For more than three decades, I have watched television channels being launched across the Middle East, South Asia and Europe. Some became internationally respected brands. Many disappeared within a few years. Their studios were modern, their technology was impressive and their launch ceremonies were lavish. Yet despite millions of dollars in investment, they quietly closed their doors.
The reason was rarely technical. It was almost always commercial.
One of the biggest misconceptions about television is that owning a channel automatically creates influence, prestige and profit. In reality, those three objectives rarely coexist.
In the Gulf, particularly during the rapid expansion of satellite broadcasting in the early 2000s, many channels were funded by wealthy families, investment groups or governments. The television station itself was not expected to generate substantial profits. It often functioned as a strategic asset that enhanced the reputation of a broader business empire, strengthened relationships with governments, promoted national branding or supported political influence. Financial returns were often secondary because the real value lay elsewhere.
Pakistan presents a very different but equally revealing picture. The country has witnessed an extraordinary expansion in television broadcasting since media liberalisation in 2002. Dozens of news and entertainment channels entered the market within a relatively short period. Competition increased dramatically and audiences benefited from greater choice.
However, many investors entered broadcasting for reasons that had little to do with media. Some sought political influence. Others sought protection for their broader business interests. I witnessed this first-hand when I was involved in launching one of the region's leading news channels. The owner chose to establish the operation in Dubai, believing it would provide greater influence back home while keeping the channel at a safe distance from domestic regulators and political pressure. In reality, it proved to be a false sense of security. Physical distance offered little protection from the reach of government influence, demonstrating that editorial independence cannot be achieved simply by operating from abroad.
For many industrial groups, real estate developers and commercial conglomerates, owning a television channel became a form of insurance. A media outlet provided direct access to policymakers, increased corporate visibility and offered a platform to defend commercial interests whenever disputes arose. Influence became the product. Broadcasting became the vehicle.
That distinction explains why many channels struggled commercially. Few were established on the basis of detailed feasibility studies, realistic revenue projections or diversified business models. Market research was often superficial. Audience analysis was optimistic. Advertising forecasts assumed continuous growth without recognising increasing competition, changing viewing habits or digital disruption. The business plan frequently ended on launch day.
The consequences were predictable. Once the original strategic objective — whether political visibility, corporate prestige or business leverage — had been achieved, continued investment became increasingly difficult to justify. The television channel itself remained a cost centre rather than a profitable enterprise. Many gradually reduced programming budgets. Experienced journalists left. Technology upgrades were postponed. Original content declined. Audiences moved elsewhere. Advertising followed. The downward spiral became almost inevitable.
Contrast this with organisations such as the BBC, CNN or Bloomberg. None rely exclusively on traditional television advertising. They have expanded into digital subscriptions, events, licensing, education, research, streaming, podcasts, data services, and international partnerships. They also lease out studios and surplus production facilities, sell archive footage, reduce costs by sharing resources with partner channels, and resell programmes to third parties after their initial runs. They are no longer television companies. They are content businesses. That distinction increasingly determines survival.
The future belongs to broadcasters that think like technology companies rather than television stations.
Perhaps the most important lesson is this: never launch a television channel because you want influence. Launch it because you understand audiences. Influence follows credibility. Credibility follows sustainability. And sustainability begins with a business model — not an ego.