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As goes CBS Radio News, so goes the idea that news media should serve the public interest

Former CBS President William S. Paley, left, who once called broadcasting 'an instrument of American democracy,' speaks on his radio network in 1934. Bettmann/Getty Images

When CBS Radio News goes silent on May 22, 2026, Americans will lose access to news programming they’ve tuned into from their living rooms, kitchens and cars for nearly a century.

The once-bipartisan idea that the nation’s media should exist to serve democracy continues to fade with it, too.

As a media historian, I think the story of CBS Radio News’ rise and fall cannot be told without telling another parallel story: the story of how the U.S. stopped demanding that media serve the public interest.

When CBS was born in 1927, radio was ascendant, and this new form of mass communication was spurring vibrant discussions about how media could better serve democracy.

Americans had already seen how concentrated wealth during the Gilded Age had tilted the news ecosystem by overemphasizing the concerns of the rich while glossing over inequality, graft and corruption. World War I further demonstrated the power of mass media to shape public opinion through propaganda, reinforcing calls for democratic oversight of broadcasting.

Just how to regulate radio was up for debate. But there was broad consensus across party lines that government could play a role in protecting the public from concentrated media power and, with it, foreign misinformation, bad-faith special interest messaging or fraudulent advertising.

The formative years

CBS radio traces its origins to the United Independent Broadcasters, a network of 16 local stations founded by music manager Arthur L. Judson. When Columbia Records bought a stake, it was renamed the Columbia Phonographic Broadcasting System.

Early broadcasts simply involved announcers reading short breaking-news dispatches distributed by the United Press wire service. Within months, Columbia sold its share to investors including William S. Paley, who streamlined the name to CBS.

Paley was no public media crusader. He was a businessman who wanted radio to turn a profit. But his management reflected a belief that radio could serve two masters: the public interest and advertisers.

He hired journalist Paul J. White to run the news division and created a regular news segment called “Something for Everyone.”

Though they differed on how best to achieve it, Democrats and Republicans agreed that radio ought to serve the public interest. In other words, because the airwaves belonged to all Americans, broadcasters had obligations beyond profit. They needed to provide reliable information, platform diverse viewpoints and cover matters of public concern.

A drawing of a sinister-looking man smoking a cigar and wearing a top hat looms over the word 'RADIO.'
A cartoon from the March 22, 1924, edition of The Literary Digest reflects the fear that radio would be subsumed by corporate interests. Internet Archive

In the 1920s, then-Secretary of Commerce Herbert Hoover was charged with formulating federal radio policy. Though he was a staunch, pro-business conservative, Hoover was also an engineer who thought that the radio system should be “free of monopoly” and, like any machine, could be gradually improved so it would better serve democracy.

“The ether is a public medium, and its use must be for the public benefit,” he said in November 1925.

Republican President Calvin Coolidge signed the Radio Act of 1927 into law. Passed with overwhelming support, it required radio stations to demonstrate a commitment to “public interest, convenience and necessity” in order to receive a license.

Forging the public’s trust

By the time the 1934 Communications Act created the Federal Communications Commission, a regulatory agency tasked with licensing broadcasters and enforcing ownership rules, the idea that radio should serve the public had been normalized.

In 1935, Paley made Edward R. Murrow – the man most associated with CBS Radio’s public service mission – head of news programming.

With fascism threatening democracy across Europe, Murrow launched “World News Roundup” in 1938. The longest-running news program in American media, it featured live reports transmitted by shortwave from locations around the world. American audiences huddled around their radios nightly to hear CBS’ reports, which showed how live news could unite a nation and cultivate a richer information ecosystem than the uniform propaganda of Europe’s fascist strongmen.

CBS’ gripping coverage of World War II solidified its importance as an American institution. Murrow’s signature tag lines – “this is London” and, later, “good night and good luck” – helped forge the public’s trust in CBS’ reliable and informative programming.

The dangers of delusion and amusement

After the war, television challenged radio’s dominance. Paley understood that Murrow had built a deep trust among listeners, and he put him in charge of CBS News as the network expanded its programming to TV.

In a 1954 broadcast, CBS News anchor Edward Murrow famously framed Wisconsin Sen. Joseph McCarthy’s anti-communist investigations as antidemocratic.

Yet Murrow grew uneasy with shifts in the network’s coverage, which, in his view, increasingly served the economic interests of its owners.

Speaking to the Radio Television News Directors Association in 1958, Murrow lamented how radio and television had forgotten “to operate in the public interest.” He worried that “we have currently a built-in allergy to unpleasant or disturbing information” and saw mass media increasingly “being used to distract, delude, amuse and insulate us.”

Without serious reporting and civic responsibility as their animating principles, radio and television were losing their democratic utility, becoming mere “wires and lights in a box.”

Corporations gain the upper hand

Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, many of the rules dating from when CBS Radio News was born, like ownership restrictions and requirements for educational programming, remained on the books.

