In the wake of mass layoffs at Newshub and TVNZ, one question has been on everyone’s lips, and Madeleine Holden set out to answer it the old-fashioned way.

Originally published on March 18; updated April 10.

Following the monumental announcements about proposed job cuts at Newshub and TVNZ last month, all my colleagues started murmuring the same question: how many of us (journalists) are left in the country now?

The trajectory before the current wave of job losses was already pretty dismal. In the 2018 census, for example, the number of people who recorded their profession as newspaper or periodical editor, print journalist, radio journalist or television journalist was 3,381, down from 3,525 in the 2013 census and 4,071 in the 2006 census, and there have been significant layoffs in this perpetually turbulent industry since 2018. But my best guess, based on surrounding reporting, is that around 235 journalism jobs have just been axed at Three/Newshub and TVNZ. It’s an enormous blow to the dwindling number of working journalists in this nation, which is… what?

The latest census data will be released next month, but it will be immediately out of date, given the data was collected in March-June 2023. So I took matters into my own hands and decided to find out the old-fashioned way: by emailing every single media outlet in New Zealand that might reasonably be expected to employ at least one (1) journalist and quite simply asking them how many journalists have jobs at their organisation. 

I know, I know. How could I possibly capture everyone? What seemed like a simple task at the outset turned into an incredibly stressful, stye-inducing quest: deadline looming, I would be tallying up the final number when someone in the office would pipe up with, “What about [obscure local newspaper/niche magazine]?”, sending me hunting frantically for contact details and adding row upon row to the spreadsheet. I have almost certainly forgotten some media outlets that should have been on this list, for which I preemptively apologise. I did, however, give it my absolute best shot to include as many as possible – I really do have a stye to show for this – and I think the data I have gathered is comprehensive and interesting, even if it isn’t perfect.

As for who counts as a “journalist”, I cast the net fairly wide. Careers.govt.nz defines it as a person who “researches and produces stories for websites, print, radio, television and other media”, and that was a good enough working definition for me, so I didn’t limit the list of organisations to hard news outlets and included more “lifestyle”-focused publications like New Zealand Woman’s Weekly, Cuisine and Kia Ora. I did, however, exclude product catalogues (eg Hunting & Fishing), industry and trade publications, and magazines that are primarily advertorials for their owner companies (eg Habitat by Resene). 

The full list, in case you would like to point out any glaring omissions or quibble with my decision, is as follows (NB: titles owned by parent companies are included within that organisation’s count, and the list is in no particular order): The Spinoff, Stuff, NZME, TVNZ, RNZ, Warner Bros Discovery, Sky, Whakaata Māori, Newsroom, NBR, Are Media, Allied Press, Metro, NZ Geographic, Home, HERE, Pacific Media Network, E Tangata, Coconet, Crux, Ashburton Guardian, Greymouth Star, Valley Profile, Waatea News, Gisborne Herald, Beacon Media Group, Wairarapa Times Age, Westport News, Wairoa Star, School Road, Fashion Quarterly, Indian Newslink, Local Matters, BayBuzz, Pantograph Punch, Global HQ/Agri HQ (Farmers Weekly), NZ Classic Car, The Shed, SCG Media, Guardian NZ, Cuisine, Interest.co.nz, Readers Digest, Mindfood, The Motor Caravanner, Oh Baby, NZ Trucking, Motorhomes, Caravans & Destinations, Farm Trader, Lifestyle Magazine Group, Mediaworks, Top South Media, Devonport Flagstaff & Rangitoto Observer, Mahurangi Matters & Hibiscus Matters, Gulf News & Waiheke Weekender, Good Local Media Group, Atiawa Toa FM, Awa FM, Kia Ora FM 89.8, Maniapoto FM, Moana Radio, Ngā Iwi FM, Ngāti Hine FM, Radio Kahungunu, Radio Ngāti Porou, Tainui Live, Tautoko FM, Radio Waatea, Raukawa Vibes, Tahu FM, Te Arawa FM, Te Hiku Media, Te Korimako o Taranaki, Te Ūpoko o Te Ika, Tūmeke FM, Tūranga FM, Tūwharetoa FM, Craccum, Salient, Debate, Canta, Critic, Nexus, 95bFM, Radio One 91FM, Radio Control 99.4FM, RDU 98.5FM, RadioActive 88.6FM, Aukaha Regional News Service.

