There is a line from Wade Manning that has been rattling around in my head since last week’s Media Freedom Festival in Johannesburg: “The election story belongs to the person standing in the queue, not the person on the ballot.” It is one of those observations that feels obvious the moment you hear it, and yet it cuts straight to the heart of what so much election coverage gets wrong. South Africa’s local government elections are set for 4 November 2026, and as that date creeps closer, we have to ask ourselves a deeply uncomfortable question: are we, as journalists and citizens, actually serving the people who will decide the outcome? Are we telling the stories that matter to the voter waiting in line under the sun, or are we mostly reflecting the ambitions, grudges, and talking points of the politicians who want their vote? The festival, hosted by Moxii Africa at the Goethe-Institut from 14 to 16 October, brought together journalists, researchers, civil society groups and policymakers under the theme “Elections and Accountability: News, Digital Media and Information Integrity.” It was an opportunity to take stock of a media landscape under enormous strain. And what became clear over those three days is that the challenges facing South African journalism are not just technical or economic; they are existential. We are operating in an environment where trust in the news is eroding, where misinformation travels faster than fact, and where the traditional gatekeepers of information no longer hold the audience’s attention the way they once did. If we are honest with ourselves, we will admit that a great deal of election coverage has become a predictable ritual: candidates making promises, rivals attacking each other, analysts offering commentary, and voters appearing only as background extras or as brief emotional reactions to a politician’s speech. That is not enough. Not anymore.
The trust problem is real, and it is impossible to ignore. According to the Reuters Institute’s 2026 Digital News Report, trust in news among South African online audiences has dropped from 61% in 2022 to just 50% this year. Even more troubling, 42% of those surveyed said they sometimes or often avoid the news altogether. Now, to be fair, that particular survey focuses on English-speaking online news users rather than a nationally representative sample, so it does not tell the whole story. But the direction of travel is unmistakable, and it should worry anyone who cares about democracy. Meanwhile, a new generation of digital creators and social media personalities is gaining influence, particularly among younger audiences. People are increasingly choosing to get their information from someone they feel connected to, someone whose voice feels authentic and relatable, rather than from a journalist working for an established news organisation. We can argue until we are blue in the face about whether those creators have the training to verify facts or the ethical standards to handle complex stories. But that argument misses the point. Audiences are voting with their attention, and far too often, they are choosing the person who speaks to them, not the institution that speaks at them. For journalists, this creates a daunting challenge. How do we stay relevant without abandoning the very standards that make journalism different from commentary, campaigning, and content creation? How do we compete with the emotional pull of a popular influencer while still telling the truth, even when the truth is uncomfortable or complicated? The answer cannot be to simply imitate the influencers, to chase clicks and outrage in the hope of winning back an audience. That would be a race to the bottom, and we would lose anyway. The better path is to offer something that the algorithms and the personalities cannot: genuine understanding, context, and a commitment to helping people make sense of the world, not just react to it.
That is where constructive journalism comes in, and it was one of the most thought-provoking ideas to come out of the festival. Ellen Heinrichs, founder and CEO of Germany’s Bonn Institute, led a session called “The Value of Being Human: Constructive Journalism in the Age of AI.” Her argument was simple but powerful: journalism needs to offer something beyond identifying problems and reporting conflict. It should also help audiences understand what can be done about those problems. Now, I know what you might be thinking. Constructive journalism sounds like a euphemism for positive news, a way of avoiding the hard truths and uncomfortable realities that need to be exposed. But that is a misunderstanding. Constructive journalism does not mean ignoring corruption, political failures, or painful realities. It does not mean sugar-coating anything. It means examining possible solutions with the same rigor and skepticism that journalists apply when exposing problems in the first place. The Bonn Institute identifies three key elements: solutions, multiple perspectives, and constructive dialogue. That might sound like an abstract formula, but consider what it could mean in practice ahead of the local government elections. A politician stands up and promises to fix water shortages or improve electricity supply. The standard approach is to report the promise, get a quote from an opponent who says it will never work, and then move on to the next campaign event. But what if we followed the story differently? What if we asked which municipalities have actually succeeded in addressing similar problems, and how they did it? What resources were needed, what leadership looked like, what obstacles had to be overcome, and what is preventing other municipalities from achieving the same results? These stories are harder to report. They require more time, more research, and a willingness to challenge official explanations. But they tell voters far more than another exchange of political barbs. They give people a sense of what is possible and what is not, what to demand from their leaders and how to measure progress. That is the kind of journalism that respects the intelligence of the person standing in the queue.
