You could frame this bluntly: the press doesn’t cover people, it covers functions: protagonist, antagonist, cautionary tale, comeback kid. Once you no longer fit a function that sells, you’re not redeemed or forgiven, you’re just discarded from the script.
In journalism, character development is a cost, not an ethic. Once your arc stops paying dividends, the scrums and cameras disappear.
Who swallows all the oxygen one day is forgotten the next.

The spectacle of power works like fashion. Today’s “indispensable” strongman is yesterday’s disco ball or leg warmers: blinding, ubiquitous, and then quietly boxed up in the attic, only hauled out when nostalgia needs a cheap laugh. The news doesn’t retire these figures with dignity; it just swaps them for the next accessory that catches the spotlight.
Heroes, villains, victims are propped up and then discarded.
Few people grasp this structure. They chase fame, numbers, and approval from elites and masses alike. The masses won’t cheer you on unless some gatekeeping elite grants you access and sanctions you.
You need to be useful: a distraction, a role model, or a character in a sanctioned narrative.
And then, when the story is done, you are put back in the box.
Sometimes they take you out and dust you off, but the box still waits.
Hero, villain, or victim, there is always a shelf life.

When you are the architect of your own story, the same rules apply if you insist on the same roles and labels.
But when you eschew the labels and live your life, those rules turn over until they break. You are no longer confined to any tired narrative or role. You open up your paths by rejecting the script.
It is your decision.
Your choice, as always