Television Panel Culture

When Everyone Speaks and No One Listens

What Happened to the Culture of Conversation on Television Panels?

By Tami Lancut Leibovitz | Master of Manners

There are moments when television no longer seems to broadcast conversation at all, but rather organised noise.

Throughout the day, almost every hour and on almost every channel, there is yet another panel, another table, another studio, another “expert,” another “commentator,” another “former” something, or someone who was once connected to a certain field — and is now sitting in the studio, ready to fill airtime.

The main thing is not to leave any empty space.
The main thing is not to pause.
The main thing is to keep the screen full.

And so, instead of measured public discussion, instead of the exchange of ideas, instead of a culture of listening, a new television culture has gradually emerged: a culture of interruption, intrusion, over-talking, over-presence, ego, and reaction that arrives faster than thought itself.

At times, it is difficult to watch.
And at times, even harder to listen.

Not a discussion, but a struggle for airtime

A television panel was meant to be a space for discussion. A place where several speakers could bring different perspectives, add knowledge, deepen a subject, and offer complexity. In practice, however, much of today’s panel culture has become a small struggle for survival on screen.

Who will speak first.
Who will interrupt whom.
Who will sound the sharpest.
Who will land the strongest line.
Who will appear “strong.”
And who will seize a few more seconds of attention.

When the format itself rewards speed, drama, confrontation, and volume, it is hardly surprising that the culture of conversation suffers. Those who speak calmly, formulate a complete thought, try to be precise, or actually listen may suddenly seem too slow for television.

And yet good conversation has never been measured in decibels.

The new panelist: availability above all

One of the most striking features of the current moment is how elastic the word “expert” has become. Not everyone invited to speak is an up-to-date professional, an active figure at the centre of events, or a person with genuine depth in the matter at hand. At times, it is enough that someone once held a position, years ago, or became more of a television personality than a truly active practitioner.

As a result, the screen fills again and again with the same faces, the same responders, the same “regular experts,” often with only a loose connection between their relevance and the subject being discussed. They are invited because they are available, television-friendly, quick to speak, and able to “carry a panel.”

The problem is not only who sits on the panel.
The problem is what happens to conversation when the central goal is no longer understanding reality, but maintaining an endless broadcast flow.

When there is no listening, there is no conversation

One of the clearest signs of today’s panel culture is the absence of listening. Often, participants are not truly listening to one another at all. While one person speaks, another checks a phone. A third waits for the moment to jump in. A fourth prepares the next line rather than processing what has just been said. And the host, instead of guiding a discussion, is often reduced to acting like an exhausted traffic officer at a chaotic intersection.

The result is clear:
there is no dialogue,
no development of thought,
no curiosity,
no pause.

There is only a sequence of declarations, rebuttals, interruptions, and mutual attempts to dominate the space.

This is also where the viewer’s exhaustion comes from. Not because there are too few words, but because there is too little real presence. Everything is said, yet very little is truly heard.

The culture of television as a mirror of society

Television does not merely reflect reality. It also teaches it.

When the screen repeats the same patterns again and again — interruption, contempt, aggressive argument, impatience, mockery, dramatization — the public absorbs something from it. Not always consciously, but certainly behaviourally.

That style of discourse then seeps into the home.
Into the family table.
Into social media.
Into public debate.
Into politics.
And even into the way friends and colleagues speak to one another.

If on screen the interrupter appears assertive, the loudest voice appears dominant, and the person who refuses to let others finish appears victorious, it is no surprise that many people begin to adopt the same style in life itself.

But assertiveness is not noise.
Presence is not domination.
And real strength is not measured by the ability to prevent others from speaking.

Endless broadcasting and the constant need to fill time

Another defining feature of the current moment is sheer continuity. Every channel broadcasts almost without pause: studio programmes, breaking news, special broadcasts, commentators, analysts, field reporters, reactions to reactions, and panel after panel. At times it feels as if no new content is even required; it is enough simply to recycle the same subject once again, with another angle, another guest, another table, another small clash.

The panel, of course, must go on. Because the broadcast goes on, the day is long, and the channels are locked in constant competition for attention, pace, and visibility. Multiple screens are open at once — in control rooms, in studios, across networks — and the questions become part of the format itself: who is appearing where, who has already spoken on a competing channel, and who will produce the next quotable line.

And so an endless appetite is created for another chair, another split-screen, another commentator, another opinion, another reaction — even when the excess adds very little real depth.

In that sense, it is not only the culture of conversation that suffers. It is also the culture of editing.

Not every opinion requires airtime.
Not every response requires a studio.
And not every person needs to become a commentator.

Sometimes silence, too, is part of editorial responsibility.

And what about the hosts?

Hosts have a dramatic role in this story. A good host is not simply someone who asks questions. A good host creates structure, sets boundaries, stops the person who takes over, brings the discussion back on course, protects the right to speak of the person who was interrupted, and reminds everyone that the goal is not only to “make television,” but to create a conversation that can be understood, absorbed, and learned from.

And yet here too, the host often seems drawn into the same culture. Instead of regulating the pace, the host accelerates it. Instead of cooling the room, the host fuels it. Instead of clarifying, the host pushes toward confrontation, because confrontation “makes good television.”

But a broadcast that fills the screen is not necessarily one that respects the viewer.

Even the studio needs manners

We tend to think of manners as belonging to dining tables, hospitality, dress, diplomacy, or interpersonal conversation. But a television studio, too, needs manners. Perhaps more than anywhere else.

And interestingly, the word itself does occasionally appear in studios — often almost apologetically. A host trying to stop a clash says, “Please, politely.” A panelist who has been interrupted protests, “Can’t we have this discussion with some manners?” Someone else responds with a half-cynical remark, as though politeness were a decorative weakness, and serious conversation could not possibly coexist with civility.

And yet those moments reveal the truth: manners are not a needless ornament. They are precisely what makes conversation possible.

Manners in a television studio are not old-fashioned or ceremonial. They are basic, cultural, human. Waiting for your turn. Not looking at your phone while someone else is speaking. Not inviting people merely to fill minutes. Not turning every disagreement into a performance. Not confusing drama with quality.

Because television that respects itself must respect the participants, the discussion, and certainly the viewer at home. It must understand that not every noise is substance, not every interruption is drama, and not everyone who fills airtime is truly adding value.

And above all, it must remember that there is a viewer at home.
A tired, overwhelmed, worried person who may simply be trying to understand the world a little better — not fight through yet more noise.

In conclusion: less noise, more culture

The problem with today’s television panels is not only that they are noisy.
The problem is that they train us to think that noise is conversation.

But real conversation requires listening.
Real discussion requires discipline.
Real respect requires restraint.

And television that respects itself, its participants, and its viewers cannot afford to abandon these things.

Perhaps it is time to remind ourselves that in a studio, as in life, it is not enough merely to speak. One must also know when to stop. When to listen. And when to understand that not every second needs to be filled with words.

Because when everyone speaks and no one listens, there is no discussion.
There is only broadcasting.

© Tami Lancut Leibovitz. All rights reserved.