I first listened to a National Public Radio broadcast in the fall of 1979. I had moved from Nacogdoches to Columbia, Missouri, to start graduate school in photojournalism at the University of Missouri. I only survived a semester there, unable to afford the out-of-state tuition fees. I loved that college town, a bit larger than Nacogdoches, with better weather. Not long after arriving, I discovered KBIA, which Mizzou began operating on May 1, 1972. Wow, I thought, this was something radically different on the radio dial — commercial free, thoughtful news stories, eclectic musical programming.
I quickly became hooked on NPR.
After transferring to The University of Texas at Austin to continue graduate work, I discovered KUT, which I still listen to regularly, more than 40 years later. I became a monthly member many years ago. A period of public radio wilderness followed when I headed to Deep East Texas in 1982 to run the San Augustine Rambler. No NPR station could be accessed from the
Cradle of Texas, as that little town is known.
That changed in 1984, when KDAQ-88.9 in Shreveport went on the air. San Augustine is 85 miles from Shreveport as the crow flies. That was just far enough to make it challenging to pick up the station on either the car radio or the home stereo. (Remember, youngsters, this is before the Internet was a thing.) Being able to pull in the signal depended on cloud cover, whether there was a full moon, and holding my mouth just right. Usually, the static was too much to tolerate.
I decided to install a tall antenna outside our house in the country to be able to pull in KDAQ, similar to what folks used to put up for their televisions when they couldn’t get cable — or didn’t want to pay for it. (We had purchased one of those early model satellite dishes, approximately the size of one of the UFOs some folks claimed to see in New Mexico in the 1950s, so we didn’t have a TV antenna.) Being far younger and nimbler 40 years ago, I scrambled up on the roof, bolted the antenna to the roof’s peak, and ran a cable through the house to the FM receiver. From then on, KDAQ came in strong and clear. The NPR dulcet voices of Susan Stamberg, Bob Edwards, Cokie Roberts and Linda Wertheimer became as familiar as those of my friends and family.
KDAQ over the decades became a network of community-supported stations with repeater outlets in East Texas, Louisiana and Southern Arkansas. It is now known as the Red River Radio Network. If you are not familiar with this regional treasure, check it out at redriverradio.org.
I have been a monthly member of Red River Radio for decades and also a modest part of its team. For several years in the early 2000s, I served on its community advisory board. Since 2012, I have contributed a weekly commentary heard at 7:45 a.m. on Friday mornings. I thoroughly enjoy recording these four-and-a-half-minute segments in my closet, usually in batches of four. Red River Radio daily enriches our lives here behind the Pine Curtain and for our neighbors across the Sabine River.
I also listen to and send money monthly to KERA, which covers North Texas. (Our daughter Abbie lives in Denton, hence our interest.) Those are also the call letters for the PBS television station that we watch regularly. Whenever we are on a road trip, whether it is headed to the mountains or our annual foray to New England, my Beautiful Mystery Companion searches for the closest NPR station. It delights both of us to discover a public radio station to which we haven’t previously listened, or an old friend from a previous foray.
That love for NPR, spanning nearly half a century, is what prompted me to research the current assault on both NPR and PBS by the current administration. In May, Executive Order 14290 directed the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and all federal agencies to cease funding ($535 million in fiscal year 2025) for both NPR and PBS, claiming “neither entity presents a fair, accurate, or unbiased portrayal of current events to taxpaying citizens.”
I couldn’t disagree more.
Like many of the agencies, employees and other organizations affected by DOGE’s chain-saw approach to dismembering programs they don’t like, both NPR and PBS have filed lawsuits, arguing that POTUS doesn’t have the legal authority to order the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB) — which is not a government agency — to make these cuts, and that they violate the First Amendment. I wholeheartedly support these legal arguments but also realize there is a very real chance the executive order will be sustained.
According to NPR, only about 1% of its operating budget comes directly from CPB, an amount that is not going to put it out of business. However, the 246 member stations on average
receive 13% of their funding from the CPB.
