TV journalist and broadcaster Karl Stefanovic cast his departure from Nine’s Today Show as a win for “free speech”, a framing the world’s richest man Elon Musk endorsed with “wow”, to millions on X.
But this is not a story about free speech or censorship. It is about journalism and influence. Stefanovic represents a high-profile example of journalistic laundering: the transfer of journalism’s hard-earned credibility into a rapidly growing alternative media sphere.
If Cory Doctorow’s term “enshittification” describes the degradation of digital platforms, journalism laundering describes the repurposing of journalistic credibility in ecosystems where attention, not editorial standards, is the primary currency.
Journalism without guardrails
Journalists earn public trust by working within a profession governed by editorial oversight, ethical codes, factchecking and accountability.
While journalism is not perfect, as ABC’s Media Watch highlights each week, alternative media has no equivalent obligations. Its hosts are free to advocate, speculate, campaign and provoke without having to meet journalistic standards.
Alternative media is typically defined by its opposition to mainstream journalism and traditional media’s norms of accountability, including in its use of podcasts and social media.
There is nothing inherently wrong with this. Opinion and political advocacy have a place. Podcasts too. But as Nine management decided last week, you cannot have your cake and eat it.
Stefanovic’s appeal to audiences over the first seven months of the Karl Stefanovic Podcast, published across YouTube, Spotify and Apple Podcasts, fits an alternative media paradigm. It taps into rising populist sentiment across the globe, including Stefanovic’s platforming of the political far right.
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Without Nine’s shackles, Karl Stefanovic is free to become a culture warrior hero
Introducing the podcast, Stefanovic highlighted that it would be “unscripted, it’s unfiltered, uncensored”. He promoted a subsequent episode by emphasising that “mainstream media would never do this interview, they’re too soft”.
It is therefore ironic that so far Stefanovic’s podcast largely lacks the probing questioning that defined his television career, including his scrutiny of political leaders like Scott Morrison during the bushfires and Anthony Albanese on cost-of-living pressures.
As a broadcast journalist, Stefanovic rejected on-air political allegiances. For more than 20 years he was one of Australia’s most recognisable television journalists, winning journalism excellence awards including for his reporting on the tragic Childers backpacker hostel fire.
Millions of Australians invited him into their homes every morning. Whether audiences realise it or not, that history lends authority to whatever he says next.
Signalling allegiance
Professional journalists voluntarily accept limits on what they publish, not because they are censorial, but because accuracy, fairness, verification and impartiality are the guardrails that distinguish journalism from advocacy. Those obligations exist precisely because journalists wield influence in society.
Given these democratic guardrails, Nine had no choice but to sever ties. In a staff email, Nine’s Director of News and Current Affairs, Fiona Dear, pointed to the heart of the problem:
As journalists, we play a critical role in society to question, challenge, and hold people to account regardless of where they come from or which political party or views they represent […] we have a rich history of interviewing controversial figures, and journalists have an obligation to ask difficult questions.
Stefanovic’s praise for Robinson as showing “tenacity” and “courage” is revealing. So too are declarations like “God, I love ya”, which would sit uneasily with basic expectations of journalistic independence.
These are not the words of a journalist. They are the words of a political commentator signalling allegiance.
Bad for democracy
That distinction for democracy.
Research shows voters use trusted public figures as cues when forming political opinions.
Stefanovic’s influence did not disappear the day he left commercial television. Clips from his podcast will circulate widely across TikTok, Instagram and X, reaching audiences far beyond his subscribers through algorithmic amplification.
Unlike his years in mainstream journalism, there is no editor demanding evidence, balance or correction before those views reach millions. This is why Stefanovic’s move deserves scrutiny.
At a time when trust in Australian media is low, misinformation is widespread and support for major parties is falling, our democratic systems are fragile. More than ever, democratic accountability depends on trusted figures holding power to account, not yielding to political playbooks of fear and outrage.
In particular, as younger Australians shy away from mainstream media – more than a quarter do not watch TV news and most have never read a newspaper – online influencers are growing political power.
Read more:
How younger Australians are reshaping the future of news
US podcaster Joe Rogan, for instance, has more than 20 million YouTube subscribers and used them to influence political discourse during the 2024 US election.
Podcasting is big business, with more than 11% of global audiences using podcasts for news. In Australia, that rate is more than 5% above the global average.
Its appeal lies in its intimate, conversational style. This is well suited to outrage-driven, grievance politics from both the extreme left and right that can undermine democratic institutions.
With 150,000 subscribers and an average viewership on YouTube of 40,000, it is too early to tell whether Stefanovic’s venture will be as lucrative or as influential as US counterparts.
It is not too early to say that Australian media faces pressure from a growing alternative ecosystem that monetises controversial politics for audience clicks.
That’s a bad trade for journalism, and an even worse one for public debate.
