There is a moment that happens in every serious policy effort when you stop and ask, “Then what?” For Dr. Leo Pekkala, that moment came in 2012 when Finland was setting up its government office tasked with promoting media literacy. The answer shaped everything that followed. Media literacy, he insists, is not the end of the story. It is not the ultimate goal, nor is it some skill to be ticked off on a checklist. It exists for something far bigger: a peaceful society, a functioning democracy, a stable economy, and ultimately the possibility of a good life. That is why the vision graphic in Finland’s media education policy, the one that says media education “promotes a good life,” resonates so deeply. It reframes media education as a humane and hopeful project, not a technical fix or a defensive strategy. Pekkala explains that if everyone in Finland became media literate, the change would be visible in how people treat one another, how they participate in public life, how they resist manipulation, and how they build trust. The good life he speaks of is not merely personal happiness. It is a civic and communal condition, a way of living together in a society where people are not easily fooled, where they can disagree without destroying one another, and where they can make informed decisions about their own lives and their shared future. This is why media education must be distinguished from media literacy itself. Media literacy does not develop spontaneously, Pekkala emphasizes. It requires sustained and systematic educational efforts. People often talk about media literacy as if it were something that could simply happen overnight, as if exposure to information naturally creates critical thinking. But that is a dangerous misunderstanding. Media literacy needs the scaffolding of policies, strategies, institutions, educators, and experts. Without media education, media literacy remains an aspiration. With it, the aspiration becomes a living practice. For Pekkala, this distinction is not a semantic quibble. It places responsibility on systems and on adults to create the conditions for learning, rather than expecting individuals to become critical thinkers all on their own. It also points to the urgent need to train more media literacy experts, because the work requires skilled professionals who understand pedagogy, culture, psychology, and the ever-changing media environment. In that sense, media education is an act of social care, a way of saying that we want every person, regardless of age or background, to have the tools to live well in a mediated world. It is a long-term investment in human flourishing, and it must be treated with the same seriousness as any other form of education.
The framing of media education within comprehensive security and democracy is another choice that might sound abstract, but for Pekkala it has very practical consequences. Democracy is being continuously challenged. Societies are becoming increasingly polarized. These are not abstract worries. They are conditions that affect how people live, how they vote, how they talk to one another, and how they handle disagreement. Comprehensive security is the Finnish way of saying that the safety of a society is not only about soldiers and borders. It is about the resilience of communities, the reliability of information, and the capacity of citizens to think clearly under pressure. However, Pekkala is careful to sound a warning. The language of security can easily slide into the language of warfare. Media education should not be militarized. Media literacy is not a weapon. It is not something to be deployed against enemies or used to defend national identity in a combative way. It is something we all need and something we must all nurture. This matters especially when governments and policymakers are tempted to treat media literacy as a defense mechanism against foreign influence, disinformation, or internal extremism. Pekkala’s view is more human and more generous. Media literacy is not about building walls. It is about building capacities. It is about helping people feel at home in their own judgment, confident enough to question what they see and hear, and humble enough to keep learning. This brings him to the question of children and social media, where there is an obvious tension between protecting young people from harmful platforms and empowering them through media literacy. Pekkala urges caution when it comes to restrictions. Too many restrictions, or restrictions that are too strict, can unnecessarily limit the rights of children and young people. If you truly believe in the power of education, and media education in particular, then guidance should come before restriction. This is not to say platforms should be let off the hook. The EU Kids Act sets a good objective by placing greater responsibility on platforms. Big tech companies should be required to make their services safer, and ensuring that safety should be their responsibility. But safety cannot be the whole story. Children also need space to explore, to make mistakes, to develop their own resilience, and to learn how to navigate complexity. The goal should be a media environment that is both safer and more supportive of human development. In that environment, media literacy and regulation are not opposites. They work together. Regulation creates the conditions, and education creates the capacities.
One of the most honest admissions in Finland’s media education policy is that people in lower socioeconomic positions have not been reached equally. For Pekkala, this is not a failure to be brushed aside. It is a reminder that media literacy is not a luxury for the well-educated, but a necessity for everyone. Yet the people who need it most are often the hardest to reach. They may be marginalized for many reasons: economic hardship, language barriers, cultural isolation, learning difficulties, or simply the exhausting business of trying to survive. Inclusive media literacy work requires more resources, not just in money but in human expertise. It means having experts who can take into account different age groups, languages, identities, cultural backgrounds, socioeconomic circumstances, and the challenges related to learning and life in general. It means designing education that is not a one-size-fits-all program, but a flexible, responsive practice that meets people where they are. Pekkala acknowledges that this naturally requires more staff, and that costs money. But failing to do so will inevitably be even more expensive in the long run. A society that does not support the media literacy of its most vulnerable members will pay the price in polarization, distrust, exploitation, and lost democratic participation. In human terms, it means leaving people behind. That is not just a policy problem. It is a moral one. Media literacy, in Pekkala’s vision, is a form of inclusion. It is a way of saying that every person, no matter their circumstances, deserves to understand the media world they live in and to have a voice in it. This is not easy work. It cannot be done through a few workshops or a social media campaign. It requires a long-term commitment to building relationships and trust. It requires patience, humility, and the willingness to listen before teaching. But for Pekkala, there is no other way to build a society that truly offers a good life to all its people. The question is not whether we can afford to do this work. The question is whether we can afford not to. The cost of inclusion is high, but the cost of exclusion is far higher, and that cost is paid not only in budgets but in the fabric of society itself.
