigorous economic analysis that most industry introspection lacks. He cites a study by a professor at Peking University's Guanghua School of Management regarding "Local Newspaper Closures and Bank Loan Contracts." The data, covering 26 U.S. local newspapers that shut down between 1991 and 2016, reveals that when local papers disappear, loan spreads for local firms increase by an average of 30 basis points. Wang explains that local media provides unique, non-financial intelligence—such as environmental pollution records or labor disputes—that banks cannot find online. Without these reporters "squat on site," banks must raise financing costs to protect themselves.
This connection between a local reporter's notebook and a corporate loan rate is the piece's most powerful insight. It reframes journalism not as a cultural luxury but as critical infrastructure for economic stability. Critics might argue that in the digital age, alternative data sources could fill this gap, but Wang's point stands: the granular, on-the-ground verification of local conditions is a specific human function that algorithms and distant aggregators struggle to replicate.
The Corruption of Visibility
The commentary then pivots to the internal rot within the profession. Wang argues that the crisis is self-inflicted, driven by a "flood" of three specific corruptions that degrade the public's ability to see reality clearly. First is "headline corruption," where media outlets use "suspense-bait" and "blind-box headlines" to manufacture clicks. He contrasts the transparent "Shao Jiayi appointed national team head coach" with the manipulative "The new head coach is… him!"
Wang writes, "Obstacle and blind-box headlines aren't merely blind boxes—they are information corruption: hiding key facts to blind the audience, putting traffic above transparency and the right to know." This practice, he argues, cheapens the media and overdrafts public trust.
Second, he identifies "speech corruption," where language becomes detached from reality. He references Professor Lü Dewen of Wuhan University, who argued that research must "Think About Things," not "Think About Words." Wang criticizes the modern tendency to stack abstract, inflated terms like "sweeping-field leading by a large margin" to drown out concrete phenomena. "Beautiful big words do not bring transparency—they drown facts, corrupt the quality of Chinese thought, and create confusion and endless dispute," he asserts.
Finally, Wang tackles "visualization corruption." He challenges the assumption that video and images inherently increase clarity. Instead, he argues that flashy fusion often creates "black-box effects" where public attention becomes a commodity. "In this so-called flashy fusion of images and videos, public attention becomes a commodity: not 'what matters to the public becomes more visible,' but 'what can be converted into traffic becomes highlighted and monopolizes attention,'" Wang writes. The result is a degradation of the public sphere where trivial fluff dominates while crucial issues remain hidden.
"The function media and news serve is to 'increase society's visibility'—that is precisely why people trust and rely on news and journalists."
The Cost of Defeatism
The piece concludes with a sobering look at the social perception of the field. Wang notes that the profession has become a "sunset industry" where practitioners often tell students not to enter it. He cites a viral joke from the social platform Xiaohongshu: "Journalism + trump card major — journalism = trump card," implying that adding journalism to any other major is a net negative.
"A veteran reporter once said he had trained four interns — and successfully extinguished every one of their journalistic idealism," Wang recalls. He rejects this "defeatist, toxic chicken soup," arguing that the only way to regain respect is to measure work against the "ruler of society's visibility." He calls for a return to the "pursuit of objectivity, belief in truth, a public-interest orientation, and the transparent dissemination of information."
This call to action is framed not as a plea for pity, but as a demand for professional rigor. Wang suggests that the path forward lies in "facts dug out" that build a "blocking mechanism" against hype and marketing. He reminds readers that the honor of the profession lies in helping the public extend their "eyes and ears" to see hidden pain, corruption, and safety issues.
Bottom Line
Wang's argument is strongest when it anchors the abstract crisis of journalism in the concrete reality of economic data, proving that the loss of local reporting has a measurable price tag on society. Its vulnerability lies in the sheer difficulty of reversing the "traffic-first" incentives that now dominate the global media landscape, a structural problem that individual "hard news" efforts may struggle to overcome. The reader should watch for whether institutions can pivot from chasing clicks to reclaiming the role of "social visibility" before the economic costs of their absence become irreversible.