The Crisis of Legacy Media
Abstract
The crisis of legacy media in the West is commonly attributed to declining public trust, political polarization, misinformation, and the rise of alternative media. This article argues that these developments are symptoms of a deeper crisis: the erosion of the epistemological legitimacy of Western journalism and its longstanding claim that neutrality provides the foundation for objectivity. It examines how editorial choices concerning language, event selection, coverage priorities, and omission inevitably shape the production of news, often reproducing the political assumptions and institutional preferences of the environments in which media organizations operate. The article challenges the tendency to present these choices as neutral professional conventions and argues that institutional reputation and claims of independence are insufficient measures of journalistic credibility. In their place, it proposes the Principle of Editorial Integrity, according to which credibility should be assessed through the demonstrable consistency between an institution’s declared principles, editorial practices, and published record. The principle encompasses five interconnected dimensions: transparency, evidentiary integrity, consistency, completeness, and accountability. Drawing on a systems perspective, the article further conceptualizes media organizations as systems whose credibility must be evaluated not merely through individual publications but through the relationship between their institutional commitments, editorial processes, outputs, and accumulated consequences over time. It identifies digital archives and comparative analysis as increasingly accessible instruments for examining institutional performance. With particular attention to the erosion of universal human rights standards through selective political application, the article argues for a journalism grounded in transparent commitments, evidentiary rigor, and consistent principles. It concludes that the future of credible journalism depends not on the unattainable absence of perspective but on the integrity with which media institutions acknowledge, apply, and remain accountable to their principles.
The End of an Old Authority
The crisis confronting legacy media in the West is often explained through familiar accounts: the rise of social media, the proliferation of misinformation, declining public trust, political polarization, and the growing influence of alternative news platforms. These developments are real, but they do not adequately explain the depth of the crisis. They describe the conditions under which the crisis has become an observable reality, not the institutional and intellectual weaknesses that produced it.
The deeper problem is that Western journalism has built much of its authority on a proposition it has never adequately demonstrated: that neutrality in the presentation of news is the foundation of objectivity. For generations, established media institutions have presented themselves as independent observers of events, distinguishable from the political interests, ideological commitments, and institutional preferences that shape the societies in which they operate. Their language, editorial conventions, professional codes, and institutional reputations have reinforced the impression that journalism can stand outside the conflicts it reports and simply communicate what happened. That claim is increasingly difficult to sustain.
The growing public suspicion of legacy media, including the popularity of expressions such as “fake news” and “alternative facts,” did not emerge in a vacuum. These expressions have been politically weaponized, particularly by Donald Trump and his supporters, and they have sometimes been used to dismiss inconvenient reporting or undermine legitimate journalistic scrutiny. Their political exploitation should not obscure the institutional weaknesses that made them resonate. A public that has repeatedly encountered selective coverage, inconsistent terminology, editorial omissions, and apparent double standards is more susceptible to questioning the authority of the institutions responsible for informing it.
The problem, therefore, is not that journalism has suddenly become political. Journalism has always operated within political, cultural, economic, and institutional environments. The problem is that some of the most influential journalistic institutions have treated their own institutional perspectives as though they were the absence of perspective. What was presented as neutrality was often an established editorial position whose underlying assumptions remained largely invisible. The crisis of legacy media is, in this sense, a crisis of credibility rooted in a crisis of self-understanding.
This crisis also has a historical dimension. American and British media institutions, in particular, have exercised considerable influence over the vocabulary, professional conventions, and international standards of modern journalism. Their practices have helped shape how events are described and understood far beyond their national boundaries. Consequently, the assumptions embedded in Western journalism have often traveled internationally as professional standards rather than as the editorial preferences of particular institutions operating within particular political environments. When media institutions outside the Western sphere employ different terminology or reach different conclusions, their reporting is frequently judged against standards established by Western institutions, with the presumption that the latter possess a superior claim to objectivity. This asymmetry has helped sustain an international hierarchy of journalistic credibility. The current crisis is exposing the fragility of that hierarchy.
The Myth of Neutral Language
The first difficulty with the traditional model of journalistic neutrality is linguistic.
