July 26, 1999
How Pacifica
Fired Opal Nations
CounterPunchers know well the wars at Pacifica
which we've reported on more than once this year. The nub of
the story involves the efforts of the national governing board,
chaired by Mary Frances Berry, to turn the whole Pacifica radio
network into a top-down autocratic outfit, putting out NPR-type
pap. The latest outrage has been Berry's pressuring of attorney
general Janet Reno to twist the arms of Berkeley police to act
rougher in breaking up sit-ins outside Pacifica's offices in
Berkeley, inhabited by Berry's subaltern, Lynn Chadwick.
But the autocratic onslaught began in the
mid-1990s, when Pat Scott took over as KPFA manager in Berkeley
and then became Pacifica's manager. One of the reasons we are
running our friend Opal Nation's account of being fired by Scott
is that it gives a vivid sense of how the whole process of autocratic
bullying and jackboot tactics looked from below. It's the first
time he's told this story. We're also proud to have Opal in our
pages because he's the greatest authority in the US-meaning in
this instance the entire world-on gospel music, and has compiled
many wonderful collections, available on CD, among them, "There
Is No Sweeter Sound" for Columbia and the"Testify"
boxed set for Rhino.
The Confessions of
a Pacifica Programmer
By Opal Nations
Strange to imagine fourteen years of your
own radio artwork drifting aimlessly somewhere out there in space
four years after I was dumped without reason from the on-air
staff at KPFA. Yet it has taken me four years to get to the writing
table and be able to somehow convey my thoughts without feeling
overwhelmed by anger and bitterness.
I came aboard the Pacifica flagship in mid-1981.
My only experience had been in acting in and producing radio
drama at the Radio Coop in Vancouver, Canada. My sphere of interest
lies in traditional forms of Afro-American gospel music. We decided
on a middle ground and presented an archival quartet program
labeled "Doo-Wop Delights". This late night meander
down memory lane, with occasional side trips into soul, gospel
and R & B, aired for ten years. In 1981, the KPFA studios
were located in the grunge-gray suite above Edy's Restaurant
where large rodents had carved out territory and the rancid smell
of stale air seeped out of the walls from below during opening
hours. The atmosphere of the place was funky. Dissension among
the ranks was a major problem, even then. Battles raged-the arts
versus politics-and which were more deserving of prime daylight
air time. Naturally, discourse won over culture every time.
My first thought was to try to remove the
barriers between the com-partmentalized disciplines. To have
music programmers take a stab at news reporting and news people
have a go at doing drama. This might lead to a better understanding
and respect for everyone involved in making KPFA a people's forum.
But my proposal was laughed at and people went back to defending
their own small squares of broadcast territory. As time went
on, program guides got thinner and KPFA Christmas parties shrank
into Sandwichville.
The David Salniker management style struck
me as a "hands-off" policy of leave well alone. If
you had a problem, it would fix itself. Like today, no one ever
cared about the night owls who regularly came in to host the
graveyard shift. Boy, those late hours were sometimes scary.
You never knew who was lurking around the next corner or who
was "crashing" for the night. When time came to staff
the mikes at marathon fund-raising events, we all gladly played
used-car salesman. But in those days we did not need to meet
large mortgage payments and "other-than listener funding"
seemed to almost cover the impending PG&E bills.
I joined the Drama and Literature Department
and shared in the morning readings, "acting out" chapters
from the light side of English literature. The morning readings
were one of a number of components that made KPFA a special station
to be part of. We had a far broader spectrum of programming in
those days. It was not until the hiring of David Salniker's replacement
that managerial affairs at KPFA took a downward turn culminating
in the sorry state of affairs we have come to today. The gradual
incursion of Pacifica's meddling and interference seemed like
an advancing disease. More and more, key KPFA personnel seemed
to be at odds with a system that grew like a corporate pyramid
by the minute.
The move to the Architectural Digest-type
structure on MLK Jr. Way set the stage for what was to come:
a move away from creative spontaneity into a realm of responsible,
corporate business management. Let us all remember that KPFA
was founded on the principles of libertarianism, freedom of thought
and action in the furtherance of peace and justice for everyone.
The new managerial system snatched the power which was given
in trust away from the people and from behind locked doors management
used this power to cleverly corporatize its own interests. Instead
of turning to those individuals who had supported KPFA in times
of need for most of their listening lives and doing all they
could to increase and strengthen their numbers, KPFA management
hired consultants who advised a course which took them into the
mainstream of National Public Radio.
The on-air arts suffered and were almost annihilated.
Schemes to radically change the on-air image of KPFA were drawn
up in late 1994-early 1995. Listener input, as always, was not
a figure in the equation. A plan evolved whereby those on-air
people with the least political clout, and those who the management
felt were supporting those parts of our culture they deemed irrelevant
in today's marketplace, would be swiftly axed. On-air staff who
were either effectively unionized, worked full time for the station,
raised staggering amounts of cash during fund raisers, had given
money to build the new station and had had their names etched
on blocks in the station lobby, or had made high profile overtures
in the form of servile deference were kept on. So were the formerly
forgotten hosts of the wee wee hours, those who broadcast after
1:30 a.m.
