Walk down Pitt Street in Cornwall on a Saturday and you’ll see the subtle fingerprints of local journalism everywhere. A sandwich board outside a downtown café announces a fundraiser you first read about in The Seeker. Posters in shop windows echo headlines from a local columnist. A passing neighbour mentions a council decision they wouldn’t have known without a hometown reporter digging through the meeting minutes.
This is the heartbeat of small-town journalism—less about chasing the big scoops, more about chronicling the daily life of a community, reinforcing its shared story, and in many ways, building the very fabric of civic identity.
But as local papers across Canada face closures, cutbacks, or consolidation into giant corporate networks that care more about ad dollars than local nuance, it’s fair to ask: what happens to small communities when their newspapers go dark?
A mirror that helps us see ourselves
Small-town papers like The Seeker in Cornwall, Ontario, do more than report facts. They reflect who we are back to ourselves. They give us permission to celebrate a high school robotics team, to cheer a local author’s book launch, to publicly mourn a beloved teacher. They remind us that our neighbours are artists, volunteers, entrepreneurs, or simply folks trying to make ends meet.
Local journalism also reinforces a shared sense of place. Reading about Cornwall or South Stormont or Akwesasne in your own backyard is different from skimming a Toronto Star piece that barely mentions rural Ontario. It validates the idea that your stories matter—no matter how small they might seem.
As noted by the Canadian Association of Journalists, community newspapers help residents stay informed on everything from zoning changes to crime rates to local sports. Without them, we lose a critical piece of civic glue.
Holding local power accountable
It’s easy to forget that small-town councils, school boards, and public bodies still wield serious power. They make decisions that affect property taxes, library hours, environmental protections, and local healthcare funding.
Who is sitting through these often-boring meetings so the rest of us don’t have to? In many communities, it’s the local journalist, notebook in hand. They’re the watchdogs. Without them, small abuses of power can flourish.
A 2023 Ryerson University report mapped out Canada’s growing “news deserts”—places with no dedicated local coverage. It found that when local reporting dries up, voter turnout drops, corruption risk rises, and residents become more vulnerable to misinformation on social media.
It’s the same story across the U.S. and U.K. In fact, research from the University of Notre Dame and the University of Illinois found that when local newspapers shut down, municipal borrowing costs go up, because investors worry there’s less oversight. In other words, local news literally protects your tax dollars.
It’s not just about the bad news
Local journalism is often portrayed as a watchdog—and it absolutely is. But it’s also the cheerleader, the historian, the scrapbook keeper. It’s where you find photos of Little League champions, profiles on new restaurant owners, or an 80th birthday shout-out for someone’s grandmother.
This matters. In small towns, people want to see themselves in the paper, to feel part of something bigger. That sense of community pride can help attract new residents, boost tourism, and even encourage youth to stick around instead of fleeing for the big city.
The Seeker’s typical stories—a local chef’s new menu, upcoming art workshops, or even the quirky pet of the week—are exactly the kind of pieces that stitch a community closer together. Lose that, and the social fabric starts to fray.
The slow fade: what we risk losing
When a town loses its newspaper—or it gets hollowed out by layoffs and wire service filler—the decline can feel invisible at first. Events still happen. People still gossip at the coffee shop. But bit by bit, shared information erodes.
Maybe you stop knowing who’s running for council or whether your taxes are about to rise. Maybe your neighbour gets away with clear-cutting protected trees, because no local reporter was there to flag it. Maybe a new mega-development sails through without scrutiny. Or maybe fewer people turn up to support a charity event because they simply didn’t know it was happening.
As University of British Columbia journalism professor Alfred Hermida argues, “When communities lose journalists, they lose more than news. They lose connections, accountability, and the small daily reminders that they belong somewhere.”
The future: hybrid models, community support, and hope
So what can we do about it? Interestingly, small-town journalism is experimenting in ways big outlets can’t. From non-profit ownership models to pay-what-you-can memberships, there are innovative ideas popping up everywhere.
- Local sponsorship: Instead of chasing big national ads, papers like The Seeker often rely on modest sponsorships from local businesses. It keeps the money (and editorial focus) rooted in the community.
- Digital-first approaches: Some small publications now run lean websites updated daily, avoiding the high costs of printing.
- Community foundations: Groups like the Canadian Journalism Foundation and Local Journalism Initiative fund reporters to cover under-served areas.
- Reader-supported models: Direct appeals for reader donations have helped outlets like The Narwhal or The Tyee stay independent. Even local papers are now experimenting with Patreon and small monthly subscriptions.
It’s not easy—trust in media is low, and people have gotten used to “free” news on Facebook (which ironically siphons away the ad dollars that once supported local reporting). But more people are realizing the cost of not paying is much higher in the long run.
So what’s at stake for Cornwall, or any small town?
Without local journalism, the narrative of your town gets written by outsiders—or worse, by nobody at all. Your successes, failures, quirks, and battles fade into a void. Misinformation thrives in the dark. The powerful face fewer questions. And the next generation grows up without ever seeing themselves in a hometown headline.
So next time you see a story from your local paper—whether it’s The Seeker, the Standard-Freeholder, or an indie online newsletter—consider sharing it, subscribing, or even tossing them a few bucks. Because in the end, local journalism doesn’t just report on community identity.
It helps build it.
