I ran a station in West Virginia. What’s happening now feels familiar

If you’ve ever worked in a newsroom, you’ll recognize this moment: the turning point when you switch from business as usual to all hands on deck.

Think about Sept. 11., Jan. 6 or the start of the pandemic. At some point, you realize you need to stop everything and throw all resources at the emergency.

We are now experiencing that moment in public media. Even though the law prevents it, the president is attempting to replace CPB board members and immediately end federal funding. The FCC has launched an investigation into public media underwriting.

This is more than just another funding fight; it’s an entirely new and hostile environment.

This climate may be novel on the national level, but it is intimately familiar to me. It reminds me of how politics and government worked in West Virginia.

Many of you are nodding along right now. You already know what it’s like to operate in this environment. For others, this is unfamiliar territory.

To respond to this moment, we must name it. Its philosophy is summed up in one saying: “Everything is political, except politics, which is personal.”

Here’s one example from my time in rural West Virginia: When we needed our state road fixed, we were told to call our state senator and ask for a favor.

In this system, decisions are based on fealty to the faction in power. Whether you get a job, a contract or a grant depends on your loyalty.

Public media operates under a completely different set of rules. Our impartiality and editorial independence are in direct conflict with a system based on fealty.

Sound familiar?

Eight years ago, I sat in the painful intersection of a clash between editorial independence and loyalty to a new leader.

At the time, I led West Virginia Public Broadcasting, licensed by the state government but with a fiercely independent newsroom.

In 2016, our reporters helped NPR’s Howard Berkes with an investigation of Jim Justice, the state’s only billionaire, who was a candidate for governor.

Justice won the election. A few months later, he released a state budget that zeroed out all funding for WVPB. This came with no warning to me or our board.

As a rural network in a low-income state, WVPB depends heavily on state and federal funding. An immediate and unplanned withdrawal of more than one-third of WVPB’s budget could have killed us.

We had to decide how to respond. Some wanted to make this a personal fight with the governor. Calmer heads prevailed, and the “Protect WVPB” campaign was launched.

Without rancor, our supporters reminded people of our value: statewide emergency broadcasts, original curriculum for educators, and Mountain Stage, the crown jewel of West Virginia culture.

Behind the scenes, our board members leaned on their personal relationships with Gov. Justice and lawmakers. I had the chance to meet the governor at an entirely unrelated event for autistic people and their families. I still have that picture of Justice with my son on his lap.

Eventually, the governor relented. The legislature restored most but not all of WVPB’s funding.

Funding is just one lever in this system. Under both Democratic and Republican administrations, I was asked to tone down critical coverage. My response was always the same: Fairness and accuracy are our only guides.

On the flip side, we often were asked to cover certain state-sponsored events. It’s a fine line between a legitimate request and improper pressure. If it was a good idea, we might have adopted it. When it wasn’t, I would politely decline and explain why.

A final pressure point is politically motivated investigations. When I was a reporter in West Virginia, one investigatory body in particular was known to be a tool of its political bosses.

If you were loyal to the people in power, your wrongdoing would be ignored, saved away for future leverage. If you were a foe, relatively minor infractions could lead to an investigation that would be leaked to the media.

The weaponization of investigations, funding cuts, attacks on media integrity — does any of this sound familiar?

Staying sane

Sometimes, I think about the employees I had to lay off because of these budget cuts. Could I have saved their jobs?

In a place like West Virginia, you don’t just find another job. Unemployment can mean months of no income or even moving away.

That’s what happened to one laid-off employee with a newborn baby. The only job he could find was more than two hours away and paid a fraction of what he made before.

Station leaders are facing a series of heartbreaking and impossible choices. They lay awake at night in bed, as I did, trying to figure out a way through this mess.

The only way you can remain sane in these circumstances is to always, always return to our shared values and ethics. These must be your North Star.

1. Understand the new rules, but don’t accept them.

Never, never, never give up on your values and the rule of law. Act as if these are still in effect, even if you sometimes wonder whether they are.

CPB President Pat Harrison is a great example of this. When the president attempted to replace CPB board members, her press release quoted the federal law that prevents him from doing so.

If you comply in advance, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

2. Don’t make it personal. Leave the door wide open.

It’s tempting (and only human) to lash out at unfair treatment. Share your righteous anger with your therapist, but not with colleagues, supporters or the public. It only feeds into the narrative of us vs. them.

Instead, keep the door open to everyone who disagrees with you. If you can, talk to them in person or on the phone. You may not change their minds, but they will see you as human, which makes you harder to attack.

3. Base your decisions on your values, ethics and beliefs.

Tactical retreats will only encourage more attacks. They won’t save you in the end, so you might as well stand up for what you believe.

My family and I left West Virginia for a variety of reasons, but we still love it and its people fiercely. Never have I met such generous, authentic people and such talented storytellers.

They know better than anyone the cost of this political system. Too many have given up, but others work for change.

At this moment, they have something to teach the rest of us. In a world where the rules are stacked against you, how will you live?

Some people measure success in wins and losses, their power or the size of their bank accounts.

But some of us see it differently. At key moments, when everything was at stake, did we rise to the occasion? Did we stand up for our values and beliefs?

We are all West Virginians now.

Scott Finn is a former public media journalist and general manager. He now works for the Center for Community News at the University of Vermont and runs his own consulting business.