I had always thought it important to develop
relationships with regular listeners and fans. I made posters
and mailers which went out on a mailing list. I sent information
four to six weeks in advance to the tabloids concerning upcoming
programs and special artist features. Few music programmers ever
did this at the time. I made a habit of posting mailers and flyers
around the radio station. This was a grave mistake. It seems
that anyone can read anything into a graphic design. Something
somewhere will offend or outrage someone. I had no intention
of alienating or discriminating against anyone in any shape or
form at any time, but there were somehow those who thought my
poster designs offensive and in a roundabout way let me know
about it. I had made enemies of the "p.c. police".
I quit posting my program at the station.
Somehow I got the feeling that certain KPFA employees resented
the fact that a white, middle-class, middle-aged male whose life
had been spent researching African American gospel music was
conducting a weekly in-depth black roots music show. Never mind
the fact that it was scheduled at midnight, when most folks were
tucked in, after the regurgitated evening news. If I had been
playing rock & roll, all would have been fine. Meetings took
place at the station where some people argued that programmers
should play music of their own race.
In 1991, I tried to remove myself from this
issue by switching over to hosting a world music program. This
seemed exciting to me. It was a chance to learn and appreciate
the cultures of the planet. I had subbed for David Mayer's world
music program and had learned a lot from his excellent (and sadly
missed by many) Wednesday morning show. I wanted to be able to
contribute more to KPFA.
My show was called "Harmonia Mundi"
(Global Harmony). After two years, I quit world music and took
up profiling the principal movers and shakers of R & B, the
artists who shaped the course of Blues & Rhythm music from
its beginnings during the war years up to its death at the dawn
of the "British Invasion". This new show was called
"Rockin at Midnite." We had a ball, and in no way did
I encroach upon the territory carved out by "Blues by the
Bay," a long-established program I often hosted when Tom
Mazzolini was pressed for time to do it.
Dark clouds started to gather in late 1994,
when programmers were told in staff circulars that our programs
would come under review. I sensed something was wrong when no
effort was made to review my show. In fact, no music department
head or member of KPFA management ever hauled me in to suggest
ways of how my show might be improved, changed or altered for
the better. To my knowledge, none of the other programmers received
a review of their programs either. The writing was on the wall.
A secret re-programming committee was set up and convened behind
closed doors. A series of lie-filled staff circulars were mailed
out in an effort to conceal the real intentions of the management.
First we were told that all regular weekly
programmers would keep their programs and be rescheduled. This
was the first lie. Secondly, we were informed that pulled programs
and hosts would get a chance to reapply as all regular KPFA programming
would be reviewed and evaluated every three months. This of course
was a bold-faced lie. The station did not have the means to put
people through this time-consuming process. We were firmly directed
to keep all station business under our hats. We were forbidden
to tell our listeners anything. Most of us, those in fear of
losing our shows, kept our mouths shut. We felt angry and intimidated.
We felt helpless. A deathly silence reigned during the month
prior to the mass "cleansing". Rumors spread, but little
information from the secret meetings filtered down to the on-air
staff. The lid was shut tightly.
The death knell for me came one early Monday
morning in July. Not a letter, not a meeting, not a confrontation,
but a cursory phone call from the station manager thirty minutes
before I was heading out to KPFA to sub for "Blues By The
Bay". A perfectly inept time to tell me I no longer had
a show, that my services would no longer be needed in the Drama
& Literature Department, and that my chances of hosting a
regular world music program on KPFA were slim. That's it. That's
how they fired me. But they added one last lie: You will however
be on the top of the subs list for the morning world music slot.
The management had no intention of calling me in to substitute
for anyone, something that became obvious to me over the ensuing
months of not a single call, in spite of the fact that world
music shows ran five mornings a week and there were regular no-shows
of the programmers.
I applied three times for a world music show,
each time submitting formal, written applications. These were
ignored and never even acknowledged. The most painful part was
saying goodbye to my listeners. Some called with tearful voices.
One listener told me she had moved to the Bay Area just so she
could listen to my program. How do you respond to statements
like this? The studio phone lines were jammed. I tried choking
back tears and making excuses. After all, the truth had not been
revealed to me by the management. I felt unable to give clear
and substantial answers to the listeners. Why was I on the outs
list? Why did the management want me off the station? Why did
they not consult with me to work out a solution that best suited
everyone? I was prepared to take my airtime in any given direction.
I had proven I could be both inventive and versatile. Didn't
somebody say that KPFA was a forum for ideas that would not otherwise
be expressed?
"Rockin at Midnite" was the kind
of in-depth music program one never heard on any other Bay Area
radio station. KPFA management was swamped with angry letters.
They were all answered with the same old lies. Oh no, I had not
been taken off the air, I was simply relegated to substitute
world music programmer. To my amazement, I found that I was the
first person to leak the mass firings to the press.
Hours of preparation go into putting a program
together. Hours of unpaid research. Not once did any member of
management show any gratitude, and eventually we came not to
expect any. To be suddenly thrown off the air without fair reason,
after fourteen years of devoting a substantial part of your life
to public radio, leaves a deep and lasting scar.
KPFA is a station left to us in trust. If
it is to survive it needs to rebuild its trust in the people
even if this means a complete remodel of the Pacifica Foundation.
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