As Hurricane Helene ravaged the mountain communities of western North Carolina last fall, Blue Ridge Public Radio remained a beacon in the storm.
With power knocked out throughout the region, the organization turned to portable generators to keep its two stations on the air. For days during and after the deluge, BPR was the only source of lifesaving news: weather updates, road closures, potable water locations.
BPR now confronts a different kind of calamity.
Under President Trump’s executive order eliminating federal funds for public broadcasting, the organization would lose $300,000 annually, or roughly 10 percent of its annual revenue. Such a cut would disfigure BPR’s operations, particularly the newsgathering the stations provided during Helene, according to CEO and general manager Ele Ellis. In an urgent fundraising pitch to listeners, Ellis put it in stark terms: “It’s no exaggeration to say the future of BPR and public media itself will be at stake over the coming months.”
While the headlines about Trump’s proposed cuts typically name PBS and NPR as his targets, the twin giants of public broadcasting would likely be the least harmed by his proposed actions. By law, most of the money Congress passes to CPB each year doesn’t go to NPR or PBS. About 70 percent of it is distributed to stations, which can spend it however they deem necessary. (Some of this money goes back to NPR and PBS as fees for programming.)
As a result, the more profound and traumatic impact of a cutoff would be at the station level, particularly among radio outlets. Many of the 386 organizations that operate non-commercial radio stations across the country have done so for years on slim margins and shoestring budgets (BPR reported a deficit in its most recent annual report.) Without Washington’s help, most would be diminished; some will no longer exist.
On average federal sources account for about 14 percent of a typical public radio station’s annual budget, said Alex Curley, a former NPR manager who has researched public-media finances. But this number varies widely depending on a station’s size and location: Some stations rely on Washington for half or more of their annual operating funds.
Given that kind of financial dependency, Curley estimates that about one in 10 public radio stations are at risk of going dark if federal money dries up. The most vulnerable stations are those serving rural areas and those that reach large minority populations.
Stations in red states—those that voted for Trump in 2024—would likely fail at a somewhat higher rate than those in blue states. The greatest impact would be in Alaska, where public radio stations broadcast to sparse audiences over vast areas. Fully half of the state’s public stations could be knocked off the air, Curley said. (CPB officials declined a request for comment).
For public radio’s survivors, the elimination of federal funds would almost certainly affect newsgathering, which is among the most costly and labor-intensive services.
The Medill State of Local News Project at Northwestern University estimates that about more than 200 public radio stations create and broadcast local news. In four counties, public stations are the only source of local news. In dozens of the more than 200 news desert counties in the U.S., public stations located in adjacent counties broadcast into at least parts of those areas. As Ellis put it in her letter to listeners last month: “We shudder to imagine our devastating loss of BPR’s emergency news coverage when it is needed most.”
Faced with such potentially catastrophic outcomes, public broadcasters are counting on the courts to stop Trump. CPB filed suit in April to block Trump from replacing a majority of its board with loyalists who would dismantle the organization. Last week, it was NPR’s and local public stations’ turn to sue the White House. They argued in their suit that Trump’s funding cut was retaliation for reporting he didn’t like, in direct violation of their First Amendment rights. On Friday, PBS and PBS Lakeland also filed suit against the administration.
This is not a situation that we can fundraise our way out of.
Cindy Sweat, general manager of KTSK in Wrangell, Alaska
NPR’s suit was joined by three local public broadcasters, including KSUT, a public radio station based in southwestern Colorado. Founded by the Southern Ute Tribe, KSUT was one of the first stations in the U.S. that directly served Native Americans to provide community news to a Native reservation. It now operates two stations, one broadcasting local and national news and the other providing news, music and cultural programming to indigenous communities throughout the Four Corners region. KSUT isn’t just the only public radio operator in the area; it’s the only professional source of local news, weather reports and emergency information in much of its broadcast territory. Some of its listeners live in areas so remote that they lack phone service or internet connections.
The organization will receive $333,000 from CPB during fiscal 2025, accounting for about 19 percent of its annual revenue. Losing this money would force KSUT to make “immediate and significant” cuts to its local and regional news, it said in a statement. National news could be affected, too, said Steve Zansberg, the stations’ attorney: The organization might be unable to afford fees paid to NPR for its programming, which forms the bulk of the daily and weekend schedule on its primary channel.
For smaller stations, the issue isn’t what to cut. It’s how to survive.
KSTK is the only station in Wrangell, Alaska, a picturesque town of some 2,200 people along the state’s southeastern coast. Its remote location–it can be reached only by plane or boat–and rugged topography limit local connectivity and make radio a lifeline, quite literally during periodic emergencies such as earthquakes, floods and landslides. KSTK is the area’s only emergency-alert entity and the only source of real-time disaster news, as it was in late 2023 when a massive landslide killed six residents and disrupted power and essential services.
“Whatever the emergency, people in Wrangell turn to KSTK to find out what’s happening and for information on what to do,” said Cindy Sweat, the station’s general manager and one of its two full time employees. (The other is a news director/reporter.)
But KSTK itself would need its own lifeline if Trump succeeds in eliminating Washington’s support. Just more than half of the station’s operating budget comes from CPB grants, Sweat said, and without this money, the station couldn’t continue. Sweat said her only hope is if “a very large philanthropic organization” stepped in to fill the gap.
But the chances of that are about as remote as Wrangell, she said.
“Wishing for a rich uncle to emerge and save the day is hopeful but it’s not realistic,” Sweat said. “Due to our size and population, this is not a situation that we can fundraise our way out of.”
