The CBC as National Treasure

 The CBC is a National Treasure

It seems I have a small cadre of friends and associates, even family members who are against public broadcasting, specifically anti CBC.  To me the CBC has been a national treasure and trust.  It has always been near and dear to my heart.  I have always believed it raises the collective consciousness  and awareness of the country.  I often joke, but am half serious, that the government should bestow honourary degrees to those who are regular and faithful listeners. The shows I listen to are rich in culture, science, intelligence, comedy, and flow with integrity, information and knowledge.  I feel I am a better person, a better Canadian  and well informed and entertained because of the CBC.

The CBC was not created out of nostalgia or sentiment. It was created because Canada faced a real and documented threat from American media dominance.

In the late 1920s, U.S. radio signals were flooding across the border. Canadian airwaves were being overtaken by American programming, American advertising, and American cultural influence. The Aird Commission warned that without a national public broadcaster, Canada would lose control of its own voice and its own national conversation. In response, Canada created the CBC in 1936 so Canadians could hear Canadian voices, tell Canadian stories, and understand themselves as a country rather than as a cultural extension of the United States.

From the beginning, the CBC’s purpose was public service. It was designed to connect a vast country, serve communities private media could not or would not, and provide reliable information free from commercial pressure. Over decades, it became a shared national institution. It delivered trusted news in times of crisis, supported Canadian artists and creators, reflected both official languages and Indigenous cultures, and helped give Canadians a common frame of reference in an enormous and diverse country.

That role has not diminished. It has become more important.

Today, American influence over Canada’s media environment is far greater than it was when the CBC was founded. U.S. technology companies control the platforms where Canadians encounter news and information. American entertainment dominates what we watch and stream. Private Canadian media is increasingly consolidated, financially weakened, or disappearing altogether. The conditions that led to the creation of the CBC have returned in a more powerful and concentrated form.

Attacks on the CBC often focus on ideology or cost, but the real impact is the erosion of Canada’s media sovereignty. Weakening the CBC means fewer Canadian stories, less local reporting, and greater dependence on foreign platforms and narratives that do not exist to serve the public interest in Canada.

The CBC’s credibility is central to why it matters. It operates under formal journalistic standards that require accuracy, fairness, and verification. When errors occur, corrections are published clearly and remain attached to the original reporting. The organization maintains an ombudsman process, internal editorial oversight, and external accountability mechanisms. Its news divisions have been independently certified under international journalism trust standards, reflecting transparency around sourcing, corrections, and governance.

No large newsroom is flawless. The difference is accountability. The CBC corrects the record publicly and permanently. Many online podcasters, influencers, and partisan outlets operate without editors, without published standards, without independent review, and without visible corrections when they are wrong. When misinformation spreads in those spaces, it often remains unchallenged or is quietly abandoned without acknowledgment.

Trust in journalism is not about never making mistakes. It is about how mistakes are handled. A public broadcaster that corrects itself in the open, under constant scrutiny, is fundamentally different from personalities whose incentives are engagement, outrage, and audience loyalty rather than accuracy.

For what Canadians pay per person each year, the CBC delivers national and local news, emergency broadcasting, cultural programming, and a shared public forum that private media cannot replicate. Comparable democracies invest far more in their public broadcasters because they recognize this as democratic infrastructure, not a luxury.

The CBC was created because Canada understood that a country without control over its media cannot fully control its future. That understanding remains true. In a media environment dominated by foreign platforms, shrinking newsrooms, and unaccountable online voices, the CBC remains one of the few institutions built to serve Canadians first.

Defending the CBC is not about partisanship. It is about protecting an institution designed to preserve Canadian voices, Canadian facts, and a shared national conversation in a world that increasingly pulls our attention and our information from elsewhere.

A Room With a view

 Room With a View

I love our present house. It’s in a very quiet no nonsense kind of

neighbourhood where nothing much ever happens. My house is

situated on a ridge between two parallel streets that seem to go

nowhere. Being on a hill we have an excellent view of our

neighbourhood, or the kingdom, as I prefer to call it. From the top of the

hill, in the back yard, I can sit in our cozy pergola and actually look out

over our roof top to the world beyond and relax and dream, that is

before the leaves grow in to ruin the view and the mosquitos take over

before I have to surrender my territory.

From my perch I have an expansive view of our street. I can see the

people walking their dogs or their kids. I see the fast walkers, joggers

and runners. One girl even does laps of the block walking backwards. I

have no idea why. The height and perspective definitively afford me a

sense of power, control and perspective. I love to observe.

From inside the house, on most days, during mosquito season, and

during the winter months, I can sit at the kitchen island and look out

from on high. From there I view the wild life that passes, the squirrels

that annoy and feed on the bird seed I leave for the cardinals,

chickadees and all those who are deserving of the seed.

Early morning, I can be found at my stool, at the island, looking out and

looking down in a trance like state at whatever moves as I sip my

morning coffee in a coma-like state.

I have had some more unique and unusual sightings as well, other than

the morning I found a fox sleeping on the welcome mat at my front door.

