Talking Back To T.V.

Aired July 3, 2002

Since the invention of commercial television, Congress has required broadcasters to make commitments to serve the community. But since the mid 1990s, federal restrictions have been drastically reduced. In theory, communities in Northeast Ohio have almost unlimited power to demand better local TV, but that power has largely gone untapped. 90.3 WCPN®'s April Baer reports on how the changing TV landscape is treating Greater Cleveland viewers.

April Baer– David Atkin is a professor at Cleveland State's Department of Communications. When he turns on the local news at his home in Westlake, he's no ordinary couch potato.

Atkin is the co-author of an upcoming book on how FCC rules have changed TV - some of which is drawn from observations of the Cleveland market. Since 1996, the FCC has loosened ownership restrictions, allowing companies as much as 35% market share. As stations have been gobbled up by large multi-platform media groups, Atkin says it's plain to see the effect on local channels.

David Atkin–Typically when I watch the news I am concerned about the increased use of entertainment content. I think what we see is that expectations of profit tend to color the agenda of news. It does tend to encourage more reporting along the lines of visual, perhaps conflict-oriented stories. And you have a situation in the media where the expectations of profit seem to be much greater than before. I'm not saying media shouldn't have profit, they've got to have that. But in the 20 years I've been watching news seriously I've never seen this expectation of profit running as high as it is.

AB– Decision-makers with local TV affliliates bristle at the suggestion that competition has degraded their commitment to public service. Lynn Heider, news director at WEWS - News Channel 5, remembers the days when local TV stations produced much more of their on-air schedule. She doubts the old local shows would hold up compared with the content and production values of Oprah Winfrey or Nightline. As far as the quality of local news goes, she maintains the work done on local TV is significant.

Lynn Heider–I started working in this business in 1978, and I love it because of the immediacy. I love having somebody come to us with something terribly wrong, and just by dent of exposing it, there's a lot of reaction to it, and often a solution. I love seeing that.

AB–Heider also suggests local TV is held to a double standard. While critics complain that TV news is driven by violence or commercialism, she wonders what would happen if broadcasters consciously tried to avoid gritty reality.

LH–I know that some of the shows that have been put on the air just doing positive fun stuff - PM magazine and stuff like that - folded, because people stopped watching them. When you turn on the news, there's an expectation that yeah, some of it's going to be brutal and ugly and negative, because news is covering reality. If we don't cover the latest suicide bombing in Israel, and opt to bring you fluff at six o'clock instead, people will stop watching us and we would lose our credibility.

AB–The rise of cable and digital TV has delivered some limited alternatives for viewers who find local TV news lacking.

The TV crew shooting this town meeting, in Cleveland's Ward 21, is not affiliated with any broadcast station. The shooters work for an award-winning cable show called Citybeat, that airs on Adelphia cable in Cleveland. The show offers long-form coverage of events that might otherwise never be seen on local TV.

Every city has the right to demand channel space for shows like Citybeat. Cable franchise fees can be funnelled into non-profit companies that teach people how to make their own TV. Full-service access centers have helped viewers reclaim TV in cities like Chicago, Denver, Dayton, and - until recently - Columbus.

Damon Zex–The difference is astronomical.

AB–Several years ago an OSU grad student named Fred Zaner showed up at Columbus' public access channel. He took low-cost classes, learned skills, volunteered to earn production time, and began cranking out episodes of a show featuring his alter ego, Damon Zex. The show was so successful that he recently sold several episodes to the BBC.

DZ–I, at Public access in Columbus, was paying $12 an hour, or using volunteers hours. And to go to a normal studio could range anywhere from on the lowest end, 50 an hour, up to 350 per hour.

AB–As much as public access offers, it also poses complicated questions for cities who choose to fund it. In the public access world, it's legally difficult for cities to screen out programs on the basis of content. The Damon Zex series - featuring simulated sex, drug use, and violence - was a lightning rod for critics of public access. This year, it was banned on an Adelphia cable system in Santa Monica.

DZ–One theory I have is that the cable companies themselves, which are making millions off of pay per view porn don't want to have anything racy or extreme given to the public for free.

AB–Columbus ultimately cut funding to its public access channel, following a legal dispute with another producer, whose show was deemed too obscene for teleplay.

The most recent battleground for TV and public service was opened this year, when the Cleveland Indians awarded exclusive broadcast rights to a cable channel. The loss of games on free broadcast TV raised questions about what media companies owe the community. Ohio Congressman Dennis Kucinich has been fiercely critical of the switch.

Dennis Kucinich–We need to re-establish the public sphere, so that everything in this country is NOT for sale, and there is such a thing as a commons, and we can reclaim something that should be cherished in the democracy, and that is public interest.

AB–Congressman Kucinich says within the next few weeks, he intends to introduce legislation to counteract what he calls the hi-jacking of broadcast and cable. While he would not provide complete details, he says the result will ensure that when people turn on the TV, they will feel like they are getting something they want. In Cleveland, I'm April Baer.