But during this period, media companies started spending enormous sums of money on donations to legislators who could do their bidding – and capturing the regulatory bodies that were supposed to be holding them accountable. The spirited debates about how radio could better serve democracy largely disappeared. Instead, the conversation shifted to whether government should have any role at all in regulating the media.

Principles that once had broad public support – producing public interest news as a quid pro quo for licensing, limits on foreign ownership and fairness rules that required stations to give equal time to both sides of an issue – faded away.

Any societal obligation outside of earning profit started being described as a threat to the American way of life. Those arguing that media should be regulated like a public utility in a pluralistic democracy were effectively ignored.

After President Bill Clinton signed the 1996 Telecommunication Act, critics argued that industry lobbying had helped dismantle much of the public interest framework that had long governed American broadcasting. The legislation relaxed ownership caps and cross-ownership rules, allowing a small number of large corporations to acquire far more stations and weakening the older public interest obligations tied to broadcast licensing.

Before the act, corporations were limited to owning 40 radio stations. Now, conglomerates like iHeartMedia and Audacy can own thousands.

‘The tube is flickering’

Through it all, CBS Radio News’ top-of-the-hour bulletins remained on the air, a reminder of its original public mission.

Yet increasingly, the deregulated radio ecosystem failed to perform that function.

Back in the 1920s, you could hear editorials arguing that the radio should not be given over to “propagandists, religious zealots and unprincipled persons to grind their own axes.” By the early 2000s, divisive shock jocks and hosts feeding on partisan anger dominated the radio dial.

In a 1938 radio address on CBS’ ethical commitments, Paley argued that “broadcasting as an instrument of American democracy must forever be wholly, honestly and militantly non-partisan.” By 2016, CEO Les Moonves defended CBS’ decision to increase its coverage of President Donald Trump’s spectacularly divisive politics to juice ratings: “It may not be good for America, but it’s damn good for CBS.” Four years later, Trump awarded one of radio’s most polarizing partisan propagandists, Rush Limbaugh, the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

In his second term, Trump has abused his power over the media ecosystem. In 2025, the Trump administration’s FCC approved the merger of Paramount Global, the parent company of CBS, with Skydance Media. But it only did so after Paramount Global settled a lawsuit Trump had filed against CBS for $16 million.

Though many talented journalists and producers remain, CBS News’ recently hired editor-in-chief, Bari Weiss, has worked to make the network more friendly to the Trump administration. She temporarily shelved a “60 Minutes” segment critical of Trump’s use of El Salvador’s CECOT prison and promoted a friendly town hall with conservative commentator Erika Kirk, the widow of assassinated political activist Charlie Kirk. Ratings at the network have collapsed.

Though Paramount Skydance is using its enormous debt load to justify taking CBS Radio News off the air, the conglomerate is trying to purchase CNN’s parent company, Warner Bros. Discovery, in a move that would only further the monopolization of the news media.

Americans can’t say Murrow didn’t warn them.

“The tube is flickering,” he said in 1958. And unless Americans reclaim their right to information not colored by profit motive and special interests, “we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost.”

The Conversation

Matthew Jordan does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

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Pope Leo XIV compares AI to the Industrial Revolution – as new alternatives to big AI firms take shape

Pope Leo XIV attends the presentation of his first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas, at the Vatican on May 25, 2026. AP Photo/Alessandra Tarantino

With the release of his encyclical letter Magnifica Humanitas on May 25, 2026, Pope Leo XIV has signaled that he wants the church to respond to artificial intelligence much as a predecessor, Pope Leo XIII, responded to upheavals during the Industrial Revolution over a century ago.

Since the first act of his papacy – choosing his name – the current pope has repeatedly invoked the earlier Leo’s 1891 encyclical Rerum Novarum. That document, which waded into the political and economic debates of the time, denounced the excesses of the Gilded Age and pointed toward a more just social order. Now, Leo XIV has used his first major statement to the world to present a new Rerum Novarum for the age of AI.

Rerum Novarum was more than just a theological text. It helped reshape economic policy around the rights of workers, serving as a spiritual foundation for European social democracy and the 1930s New Deal programs that still undergird economic life for working Americans today. It also spurred a movement of entrepreneurs to transform the economic system from within.

Understanding its influence is key to seeing the potential of Leo XIV’s encyclical.

From guilds to cooperatives in the industrial era

In his time, Leo XIII rejected both unfettered capitalism and revolutionary socialism. He invoked the medieval guilds, in which craftspeople self-organized, and asserted the rights of industrial workers to organize as well. This was a radical statement at a time when unions often faced violent suppression from employers and police.

But in contrast to communist agitators, he didn’t want to do away with private property. He argued that to bring out the best in human beings, as creatures made in the image of God, governments should “induce as many as possible of the people to become owners.”

A half-length portrait of a man in papal robes.
Pope Leo XIII. Francesco De Federicis (1853–1908) via Wikimedia Commons

This was more of a vision than a detailed plan, but Catholics in many countries started trying to figure out what the vision meant in practice.