News reporting necessarily involves language, and language is never a perfectly transparent instrument through which reality passes without interpretation. Historical languages such as English, French, and German contain extensive vocabularies of cognates, synonyms, and expressions with overlapping meanings but different associations. Words may describe similar actions while carrying substantially different moral, political, or emotional implications. Choosing one word rather than another is therefore not simply a grammatical decision. It is an editorial decision that helps determine how an event will be understood.
Consider the difference between describing a group as militants, fighters, rebels, insurgents, terrorists, or resistance movements. These terms do not merely provide alternative descriptions of the same actors. They position those actors within different political and moral frameworks. Similarly, an individual can be described as a protester, demonstrator, rioter, dissident, or freedom fighter, depending on the vocabulary selected by the reporter and the editorial institution.
The same problem appears in the description of state violence. An operation may be described as a military campaign, a security operation, an intervention, an occupation, or an invasion. A civilian death may be reported as a casualty, a killing, a massacre, or a war crime. Each expression carries implications that influence the reader’s understanding of responsibility, intention, and consequence. Recall that the political crisis between Qatar and Saudi Arabia, about a decade ago, was triggered in part by Aljazeera’s refusal to use specific editorial tone to report on the conflict in Yemen, just as an example.
There is no way to eliminate these choices from journalism. Even when an editor instructs reporters to use restrained language, restraint itself is an editorial preference. The selection of a preferred vocabulary establishes a standard, and every standard reflects choices about what language is appropriate, what distinctions matter, and what interpretations are permissible.
This does not mean that all descriptions are equally accurate or that journalism must abandon standards of terminology. Quite the opposite. It means that the standards themselves should be transparent, defensible, and consistently applied.
The central mistake of the traditional model is to confuse the existence of an editorial standard with the absence of editorial judgment. An institution may develop highly sophisticated language guidelines, enforce them consistently, and still reproduce a particular political or ideological perspective. Consistency within an editorial system does not, by itself, establish objectivity.
The problem becomes especially consequential when the political assumptions underlying an editorial vocabulary are inherited from the dominant political environment and subsequently treated as universal standards of description.
The Politics of Selection: What Becomes News?
Language is only one dimension of editorial power. An equally consequential dimension is the decision about what deserves coverage in the first place.
Before a newspaper writes a single sentence about an event, it must decide whether the event is newsworthy. It must determine whether to place it on the front page, devote an entire investigation to it, report it briefly, mention it in passing, or ignore it altogether. These decisions are made through editorial processes that determine which events receive public attention and which remain outside the boundaries of recognized public knowledge.
The absence of coverage is not necessarily evidence of deliberate suppression. News organizations operate under resource constraints, competing priorities, and legitimate judgments about relevance. But when patterns of omission repeatedly correspond to political interests, institutional alliances, or the identities of those involved, the question of editorial selectivity becomes unavoidable.
The history of American journalism provides consequential examples. The New York Times’ handling of the Abu Ghraib torture revelations is particularly instructive. The newspaper had obtained information about abuses at the prison before the scandal became public in April 2004. Its editors delayed publication of information that could have exposed the scandal earlier, partly because of concerns about the safety of a journalist held hostage in Iraq. The episode illustrates how editorial decisions, even when defended through institutional considerations, can determine when the public learns about serious abuses by its own government.
The broader lesson is not that every editorial delay constitutes censorship. It is that journalism’s public responsibilities cannot be evaluated exclusively by examining the accuracy of the stories it eventually publishes. One must also examine the information it possessed, the decisions it made about that information, the reasons for those decisions, and the consequences of withholding it.
A newspaper can publish factually accurate articles and still produce a deeply distorted picture of reality through its patterns of selection and omission.
This is an important distinction. The credibility of journalism cannot be measured solely by the truthfulness of individual sentences. It must also be evaluated by the integrity of the larger editorial process through which some truths become visible while others remain obscure.
When Political Power Defines the Vocabulary of Journalism
The relationship between political authority and journalistic terminology offers another illustration of the problem.
Western media institutions frequently rely on government classifications when describing political organizations and movements. When the United States government designates an organization as a terrorist organization, that designation often becomes part of the standard vocabulary used by American news outlets. This may be appropriate when the designation is accurately attributed and relevant to the story. The difficulty arises when the classification is treated as a complete and universally sufficient description rather than as a political and legal determination made by a particular government.