I asked the above outlets to provide the total number of FTE journalists employed at their organisations, ie permanent employees, not freelancers/contractors, and to include staff like editors and producers who contribute journalistic work. Other than that, the definition of a “journalist” was for the recipient of my email to determine. 

In a heartwarming turn of events, the vast, vast majority of media outlets were responsive to my request and transparent about their numbers. For the small number of organisations that did not respond, I made an educated guess by using the information on their website, LinkedIn sleuthing and texting people who work there.

At this point I already had a very good picture of the overall number of journalists in Aotearoa, but my method left the snag of independent journalists, eg anyone making a living from their Substack newsletter, plus the problem of freelancers. Given the spirit of the inquiry was to get a sense of journalism jobs in New Zealand, I made the decision to only include those Substack journalists I could reasonably guess were making a sustainable living from that work. Based on an internal tool provided by Substack showing the top 10 New Zealand publications, plus a bit of Spinoff inside baseball, I made an educated guess that that number is no more than four, and maybe only one. 

One final disclaimer before I give you the juicy number. In 2020, the introduction of the Public Interest Journalism Fund changed the media landscape considerably. The $55m fund, made available by the government and administered through NZ On Air, created 219 new journalism jobs. The fund is now closed, and while my headcount is based on today’s numbers, it’s worth noting that we can expect a further decline in the total number of journalists as the remaining PIJF roles come to the end of their contracts. According to NZ On Air, of the 219 roles funded by the PIJF, about 200 are still being funded by NZ On Air or by the news organisation. However, several media organisations I spoke to indicated that current PIJF employees on fixed-term contracts would not be having their contracts renewed. 

So without further ado, my best guess, based on the above process, of the number of journalists working in Aotearoa before the job cuts announced today is 1,674.

Following the slashing of jobs at Newshub/Three and TVNZ, that total will be around 1,439 – a decline of almost 15%.

Jehan Casinader, who worked as a reporter for Sunday for eight years, pulls back the curtain on the last current affairs show we may ever see during primetime.

I’d never cried at work before. Maybe it was tiredness, frustration – or an unshakeable sense of failure.

For weeks, I’d been filming a Sunday story about oxycodone, a painkiller that was creating a new generation of addicts. In a grotty Wellington flat, a young man gave us a powerful on-camera interview about his addiction. As we sat on the floor, he injected himself with “oxy”, purchased on the black market. It was a confronting story that needed to be told.

When the editing was almost done, TVNZ’s legal team decided we couldn’t use the footage of the addict – because he was breaking the law. Our most evocative material would be cut out of the story. As a young reporter, I was devastated. I felt like I’d let the team down.

But we still had a deadline to meet. Steve Butler, a veteran producer, helped to salvage the story in the edit room. As I left the building that night, deflated and exhausted, he said: “You know what? Now that I’ve seen you cry, I actually like you more. Because I know that you care.”

On Monday, Steve sent a text. “Ratings are in – 600,000 people watched. Great result.” A wave of relief washed over me. I imagined 12 jam-packed stadiums, each the size of Eden Park. All those people had watched our story at the same time. I didn’t realise I was developing an addiction of my own.

For 22 years, Sunday hosted tears and tantrums; reunions and revelations; confessions and celebrations. Inspired by CBS’s legendary 60 Minutes franchise, the show had “correspondents”, not reporters. In the old days, someone would throw a dart at a world map and try to find a story in that country. A producer told me: “We’d go to Gaza so often that the doorman at the hotel knew our names.” Around the lunch table, I’d hear things like: “Remember when we interviewed Hugh Hefner at the Playboy mansion?”

Within TVNZ, Sunday was known as a fiercely competitive pressure-cooker environment, with a reputation for burning people out. But it was also the home of storytellers I’d grown up in awe of. At 26, I found myself in the same office as Janet McIntyre, the country’s finest TV interviewer, and Miriama Kamo, our most versatile presenter. I knew I had a lot to prove.

Sunday occupied a peculiar slot in the evening TV line-up. The network placed the show straight after Country Calendar. Viewers spent a cheery half-hour watching sheep being shorn or cows being milked – before the Sunday team jolted them awake.

Meth addiction, sexual violence, forced adoption – no topic was off limits. With a personal interest in men’s health, I profiled guys who had experienced bulimia, childhood abuse, porn addiction and depression. I interviewed people grappling with unimaginable loss, like the families of murdered Featherston schoolgirl Coral Burrows and slain Feilding farmer Scott Guy.