Late at night, or early morning, while quietly, in a meditative state,

drinking my herbal tea, I especially revel in the spectacular view of the

Northern Lights dancing in green splendour across the night sky. At first,

I found the spectacle to be very odd considering my house is located in

Southern Ontario, at about 43 degrees north latitude. The northern

lights are typically located much further north, like in Fort McMurray,

Anchorage, or parts of Siberia.The lights reminded me of my time spent in Northern Alberta travelling

the ice roads and working with the Cree and Dene in Fort Chipewyan.

However, when I shared my observations with some neighbours…

“Hey Bart, weren’t those Northern lights spectacular last night?” There

was no collaboration or confirmation only odd stares and stunned

silence.

Naturally, when several months later, also about three in the morning, I

saw the herd of migratory buffalo come through on my street I said

absolutely nothing. I didn’t even post any of the pictures, or video clips I

had taken to document the event, to social media. I sensed the high

level of doubt and skepticism I would likely receive and proceeded to

keep a low profile about my observations and encounters.

Having seen the buffalo, I was certain there would be more intriguing

sightings in the near future. I wasn’t wrong. The night the Cessna made

the emergency landing on my street, I guess just after the buffalo

incident, I was no longer totally surprised. I went out and chatted with

the pilot for a few minutes and helped him fuel up with some high

octane I had stored in my garage, even though it was not 100 percent

aviation-gas. He didn’t seem to be picky.

His take off, other than snagging, a few branches from the crab apple

trees growing in the median, was quite routine. It's not like you see a

plane land on your street every night.

It was actually about another three months until the next plane, a Twin

Otter, made a similar emergency landing. Really for a quiet street that

leads nowhere I was getting more aviation action than statistically

expected. I mean what are the odds of two landings in just a few

months of each other?

Sitting at my kitchen island early mornings, late evenings, took on a new

air of anticipation as I never knew what to expect next. I still have no

idea why the Tour de France cyclists came through when they did. But

certainly worth the watch. First, the support vans and police car, with

flashing lights, came through followed next by a few of the lead riders.

The pack came about a minute latter followed by several of the

stragglers over the next several minutes. I had seen a similar world cupevent the previous summer in Glasgow, Scotland. I really appreciated

the fact that this time the event was so close to home. For a better view

of the racing bikers I went out to the street to cheer the riders on. It was

an exciting event.

The next morning, other than a few water bottles strewn about, there

was no real evidence that there had even been a race. Oddly, as I

searched, I found no mention of the race in the media. As per usual I

kept my mouth shut on the topic. My crazy neighbours would likely

deny, as they did with the bison herds, that they had witnessed not a

single bike. I was beginning to doubt their reliability.

I never understood why any of these activities never woke the

neighbours, especially on the night the formula cars roared through.

There must have been at least twenty high revving cars, but since our

street is short, and as I said leads to no where, the cars were moving

relatively slowly. Why they had to set up the formula pit in front of my

garden always baffled me.

It was amazing the precision with which they could change a set of tires,

fuel a car, check the engine vitals and send it off down my street with

such super high acceleration. The noise and speeds were astounding. I

was in awe and spilt my ginger peach tea as I rushed to the window to

get a better view.

In the morning, as with the Tour de France, other than the numerous

dark tire marks on the road, I had only some minor clean up. I raked the

garden and put kitty litter over a few minor oil spills. All and all not too

bad.

My neighbour Brian asked me, “What’s with all the kitty litter?”

“I”m just covering up some of the oil spills from the formula race last

night. They set the pit up here by my garden.”

Brian looked at me for a long moment, then at the kitty litter, smiled and

wishing me a good day, he slowly, nervously backed away. Again I

decided why discuss the obvious with the neighbours. They are clearly

snobbish about these nocturnal events. I returned to my vow of silence.However, when March 17th rolled around and the tumultuous 3 a.m. St

Patrick’s Day parade marched through, I thought there had been a

break through. That event made more of a stir in my neighbourhood.

Some neighbours had their kitchen lights on likely because of the

commotion created by the large number of floats pulled by massive

diesel trucks and the exorbitant number of university students who lined

the road on both sides, all in drinking mode, cheering each float as it

passed.

I knew for certain the clandestine nature of my nights was likely over. I

was out the next day with several black garbage bags picking up the red

beer containers, green streamers and other paraphernalia from the

parade. Brian was cleaning his own yard this time, but he was so

intense he refused to look up and make eye contact, or even speak, a

clear case of denial.

More recently, one neighbour, not Brian, asked me to listen to a pod

cast about extra-terrestrials who landed and had been documented in

Arizona. It seemed very far-fetched to me at the time, but after what I

have seen on my own street before my very own eyes, and since he

seems to really believe this stuff I had agreed to give it a listen. I mean

who was I to judge? Secretly, I was hoping that aliens of some

description would be my own next street sighting.

Perhaps, during the listening of the podcast I could break the ice and

slip in something about Northern Lights, buffalo herds, emergency

airplane landings, Tour de France and Formula races on my street, or

wild parades, although judging by my other neighbours responses so

far, I doubt if I’d have an audience.

I understand now I have secrets I must live with, but in the mean time I

have never enjoyed my after mid-night herbal teas and my well

positioned kitchen window quite so much. Should we ever sell our

house, I can market it as a house having a “room with a view”.

Although I have to confess I may wish not to ever sell because I have

to say the raucous circus parade that went through last night was

nothing short of amazing. Cleaning up after the elephants not so much.