The inconsistency becomes apparent when another state makes a comparable designation. If China, for example, designates a particular organization as terrorist, American media institutions do not necessarily adopt that terminology. They may instead describe the organization as separatist, militant, insurgent, or opposition movement. Sometimes the alternative terminology may be more accurate, but sometimes the difference reflects the political relationship between the United States and the government making the designation.
The issue is not whether American media should automatically accept the classifications of foreign governments. It should not. The issue is whether the same critical distance is applied to classifications made by one’s own government. A designation is a fact about a government’s legal or political position. It is not, by itself, an exhaustive account of the organization being designated, its conduct, its objectives, or the circumstances surrounding its activities. Responsible journalism should make that distinction clear.
The same standard must apply to all governments, including those whose political interests are closely aligned with the media outlet’s country of origin.
When editorial terminology is more accommodating toward the political allies of the state and more categorical toward its adversaries, the resulting asymmetry is not neutral reporting. It is an expression of the political environment within which the reporting takes place.
This is how institutional bias becomes normalized. It does not necessarily require an explicit instruction from government officials or a deliberate conspiracy among editors. It can emerge through professional conventions, inherited assumptions, newsroom cultures, and editorial policies that reproduce the distinctions already embedded in the dominant political order.
The result is a journalism that may sincerely understand itself as independent while remaining structurally dependent on the political categories of the institutions surrounding it.
The Collapse of the Veneer
For much of the twentieth century, the institutional authority of major Western newspapers and broadcasters rested on several mutually reinforcing conditions: control over distribution, professional gatekeeping, established reputations, limited competition, and the relative scarcity of alternative sources of information. These conditions allowed legacy media to function as the principal intermediaries between events and the public.
Their institutional position also helped protect their claims to neutrality. When the same editorial conventions were reproduced across influential outlets, they could appear to be universal professional standards rather than the particular preferences of a powerful media establishment. The rise of alternative media has weakened this arrangement.
The internet has dramatically reduced the cost of publishing, distributing, and archiving information. Independent journalists, researchers, eyewitnesses, advocacy organizations, and smaller media institutions can now reach audiences without passing through traditional editorial gatekeepers. Information that might once have remained inaccessible can circulate globally within minutes. Video evidence, public documents, satellite imagery, official statements, and archived reporting can be compared across multiple sources.
This transformation has not automatically produced better journalism. Alternative platforms can spread misinformation, amplify conspiracy theories, reproduce ideological echo chambers, and circulate fabricated or manipulated material. The absence of institutional gatekeeping is not the same as the presence of editorial integrity.
Nevertheless, alternative media have introduced a challenge that legacy institutions cannot easily dismiss: they have made it possible to compare the reporting of different outlets on the same events and to examine the institutional choices behind their narratives.
The traditional media establishment can no longer assume that its editorial decisions will remain invisible. Its vocabulary can be compared with that of other outlets. Its coverage can be measured against the coverage of competing institutions. Its earlier reporting can be retrieved and evaluated in light of subsequent revelations.
The authority once conferred by institutional reputation must increasingly be earned through demonstrable editorial conduct.
This is why the language of fake news has found such a receptive audience. Its political use may be irresponsible, but its currency also reflects a deeper breakdown in the relationship between established media institutions and the public. When institutions claim a monopoly on credible information while repeatedly displaying selective judgment, they create the conditions under which their authority can be challenged by almost anyone.
The collapse of the old media monopoly is not necessarily the collapse of journalism. It may be the beginning of an opportunity to reconstruct it.
From Claimed Neutrality to the Principle of Editorial Integrity
If neutrality cannot provide a reliable foundation for journalistic credibility, what should replace it?
One possibility is a different understanding of editorial responsibility: journalism should be evaluated not by the neutrality it claims but by the principles it declares, the evidence it presents, and the consistency with which it applies its standards.
This proposition requires a distinction between objectivity and neutrality. Neutrality, in its conventional journalistic sense, suggests the absence of a particular position or commitment. Objectivity, however, need not require such an absence. It can instead be understood as a disciplined relationship with evidence, characterized by verification, transparency, intellectual honesty, and the willingness to subject one’s own assumptions to scrutiny.
An institution may have a declared commitment to human rights, social justice, equality before the law, the protection of civilian populations, freedom of expression, or the rights of historically marginalized communities. Rather than pretending that these commitments do not influence its reporting, the institution acknowledges them as the normative foundation of its editorial work.