While Australian current affairs shows paid big money for blockbuster interviews, Sunday never engaged in “chequebook journalism”. Instead, we’d turn up at someone’s house with a brown bag full of lolly cake from the local bakery – and hope for the best.

Journalism is about searching for gold nuggets in the rubble of other people’s lives. Because of Sunday’s reputation and reach, hundreds trusted us with their precious stories – often taking personal risks to do so.

The beauty of TV current affairs is that, unlike other forms of journalism, it can’t be produced cheaply from behind a desk. You have to get on a plane, and take the audience with you. In Auckland, I watched zookeepers euthanise two ageing lions. In Queensland, I travelled 2km down a coal mine with Pike River survivor Daniel Rockhouse. In California, I visited film director James Cameron’s sprawling ranch. In Colombo, I met Sister Aroha, an elderly nun from North Canterbury who had spent decades caring for Sri Lanka’s orphans. 

On every story, I worked with senior producers and camera operators who cared deeply about their craft. They’d argue over a single word in the script – or the placement of a light – if they believed it would make the story better. Inevitably, it did.

Usually, TV critics only took notice of our hard-hitting stories. But in heartland New Zealand, the audience voted with their remotes. My two highest-rating Sunday stories may surprise you. One was an interview with former Miss Universe Lorraine Downes, after the death of her husband Martin Crowe. The other, a story with former Christchurch mayor Bob Parker, following a devastating stroke.

Stories like these will disappear from our screens in May, if TVNZ follows through with its plan to axe the show. Some say this illustrates the need for more public funding for journalism. But Sunday didn’t need funding. While off-peak programmes like Q&A, The Hui and Newshub Nation rely on NZ On Air – receiving $2.6 million between them for 2024 alone – Sunday paid its own way, through primetime advertising and sponsorship from brands like Kiwibank. TVNZ accepts the show still makes a profit.

The problem, of course, is how to capture an online audience as linear TV enters its twilight years. There’s a popular notion that young people don’t have the attention spans for in-depth storytelling. That’s ridiculous. Yes, they’ve become hooked on snackable content from Instagram and TikTok. But they’re also quite happy to binge 10-hour factual series on Netflix, or listen to 90-minute podcasts.

In 2016, we filmed a Sunday story called “Straight Outta Kawerau”, about an inspiring principal who turned around the struggling Tarawera High School. On free-to-air TV, about 450,000 people watched it. When it was republished on TVNZ’s youth platform Re:News, it clocked up 1.5 million views on Facebook. Re: proved that young people do want to see real life stories from Aotearoa. Now, its team is also being cut back.  

A decade ago, TVNZ’s news bosses promised a “digital current affairs strategy”. It was never written. Journalists kept doing what we’d been told to do: clipping up our stories and sticking them on TVNZ’s website and social media channels for people to watch for free. In hindsight, we were digging our own graves. But no one took away our shovels.

Let’s be clear: journalists don’t need public sympathy. As the late Anthony Bourdain said: “Writing is a privilege and a luxury. Anybody who whines about writer’s block should be forced to clean squid all day.” Many people work longer hours, doing tougher jobs, in sectors that are way more vulnerable to economic pressures. But media aren’t just lamenting the cuts to our industry – we’re alerting New Zealanders to an unprecedented loss of their own culture and heritage.

When a media outlet closes, its content often disappears. When German-owned Bauer Media shut its New Zealand operation during Covid, a website housing the Listener and North & South vanished overnight. Senior writers were shocked to see years of long-form reporting become inaccessible to the public. Eventually, the same will happen to Sunday. Its webpage and social media profiles will quietly be erased. Two decades of stories – costing tens of millions of dollars to produce – will spend eternity in TVNZ’s archives, unable to be reviewed, replayed, discussed or debated.

I left TVNZ in 2020, swapping journalism for public speaking. But I hung on to my swipe card, and kept filing stories. Recently, I finished a 25-minute piece about a young man jailed for murder. It’s a classic Sunday story: intimate, complex and emotionally demanding. On a sunny Auckland afternoon, I stepped out of a windowless sound booth after recording my voiceover. I tossed the 4,000-word script in the bin, not knowing it would be my last.

I used to complain that I missed out on the glory days of TV current affairs. I now realise I was there for the very end of them. 

Jehan Casinader’s final story will air on Sunday at 7.30pm on TVNZ1.