Business NPR’s C.E.O. Was a Right-Wing Target. Then the Real Trouble Started. - Katherine Maher has taken an unyielding approach to NPR’s biggest battles — which has sometimes put her at odds with her colleagues in public media.

NPR’s C.E.O. Was a Right-Wing Target. Then the Real Trouble Started.
The New York Times (archive.ph)
By Benjamin Mullin
2025-12-30 10:00:09GMT

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Katherine Maher, the chief executive of NPR, has dealt with plenty of criticism this year. Did she consider quitting? “I really don’t like bullies,” she said.Credit...Jason Andrew for The New York Times

Katherine Maher knew that running NPR was going to be difficult. But since taking over as chief executive last year, she has confronted one crisis after another.

Right-wing activists dredged up her old posts on social media and tried to get her fired. Congress stripped more than $500 million in annual funding from public media.

She has become a target not just of NPR’s traditional opponents on the political right but of some within the tightknit world of public broadcasting, who wanted her to take a more pragmatic tack. At one point, the chief executive of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, one of NPR’s biggest supporters, told Ms. Maher she should quit.

Her predecessors were accused of bringing a tote bag to a knife fight during political attacks on the organization. Ms. Maher, by contrast, has been more aggressive, refusing to compromise with Congress and taking the Trump administration to court, along with a key ally.

Ms. Maher, 42, stood by her strategy.

“The government targeted public funding to punish specific editorial decisions it disagreed with,” she said in a recent interview with The New York Times. “That’s not a funding dispute dressed up as a constitutional case; that’s textbook First Amendment retaliation.”

Ms. Maher’s stance brought support pouring in for her organization. NPR emerged from the biggest political battle in its history on firm footing, generating record donations.

But the loss of roughly $500 million from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting has been devastating for other parts of the public media universe. Many local stations, which pay dues to NPR and PBS, are laying off employees.

In other words, Ms. Maher and NPR have managed to hold on to their influence over public broadcasting this year, even as that system was dealt a terrible blow and is far weaker overall. Yet there are emerging challenges to NPR’s sway over public radio. In the wake of the funding fight, a coalition of public media organizations has teamed up to form Public Media Infrastructure, an organization that could eventually provide an alternative to a radio distribution system managed by NPR.

“When I came into this organization, we talked about the first 50 years of public media and the next 50 years,” Ms. Maher said in the interview. “Nobody expected there to be quite as fine a point on it as this moment in time.”

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Ms. Maher has appeared on NPR’s airwaves this year, speaking to the “Morning Edition” hosts Michel Martin and Steve Inskeep about government defunding.Credit...Jason Andrew for The New York Times

‘She Had Done Her Homework’
Running NPR is a notoriously difficult job. It’s one part politician, managing relationships with hundreds of stations; one part turnaround artist, trying to expand a business with roots in traditional radio; and one part fund-raiser, appealing to foundations and other donors. And NPR’s most important product is its journalism, which its chief executive has no direct control over.

Further complicating matters: NPR is a nonprofit with a majority of its board of directors from local stations, who occasionally have diverging interests.

Over the last 15 years, NPR has had seven chief executives.

NPR’s board members were excited in the fall of 2023 when they found Ms. Maher. She had worked for the World Bank and HSBC. As the chief executive of the nonprofit that runs Wikipedia, she oversaw a sprawling, complicated community of volunteer editors. And she was prepared.

“She had done her homework,” said Jennifer Ferro, the former chair of NPR’s board who led the search committee.

In some ways, Ms. Maher was an unusual pick. She had no experience running a professional news organization. And unlike NPR’s recent top leaders, who were media executives in the twilight of their careers, Ms. Maher was relatively young and knew the tech world. She was also telegenic, eventually breezing through interviews with late-night hosts like Stephen Colbert and Jordan Klepper. (“I barter these for groceries,” she said, presented with a “Daily Show” tote bag.)

During one of the most consequential times in NPR’s history, Ms. Maher has been a highly visible C.E.O., holding conference calls with station leaders and delivering direct-to-camera fund-raising appeals.

Clad in bright blazers and sprinkling tech argot into her conversations, Ms. Maher has been crisscrossing the nation to visit NPR’s stations, with recent trips to Bloomington, Ind., and Thousand Oaks, Calif. (“It’ll take me five years to get to all of them,” she said.) While she is out on maternity leave, NPR’s chief financial officer, Daphne Kwon, will fill in as interim president.

