By Frank Macek
The great unraveling of the local television broadcasting workforce didn’t happen in one dramatic moment. It didn’t arrive with a corporate memo, a breaking-news ticker, or a major newsroom shakeup. It happened slowly, quietly, and then all at once.
Over the last decade—especially in the last five years—I’ve watched the industry I love lose people at every level and from every corner: producers, directors, photojournalists, anchors, engineering veterans, editors, creative staff, and digital teams who once saw broadcasting as a lifelong career. The exits are no longer surprising. They’re expected. And more than that, they’re telling us something we’ve been reluctant to confront.
Why are so many people walking away from an industry once defined by loyalty and longevity? In my view, the answer isn’t simple, but it is unmistakable: local TV no longer looks like the business many of us signed up for. The job changed, the expectations changed, the economics changed, and in many places, the culture changed. When the ground moves under you long enough, eventually you stop trying to balance and start looking for a place that feels steady.
Let’s start with the obvious: burnout. Not the buzzword version—real burnout that affects sleep, health, focus, and emotional well-being. I’ve seen producers responsible for twice as many shows as before, but with half the staff. Reporters tasked with shooting, writing, editing, posting, livestreaming, and updating multiple platforms in a single shift. Directors who used to work with full teams now isolated in control rooms running automation systems that consolidate multiple jobs into one. Engineers stretched so thin they’re effectively responsible for systems once handled by entire departments.
All of that is happening while wages remain stuck in place. Few industries demand as much while offering as little in return financially. Young journalists—bright, ambitious professionals who should be the future of local news—can barely afford rent in many markets. The promise that low pay is simply “part of the journey” is outdated and unfair. A mission is not a paycheck. And more than ever, people know their worth.
The pay gap inside stations also matters. Anchors may be the faces viewers know, but the producers feeding the show are the ones struggling. Engineers who keep stations legal and on the air can often double their salary by stepping outside broadcasting. Creative teams are routinely asked to deliver entire campaigns on shoestring budgets. Too often, the loudest praise from corporate comes with no meaningful raise attached. That disconnect chips away at morale.
Then there’s consolidation—the elephant in every newsroom. When station groups become bigger and more centralized, local identity gets diluted. Decisions that once reflected community knowledge now come from people hundreds of miles away. Newsrooms that once thrived on local instincts find themselves following corporate playbooks instead. And when the people on your own newsroom floor feel sidelined by group-mandated strategies, it’s hard to feel ownership in the work anymore.
Automation, while necessary, accelerated some of these issues. The idea that systems like ELC, Ignite, or Overdrive would “empower” the remaining staff sounds good in a boardroom. But in practice, it often leaves one director responsible for executing what used to be handled by an entire crew—and if anything fails, the blame sits squarely on one pair of shoulders. That takes a toll. Technology should support people, not replace their sense of teamwork.
On top of that, the competitive landscape has shifted faster than leadership can adapt. A generation ago, local news was the primary source of community information. Today, everything is fragmented. TikTok, YouTube, independent digital outlets, podcasts, Twitter/X, and streaming platforms have chipped away at the monopoly local stations once held. Ratings reflect that. Under pressure, stations chase “viral” stories because they track well online. But journalists don’t enter this field to chase shock value. They want to tell stories that matter. When your work becomes dictated by algorithms, it’s easy to lose your passion.
The result of all these pressures is a talent pipeline that flows in the wrong direction. Producers go into corporate communications. Photographers go freelance and make more with better schedules. Reporters pivot to public relations or government roles where the hours are predictable and the pay is better. Editors leave for creative agencies. Digital journalists transition to tech. And engineers—possibly the biggest crisis of all—are nearly impossible to replace.
Engineering is the backbone of any station. Without RF specialists, transmission experts, IT engineers, and systems operators, you don’t have a broadcast. Yet the pool of people who understand hybrid analog/digital environments is shrinking. Colleges aren’t training them. Many stations aren’t retaining them. And younger engineers can earn far more by stepping outside broadcasting. Every time one leaves, the station loses knowledge that can’t easily be replaced.
And it’s not just the technical side. When seasoned journalists or producers leave, newsrooms lose history, mentorship, and standards. When photographers leave, storytelling suffers. When directors leave, newscasts become less resilient. When creative staff leave, branding weakens. When anchors leave, viewer loyalty erodes. These departures compound across departments and weaken stations from the inside.