The situation in Finnish universities is a source of real concern for Pekkala. Media education is no longer taught as a major academic subject, and funding is tight. He describes the disappearance of media education as an academic discipline as a shock. It is a paradox: at the very moment when media literacy is becoming increasingly important across all sectors of society, when it appears in practically every government strategy and every conversation about democracy, security, and public health, universities have failed to play their part. This is a structural problem. Without university departments and degree programs, there is no steady pipeline of new experts. The current generation of media educators, people like Pekkala who have studied media education at university level, is still active. But in the future, that will change. And there is still no clear vision of how to address the situation. Part of the challenge is Finland’s tradition of academic freedom. Universities decide for themselves what to research and teach. The government cannot simply dictate that media education become a major subject. But it can support, encourage, and create incentives. Fortunately, Pekkala says, discussions are now under way on how to improve the situation. There is a growing recognition that media education cannot be left to chance. It needs a strong academic foundation, not only for the sake of specialists, but for the sake of every teacher, librarian, youth worker, and citizen who will be called upon to help others navigate the media landscape. The human dimension is important here. Expertise is not something that can be created overnight. It is built through years of study, research, practice, and reflection. When universities abandon a field, they are not just closing a department. They are closing a door to the future. They are saying, in effect, that this knowledge does not matter enough to pass on. Pekkala’s hope is that the current conversations will lead to concrete action. But he is honest about the uncertainty. The luxury of having qualified experts will not last forever. There is a window of opportunity, and it needs to be used wisely. The work of media education is too important to be left to amateurs, but without universities, there will be no professionals. That is why the academic question is not merely an institutional concern. It is a question about the future of democratic society itself.
What can other countries learn from Finland? Pekkala’s answer is both hopeful and modest. Other countries can learn that where there is a will, there is a way to promote media literacy. Finland did not become a media literate society by accident. It took deliberate policy choices, sustained investment, and a willingness to ask difficult questions. It also took patience and perseverance. There are no quick wins. But at the same time, Pekkala is quick to say that there is no single Finnish model to copy. Every country must work out how to promote media literacy in its own context. The media environments are different. The educational systems are different. The political cultures are different. What works in Finland may not work elsewhere. The lesson is not the specific policies, but the underlying commitment. If a society decides that media literacy matters, it will find ways to make progress. The will has to come first. The rest is a matter of adaptation and creativity. For Finland itself, the journey is far from over. Pekkala uses a lovely phrase: there is still plenty of uncharted waters to navigate. The country is moving forward, but it has not reached everyone. There are still gaps, still groups of people who have not been touched by media education, still challenges that have not been solved. This is not a confession of failure. It is a recognition that media literacy is a moving target. The media changes, the threats change, the tools change, and the knowledge changes. A media literate society is not a destination to be reached once and then enjoyed forever. It is an ongoing process of learning, unlearning, and relearning. For Pekkala, that is not discouraging. It is exactly what makes the work meaningful. There is always something new to understand, always someone new to reach, always a way to do things better. The humility in that vision is important. It prevents media literacy from becoming a form of arrogance, a belief that we have already figured everything out. Instead, it keeps the work open, curious, and alive.
Behind all these policy discussions is a person. Leo Pekkala has worked in media education since the 1990s. He has seen the field grow, shift, struggle, and occasionally thrive. He has been involved in research, higher education, teacher education, and international cooperation. But his deepest motivation is not professional advancement or institutional success. It is the belief that media education promotes a good life. That phrase sounds simple, but it is actually radical. It insists that media literacy is not about becoming a smarter consumer or a more effective debater. It is about living well with others in a world saturated by media. It is about being able to think for yourself, to connect with others, to discern truth from falsehood, to resist manipulation, to participate in democracy, and to find meaning in a complex information landscape. It is about creating a society where people can trust one another enough to solve problems together. That is why media education matters. That is why the policy starts with the vision of a good life. And that is why the work must continue, even when universities close their doors, even when funding is tight, even when the target keeps moving. Pekkala’s message is ultimately one of hope and responsibility. Hope because the will to promote media literacy does exist. Responsibility because hope is not enough. It needs to be translated into sustained, patient, inclusive action. We are all part of this project. Parents, teachers, librarians, journalists, policymakers, and citizens all have a role. The good life is not a private possession. It is a shared achievement, built through the everyday practice of media literacy. And in that practice, as Pekkala says, we are still navigating uncharted waters. But we are navigating them together. That may be the most important lesson of all. Media literacy is not a destination. It is a way of being in the world, a way of caring for one another, and a way of building a future where the good life is not a privilege for the few, but a promise for everyone.