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<text id=93TT0233>
<title>
July 26, 1993: How Necessary Is PBS?
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
July 26, 1993 The Flood Of '93
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
SPECTATOR, Page 75
How Necessary Is PBS?
</hdr>
<body>
<p>After 25 years, the mission seems muddled, the programs redundant
</p>
<p>By Kurt Andersen
</p>
<p> Because public television is blandly virtuous and soaks up smallish
sums of tax money, almost no one but right-wing ideologues has
ventured full-bore critiques. A 25th-anniversary report, put
out last week by a task force of the usual Establishment suspects
(Vartan Gregorian, Joe Califano, Tim Wirth and so on), provoked
intriguing newspaper headlines (OVERHAUL PROPOSED, teased the
Washington Post), but its reformist manifesto--the 351 local
PBS stations should get less federal money, the central programming
apparatus should get more--turned out to be tepid and intramural,
a birthday wish list posing as tough-minded scrutiny.
</p>
<p> Understand: MacNeil/Lehrer is indeed splendid; Ken Burns should
be funded in perpetuity; documentaries sympathetic to black
homosexuals and skeptical of Republicans are just fine by me.
I have raised money for the A.C.L.U., call myself a Unitarian
and give dollar bills to almost every bum who asks; I have standing
to question just how essential PBS is these days.
</p>
<p> When public TV was launched, there were only the three networks.
You could watch Gomer Pyle or Land of the Giants or Lawrence
Welk. Public TV was singular, glorious, redemptive. Today, of
course, there is a democratic hurly-burly glut of cable and
home video. Imagine if Americans had been presented in 1968
with a referendum: either a single channel broadcasting a mix
of news, documentaries, children's shows and performance, or
else a dozen intermittently worthy channels, two with nothing
but news, two with nothing but congressional sessions, one with
nothing but kids' shows, several with music, two with nothing
but science and nature programs, and so on. In other words,
in a world of CNN, C-SPAN, A&E, the Discovery Channel, public
TV begins to seem redundant. Charlie Rose, the 1990s' Dick Cavett,
conducts thoughtful interviews with members of the cultural
elite every night on PBS. But with the actual Cavett doing the
same thing on CNBC, Rose (who last week interviewed Sarah Jessica
Parker) may not be America's worthiest recipient of federal
subsidies.
</p>
<p> If other channels are putting on what was once available only
on public TV, public TV is increasingly putting on pop crud.
Why is it so civilizing to underwrite broadcasts of Wall Street
Week, Cary Grant movies, John Bradshaw new age lectures, the
powerfully annoying Barney--or Lawrence Welk reruns, which
are now shown on 77% of PBS stations. Chief PBS programmer Jennifer
Lawson says, disingenuously, that the Welk shows are legitimate
as "an alternative to violence and gratuitous sex on commercial
television." Local stations find it's those shows at the not-exactly-Susan-Sontag
end of things that inspire subscribers to send in money. But
isn't that, to use a trope PBS devotees should appreciate, destroying
the village in order to save it?
</p>
<p> The familiar debate over the ideological tilt of PBS's documentaries
misses the real problem with such programming: just as conservatives
loathe PBS shows that challenge their comfortable world view,
the liberals responsible for PBS documentaries aren't much interested
in discovering truths that might jostle their notions of truth
and injustice. Neither side really wants let-the-chips-fall-where-they-may
TV. Edge, an irreverent PBS magazine show, was canceled last
year after airing just eight programs, and PBS declined a $5
million grant to create unconventional 1992 election-year coverage.
"Anything apart from the norm won't be allowed," says a senior
public-affairs producer who recently left PBS. "They aren't
really interested in innovation."
</p>
<p> Devoted viewers also crave the reassurance of the status quo.
It's not just Rumpoles and films of elk that compel many PBS
maniacs; rather, they like the sense of belonging to a tweedy
club, of feeling urbane by virtue of the TV channel they watch.
There are apparently fewer and fewer such people, however: between
1987 and 1992, public TV lost 22% of its prime-time audience,
twice the decline of commercial networks.
</p>
<p> The remaining unassailable argument for public TV is, as Lawson
says, that "it's free and universally available." Not every
American can afford entry to the zillion-channel cable nirvana.
But if universal access is now the compelling problem--and
it will only get more acute--why not address it directly by
subsidizing cable TV for poor people, a means-tested "cable
stamps" program. After all, public TV began as a Great Society
scheme, and Sesame Street was intended to uplift ghetto children.
The opera shortage, on the other hand, may no longer be a crisis
deserving federal attention.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>