Never in my life did I think I would be signing a lawsuit against the President
In the long American argument over what a democracy owes its citizens in the way of shared culture and information, PBS CEO Paula Kerger found herself at a crossroads that few institutional leaders ever face: signing a lawsuit against a sitting president while watching the public broadcasting system she stewards absorb the consequences of a federal funding withdrawal. Speaking at the Aspen Institute in late June, Kerger traced the arc of eighteen months that moved from regulatory inquiry to executive order to courtroom, revealing how the structure of public media — built on the premise that federal dollars flow outward to local communities — made the damage both swift and intimate. The crisis is not resolved, but it is not yet a conclusion.
- Trump's executive order defunding PBS and NPR hit with immediate force: 100 jobs gone, a children's ASL program cancelled, and a new kids' show scrambling for emergency money before it could air.
- The structural design of public broadcasting amplified the wound — 80% of federal funds bypass PBS headquarters entirely and flow to local stations, meaning a small-market affiliate in Cookeville, Tennessee suddenly lost half its operating budget overnight.
- Kerger enlisted documentarian Ken Burns to lobby senators, and for ninety tense minutes the vote count suggested the defunding bill might be stopped — then the silence broke, and it passed by a single vote.
- PBS launched a Bridge Fund to give local stations at least two years of financial runway, buying time rather than permanence as the organization navigates an uncertain legal and political landscape.
- One million new members have joined PBS stations since the cuts began, most contributing monthly — a sign of public attachment that is meaningful but not yet sufficient to replace what was lost.
Paula Kerger arrived at the Aspen Institute's Ideas Festival in late June carrying the weight of eighteen months she described as extraordinary — a word that barely contained what had happened. The PBS CEO had watched a cascade of pressure build from a January 2025 FCC inquiry into corporate partnerships, through a congressional hearing titled 'Anti-American Airwaves' convened by Marjorie Taylor Greene, and finally to the moment she signed a lawsuit against the President of the United States. That last act, she said, was the most sobering of her professional life.
The executive order stripping federal funding from PBS and NPR landed with structural force. Because eighty percent of federal public broadcasting money flows directly to local stations rather than to PBS headquarters, the damage was distributed and deep. A station in Cookeville, Tennessee lost half its budget. A new children's show scrambled for emergency funding. An ASL programming initiative for deaf children was cancelled entirely. One hundred employees were laid off.
In her desperation, Kerger turned to Ken Burns, the documentarian seated beside her at the festival. She had long tried to shield PBS's creative talent from political entanglements, but options were narrowing. Burns made calls to senators. For ninety minutes, the vote count on the defunding bill looked promising. Then the silence broke — the bill passed. They had come one vote short.
Still, Kerger did not come to Aspen only to recount loss. PBS had created a Bridge Fund to give local stations two years of financial stability while they rebuilt. And since the cuts took effect, one million new members had joined PBS stations, most giving monthly. It was not a rescue. But it was evidence that people still believed public broadcasting was worth saving — and Kerger made clear that belief, translated into sustained action, was the only thing that would keep it alive.
Paula Kerger sat in the Colorado sun at the Aspen Institute's Ideas Festival on a Sunday in late June, preparing to walk through the wreckage of the past eighteen months. The PBS CEO had been summoned to recount what she called an "extraordinary" year—one that began with a letter from the Federal Communications Commission chair in January 2025 and ended with her signing her name to a lawsuit against the President of the United States.
The cascade had started methodically. First came the FCC inquiry into PBS's corporate partnerships. Then, in March, a summons from Marjorie Taylor Greene, the Georgia Republican, demanding that Kerger and NPR's Katherine Maher appear before the DOGE Committee for a hearing titled "Anti-American Airwaves." Kerger called that title the most offensive thing she encountered all year. But it was only prologue.
When Trump issued his executive order stripping federal funding from PBS and NPR, the ground shifted beneath the entire public broadcasting system. Kerger described signing the lawsuit against the president as the most sobering moment of her professional life—perhaps of her life entirely. She felt the weight of it. She had never imagined herself in that position, putting her name to legal action against the sitting president.
The consequences arrived fast and hard. A new PBS Kids show called "Phoebe and Jay" had to scramble for emergency funding. An initiative to provide American Sign Language programming for children was cancelled outright. One hundred PBS employees lost their jobs. The cuts went deep. What made the damage particularly acute was the structure of public broadcasting itself: eighty percent of federal money doesn't stay at PBS headquarters. It flows directly to local stations across the country. A station in Cookeville, Tennessee, for instance, had depended on federal funding for half its budget. When that money vanished, those stations had nowhere to turn but inward.
Kerger had grown desperate enough to reach out to Ken Burns, the documentarian sitting beside her at the festival. She was reluctant to pull him into the political fight—PBS tries to protect its creative talent from such entanglements—but she was running out of options. Burns made calls to senators. For a moment, it seemed to work. A bill to defund public media had passed the Republican-controlled House, but the Senate appeared ready to block it. Kerger and her colleague Jeremy watched the vote count climb. Then came a pause, about ninety minutes of silence. Jeremy turned to her and said he thought they had it. He thought Burns had pulled it off. They didn't. The bill failed by a single vote.
But Kerger had not come to Aspen to dwell only in loss. She spoke also of what she called the good part of the story. PBS had created something called the Bridge Fund, designed to give local stations a runway of at least two years of financial stability as they scrambled to replace the federal money. More than that, the cuts had paradoxically brought new people into the fold. Since the funding was pulled in July, PBS had gained one million new members to its stations, and most of them were contributing money every month. It was not a solution. Kerger was clear about that. But it was something. It meant PBS was still standing. Whether it would remain standing depended on whether people believed it was worth preserving—and whether they were willing to lean in together to keep it alive.
Citas Notables
The most sobering moment of the year, maybe even my life, was signing the lawsuit against the president.— Paula Kerger, PBS CEO
Eighty percent of the money that comes from the federal government actually doesn't go to me or to NPR, it goes to the stations.— Paula Kerger, PBS CEO
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
When you signed that lawsuit, what was going through your mind?
The gravity of it. I've spent my entire career in public broadcasting. I never thought I would be in a position where I had to sue a sitting president to defend the organization. It was surreal and deeply sobering.
The federal funding cuts hit local stations hardest. Why is that structure so fragile?
Because we built the system to distribute money outward, not to hoard it at headquarters. Eighty percent of what comes from Washington goes directly to stations. They're the ones serving their communities. When that tap closes, they have no buffer.
A station in Tennessee lost half its budget. What does that actually mean for the people there?
It means fewer programs, fewer staff, less ability to serve. These aren't abstract cuts. They're real people losing jobs, and real communities losing educational resources they depend on.
But you gained a million new members. Doesn't that suggest people care?
It does. And it matters. But a million new members, even if they're all contributing, doesn't replace federal funding. It's a lifeline, not a solution. We're still in survival mode.
Ken Burns almost saved you with one vote. How close did that feel?
Impossibly close. That ninety-minute pause was the longest of my life. We thought we had it. And then we didn't. By one vote. That's the thing that stays with you.