A naive, formerly overtaxed and overregulated European that I am, it did not occur to me that because it is public radio, it needs funds. From its listeners. Each year they organise a special pledge fest, when they tell you, very patiently and often, that you ought to contribute your hard earned cash. The pledge fest is going on right now. True, some public funds support public radio, but it has never been enough and it is not going to be happening for much longer - the funding has just been cut.
Here lies my surprise and fascination with the phenomenon. My money? For a radio station I like to listen to? Should these things not be 'sorted' by the powers-that-be, up there in their grey-carpeted offices reachable by kilometers of concrete corridors of government bureaucracy? Paid by the license fee, which in the European countries I lived in is obligatory, public television and radio function quite happily providing content of varying quality and interest. Paid by all, enjoyed by some. Whether classical music, interviews with artists and politicians, gardening shows or books of the week selected by anonymous radio employees are your cup of tea, your license fee pays for the said delights. Same with other types of public entertainment provided on other stations: including jazz or hip hop music, or Bollywood music. The powers-that-be decide what cultural outpours are worthy of being placed within the realm of public culture - thus being paid for by the cultured-or-not general public. And here we are: all of us taxed, not all of us enlightened.
This is Europe, but here in America the position is quite different. My other half explained with a smile of certainty that an official demanding a license fee would be met by a door slam, preceded by the well known middle finger gesture. How anti-social and greedy of these Americans, eh? How cheap, unsophisticated, peasant of the government. No wonder we have the stereotype of an uncultured, ignorant Yankee.
Not at all, actually. Those public radio stations, in common with public television and other cultural and intellectual endeavours, are receiving impressive amounts of money from individuals and private foundations. Those greedy Americans are paying a lot for things they consider important: higher or lower culture, no culture at all. And, what could very much surprise your average BBC supporter (UK 'higher authority' for public culture), arts and culture are alive and kicking! Plenty of Americans think it a worthwhile cause to pay for classical music radios, enlightened academic media discussions, intelligent and informed documentaries, and more.
Why pay if you do not have to - this is a question which comes to my mind. Cynical perhaps, but I am pouring out my soul here, so why not?
What pulls me in at WABE radio? Driving, ironing, gardening, trying to take a deep breath while heavily pregnant - all are made easier to the sounds of Brahms and Bartok, Schubert and Chopin, and of course Gershwin. The good people at WABE talk to artists big and small (in size and fame), they support local young musicians, local cultural events, and track all the important arts happenings around the country. NPR news are excellent, so are 'All things considered': I love not being preached or shouted at. There is an interesting culinary show. And did I mention CAR TALK? The two brothers Tom and Ray Magliozzi - or as they like to call themselves Click and Clack - talk about car repairs of course, but also provide a healthy portion of philosophy and humour to go with one's Saturday morning coffee and toast, or bacon and pancakes. They have been doing it since 1970s, and who can resist their slightly rough around the edges charm?
'How important is the station to you, how often do you listen to it?' - the people at WABE ask, and suggest that the answers to these questions ought to translate themselves into an amount. The contribution growing proportionately to how large a part in your life the station plays. A sort of self-imposed per-usage payment. Makes perfect economic sense. I first heard the pledge appeal driving from a garden shop, car boot loaded with pots, rocks, soil, and flowers of various colours and scents. On my way to work on my own little garden, minding my own business. And here it was: 'like it? help us pay for it!' And I felt, against my wildest expectations, responsible, at least in part, for the life of this space in ether which fills my days with pleasure. What I thought was crucial for maintaining some level of sophistication and panache in my immediate surroundings, suddenly became another item in my budget. And an important one too.
And I felt, perhaps for the first time since I voted in the first democratic elections in the newly freed Poland some time around 1990, a citizen.