The English writers G.K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc, for instance, tried to systematize his vision in a movement they called “distributism,” which proposed policies for land redistribution and a revival of guilds. In the United States, economist and Catholic priest John A. Ryan argued in favor of cooperatives – businesses that could be co-owned by workers, consumers or small-business owners.

Ryan went on to be an important adviser for the New Deal in the United States, which used cooperatives as a powerful tool for economic development through farmer co-ops, rural electric associations and the credit union system.

The spirit of Rerum Novarum continued to spread. Starting in the 1950s, the largest network of worker cooperatives in the world, the Mondragon Corporation in Spain’s Basque region, was founded by a Catholic priest. It was a direct result of Leo XIII’s encyclical.

My own career has been in its shadow. As a media scholar and a Roman Catholic – and an advocate for efforts to build cooperative tech platforms – I sometimes think of my own work as applying Rerum Novarum to the online economy. With Magnifica Humanitas, the pope appears to be making a similar argument for the age of artificial intelligence.

A tale of 2 cities

Once again, society is going through an economic upheaval: New technologies are changing the nature of work, political systems are under strain, and wealth inequality is staggering. In Magnifica Humanitas, Leo XIV argues that an intervention akin to Rerum Novarum is needed.

A person holds copies of a document titled Magnifica Humanitas.
Copies of Leo XIV’s first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas, were distributed at the Vatican on May 25, 2026. AP Photo/Alessandra Tarantino

The guiding metaphor of Magnifica Humanitas is the choice between two biblical scenes: the Tower of Babel and the rebuilding of Jerusalem under the prophet Nehemiah.

The first is a story about the dream of a city that sets out to erect a single building as high as the heavens. Babel, as Leo XIV writes in the encyclical, is a city “built on pride and the claim to self-sufficiency.” In the biblical account, the project collapses as the world’s common language is scattered into many diverse ones.

The pope contrasts this with the story of the Hebrew prophet Nehemiah, who lived in the fifth century B.C.E., when Jews were returning from exile to a ruined Jerusalem. Nehemiah organized the city’s rebuilding through a collaborative process based on shared responsibility. While united in prayer, the city’s various families and professions could each put their distinctive marks on their work.

The current AI industry, he argues, is in danger of becoming a new Tower of Babel. Just a few companies control this powerful technology supposedly poised to transform work, politics and society for everyone.

He warns that many AI leaders are enthused by ideologies that propose to trade human limits for the godlike powers of machines. Some are even cheerfully embracing a world where human labor is no longer central to the economy. Leo also fears that human choice is becoming more removed from the execution of war.

In the face of all this, the encyclical calls on people everywhere to adopt “the pressing duty to remain profoundly human” – to be neither “spectators” nor “commentators” but to take an active role by participating in what he calls “the construction sites of history.” Some already are.

Construction sites for a different kind of AI

A female worker stands in front of AI-powered robotic arms in an automated factory.
A few large AI companies dominate the technology and decide how people can use it, but alternative models are beginning to emerge. greenbutterfly/iStock/Getty Images Plus

It is easy to see the emerging AI industry in Babel-like terms – a few massive tech companies build the models and provide access to them on their terms. But other paths are still possible. My colleagues and I have been documenting cases that could be the germ of a different kind of AI industry – one more aligned with what the pope is calling for.

Just as during the Industrial Revolution, a more just future begins with workers resisting against the abuses of the present. From Hollywood to Nairobi, workers have been fighting for dignity as AI changes their professions. Magnifica Humanitas stresses the importance of decent jobs to a healthy society, and workers’ demands can help identify what the future of work should look like.

Other approaches begin among AI developers themselves. In Switzerland, a collaboration between government and academia has produced Apertus, a foundational model based on fully documented designs and data sources – a far cry from the opaque and at times illegal practices of leading AI companies. Some of Apertus’ developers have created a consumer cooperative, enabling users to co-own their interface with the model.

Cooperative ownership like this allows users to tune AI experiences more intentionally toward their needs. The large U.S. farmer co-op Land O’Lakes, for example, has created AI-enabled tools that provide analysis and guidance for its members based on the data that they collectively co-own. The more nascent Transkribus in Europe is co-owned by research institutions that collectively train their AI software to transcribe texts for historical research. These kinds of systems follow Leo XIV’s call to “manage data as a common or shared good.”

It is telling that even among leading AI companies such as OpenAI and Anthropic, the founders attempted to build unusual corporate governance structures to insulate their products from profit motives. Governments could encourage more appropriate ownership designs or outright require them for high-risk industries like AI.

If Rerum Novarum is any guide, the impact of Magnifica Humanitas will depend on the creative entrepreneurship and policy experiments to put it into practice – and this work has already begun.

The Conversation

Nathan Schneider and his lab receive financial support from various funders, most recently the Siegel Family Endowment. He chairs the board of Metagov, an organization whose work informed this article, and he has interacted with several of the entities discussed here.

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