Chris Selley: We'll thank Travis Dhanraj for 'pulling back the curtain' on CBC News
'I had no real choice but to walk away,' Dhanraj wrote in an open letter about what he termed his 'forced resignation' from Mother Corp. '(But) I still have my voice. And I intend to use it. Because this isn't just about me. It's about trust in the CBC — a public institution that's supposed to serve you. It's about voices being sidelined, hard truths avoided, and the public being left in the dark about what's really happening inside their national broadcaster.'
He accused the network — credibly, it must be said — of 'performative diversity, tokenism, (and perpetuating) a system designed to elevate certain voices and diminish others.' Dhanraj is brown-skinned, and quickly developed a reputation on the Canada Tonight newsmagazine show for inviting, shall we say, non-CBC types on to the public airwaves. (An appearance by Toronto Sun columnist Brian Lilley caused particular consternation among those who carry CBC tote bags.)
Kathryn Marshall, who is representing Dhanraj in a planned complaint to the Canadian Human Rights Commission, alleged this week that CBC management assumed Dhanraj would hold a 'liberal world view' because of his skin colour, and were dismayed when it didn't pan out the way they assumed it would. (I should say, knowing Dhanraj slightly and having watched him in action, both at press conferences and on TV, I really have no idea what his 'world view' is … except that it's not hopelessly blinkered. That's a good thing. He's a reporter.)
'When the time is right, I'll pull the curtain back,' Dhanraj wrote, portentously. 'I'll share everything. I'll tell you what is really happening inside the walls of your CBC.'
The sooner the better, please! Because it's just possible that this federal government might be serious about implementing reforms at the public broadcaster, and as of yet those proposed reforms amount to very weak and expensive tea.
A thousand years ago, in February, the former Heritage minister under the former prime minister proposed what she called a 'new mandate' for CBC. It was unprepossessing, to say the least: A ton of new money, naturally, plus a partial ban on advertising and some changes to how senior management positions are appointed. The CBC-related commitments in Mark Carney's Liberal platform (notwithstanding the promise of $150 million extra funding) were even weaker tea: When you're including 'the clear and consistent transmission of life-saving information during emergencies' as a new imperative for your public broadcaster, you know you're either out of ideas or have a severely dysfunctional public broadcaster. Because communicating life-saving information during emergencies is kind of Job One for broadcast journalism.
The first thing CBC did when COVID hit, let us never forget, was to cancel all its local newscasts. It later turned out that calamitous CBC CEO Catherine Tait had hunkered down for the pandemic in Brooklyn. She was last heard defending senior executives' bonuses, even as the network was shedding hundreds of jobs, as something akin to the divine right of kings and queens. Amazingly, she kept her job until her recently extended contract expired in January this year.
If I believed that an extra $150 million a year would fix what ails CBC, I wouldn't lose sleep over spending it. My complaints about CBC are myriad and easily Google-able. And it pains me the extent to which Canadian news — including private outlets such as this one, as well as CBC — is now subsidized by the Canadian taxpayer. But the simple fact is that if that support disappeared tomorrow there would be a hell of a lot less news out there, and that's never a good thing.
But I don't believe an extra $150 million would make much difference; I think it would just disappear into the gaping maw of middle management, emboldening them to get even more in the way of journalists simply doing the work they want to do. CBC news needs to be torn down to the studs and rebuilt, not tinkered with at the margins. So what Dhanraj and Marshall are teasing here is tantalizing, because it speaks to something existential about the CBC's news organization — something conservatives have always believed. It's not 'for Canadians'; it's for certain kinds of Canadians. That has never been any public broadcaster's mandate. And it is, perhaps, why the ratings are so poor.
I feel terrible for Travis Dhanraj, but I can't wait to see what's behind that curtain.
National Post cselley@postmedia.com
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UPI
2 hours ago
- UPI
Poll: More people in Canada, Mexico view U.S. as top threat not ally
July 8 (UPI) -- People from the United States' two closest neighbors -- Canada and Mexico -- are more likely to view the country as their greatest threat, not their greatest ally, according to a poll released Tuesday by the Pew Research Center. According to the survey, 59% of Canadians and 68% of Mexicans view the United States as their countries' greatest threat. Meanwhile, 55% of Canadians and 37% of Mexicans view their neighbor as their most important ally. The figures come from a survey that asked people from across the globe which countries have the most important relationship and which constitute the greatest threat to their own. Of the 24 non-U.S. countries included in the survey, 12 said the United States was their country's most important ally, including Israel (95%), South Korea (89%), Japan (78%), Britain (51%), Poland (43%), Italy (42%), Australia (35%) and India (35%). The United States tied as the top ally with other countries in Kenya (38%), Nigeria (30%) and Hungary (23%). Several countries that consider the United States their top ally also view the country as their biggest threat. Canada was the most divided with 55% of people seeing the United States as a top ally and 59% seeing it as the biggest threat. Argentina, Brazil, Kenya and Mexico similarly had polarized views of the United States. Three other countries -- South Africa (35%), Indonesia (40%) and Spain (31%) -- also viewed the United States as a top threat, but didn't have such a favorable view of the country to balance that out. The country with the most favorable view of the United States was Israel, with 95% viewing it as an ally and 1% viewing it as a threat. Mexico, meanwhile, had the least favorable responses, 37% viewing the United States as an ally and 68% a threat. Six countries -- Germany, France, Sweden, Greece, the Netherlands and Turkey -- didn't consider the United States either their top ally or top threat. People in the United States were most likely to view China and Russia as their country's top threat, with Republicans more likely to be wary of China and Democrats more likely to name Russia. Concerning allies, 18% of Americans named Britain, 12% named Canada and 9% named Israel. Pew Research Center polled thousands of people from each of the 25 countries considered in the poll in the first half of 2025.