In early April 2024, two weeks after she started, Ms. Maher and NPR faced an unexpected crisis. Uri Berliner, a senior editor at NPR, published an essay in The Free Press accusing the network of a liberal bias in its news coverage.

The crisis deepened a week later. Chris Rufo, the conservative activist who ran social media campaigns against figures including Claudine Gay, the former Harvard president, circulated years-old social media posts from Ms. Maher that criticized Donald J. Trump and supported liberal causes. (“Also, Donald Trump is a racist,” read one.)

NPR’s critics seized the moment. In early May, Republicans in Congress called on Ms. Maher to testify on allegations of bias. Compounding the situation: Some at NPR were surprised by Ms. Maher’s social media posts; she told The Times that the board hadn’t asked her about them before she was hired.

Steve Inskeep, a host of “Morning Edition,” published a rebuttal to Mr. Berliner’s essay, accusing him of errors. NPR noted in a statement that Ms. Maher wrote her posts before she joined the news industry.

Did she consider quitting? “I really don’t like bullies,” she said. She remembered thinking, “My view is that the overall goal of what I was brought in to do was far greater than that five-week mark.”

Ms. Ferro, who was in touch with Ms. Maher frequently during that period, was determined to keep her at NPR. She was the right leader, she said. And she believed getting rid of an executive because of political pressure 40 days after she joined would only weaken the organization.

The furor surrounding her posts subsided. But they would come up again a year later.

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In September, NPR’s board of directors gathered to consider a highly unusual move: seeking a restraining order against the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, a key ally.Credit...Jason Andrew for The New York Times

An ‘Asteroid’ Looms
In November 2024, weeks after President Trump was elected, an ominous memo on the impact of federal defunding written by two public media leaders began circulating among station directors. It raised the possibility that Congress could eventually claw back all funding for NPR and PBS.

“This is a scenario akin to an asteroid striking without warning,” the report said. It included a diagram showing that money from Congress is allocated to the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, which then doles it out to NPR, PBS and local stations across the United States.

For NPR and PBS, defunding would be survivable. Most of NPR’s revenue comes from membership dues, sponsorships and donations. But for local stations, many of which rely on the Corporation for Public Broadcasting for a majority of their budget, this was catastrophic.

In March, Ms. Maher and Paula Kerger, the chief executive of PBS, were called to testify before Congress in a hearing whose title seemed to presage its conclusion: “Anti-American Airwaves: Accountability for the Heads of NPR and PBS.”

The hearing was predictably divided along partisan lines. The Republicans, who argued that NPR and PBS were outmoded, a waste of taxpayer money or liberally biased, interrogated Ms. Kerger and Ms. Maher, asking the NPR chief executive about her social media posts and the network’s coverage of Hunter Biden’s laptop. The Democrats praised NPR and PBS and mocked the proceedings (“Is Elmo now, or has he ever been, a member of the Communist Party?”).

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Ms. Maher and Paula Kerger, the chief executive of PBS, were called to testify before Congress this year. Among the questions: “Is Elmo now, or has he ever been, a member of the Communist Party?”Credit...Anna Rose Layden for The New York Times

The hearing made it clear that Republicans in Congress, which had tried to pull NPR’s funding for a half-century, might finally make good on their threat.

‘How Big of a Cut Could We Tolerate?’
In April, as Congress was gearing up to claw back funding from the public media system, America’s Public Television Stations, an influential nonprofit advocacy group, sent a document to leaders of NPR, PBS and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.

The document listed several scenarios that might allow NPR and PBS to save funding for local stations by agreeing to give up money for national programs. It even included a “save-face rationale” for some Republicans in Congress who wanted to justify their support of public media.

“How big of a cut could we tolerate?” the document asked.

At a meeting soon after, Ms. Kerger and Ms. Maher expressed support for such a compromise. It seemed, briefly, like the heaviest hitters in public broadcasting were on board with the plan.

But there were also signs of major strain.

On a call this spring, Patricia Harrison, the chief executive of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, asked Ms. Maher whether she would be willing to say anything to members of Congress or the press to acknowledge concerns from listeners who viewed NPR’s reporting as biased, according to two people familiar with her remarks.