Another key factor behind the exodus is the shrinking ladder of opportunity. Consolidation eliminated many middle-management roles. The path upward is narrower than ever. Promotions are infrequent. Raises are incremental. Some of the most dedicated workers in the building hit a ceiling early with no clear way to advance. Ambitious professionals eventually realize they’re waiting for opportunities that simply don’t exist.
Work-life balance—long dismissed as “not part of the news business”—is no longer something people are willing to sacrifice endlessly. Early mornings, late nights, rotating schedules, missed holidays, canceled plans, on-call weekends, emergency call-ins, and breaking-news disruptions are staples of the job. But after a while, they take something from you. People with families, caregiving responsibilities, or even basic personal needs find the schedule demands unsustainable.
The new generation entering the workforce views employment differently than those who came before. They value transparency, support, mental health, time off, predictable schedules, and workplaces where communication flows both ways. Broadcasting has been slow to shift culturally, and it shows. Younger employees want to feel valued—not just as workers, but as people. When they don’t get that, they walk.
Another undeniable factor: the emotional toll of the stories themselves. Local journalists witness trauma constantly—violence, fires, fatal crashes, tragedies, and human suffering. They carry those images with them. Over time, it’s heavy. Without strong newsroom support systems, the emotional weight becomes yet another reason to leave.
The truth is, people aren’t leaving because they don’t care. They’re leaving because they care so much that staying in a system that no longer supports them becomes too difficult. They’re leaving because the passion they brought into this industry was slowly eroded by the realities of the job. They’re leaving because they want stability, growth, respect, and the ability to have a life outside the newsroom.
But despite everything, I still believe in this business. I still believe in the mission of local television: service, connection, community, accountability, and truth. The people who remain aren’t staying because they have nowhere else to go. They stay because something about this work still matters to them. Something still feels essential. Something still feels worth fighting for.
But belief alone won’t fix what’s broken. The industry has to change. It must rethink how it treats its people. It must invest in its workforce, not just its equipment. It must pay competitive wages. It must restore local control. It must rebuild teams instead of trimming them. It must create an environment where journalists feel supported, engineers feel valued, and creativity is encouraged rather than squeezed into templates.
Because at the end of the day, the heart of local television has never been technology, or ratings, or corporate strategies. It’s people. The people who stay late to fix a graphic. The people who get up at 2 a.m. for morning show prep. The people who stand in the cold for live shots. The people who direct shows with precision. The people who edit stories on impossible deadlines. The people who keep the transmitters humming. The people who care enough to try again tomorrow, even after a rough today.
If the industry wants to stop the bleed, it has to remember that.
People aren’t leaving because local TV stopped being important. They’re leaving because local TV stopped being sustainable.
And unless something changes, the exits will continue—one talented, passionate person at a time.
That’s my take.
Why are so many people walking away from an industry once defined by loyalty and longevity? In my view, the answer isn’t simple, but it is unmistakable: local TV no longer looks like the business many of us signed up for. The job changed, the expectations changed, the economics changed, and in many places, the culture changed. When the ground moves under you long enough, eventually you stop trying to balance and start looking for a place that feels steady.
Let’s start with the obvious: burnout. Not the buzzword version—real burnout that affects sleep, health, focus, and emotional well-being. I’ve seen producers responsible for twice as many shows as before, but with half the staff. Reporters tasked with shooting, writing, editing, posting, livestreaming, and updating multiple platforms in a single shift. Directors who used to work with full teams now isolated in control rooms running automation systems that consolidate multiple jobs into one. Engineers stretched so thin they’re effectively responsible for systems once handled by entire departments.
All of that is happening while wages remain stuck in place. Few industries demand as much while offering as little in return financially. Young journalists—bright, ambitious professionals who should be the future of local news—can barely afford rent in many markets. The promise that low pay is simply “part of the journey” is outdated and unfair. A mission is not a paycheck. And more than ever, people know their worth.
The pay gap inside stations also matters. Anchors may be the faces viewers know, but the producers feeding the show are the ones struggling. Engineers who keep stations legal and on the air can often double their salary by stepping outside broadcasting. Creative teams are routinely asked to deliver entire campaigns on shoestring budgets. Too often, the loudest praise from corporate comes with no meaningful raise attached. That disconnect chips away at morale.
Then there’s consolidation—the elephant in every newsroom. When station groups become bigger and more centralized, local identity gets diluted. Decisions that once reflected community knowledge now come from people hundreds of miles away. Newsrooms that once thrived on local instincts find themselves following corporate playbooks instead. And when the people on your own newsroom floor feel sidelined by group-mandated strategies, it’s hard to feel ownership in the work anymore.
