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The March 24, 2021 edition of neighborhood newspaper Northeast News, out of Kansas City, Missouri, contained a surprise for its 9,000 subscribers. Where the front-page news should have been, there was a big, blank white space. This was no printer’s error, but a last-ditch cry for help. After 89 years in operation, had found itself on the brink of insolvency due to the loss of key advertisers amid the COVID pandemic. The empty front page was designed to remind the community of what it would lose if its only local paper went under.

The gambit went viral, prompting a flood of online donations that is keeping the paper afloat, for now. Ironically, Northeast News owes its existence to the very force that has fueled the more general decline of local journalism in America—the internet.

As advertiser dollars migrated to Facebook and Google, the business model that supported local newspapers for generations came to the edge of collapse. —around one-quarter of the total. Overall newspaper circulation has declined by more than half since 1990.

To be sure, digital alternatives have rushed in to fill the gap, such as citizen-journalist websites, nonprofit news organs, partisan blogs, etc. So, the question represented by the blank front page of Northeast News resonates: What do communities lose when newspapers fold that online journalism startups haven’t (so far, at least) been able to replace?

In the past, industry observers and researchers have linked community newspaper closure to diminished civic trust and political participation, among other negative effects. New research from , the Maximus Corporate Partner Professor of Business at the at ����AV, builds on this discourse, finding evidence that when local papers topple, political corruption springs up in their wake.

Greenwood’s paper, coauthored by Ted Matherly of Tulane University, was published in .

The researchers focused on U.S. federal districts that lost a major daily newspaper during the years 1996 to 2019. They compared the number of corruption charges (bribery, embezzlement, fraud, etc.), defendants, and cases filed in district court before and after the newspaper closure. The results were striking: Overall, the disappearance of a newspaper delivered a 6.9% increase in charges, a 6.8% increase in the number of indicted defendants and a 7.4% increase in cases filed.

“We looked at federal charges for three reasons. First, the overwhelming amount of statutory enforcement occurs federally. Second, it gives us a uniform definition of what constitutes corruption across every domestic jurisdiction. Finally, and most importantly, federal conviction rates are over 90%,” Greenwood says. “They don’t charge people unless they have a good-faith belief they will prevail at trial.”

Moreover, post-newspaper corruption cases were more likely to go to trial as opposed to resolving in a plea deal, thus incurring greater public costs.

Greenwood and Matherly also examined whether digital-era upstarts were adequate substitutes for newspapers, in terms of curtailing corruption. They tracked 352 such websites, and found they had no impact on the number of charges, defendants or cases in the districts concerned.��

“While it’s hard to say precisely why we don’t see an effect from online news, there are several candidate explanations. Not only do citizen journalists lack the standing and training to tackle questions of public corruption and elevate discourse in the public square, but many of these sites aren’t even legitimate news vendors,” says Greenwood, referencing what are commonly referred to as “pink slime websites.”

Greenwood goes on to suggest that the corruption-preventing power of the defunct papers came not necessarily from journalistic acumen, but rather from the ability to elevate the actions bad actors had taken in public discourse, a process journalism researchers refer to as agenda setting.��

Whatever the cause, the ramifications for society are very real. In the Northern District of Illinois alone, corruption-related cases involving more than 1,700 officials cost taxpayers a staggering $550 million per year from 1976 to 2012. The coffers of communities that lose newspapers may suffer more than most, since these cases tend to end up in expensive courtroom proceedings rather than plea deals.

Further, the study only looks at corrupt officials who got caught. Presumably, there are many more whose corruption went unpunished.

All told, these findings suggest that community newspapers should not be regarded as just another business model ill-adapted to digital disruption that should be allowed to fail. Their demise comes at significant public cost, financial and otherwise. “In an age of misinformation, the solution is not rejecting the professional press, it is embracing it, and ensuring that well-trained and hard-working men and women have both the ability and venue to hold those in power to account,” Greenwood says.

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