Ms. Maher rebuffed that suggestion. She didn’t believe that NPR was biased, and she thought saying so would undermine the organization and fail to placate those who were critical of the network, according to a person familiar with her thinking. After she refused, months of simmering tension between the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and NPR came to the surface. Ms. Harrison told Ms. Maher she should resign her position for the good of public media.

Things got more tense when, on May 1, Mr. Trump issued an executive order banning government funding of NPR and PBS. NPR sued the White House, arguing that the order violated the Constitution. And it added the Corporation for Public Broadcasting as a defendant, since Mr. Trump’s order directed it to deny NPR funding.

NPR also changed its position on the funding compromise: It now viewed any cuts as a violation of the First Amendment, essentially arguing that cuts amounted to government discrimination against NPR based on its viewpoint.

Ms. Maher said that once the Trump administration attempted to tie the organization’s ability to receive federal funding to its editorial decisions, the compromise “was no longer an option.”

In July, the Senate officially voted to defund public media, 51 to 48. In a somber meeting with employees days after the vote, Ms. Maher said NPR and its member stations had waged a “David-and-Goliath-style” fight that included 191 meetings during a trip to Washington, D.C., 40 of which were directly with elected officials.

“We put up a really good fight as a team, as an organization, as a network, and we should be damn proud of it,” she said. She also appeared in a fund-raising appeal from NPR. “We need your help,” she said. Donations poured in.

Then the Corporation for Public Broadcasting took a step that ratcheted up tension with NPR. For years, the corporation had funded a radio distribution system managed by NPR.

Instead, in September, it announced it was awarding a major grant to Public Media Infrastructure, the new entity formed by a group of five public media organizations including WNYC, PRX and the Station Resource Group.

After that, the legal battle between NPR and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting erupted.

‘Mom and Dad Are Fighting’
In late September, NPR’s board of directors gathered on a video call to discuss a highly unusual move championed by Ms. Maher: seeking a restraining order against public radio’s biggest supporter.

The situation was complicated. NPR had already sued the Corporation for Public Broadcasting alongside the Trump administration, but the restraining order went a step further. In court, NPR would argue that the Corporation for Public Broadcasting had changed its mind about funding a radio distribution system managed by NPR because Mr. Trump issued his executive order in May — essentially helping him violate the First Amendment. The restraining order sought to keep the funding from going elsewhere.

The corporation, for its part, argued that it had funded the new entity because NPR had a monopoly over its radio distribution grants, and it wanted those efforts to be more independent. It also told a judge it was acting on an independent recommendation that predated the funding fight.

At stake were millions of dollars and the possibility of widening the rift between NPR and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. As one public media executive put it at the time: “Mom and Dad are fighting.”

In the end, only three members of NPR’s 23-person board of directors voted against the restraining order or abstained from voting. Ms. Maher had rallied the board with an impassioned speech about the importance of standing firm on First Amendment issues.

The legal action inflamed a painful internecine battle, as emails from NPR and the corporation became public in discovery. “There is a dream scenario — we get the money and CPB goes away by the action of Congress,” wrote one NPR executive, referring to the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, in April.

In one email, an executive with the Corporation for Public Broadcasting suggested that the organization hadn’t funded an NPR project because of the “political challenges” that came with doing so, although they couldn’t “own it” in public.

In November, the two sides reached a settlement, with the corporation agreeing to direct some of its remaining funding toward the satellite system managed by NPR and declaring Mr. Trump’s executive order unconstitutional. Both sides issued statements declaring victory, with NPR citing a judge’s remarks stating that the organization had made a “very substantial showing” to support its argument.

In tandem with the settlement, Ms. Maher decided that NPR would give stations relief on some of their fees, earning her some goodwill among station managers across the country.

But a bigger chunk of money was never coming back. The Corporation for Public Broadcasting is scheduled to wind down in January.

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Ms. Maher at the Tiny Desk piano at NPR’s headquarters in Washington. NPR said its overall digital reach was growing thanks in part to YouTube videos like Tiny Desk Concerts.Credit...Jason Andrew for The New York Times

‘You Have to Make a Decision’
Though the public broadcasting system is reeling, NPR’s business remains stable. Ms. Maher said NPR was expected to generate record donations this year and would deliver $22 million in financial support to members of its network, which has around 200 newsrooms. (Local stations’ fund-raising has also increased.)