Automation, while necessary, accelerated some of these issues. The idea that systems like ELC, Ignite, or Overdrive would “empower” the remaining staff sounds good in a boardroom. But in practice, it often leaves one director responsible for executing what used to be handled by an entire crew—and if anything fails, the blame sits squarely on one pair of shoulders. That takes a toll. Technology should support people, not replace their sense of teamwork.
On top of that, the competitive landscape has shifted faster than leadership can adapt. A generation ago, local news was the primary source of community information. Today, everything is fragmented. TikTok, YouTube, independent digital outlets, podcasts, Twitter/X, and streaming platforms have chipped away at the monopoly local stations once held. Ratings reflect that. Under pressure, stations chase “viral” stories because they track well online. But journalists don’t enter this field to chase shock value. They want to tell stories that matter. When your work becomes dictated by algorithms, it’s easy to lose your passion.
The result of all these pressures is a talent pipeline that flows in the wrong direction. Producers go into corporate communications. Photographers go freelance and make more with better schedules. Reporters pivot to public relations or government roles where the hours are predictable and the pay is better. Editors leave for creative agencies. Digital journalists transition to tech. And engineers—possibly the biggest crisis of all—are nearly impossible to replace.
And it’s not just the technical side. When seasoned journalists or producers leave, newsrooms lose history, mentorship, and standards. When photographers leave, storytelling suffers. When directors leave, newscasts become less resilient. When creative staff leave, branding weakens. When anchors leave, viewer loyalty erodes. These departures compound across departments and weaken stations from the inside.
Another key factor behind the exodus is the shrinking ladder of opportunity. Consolidation eliminated many middle-management roles. The path upward is narrower than ever. Promotions are infrequent. Raises are incremental. Some of the most dedicated workers in the building hit a ceiling early with no clear way to advance. Ambitious professionals eventually realize they’re waiting for opportunities that simply don’t exist.
Work-life balance—long dismissed as “not part of the news business”—is no longer something people are willing to sacrifice endlessly. Early mornings, late nights, rotating schedules, missed holidays, canceled plans, on-call weekends, emergency call-ins, and breaking-news disruptions are staples of the job. But after a while, they take something from you. People with families, caregiving responsibilities, or even basic personal needs find the schedule demands unsustainable.
The new generation entering the workforce views employment differently than those who came before. They value transparency, support, mental health, time off, predictable schedules, and workplaces where communication flows both ways. Broadcasting has been slow to shift culturally, and it shows. Younger employees want to feel valued—not just as workers, but as people. When they don’t get that, they walk.
Another undeniable factor: the emotional toll of the stories themselves. Local journalists witness trauma constantly—violence, fires, fatal crashes, tragedies, and human suffering. They carry those images with them. Over time, it’s heavy. Without strong newsroom support systems, the emotional weight becomes yet another reason to leave.
The truth is, people aren’t leaving because they don’t care. They’re leaving because they care so much that staying in a system that no longer supports them becomes too difficult. They’re leaving because the passion they brought into this industry was slowly eroded by the realities of the job. They’re leaving because they want stability, growth, respect, and the ability to have a life outside the newsroom.
But despite everything, I still believe in this business. I still believe in the mission of local television: service, connection, community, accountability, and truth. The people who remain aren’t staying because they have nowhere else to go. They stay because something about this work still matters to them. Something still feels essential. Something still feels worth fighting for.
But belief alone won’t fix what’s broken. The industry has to change. It must rethink how it treats its people. It must invest in its workforce, not just its equipment. It must pay competitive wages. It must restore local control. It must rebuild teams instead of trimming them. It must create an environment where journalists feel supported, engineers feel valued, and creativity is encouraged rather than squeezed into templates.
Because at the end of the day, the heart of local television has never been technology, or ratings, or corporate strategies. It’s people. The people who stay late to fix a graphic. The people who get up at 2 a.m. for morning show prep. The people who stand in the cold for live shots. The people who direct shows with precision. The people who edit stories on impossible deadlines. The people who keep the transmitters humming. The people who care enough to try again tomorrow, even after a rough today.
If the industry wants to stop the bleed, it has to remember that.
People aren’t leaving because local TV stopped being important. They’re leaving because local TV stopped being sustainable.
And unless something changes, the exits will continue—one talented, passionate person at a time.
That’s my take.
**EDITOR NOTE: "Frank's Take" articles are the expressed written opinions of the blogger and not necessarily those of WKYC-TV or TEGNA Media.