The truly appalling aspect of this order is that the smaller the NPR or PBS station, the greater it relies on CPB funding as a piece of the revenue pie, along with funds from membership drives, corporate underwriters and non-governmental grants. (Sorry for all the acronyms.)
For example, KUT and its sister station KUTX (which plays music) receive about $1.2 million annually — about 6% of their total budget. Losing that amount would adversely affect their operations, but it is highly unlikely to put those highly popular stations out of business. They are located in a booming metropolitan area with a huge loyal readership.
It is a different story at Red River Radio, which received $175,184 last fiscal year from CPB — nearly a fourth of its total revenue. I am certain the staff and its supporters would strive mightily to replace that loss in funding, but it would be a tough row to hoe. I know firsthand that RRR is a shoestring operation with minimal staffing. They provide amazing programming with limited resources. Frankly, I don’t know how they do it, week in and week out. It is out of a deep love for their mission, certainly not for the money.
Now let’s head out to West Texas, where Marfa Public Radio has developed a loyal following. I listen occasionally online and always do so while out in West Texas. That charming NPR station carries a rich array of local programs besides the national shows. It receives nearly 39% of its annual budget from CPB. In a region with limited local and regional media available, losing Marfa Public Radio would leave residents with few places to go for local news across an area the size of at least a couple of New England states. The same dire scenario faces NPR stations in rural areas throughout this country, already suffering from the disappearance and hollowing out of local newspapers that used to be crucial to providing local news.
The executive order claims “the media landscape is filled with abundant, diverse, and innovative news options.”
Hogwash.
An average of two newspapers close each week, according to Poynter. Approximately 15% of American households do not have access to high-speed internet service, according to the National Telecommunications and Information Administration.
In rural areas like Marfa, the number rises to 22.3%. The media landscape in those areas is neither abundant nor diverse. Consolidation and economics have reduced the number of independent outlets in all media.
What largely dominates, at least in sheer number, are pundits and podcasts, which can be entertaining and enlightening, but generally approach the world with a specific political viewpoint, an axe to grind.
I was trained, mainly through real-life work but also from fine college professors who had worked in the business, in the rules and skills necessary to be a journalist.
Journalism is a profession. It requires no license, but one needs to know the rules, have at least a basic understanding of those rules, and know how to follow them.
You must understand how to represent all sides of a story, keep your biases out as best you can, or at least acknowledge them, don’t make stuff up, triple-check all sources (especially now), be fair, and try to be kind. I’m talking news reporting, not punditry.
That’s a different animal. I still work at both. Reporting is harder, since you have to get off your rear end and talk to people in some fashion.
NPR’s latest slogan captures how I strived to approach both reporting and running newsrooms: “We don’t always get it right. But we won’t stop until we do.”
I always do my best to get it right. When I don’t, I quickly correct my mistake and take responsibility for it. NPR stations do the same, I can attest as a multi-decade listener.
As someone who has worked in journalism for more than 50 years and always taken my obligation to report fairly and accurately, I recognize that NPR and PBS stations do the same.
They provide independent, unbiased news coverage, cultural offerings, local news and more. In an ideal world, they could do so without relying on federal funding for some part of their revenue, so that they wouldn’t face such political threats, depending on who is in the Oval Office or holds power in Congress.
That is potentially doable for larger public radio and television organizations, but it would be daunting for stations in Marfa, or East Texas, or many parts of the rural United States, to survive without CPB funding.
The entire budget of CPB accounts for 0.0084% of the federal budget for FY 2025. That is eighty-four ten-thousandths of one percent. In other words, barely couch-cushion change, less than the pennies POTUS wants to stop minting. (Actually, I agree with that sentiment.)
For what NPR and PBS provide to all of us, in terms of news, cultural enrichment and connections to our communities — without commercial programming — that is a damn good investment.
We should fight to preserve that modest investment in our democracy, because that is exactly what it is. I would be remiss if I forgot to remind anyone reading this to send some money to the NPR and PBS stations that enrich your lives. You know who you are.
Source: Freepik.com