While web traffic to NPR.org has declined this year, according to Comscore, a spokeswoman for NPR said the network’s total digital reach was up, factoring in platforms like YouTube, where NPR’s Tiny Desk concerts are popular. And NPR’s broadcast audience has increased roughly 8 percent this year, according to Radio Research Consortium.

The end of government support has raised questions about the future of public radio, with some stations choosing to disaffiliate with NPR and PBS entirely. Ms. Maher borrowed an analogy from a station manager, comparing public broadcasters to a family that now has to figure out where to host Thanksgiving after the loss of a parent.

“Now you have to make a decision as a family: Do you still want to come together every year for the dinner party?” Ms. Maher asked.
 
Wow she literally threw Corporation for Public Broadcasting under the bus and doesn't care if their sister company PBS goes under or if many workers at PBS or local stations are laid off. She does care about being seen as going head to head with Trump though. Apparently they got enough donations to keep NPR afloat (who the fuck is donating to NPR let alone listening to it in 2025)? Yeah that sounds very organic. And she continually refuses to refute that NPR isn't in any way liberally biased (it is) and therefore keeps coming across as a lying disingenuous bitch. But hey looking at her resume she's just the type to be all for NPR accurate "journalism". Rate me rainbows but if NPR does eventually goes down hopefully she's the nails in the coffin or the hammer that swung.
 
Yeah, donations are up... this year. Federal funding was yearly, all this shit goes away at the first sign of a recession, or even immediately once the year is over since its not people annualizing. The woke overreach of the last 10 or so years that Uri Berliner was complaining about are set to finally kill NPR and thank fucking God.
 
From her Wikipedia entry (lol):
After high school, Maher graduated from the Arabic Language Institute's Arabic Language Intensive Program of The American University in Cairo in 2003, which she recalled as a formative experience that developed her interest in the Middle East. Maher also studied at the Institut français d'études arabes de Damas in Syria and spent time in Lebanon and Tunisia.

In 2005, Maher received a bachelor's degree from New York University in Middle Eastern and Islamic studies.

She needs an Islamic Content sticker slapped on her forehead.
 
I think she is doing a pretty splendid job. Well beyond the wildest expectations.
She already got CPB and PBS pretty much destroyed.
Making sure that everything else in this sphere is destroyed first before closing the doors at NPR.
 
Running NPR is a notoriously difficult job. It’s one part politician, managing relationships with hundreds of stations; one part turnaround artist, trying to expand a business with roots in traditional radio; and one part fund-raiser, appealing to foundations and other donors. And NPR’s most important product is its journalism, which its chief executive has no direct control over.
You forgot: One Part a propaganda mill to get malleable college-aged minds to open their borders for teary eyed mud people with less than room temprature IQ and believe holding hands and singing "kumbyah" will magically fix the world. Naive suicidal optimism and empathy, thats what you want your listeners thinking, the most sickening, self-destructive parts of the Liberal psyche given form.
"The Cheif Executive has no direct control over the Journalism" my ass. This garbage is the shit you want pushed and as the CHIEF EXECUTIVE, you can shitcan anyone who doesn't go a-long with you bullshit. Miss me with this shit.

Fuck you Katherine, I hope you recieve much "love" from all the brown people you proselytize for.
 
In early April 2024, two weeks after she started, Ms. Maher and NPR faced an unexpected crisis. Uri Berliner, a senior editor at NPR, published an essay in The Free Press accusing the network of a liberal bias in its news coverage.
Here's the KF thread on Berliner's piece. Very post-Covid libshit-does-a-wrongthinq coded.
I’ve Been at NPR for 25 Years. Here’s How We Lost America’s Trust. - Uri Berliner, a veteran at the public radio institution, says the network lost its way when it started telling listeners how to think.

You know the stereotype of the NPR listener: an EV-driving, Wordle-playing, tote bag–carrying coastal elite. It doesn’t precisely describe me, but it’s not far off. I’m Sarah Lawrence–educated, was raised by a lesbian peace activist mother, I drive a Subaru, and Spotify says my listening habits are most similar to people in Berkeley.

I fit the NPR mold. I’ll cop to that.

So when I got a job here 25 years ago, I never looked back. As a senior editor on the business desk where news is always breaking, we’ve covered upheavals in the workplace, supermarket prices, social media, and AI.