Such an approach does not mean that the outlet is free to manipulate facts to advance its principles. Nor does it mean that journalism should become an instrument of advocacy detached from evidence. A commitment to human rights, for example, cannot justify exaggerating abuses by one government, concealing abuses by another, or presenting allegations as established facts. If anything, the declared principle imposes a more demanding obligation on the journalist.
The distinction is between having a normative commitment and allowing that commitment to become an excuse for selective truthfulness.
A media organization committed to human rights must apply human rights standards regardless of the identity of the perpetrator, the nationality of the victims, the geopolitical interests involved, or the political alliances of its audience. If the killing of schoolchildren through an indiscriminate bombing constitutes a grave violation when committed by one military, the same conduct must be examined according to the same standards when committed by another.
If attacks on civilian infrastructure warrant scrutiny in one conflict, they warrant scrutiny in every conflict. If arbitrary detention is condemned when practiced by an adversarial government, it must also be condemned when practiced by an allied government. If freedom of expression is defended for one political community, it cannot be denied to another simply because its political views are inconvenient. This is the real test of principle-based journalism.
The credibility of such an institution would not rest on its claim to have no perspective. It would rest on its willingness to disclose its perspective and demonstrate that its commitments are applied consistently. From this proposition emerges what may be called the Principle of Editorial Integrity: The credibility of a media institution should be assessed through the demonstrable consistency between its declared principles, its editorial practices, and its published record.
The principle rests on five interconnected dimensions.
Transparency requires an institution to make its editorial commitments, standards, and methods visibly public. Readers should be able to understand the values guiding its coverage, the criteria informing its selection of stories, and the distinctions it makes between reporting, analysis, and opinion.
Evidentiary integrity requires the institution to distinguish verified facts from allegations, interpretations, and opinions. It requires accurate attribution, responsible sourcing, contextual completeness, and a willingness to disclose uncertainty. Declared principles cannot substitute for evidence.
Consistency requires the application of editorial standards regardless of the identity, nationality, political affiliation, or institutional power of the actors involved. The same standards of judgment must apply to allies and adversaries, governments and opposition movements, and powerful and vulnerable populations.
Completeness requires an institution to take responsibility not only for what it publishes but also for its patterns of selection and consequential omission. It does not demand that every event receive identical coverage. It demands that editorial priorities be defensible and that significant omissions not systematically distort public understanding.
Accountability requires an institution to preserve a record of its reporting, correct errors, explain consequential editorial decisions, and remain open to scrutiny. Credibility cannot be insulated from examination by institutional reputation or professional standing.
These dimensions are mutually reinforcing. Transparency makes commitments visible; evidentiary integrity protects the relationship between reporting and reality; consistency tests the application of principles; completeness addresses the politics of selection; and accountability makes the entire process subject to examination.
Importantly, declared principles do not automatically make a media organization credible. They make its commitments visible and its performance assessable. The credibility itself must be established through the institution’s conduct over time.
This is a more demanding standard than the conventional appeal to neutrality because it does not permit an institution to hide its editorial preferences behind the language of professional convention. It asks the institution to disclose its commitments and then live up to them.
The Archive as an Instrument of Accountability
The technological transformation of journalism makes this new approach particularly feasible.
For the first time in history, it is increasingly practical to examine the editorial behavior of a media institution across thousands of stories and over extended periods. Digital archives make it possible to identify patterns in language, coverage, omission, framing, and the distribution of editorial attention.
An outlet that claims to support human rights can be examined through its treatment of civilian casualties, torture, arbitrary detention, displacement, political repression, and discrimination. Researchers can compare the terminology it uses when reporting similar conduct by different governments. They can examine whether its attention to civilian suffering changes according to the nationality, ethnicity, religion, or political affiliation of the victims. They can investigate whether the outlet applies the same standards of evidence to allegations against allies and adversaries.
This does not require that every event receive identical coverage. Newsworthiness is contextual, and the circumstances of events may differ substantially. Nor should a quantitative comparison of word choices or article counts be mistaken for a complete assessment of editorial integrity. Such analysis must account for differences in context, evidence, scale, and news significance. But the possibility of systematic examination changes the nature of accountability.
A media organization can no longer rely exclusively on its reputation, its professional awards, or its institutional history to establish credibility. It must increasingly demonstrate that its conduct corresponds to the principles it professes.
