If John Reith had not been cremated and his ashes scattered in the ruins of a Scottish church, the father of public service broadcasting would be spinning in his grave.
The BBC’s first director-general saw it as a way to support an inclusive, participatory and enlightened democracy. He has since been dismissed by some as a moralistic, authoritarian Scottish Presbyterian but his principles defined public service media and remain at their core today.
Lord Reith’s broadcasting vision was to bring together different classes and regional populations. Its role was to reinforce social integration. That ideal was – and still is – the antithesis of partisanship and socio-economic superiority.
If he were alive today, he would not simply be annoyed. He was annoyed when he saw a BBC announcer kissing a secretary. He would be more than angry. Anger was something he felt when he spoiled a new battle tunic by getting himself shot by a sniper in the First World War. He would be incensed. He would be enraged at the way those who hold the purse strings have politicised the process of public media funding.
A concept that seeks to serve the interests and needs of a nation as a whole finds itself, in the 21st century, at the mercy of political idealogues and elected manipulators. The right-wing members of these groups accuse public media of being left-wing – in spite of little evidence to support the claim. Indeed, organisations that measure bias tend to put public media in the centre zone.
‘Left-wing bias’ is more likely to be code for confirmation bias that requires media to reflect a person’s (or a party’s) view of the world. No doubt it will be applied by some in the reading of this column.
An excellent example of confirmation bias can be found in the title given to a US House of Representatives sub-committee hearing on the Trump Administration’s proposed cuts to public media: “Anti-American Airwaves: Holding the Heads of NPR and PBS Accountable”.
The BBC was the prototype of public media that developed in Commonwealth countries including our own, and in Ireland. Its public service ethos was also embedded in America’s Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) and National Public Radio (NPR).
Direct political intervention in content on public media has long been subject to legislative safeguards in Britain, Ireland, Australia, Canada and New Zealand. First Amendment rights proscribe interference in the United States. The Achilles heel, however, is money.
Even the BBC, funded in large part by a public licence fee, can feel the weight of political power every 10 years when its Royal Charter is renewed and the fee reset. Both the BBC and Ireland’s RTE are currently having their licence fee systems reviewed in the light of declining numbers of tv sets (replaced by digital screens) – providing further political opportunities.
Most other public media rely to one degree or another on direct public funding. In the case of RNZ and Whakaata Māori the vast bulk of funding is through direct government grants, while TVNZ is increasingly dependent on contestable funding as its advertising revenue declines.
Conservative political parties do not like public media. To even concede they are necessary puts a dent in the concept of a market-led society. Their attitude is reflected by Rupert Murdoch’s media across the Tasman which year in and year out characterises the state-funded ABC as some sort of satanic beast.
On this side of the ditch, RNZ’s financial history is a testament to ideological imperatives. For almost a decade under the Key/English National government it endured a funding freeze. That was ended only months before the 2017 election and the incoming Labour-led government increased funding during its term. Now Christopher Luxon’s government has again applied the brakes, cutting RNZ funding by $18 million over four years. That amount is not a savings measure – it would be laughable even to call it an accounting error in the context of total government spending. It is ideological.
The funding freeze endured by RNZ has been replicated elsewhere. In Australia, the liberal-led coalition kept the ABC’s funding largely unchanged from 2013 to 2022. The Labor government that replaced it increased funding. During the recent general election in which the Liberal Party was decimated, its then leader Peter Dutton referred to the ABC (and The Guardian Australia) as “hate media” and would not rule out funding cuts.
During the recent Canadian election campaign, Conservative leader Pierre Poilievre said his party would defund public broadcaster CBC, effectively killing it. The eventual winner, Mark Carney’s Liberal Party, has stated it will increase CBC funding.
The measures in direct-funding nations like New Zealand, Canada and Australia have made life difficult for public broadcasters, but they pale alongside the actions of Apprentice King Donald Trump.
In March President Trump issued an executive order to block funding of the US Agency for Global Media, whose most-widely known network is Voice of America (it also has regional networks broadcasting to different parts of the world). In May he issued an order blocking funding of PBS and NPR for two years. Each sued the government, but last week the US House of Representatives passed legislation that will eliminate the PBS and NPR funding. And a federal court has supported his defunding of VOA.
PBS and NPR have complicated funding systems that are a mix of government and private support. At the very least, both face severe cutbacks, including news coverage. VOA and its sister networks are fully funded and, as a result, most of their staff were placed on administrative leave while more than 500 contractors had their jobs terminated. By law, VOA must broadcast but Trump moved to cut it to its statutory minimum, meaning two people apiece for a small number of foreign language services and 11 people for Voice of America itself. The vast majority of its broadcasts were shut down.
Last weekend the White House got a wake up call on why VOA exists. It is a vital form of soft power for America and has been since it was established in the latter part of the Second World War. In the wake of Israel’s strikes against Iran, the Administration suddenly found that its ability to broadcast its own message to the Farsi-speaking nation was more than a little muffled. In a now-all-too-familiar about-face, the White House ordered an immediate resumption of the Farsi service. All 50 Farsi service staffers were returned to work.
That will not be the only reversal. Wait for further exigencies that will bring back public media workers to resume services both within the United Sates and beyond.
Donald Trump has brought public media in general to a tipping point. His efforts to destroy his own country’s fine example of public service broadcasting and news dissemination attest to their worth. They would be unlikely to buy into his alternative reality but would seek facts. They would hold his administration to account. These are not attributes valued by someone who seeks acquiescence, compliance, and accolades.
I have a device I use to test whether government legislative proposals have sufficient safeguards to prevent misuse or misappropriation. I call it the Trump Filter. It asks whether the proposal is strong enough to prevent a politician we do not yet know, and whose motives we may find unacceptable, from turning it to his or her own purpose.
If it can happen in the United States, it can happen in any democracy.
Donald Trump has now demonstrated that any country that has public media worth preserving – and New Zealand most certainly does – must devise and implement funding mechanisms and legislative mandates that place them well beyond grubby political paws.
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