It’s true NPR has always had a liberal bent, but during most of my tenure here, an open-minded, curious culture prevailed. We were nerdy, but not knee-jerk, activist, or scolding.

In recent years, however, that has changed. Today, those who listen to NPR or read its coverage online find something different: the distilled worldview of a very small segment of the U.S. population.

If you are conservative, you will read this and say, duh, it’s always been this way.

But it hasn’t.

For decades, since its founding in 1970, a wide swath of America tuned in to NPR for reliable journalism and gorgeous audio pieces with birds singing in the Amazon. Millions came to us for conversations that exposed us to voices around the country and the world radically different from our own—engaging precisely because they were unguarded and unpredictable. No image generated more pride within NPR than the farmer listening to Morning Edition from his or her tractor at sunrise.

Back in 2011, although NPR’s audience tilted a bit to the left, it still bore a resemblance to America at large. Twenty-six percent of listeners described themselves as conservative, 23 percent as middle of the road, and 37 percent as liberal.

By 2023, the picture was completely different: only 11 percent described themselves as very or somewhat conservative, 21 percent as middle of the road, and 67 percent of listeners said they were very or somewhat liberal. We weren’t just losing conservatives; we were also losing moderates and traditional liberals.

An open-minded spirit no longer exists within NPR, and now, predictably, we don’t have an audience that reflects America.

That wouldn’t be a problem for an openly polemical news outlet serving a niche audience. But for NPR, which purports to consider all things, it’s devastating both for its journalism and its business model.

Like many unfortunate things, the rise of advocacy took off with Donald Trump. As in many newsrooms, his election in 2016 was greeted at NPR with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and despair. (Just to note, I eagerly voted against Trump twice but felt we were obliged to cover him fairly.) But what began as tough, straightforward coverage of a belligerent, truth-impaired president veered toward efforts to damage or topple Trump’s presidency.

Persistent rumors that the Trump campaign colluded with Russia over the election became the catnip that drove reporting. At NPR, we hitched our wagon to Trump’s most visible antagonist, Representative Adam Schiff.

Schiff, who was the top Democrat on the House Intelligence Committee, became NPR’s guiding hand, its ever-present muse. By my count, NPR hosts interviewed Schiff 25 times about Trump and Russia. During many of those conversations, Schiff alluded to purported evidence of collusion. The Schiff talking points became the drumbeat of NPR news reports.

But when the Mueller report found no credible evidence of collusion, NPR’s coverage was notably sparse. Russiagate quietly faded from our programming.

It is one thing to swing and miss on a major story. Unfortunately, it happens. You follow the wrong leads, you get misled by sources you trusted, you’re emotionally invested in a narrative, and bits of circumstantial evidence never add up. It’s bad to blow a big story.

What’s worse is to pretend it never happened, to move on with no mea culpas, no self-reflection. Especially when you expect high standards of transparency from public figures and institutions, but don’t practice those standards yourself. That’s what shatters trust and engenders cynicism about the media.

Russiagate was not NPR’s only miscue.

In October 2020, the New York Post published the explosive report about the laptop Hunter Biden abandoned at a Delaware computer shop containing emails about his sordid business dealings. With the election only weeks away, NPR turned a blind eye. Here’s how NPR’s managing editor for news at the time explained the thinking: “We don’t want to waste our time on stories that are not really stories, and we don’t want to waste the listeners’ and readers’ time on stories that are just pure distractions.”

But it wasn’t a pure distraction, or a product of Russian disinformation, as dozens of former and current intelligence officials suggested. The laptop did belong to Hunter Biden. Its contents revealed his connection to the corrupt world of multimillion-dollar influence peddling and its possible implications for his father.

The laptop was newsworthy. But the timeless journalistic instinct of following a hot story lead was being squelched. During a meeting with colleagues, I listened as one of NPR’s best and most fair-minded journalists said it was good we weren’t following the laptop story because it could help Trump.

When the essential facts of the Post’s reporting were confirmed and the emails verified independently about a year and a half later, we could have fessed up to our misjudgment. But, like Russia collusion, we didn’t make the hard choice of transparency.