The archive becomes more than a repository of published stories. It becomes a record of institutional behavior. It allows researchers and readers to compare what an institution says it values with what it actually does.
This distinction is particularly important because editorial inconsistency is often difficult to identify through individual stories. A single article may be accurate, well-researched, and responsibly written. Yet the institution that published it may exhibit a persistent pattern of selective coverage across a larger body of reporting. Conversely, an outlet that publishes from an openly declared perspective may demonstrate considerable integrity if its principles are consistently applied and its reporting remains evidentially rigorous.
The archive therefore offers a means of evaluating institutional performance rather than simply judging individual journalistic products.
This also creates an opportunity for a new form of media literacy. Instead of asking only whether a particular article is accurate, readers can ask how the institution approaches a particular category of events over time. Instead of evaluating a single headline, they can examine the vocabulary and editorial choices that recur across an archive. Instead of accepting an institution’s declaration of independence, they can investigate the consistency of its actual practices.
The credibility of journalism thus becomes something that can be investigated rather than merely asserted.
Journalism as a System: Beyond the Individual Story
The Principle of Editorial Integrity becomes even more consequential when journalism is examined through a systems perspective.
A media institution is not simply a platform that transmits information from the world to its audience. It is an organized system that receives information, processes it through institutional and editorial structures, makes selections, produces narratives, distributes them, and generates consequences. Its published stories are outputs of an interconnected process involving people, policies, technologies, financial arrangements, professional conventions, institutional values, and external pressures.
The story that eventually reaches the reader is therefore the outcome of a much larger system of work.
An event occurs. Information about it becomes available through witnesses, official statements, documents, journalists, researchers, and other sources. The institution decides which information to pursue, which sources to trust, which evidence to verify, and which aspects of the event deserve attention. Reporters and editors select terminology, construct narratives, establish context, and determine the prominence of the resulting story. The published account then enters the public sphere, where it influences perceptions, informs decisions, and may generate political and institutional responses. At every stage, choices are made. Each choice contributes to the final product.
This means that the credibility of a media institution cannot be adequately determined by examining isolated stories. A story may be accurate while the broader institutional pattern is misleading. An outlet may publish a truthful account of one violation while systematically ignoring comparable violations elsewhere. It may accurately describe a particular military operation while consistently employing different standards when describing similar operations conducted by different governments. The individual story does not reveal the entire system.
A systems-based examination must therefore consider the relationship between an institution’s declared purpose, its internal processes, its published outputs, its external influences, and the feedback it receives over time. It must also consider how these elements interact and how their accumulated effects shape the institution’s public credibility.
This perspective introduces an important distinction between editorial intention and institutional performance. A media organization may sincerely believe that it is independent, fair, and committed to the truth. Yet its actual practices may reproduce biases embedded in its organizational culture, funding arrangements, professional assumptions, or relationship with political power. Good intentions do not necessarily produce credible outcomes. The system must be evaluated through its work and its consequences.
This also explains why accountability cannot be reduced to correcting individual errors. Corrections are necessary, but they do not necessarily address the processes that generated the errors. If an institution repeatedly employs misleading terminology, overlooks particular categories of evidence, or applies inconsistent standards, the problem may reside in its editorial system rather than in the conduct of an individual reporter. The appropriate response is therefore not merely to correct the story but to examine the system that produced it.
Feedback is central to this process. Public criticism, independent research, competing accounts, corrections, archival analysis, and the work of investigative journalists can all provide information about institutional performance. A credible media system should use such feedback to examine and revise its practices rather than treat criticism as an attack on its authority.
From this perspective, credibility is not a permanent attribute conferred by institutional reputation. It is an accumulated outcome of the system’s performance over time.
A media institution earns credibility through the quality of its work, the integrity of its processes, the consistency of its principles, and its willingness to respond to evidence that challenges its own practices.
This is where the systems perspective extends the argument beyond a critique of legacy media. It offers a way to understand journalism as an institutional process whose performance can be examined, compared, and improved.
Human Rights and the Need for a New Journalism
The need for this transformation is particularly urgent at a time when the international human rights system is facing serious challenges.
The principles articulated in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights were intended to establish standards that transcend national boundaries and political alliances. Yet their application has always been contested. Governments have invoked human rights when doing so serves their interests and minimized or ignored violations when accountability threatens strategic relationships.