San Francisco Chronicle
2 hours ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Oakland's Soccer Without Borders navigates ‘perilous' times in Trump's America
On a sun-splashed summer day at an Oakland middle school, 15 teenage boys dart around the soft artificial-turf field, immersed in the world's most popular sport. Carlos from El Salvador unleashes booming shots into the corners of the net. Cristian from Honduras dives to swat away some of those shots. Others who came to the U.S. from Guatemala and Mexico also participate, a kaleidoscope of young people calling for the ball, yelping in delight, groaning in frustration. The scene, innocent and joyful in many ways, belies a layer of real-world anxiety for the players and coaches in Soccer Without Borders, a non-profit serving mostly newcomer immigrants and refugees for nearly two decades. After the scrimmage, Cristian, the 16-year-old goalkeeper, removes the cover of his iPhone during a brief interview with the Chronicle. He keeps two items tucked inside: his Clipper card and a small red card with instructions (English on one side, Spanish on the other) on what to say, citing his constitutional rights, if confronted by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents. This offers a stark reminder of the current climate for immigrants. President Donald Trump's aggressive deportation campaign, and the fear it spawns, has prompted Soccer Without Borders to adapt in various ways, according to founder and Bay Area co-director Ben Gucciardi. Several staff members decided to skip field trips, including some to San Francisco. They're more closely scrutinizing visitors to the organization's upcoming soccer camp, and not publicizing the venue in their public outreach. Gucciardi described four 'intense' staff meetings over the past few months, to prepare for potential ICE visits. He also frets about funding for the program, which employs 18 full-time staff members, supports 25 teams and reaches about 1,150 kids in the Bay Area. Last week, the Trump administration froze $6.2 billion nationally in grants (pending review) previously approved by Congress for after-school programs. If that decision stands, it would devastate local school districts and grass-roots groups such as Soccer Without Borders. The Bay Area hub could lose up to one-third of its budget. 'We have strong partners and advocates, and people see the value of our work,' Gucciardi said. 'We really are committed to the kids. … But it feels like the most perilous it's ever felt in 20 years.' Soccer Without Borders was established in 2006 and now includes programs across the country (Bay Area, Colorado, Maryland and Massachusetts) and around the world (Nicaragua and Uganda). The Bay Area hub launched in Oakland in '07, the first site in the U.S., and has since expanded to Hayward and San Francisco. The group seeks 'to use soccer as a vehicle for positive change, providing underserved youth with a toolkit to overcome obstacles to growth, inclusion and personal success,' according to its mission statement. One measure of SWB's impact: The high-school graduation rate for its Bay Area participants over the past five years stands at about 92%, Gucciardi said. The rate for all students in the Oakland Unified School District hovered between 70 and 75% from 2019-23, before rising to 79.5% last year. Soccer Without Borders charges no fees for its programs and relies on the government (including local, county and state agencies) for more than 60% of its funding. About 20% comes from smaller foundations and the remainder from individual donations. The governmental piece twists in perpetual limbo these days. One grant through the National Institutes of Health was abruptly eliminated in early June, with no notice; two weeks later, a judge ruled the decision was unconstitutional. Still, it remains unclear whether the funds will be available. Soccer Without Borders recently passed its budget for the upcoming school year, with no intent to cut teams. But contingency plans are in place, and Gucciardi acknowledged SWB ultimately might need to close sites and reduce staffing. The program in San Francisco could be eliminated and Oakland's budget severely reduced. 'Our budget is fluctuating by large percentages in the last week alone,' Gucciardi said. 'We're operating from a weird place of uncertainty.' That's not unique to youth sports and after-school programs, as Gucciardi realizes. Many groups, from scientists conducting research to arts organizations worried about losing their core funding, find themselves wading in similar uncertainty. As they navigate these economic challenges, SWB coaches try to maintain their long relationships with kids in the program. Their work hinges on the consistency of coaching, as Gucciardi put it, mentors who become a reliable presence in the lives of young people. The coaches want the kids to be comfortable talking about topics beyond soccer, even if some of those topics feel heavy in 2025. Keith Drury, a program manager in his eighth year working for Soccer Without Borders, grapples with striking the right tone. 'How do you balance being prepared without kind of perpetuating a culture of fear?' Drury said. 'I think you have to be super real with people. They understand what's going on.' Asked his personal feelings about the federal government's treatment of immigrants, Drury paused and said, 'It's rage for me. I'm so mad about the lack of humanity, the amount of ignorance and the lack of empathy. It's just astounding.' SWB players and their families sift through a swirl of emotions and logistical issues. Some staff members from South America changed their summer travel plans to visit family back home, uncomfortable about possible complications returning to the U.S. The group leans on Oakland school district officials for legal guidance. That's invaluable, Gucciardi said, but it hasn't prevented a heightened sense of fear and anxiety among players in the program. That's also the case for coaches who were involved in those meetings about what to do if ICE suddenly shows up. 