Politics also intruded into NPR’s Covid coverage, most notably in reporting on the origin of the pandemic. One of the most dismal aspects of Covid journalism is how quickly it defaulted to ideological story lines. For example, there was Team Natural Origin—supporting the hypothesis that the virus came from a wild animal market in Wuhan, China. And on the other side, Team Lab Leak, leaning into the idea that the virus escaped from a Wuhan lab.

The lab leak theory came in for rough treatment almost immediately, dismissed as racist or a right-wing conspiracy theory. Anthony Fauci and former NIH head Francis Collins, representing the public health establishment, were its most notable critics. And that was enough for NPR. We became fervent members of Team Natural Origin, even declaring that the lab leak had been debunked by scientists.

But that wasn’t the case.

When word first broke of a mysterious virus in Wuhan, a number of leading virologists immediately suspected it could have leaked from a lab there conducting experiments on bat coronaviruses. This was in January 2020, during calmer moments before a global pandemic had been declared, and before fear spread and politics intruded.

Reporting on a possible lab leak soon became radioactive. Fauci and Collins apparently encouraged the March publication of an influential scientific paper known as “The Proximal Origin of SARS-CoV-2.” Its authors wrote they didn’t believe “any type of laboratory-based scenario is plausible.”

But the lab leak hypothesis wouldn’t die. And understandably so. In private, even some of the scientists who penned the article dismissing it sounded a different tune. One of the authors, Andrew Rambaut, an evolutionary biologist from Edinburgh University, wrote to his colleagues, “I literally swivel day by day thinking it is a lab escape or natural.”

Over the course of the pandemic, a number of investigative journalists made compelling, if not conclusive, cases for the lab leak. But at NPR, we weren’t about to swivel or even tiptoe away from the insistence with which we backed the natural origin story. We didn’t budge when the Energy Department—the federal agency with the most expertise about laboratories and biological research—concluded, albeit with low confidence, that a lab leak was the most likely explanation for the emergence of the virus.

Instead, we introduced our coverage of that development on February 28, 2023, by asserting confidently that “the scientific evidence overwhelmingly points to a natural origin for the virus.”

When a colleague on our science desk was asked why they were so dismissive of the lab leak theory, the response was odd. The colleague compared it to the Bush administration’s unfounded argument that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction, apparently meaning we won’t get fooled again. But these two events were not even remotely related. Again, politics were blotting out the curiosity and independence that ought to have been driving our work.

I’m offering three examples of widely followed stories where I believe we faltered. Our coverage is out there in the public domain. Anyone can read or listen for themselves and make their own judgment. But to truly understand how independent journalism suffered at NPR, you need to step inside the organization.

You need to start with former CEO John Lansing. Lansing came to NPR in 2019 from the federally funded agency that oversees Voice of America. Like others who have served in the top job at NPR, he was hired primarily to raise money and to ensure good working relations with hundreds of member stations that acquire NPR’s programming.

After working mostly behind the scenes, Lansing became a more visible and forceful figure after the killing of George Floyd in May 2020. It was an anguished time in the newsroom, personally and professionally so for NPR staffers. Floyd’s murder, captured on video, changed both the conversation and the daily operations at NPR.

Given the circumstances of Floyd’s death, it would have been an ideal moment to tackle a difficult question: Is America, as progressive activists claim, beset by systemic racism in the 2020s—in law enforcement, education, housing, and elsewhere? We happen to have a very powerful tool for answering such questions: journalism. Journalism that lets evidence lead the way.

But the message from the top was very different. America’s infestation with systemic racism was declared loud and clear: it was a given. Our mission was to change it.

“When it comes to identifying and ending systemic racism,” Lansing wrote in a companywide article, “we can be agents of change. Listening and deep reflection are necessary but not enough. They must be followed by constructive and meaningful steps forward. I will hold myself accountable for this.”

And we were told that NPR itself was part of the problem. In confessional language he said the leaders of public media, “starting with me—must be aware of how we ourselves have benefited from white privilege in our careers. We must understand the unconscious bias we bring to our work and interactions. And we must commit ourselves—body and soul—to profound changes in ourselves and our institutions.”

He declared that diversity—on our staff and in our audience—was the overriding mission, the “North Star” of the organization. Phrases like “that’s part of the North Star” became part of meetings and more casual conversation.