The problem is not limited to governments. Media institutions also participate in the political environment through which human rights are recognized, prioritized, or marginalized. When the suffering of some populations receives sustained attention while the suffering of others is normalized, minimized, or rendered invisible, journalism contributes to the erosion of the universal character of human rights.
This is not simply a matter of editorial fairness. It concerns the conditions under which societies recognize the humanity and rights of others.
Journalism occupies a particularly important position in this process because it helps determine which events enter public consciousness, which violations become subjects of collective concern, and which forms of suffering are treated as politically consequential. The media cannot guarantee justice, but it can expose abuses, preserve evidence, challenge official narratives, and maintain public attention when powerful institutions would prefer silence.
For this reason, a journalism grounded in human rights principles is not a departure from the public responsibilities of the profession. It can be understood as a more explicit recognition of those responsibilities.
The challenge is to avoid replacing one form of institutional orthodoxy with another. A human rights-oriented outlet must remain committed to verification, source transparency, contextual accuracy, the distinction between fact and interpretation, and the willingness to correct errors. It must also be prepared to scrutinize the organizations and movements whose causes it otherwise supports. Human rights cannot become a selective vocabulary for condemning political opponents.
A commitment to universal principles is meaningful precisely because it constrains the preferences of those who invoke it.
A new journalism grounded in human rights would therefore have two inseparable responsibilities: to report accurately what happens and to apply its normative commitments consistently when evaluating what happens. The first protects journalism from becoming propaganda. The second protects it from becoming an instrument of selective political concern. Together, they offer a more defensible foundation for public trust.
Journalism After Neutrality
The future of journalism will not be secured by restoring the public’s unquestioning confidence in legacy media. Nor will it be secured by treating every alternative outlet as inherently more independent or trustworthy. Institutional age does not guarantee credibility, and institutional novelty does not guarantee integrity. What is needed is a more defensible foundation for journalistic authority.
Legacy media institutions do not necessarily have to abandon their professional traditions or adopt the declared-principles model. They can continue to value independence, restraint, verification, and fairness. But they must recognize that neutrality is not a substitute for accountability and that institutional conventions are not proof of objectivity.
They must also become more transparent about the editorial choices that shape their reporting. Why was one event covered and another ignored? Why was a particular term selected? What evidence supports a classification? Why are different standards applied to apparently comparable events? When information is withheld, what considerations justify the decision? These are not peripheral questions. They concern the central responsibilities of journalism.
The emerging media environment also demands a more sophisticated understanding of objectivity itself. Objectivity should not be confused with the absence of judgment, perspective, or normative commitments. It should be understood as a disciplined relationship with evidence: a willingness to investigate competing claims, distinguish established facts from allegations, disclose uncertainty, correct mistakes, and apply standards consistently, even when the findings are politically inconvenient.
This is a more demanding conception of journalism because it places responsibility on the institution rather than allowing it to hide behind the language of professional neutrality.
The old media order is losing its authority, and it is unlikely to recover that authority simply by denouncing alternative media or warning audiences about misinformation. The more legacy institutions resist examining their own editorial assumptions, the more they risk surrendering the public space to competing institutions that may be no more reliable but are often more willing to acknowledge that they have a point of view.
The future belongs neither automatically to legacy media nor to alternative media. It belongs to institutions that can establish their credibility through transparent methods, evidentiary discipline, declared commitments, and consistent practice.
The question facing journalism, therefore, is not whether it can become entirely neutral. It cannot. The question is whether it can become sufficiently honest about its own position to be held accountable for what it reports, how it reports it, and what it chooses not to report. The distinction matters. Neutrality can be claimed; integrity must be demonstrated.
And in an age when virtually every published narrative can be archived, compared, interrogated, and challenged, the difference between the two may ultimately determine which media institutions survive as credible sources of public knowledge.
The grammar of journalism is changing. The institutions that understand this transformation may help build a more credible public sphere. Those that insist on preserving the old vocabulary of neutrality without confronting the realities of editorial power may discover that the public has already moved on.
P.S. Evidence supporting this research note has been compiled over a fifteen-year period by different research teams. The resulting data, consisting of screen captures and digital footprints totaling more than 300,000 documents, are archived across several locations and are available to researchers. For further information or access inquiries, please contact the editorial team.
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