'It's triggering, because a lot of the staff are program alumni,' Gucciardi said. 'It's very complicated and very personal to them.' One of the staff members and former players is 21-year-old Anibal Godienez. He came to the U.S. from Guatemala at age 15, spent four years as a player in Soccer Without Borders and now works there as a part-time coach. He's also a recent graduate of Merritt College in Oakland. Godienez described himself as 'totally lost as a student' when he arrived in this country, to join his parents who had emigrated many years earlier. SWB, which includes mentoring and academic support, was instrumental in putting him on the right path – including helping him overcome depression at one point. Godienez's dad is a U.S. citizen, he said, and his mom is a legal resident. So he's not worried about a visit from immigration officials, though he knows kids who stay home more often now given the circumstances. 'I'm not scared,' Godienez said. 'I'm more concerned about my people, the Latinos, because I can see some of them are scared. They don't know what is going to happen. They think, 'If I go outside, is ICE going to be outside?'' Godienez and the current players welcome Soccer Without Borders as a haven of sorts. Wilson, a 16-year-old rising high school junior, characterized practices as a welcome distraction, even though it's 'very difficult to ignore' what's happening throughout the country. Wilson and his family emigrated from Guatemala when he was 5, first to Oregon and then to the East Bay six years ago. Carlos, a 17-year-old rising senior, called Soccer Without Borders 'a place where I can feel like myself, where I can feel freedom.' He and his family sought safety and opportunity in the U.S., after fleeing their native El Salvador because of the danger from gangs. Carlos' dad works as a gardener and his mom as a hospital cleaner. Their teenage son said the Trump administration's immigration policies make him 'angry.' 'There's a lot of good people working and paying taxes, giving something to the country,' he said. 'They're not doing something bad. They just want to live here because they have good opportunities to live a stable life.' Another teenager, 16-year-old Melissa, has spent five years in Soccer Without Borders. Her 13-year-old brother and 6-year-old sister also participate in the program. Their mom, Mayda, trusts the coaches to support her kids in various ways – from encouraging them academically to sometimes driving to the family home in Oakland to give them rides. Mayda, whose family originally is from Guatemala, worries about how federal cutbacks might affect SWB. She offered similar concern about the impact of U.S. immigration policy under Trump. 'I'm feeling the same way as every other immigrant: scared and nervous,' Mayda said in a phone interview, with Melissa interpreting. 'What he's doing is not right. … He's treating us like we're not human.' Amid this tension, Soccer Without Borders forges ahead. Last week's practice started with a line of players taking penalty shots, followed by a circular meeting at midfield for instructions and words of encouragement from coach Milosz Fernandez. Then came the long scrimmage, culminating in a spirited huddle to end practice. Cristian, the goalkeeper, called it 'a community with my teammates.' SWB coaches clearly embrace their role in this community. Drury referred to the importance of positive peer connections and a 'long-term, trusting relationship with an adult mentor.' That's the focus, he said, of Soccer Without Borders. And those relationships might matter now more than ever. 'It's a big privilege to be a mentor, to have somebody trust you like that,' Drury said. 'It's also a privilege to be in a position where you feel like you're making a difference, at a time when I know a ton of people feel the same emotions but also feel pretty helpless. 'It feels like we're part of something making whatever difference we can.'


Axios
4 hours ago
- Axios
Trump's K-12 funding hold leaves $71M in limbo for Colorado
Colorado is missing out on about $71 million in federal education funding that was expected on July 1 but has yet to be released by the Trump administration. Why it matters: The Department of Education's funding delay deals a major blow to local summer school and after-school programs, as well as English-language instruction and other resources that aim to level the playing field for schoolchildren. Catch up quick: The Education Department said in a last-minute notice that the funds would not be released while the programs were under review, according to the School Superintendents Association. By the numbers: The funding at risk includes nearly $13 million in after-school and summer instruction in Colorado, per the Learning Policy Institute, which conducts research to improve education policies. The funding pays for programming in underserved and low-performing schools. The pause also affects about $26 million in educator development funds, $11 million in English language programming and $7 million for migrant education in Colorado. Zoom out: Some $6.2 billion in K-12 funds across five programs remains unavailable to schools across the country, per the LPI estimates. Threat level: If 21st Century Community Learning Center funds — the chief stream for academic enrichment outside of school hours — remain blocked, the "fallout will be swift and devastating," Boys and Girls Clubs of America President and CEO Jim Clark said in a statement. Up to 926 Boys and Girls Clubs could be forced to shut their doors, he said, and club sites and camps "could shutter mid-season — upending care for working parents and leaving kids without critical safety nets."