Race and identity became paramount in nearly every aspect of the workplace. Journalists were required to ask everyone we interviewed their race, gender, and ethnicity (among other questions), and had to enter it in a centralized tracking system. We were given unconscious bias training sessions. A growing DEI staff offered regular meetings imploring us to “start talking about race.” Monthly dialogues were offered for “women of color” and “men of color.” Nonbinary people of color were included, too.

These initiatives, bolstered by a $1 million grant from the NPR Foundation, came from management, from the top down. Crucially, they were in sync culturally with what was happening at the grassroots—among producers, reporters, and other staffers. Most visible was a burgeoning number of employee resource (or affinity) groups based on identity.

They included MGIPOC (Marginalized Genders and Intersex People of Color mentorship program); Mi Gente (Latinx employees at NPR); NPR Noir (black employees at NPR); Southwest Asians and North Africans at NPR; Ummah (for Muslim-identifying employees); Women, Gender-Expansive, and Transgender People in Technology Throughout Public Media; Khevre (Jewish heritage and culture at NPR); and NPR Pride (LGBTQIA employees at NPR).

All this reflected a broader movement in the culture of people clustering together based on ideology or a characteristic of birth. If, as NPR’s internal website suggested, the groups were simply a “great way to meet like-minded colleagues” and “help new employees feel included,” it would have been one thing.

But the role and standing of affinity groups, including those outside NPR, were more than that. They became a priority for NPR’s union, SAG-AFTRA—an item in collective bargaining. The current contract, in a section on DEI, requires NPR management to “keep up to date with current language and style guidance from journalism affinity groups” and to inform employees if language differs from the diktats of those groups. In such a case, the dispute could go before the DEI Accountability Committee.

In essence, this means the NPR union, of which I am a dues-paying member, has ensured that advocacy groups are given a seat at the table in determining the terms and vocabulary of our news coverage.

Conflicts between workers and bosses, between labor and management, are common in workplaces. NPR has had its share. But what’s notable is the extent to which people at every level of NPR have comfortably coalesced around the progressive worldview.

And this, I believe, is the most damaging development at NPR: the absence of viewpoint diversity.

There’s an unspoken consensus about the stories we should pursue and how they should be framed. It’s frictionless—one story after another about instances of supposed racism, transphobia, signs of the climate apocalypse, Israel doing something bad, and the dire threat of Republican policies. It’s almost like an assembly line.

The mindset prevails in choices about language. In a document called NPR Transgender Coverage Guidance—disseminated by news management—we’re asked to avoid the term biological sex. (The editorial guidance was prepared with the help of a former staffer of the National Center for Transgender Equality.) The mindset animates bizarre stories—on how The Beatles and bird names are racially problematic, and others that are alarmingly divisive; justifying looting, with claims that fears about crime are racist; and suggesting that Asian Americans who oppose affirmative action have been manipulated by white conservatives.

More recently, we have approached the Israel-Hamas war and its spillover onto streets and campuses through the “intersectional” lens that has jumped from the faculty lounge to newsrooms. Oppressor versus oppressed. That’s meant highlighting the suffering of Palestinians at almost every turn while downplaying the atrocities of October 7, overlooking how Hamas intentionally puts Palestinian civilians in peril, and giving little weight to the explosion of antisemitic hate around the world.

For nearly all my career, working at NPR has been a source of great pride. It’s a privilege to work in the newsroom at a crown jewel of American journalism. My colleagues are congenial and hardworking.

I can’t count the number of times I would meet someone, describe what I do, and they’d say, “I love NPR!”

And they wouldn’t stop there. They would mention their favorite host or one of those “driveway moments” where a story was so good you’d stay in your car until it finished.

It still happens, but often now the trajectory of the conversation is different. After the initial “I love NPR,” there’s a pause and a person will acknowledge, “I don’t listen as much as I used to.” Or, with some chagrin: “What’s happening there? Why is NPR telling me what to think?”

In recent years I’ve struggled to answer that question. Concerned by the lack of viewpoint diversity, I looked at voter registration for our newsroom. In D.C., where NPR is headquartered and many of us live, I found 87 registered Democrats working in editorial positions and zero Republicans. None.

So on May 3, 2021, I presented the findings at an all-hands editorial staff meeting. When I suggested we had a diversity problem with a score of 87 Democrats and zero Republicans, the response wasn’t hostile. It was worse. It was met with profound indifference. I got a few messages from surprised, curious colleagues. But the messages were of the “oh wow, that’s weird” variety, as if the lopsided tally was a random anomaly rather than a critical failure of our diversity North Star.