There is also the question of whose voices we choose to amplify, and here the record of South African media is somewhat mixed. Moxii Africa’s election-monitoring research has consistently shown that political parties and official sources dominate election coverage, while local government issues and the everyday experiences of affected communities receive far less sustained attention. We hear a great deal from party leaders, candidates, and political analysts. We hear much less from the people who are actually dealing with failing municipal services, unemployment, unsafe streets, and broken transport systems. When they do appear, it is often in a limited role, as a soundbite or a reaction shot after a politician has made a promise. That has to change. The person standing in the voting queue has a perspective that is just as valuable as any expert’s, and often more so. They know what it is like to wait for water that never comes, to walk down streets with no lights, to pay for private security because the police are overwhelmed. Their experiences should be central to the coverage, not an afterthought. And then there is the elephant in the room: artificial intelligence. Much of the concern ahead of November is, understandably, focused on deepfakes, fabricated political statements, and misleading videos. Generative AI has made it easier and cheaper than ever to produce convincing material that can be distributed almost instantly across social media. But the problem goes beyond whether an image or a recording is real. Authentic material can also be selectively edited, stripped of context, or amplified in ways that create a deeply misleading impression. A false allegation repeated often enough can shape public perceptions even after it has been corrected. We are also seeing more people encounter information through AI systems that select and summarise content for them. This raises a profound question: what happens when audiences begin relying on AI-generated answers rather than visiting the original news sources? If a voter asks an AI assistant about a candidate’s record and receives a flawed summary, how can that person possibly make an informed choice? Journalists need to ask more than whether a claim is true. We need to ask where it came from, who is promoting it, why it is spreading, and how accurate information can reach the same people who encountered the misleading material in the first place.
The Electoral Commission has taken some important steps, and we should acknowledge that. Its new Disinformation Code, introduced in September, requires political parties and candidates to verify information before distributing it, clearly label AI-generated campaign content, and publicly correct false or misleading information within 36 hours of becoming aware of it. The code also protects legitimate political criticism, satire, and democratic debate, which is crucial in a democracy where the freedom to speak one’s mind is sacred. These measures matter, but let us be realistic: regulations alone cannot guarantee an informed electorate. Fact-checking remains essential, but a correction cannot automatically undo the emotional and political damage caused by the original claim. Nor can we assume that the correction will reach the same audience that saw the lie. This is happening at a time when newsroom resources are shrinking. Journalists are expected to produce more content, across more platforms, in less time, often while competing against accounts that carry none of the editorial responsibilities that professional journalists do. AI can assist with research, transcription, translation, and other routine newsroom tasks, but it also introduces new questions about accuracy, transparency, and the future relationship between journalists and their audiences. It is tempting to respond by producing even more content, faster, in the hope of keeping up. But I doubt that is what people who have stopped following the news are looking for. Reporting is not just about gathering statements and reproducing facts. It involves judgement, understanding context, challenging assumptions, and deciding which questions have not yet been asked. These are precisely the things that become more important as technology changes how information is produced and distributed. The answer to the crisis of trust is not to sound more like a machine; it is to become more deeply, genuinely, and demonstrably human. That means showing the audience that we understand their concerns, that we are on their side, and that we hold power to account not merely as a professional duty but as a public service.
This is where the work of Moxii Africa becomes so important. Beyond the festival, Moxii Africa monitors election coverage and online political conversations, working with partners including the South African National Editors’ Forum and Africa Check. Its Election Watch initiative provides journalists and citizens with monitoring and accountability resources, while Real411, officially designated by the Electoral Commission as the platform for reporting digital election disinformation, enables the public to report suspected disinformation, hate speech, incitement to violence, and harassment of journalists. Complaints are independently assessed, outcomes are published, and there is an appeals process. These are meaningful contributions at a time when the credibility of information is being challenged from so many directions. But the broader responsibility remains with all of us who care about journalism and democracy. As 4 November approaches, we need to look beyond campaign events and political personalities to the concerns of voters themselves. We need to examine promises rather than simply repeat them, to seek out voices we routinely overlook, and to find ways of explaining complicated issues without reducing them to political slogans. We also need to recognise that people who have stopped following the news are not necessarily uninterested in what happens around them. They may simply not be finding enough information that helps them understand their circumstances or make decisions. That is a failure on our part, not theirs. We have spent years debating how technology is changing the news. With voters about to decide who governs their municipalities, perhaps we should spend just as much time asking whether the news we produce is helping them make that choice. Because in the end, the person standing in that queue is not just a voter. They are the reason journalism exists. They deserve better than our assumptions, our shortcuts, and our obsessions with political drama. They deserve a media that sees them, hears them, and takes their lives seriously. That, more than any technology or regulation, is how we rebuild trust.