There was a time when Americans could reasonably assume a story dominating the national headlines daily, was doing so, because it was genuinely of national importance.

Sadly, that assumption is no longer extant today. That assumption no longer holds.

Now, we are witnessing, emanating from the "mainstream media" is not merely poor judgment or misplaced priorities — it's a deliberate disservice to the American people, and it has reached a new low.

Let's be clear at the outset: the disappearance of Savannah Guthrie's mother is horrifying. It is tragic. It's every family's nightmare.

My heart goes out to her loved ones and to the community shaken by such a loss.

The same is true for families affected by recent reports of missing or injured skiers.

These are painful, human stories. No decent person dismisses that suffering.

But here's the uncomfortable truth the media refuses to confront.

Not every tragedy is a national story, and certainly not for weeks on end.

When the personal tragedy of a well-known media figure dominates headlines, morning shows, and news alerts — crowding out stories of national consequence — something has gone seriously wrong.

When isolated accidents involving snow skiers receive wall-to-wall coverage while the country faces historic economic pressures, global instability, border chaos, and mounting national debt, Americans are right to ask: "Why?!"

The answer is not subtle.

These stories are safe.

They are emotional.

They are non-political.

And most importantly for legacy media, they are distractions.

Americans are not ignorant, and are a heck of lot smarter than they're often given credit for.

They know the difference between local tragedy and national crisis.

They know there are stories unfolding right now — at home and abroad — that will shape their futures, their children’s futures, and the very stability of the country.

Yet those stories are often buried beneath sentimental narratives that tug at the heartstrings but demand nothing of the institutions in power.

This isn't journalism. It's programming.

The mainstream media once saw itself as a watchdog, holding the powerful accountable and informing citizens so they could govern themselves wisely.

Today, too often, it behaves like a curator of emotions, carefully selecting stories that evoke sympathy while avoiding those that provoke scrutiny, debate, or discomfort.

Many can still recall the three major networks as they were in the 1960s and 1970s.

Were we ever subjected to the "agendas," or politics, at least overtly, of Chet Huntley, David Brinkley, or Walter Cronkite?  

Consider what's missing now from the front pages of print and lead segments of broadcast.

Where is the sustained coverage of spiraling costs for American families?

Where is the relentless focus on foreign adversaries growing bolder by the day?

Where is the investigative energy directed at government failures that affect millions, not dozens?

Instead, Americans are told — implicitly — that a tragic disappearance or a skiing accident deserves more attention than policies that will define the next generation.

That tradeoff insults both the intelligence of the audience and the victims whose stories are being used as emotional cover.

While this tactic isn’t new, it's never been this obvious.

What's the giveaway?

The sheer repetition.

When the same limited-scope story is recycled day after day, week after week, it's no longer about informing the public.

It's about filling airtime without challenging narratives, asking hard questions, or risking backlash from political allies.

And that is where trust collapses.

Trust is not built by telling stories that are easy.

It's built by telling stories that matter — especially when they are complex, uncomfortable, or politically inconvenient.

Americans don't expect perfection from the media, but they do expect honesty about what rises to the level of national concern.

There is also a moral cost here.

When media organizations elevate certain tragedies because of celebrity proximity or emotional appeal, they implicitly devalue countless others.

Families suffering quietly across the country — without fame, cameras, or connections — are reminded once again that their pain is not "newsworthy."

That should trouble anyone who claims to care about fairness or compassion.

The role of journalism is not to distract the public from reality but to confront it.

It's not to substitute sentiment for substance or to shield institutions from accountability by flooding the zone with soft stories.

Yet that is exactly what is happening.

Americans are not asking the media to stop covering human tragedy.

They're asking for proportion, perspective, and priority.

They are asking for coverage that reflects the scale of the challenges we face as a nation, not just the emotional convenience of the newsroom.

If the mainstream media wants to regain credibility, it must start by respecting its audience.

That means trusting Americans to handle difficult truths instead of feeding them curated distractions. It means recognizing that while every life matters, not every story belongs at the center of the national stage.

Most of all, it means returning to the fundamental mission of journalism: informing the people, not managing them.

Until that happens, the disconnect between the media and the American people will only grow — and no amount of emotional storytelling will be able to cover that up.

Jim Renacci is a former U.S. Congressman, businessman, and conservative leader dedicated to putting America first. Read more Jim Renacci Insider articles — Click Here Now.