In a follow-up email exchange, a top NPR news executive told me that she had been “skewered” for bringing up diversity of thought when she arrived at NPR. So, she said, “I want to be careful how we discuss this publicly.”

For years, I have been persistent. When I believe our coverage has gone off the rails, I have written regular emails to top news leaders, sometimes even having one-on-one sessions with them. On March 10, 2022, I wrote to a top news executive about the numerous times we described the controversial education bill in Florida as the “Don’t Say Gay” bill when it didn’t even use the word gay. I pushed to set the record straight, and wrote another time to ask why we keep using that word that many Hispanics hate—Latinx. On March 31, 2022, I was invited to a managers’ meeting to present my observations.

Throughout these exchanges, no one has ever trashed me. That’s not the NPR way. People are polite. But nothing changes. So I’ve become a visible wrong-thinker at a place I love. It’s uncomfortable, sometimes heartbreaking.

Even so, out of frustration, on November 6, 2022, I wrote to the captain of ship North Star—CEO John Lansing—about the lack of viewpoint diversity and asked if we could have a conversation about it. I got no response, so I followed up four days later. He said he would appreciate hearing my perspective and copied his assistant to set up a meeting. On December 15, the morning of the meeting, Lansing’s assistant wrote back to cancel our conversation because he was under the weather. She said he was looking forward to chatting and a new meeting invitation would be sent. But it never came.

I won’t speculate about why our meeting never happened. Being CEO of NPR is a demanding job with lots of constituents and headaches to deal with. But what’s indisputable is that no one in a C-suite or upper management position has chosen to deal with the lack of viewpoint diversity at NPR and how that affects our journalism.

Which is a shame. Because for all the emphasis on our North Star, NPR’s news audience in recent years has become less diverse, not more so. Back in 2011, our audience leaned a bit to the left but roughly reflected America politically; now, the audience is cramped into a smaller, progressive silo.

Despite all the resources we’d devoted to building up our news audience among blacks and Hispanics, the numbers have barely budged. In 2023, according to our demographic research, 6 percent of our news audience was black, far short of the overall U.S. adult population, which is 14.4 percent black. And Hispanics were only 7 percent, compared to the overall Hispanic adult population, around 19 percent. Our news audience doesn’t come close to reflecting America. It’s overwhelmingly white and progressive, and clustered around coastal cities and college towns.

These are perilous times for news organizations. Last year, NPR laid off or bought out 10 percent of its staff and canceled four podcasts following a slump in advertising revenue. Our radio audience is dwindling and our podcast downloads are down from 2020. The digital stories on our website rarely have national impact. They aren’t conversation starters. Our competitive advantage in audio—where for years NPR had no peer—is vanishing. There are plenty of informative and entertaining podcasts to choose from.

Even within our diminished audience, there’s evidence of trouble at the most basic level: trust.

In February, our audience insights team sent an email proudly announcing that we had a higher trustworthy score than CNN or The New York Times. But the research from Harris Poll is hardly reassuring. It found that “3-in-10 audience members familiar with NPR said they associate NPR with the characteristic ‘trustworthy.’ ” Only in a world where media credibility has completely imploded would a 3-in-10 trustworthy score be something to boast about.

With declining ratings, sorry levels of trust, and an audience that has become less diverse over time, the trajectory for NPR is not promising. Two paths seem clear. We can keep doing what we’re doing, hoping it will all work out. Or we could start over, with the basic building blocks of journalism. We could face up to where we’ve gone wrong. News organizations don’t go in for that kind of reckoning. But there’s a good reason for NPR to be the first: we’re the ones with the word public in our name.

Despite our missteps at NPR, defunding isn’t the answer. As the country becomes more fractured, there’s still a need for a public institution where stories are told and viewpoints exchanged in good faith. Defunding, as a rebuke from Congress, wouldn’t change the journalism at NPR. That needs to come from within.

A few weeks ago, NPR welcomed a new CEO, Katherine Maher, who’s been a leader in tech. She doesn’t have a news background, which could be an asset given where things stand. I’ll be rooting for her. It’s a tough job. Her first rule could be simple enough: don’t tell people how to think. It could even be the new North Star.
 
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