I Listen to Public Radio

  In The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie, Plankton (Mr. Lawrence) hatches a scheme to steal the Krabby Patty secret formula, distribute mind-control helmets as a free gift with his knockoff Krabby Patties, and achieve world domination. In a tense scene, Squidward Tentacles (Rodger Bumpass) reveals that he is onto Plankton's scheming. "You may have hoodwinked everyone else in this backwater town, but you can't fool me. I listen to public radio." When the film was released in 2004, National Public Radio (NPR) couldn't resist the temptation to play that particular quote during their review of the movie.

I am—and have been for decades—a fan of NPR and public radio in general. My enjoyment of NPR is probably informed by my experiences as a shortwave listener; the pacing and presentation style of NPR more closely resembles the international shortwave broadcasters that I grew up with than that of US-based commercial broadcasters. There's no morning zoo, no cheesy heavy metal buffers, no traffic and weather together, no need to shout about how their station is More Stimulating, no un-tiss un-tiss un-tiss synth drum beat underlying every announcement. The presenters talk to you, not at you. I find the indie rock heard on stations like KCRW in Los Angeles, KUTX in Austin, and KEXP in Seattle to be a source of new music to listen to and new artists to check out. I enjoy hearing Steve Inskeep on Morning Edition. And then there's Scott Simon on Weekend Edition. Scott Simon is a national treasure: a keen interviewer, a pleasant personality who's not above having a little fun with his guests, and a Chicagoan and lifelong Cubs fan. Some of my fondest memories of my daughter growing up come from her senior year of high school. She was on a synchronized skating team based in Pasadena, a good hour's drive from our Orange County home. The team practiced at 6 AM each Saturday and Sunday. My wife and I switched off days giving our daughter a ride to the rink. It became a Saturday ritual for my daughter and I to bust out Scott Simon on our truck's radio on the way to the rink.

Not everyone looks at public broadcasting with such fondness. Going back at least to the 1980s, NPR and the Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) have faced accusations from conservative politicians and conservative-leaning media outlets of liberal bias. Fox & Friends infamously referred to Fred Rogers of the PBS children's program Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood as an "evil, evil man." Beginning around the 1990s, PBS and NPR responded to the political uncertainties surrounding public broadcasting by shifting their reliance for funding away from federal sources like the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB) and more toward underwriters, charitable foundations, and contributions from viewers and listeners.

In the summer of 2025 political uncertainty turned to outright hostility as Congress, arguably obeying orders from President Donald Trump, voted to change how the CPB is funded. In the days leading up to the House vote on the measure, I wrote my elected representative, Young Kim (R-Cal), expressing concern about the long-term wisdom of cutting off this source of funding to public broadcasting. She responded by saying that "[like] you, I believe any reforms to our . . . public broadcasting system must be done with precision and care" and assured me that "[this] bill preserves Corporation for Public Broadcasting and the Public Broadcasting Service funding through the remainder of fiscal year 2025 while boosting congressional oversight. . . ." She concluded by saying, "While we may not see eye-to-eye on this issue, rest assured that I will keep your thoughts in mind. . . ." Technically, she wasn't lying about preserving CPB funding through the end of FY 2025. The fiscal year ends on September 30th of 2025, and CPB have already announced that they are effectively ceasing operations on that date. The boosted congressional oversight she was speaking of gave Congress the ability to cut off funding now, rather than two years from now when the makeup of that branch might not be what it is today. In the end, the most significant area where Ms. Kim and I may not see eye-to-eye could very well be the exact meaning of terms like precision and care. 

This is a moment that we've all known has been at least four decades in the making, one that NPR and its listeners have been preparing for. Early indications are that individual donations to PBS and NPR are up—bigly. It's unlikely that NPR is going away. The most probable immediate impact of the loss of CPB funding will be felt by NPR affiliates in sparsely populated parts of the country. Here, I'm going to be more blunt than I typically am. With all due respect to the people I know in those parts of the country, I think we can all agree that that's not where most of NPR's listenership is coming from, and it's not where NPR is doing the most good. Fans of NPR in regions where local affiliates are forced to cut back or shut down will undoubtedly find ways to stream the content they want to hear. Large-market affiliates like the ones we enjoy here in the Los Angeles area will continue, albeit with a few more challenges than before. This is less than ideal, but hardly a death blow. Meanwhile, the politicians and commentators who have been shouting the most stridently about NPR are going to find themselves in the same unenviable position as the dog who's caught the car he's been chasing. A year from now, with midterm congressional elections heating up, Republicans in vulnerable districts like Young Kim's will no longer be able to motivate their base voters with scare stories of their tax dollars subsidizing NPR programming that appeals only to Volvo-driving, latte-sipping, sweater-vest-wearing liberal elites. By then, maybe Fox & Friends will have moved on to telling us about how baseball places too much emphasis on diversity, or that only socialists like apple pie.