Every day, another familiar voice disappears from another radio station.

The list of iHeartMedia layoffs has become so long that no one seems entirely sure where it ends. Names are still being added today.

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I’ve written extensively about what’s happening because it’s one of the biggest stories the broadcasting industry has faced in decades. But there was one perspective I wanted that I couldn’t provide myself.

What is it like to be the person delivering the news?

Chris Little knows.

As News Director at KFI Los Angeles, Chris had one of the hardest jobs in broadcasting. He sat across from talented journalists and told them their careers at the station were over.

I know because I was one of them.

Then, after years of making those impossible decisions, Chris found himself on the receiving end. His own position disappeared.

That gives him a perspective few people in broadcasting have ever experienced.

On the latest episode of Archer & Feldman, Charles Feldman and I talk with Chris about what’s really happening inside iHeartMedia, why these cuts keep coming, whether local radio can survive as more stations replace local talent with syndicated programming and automation, and what the future of the industry may look like.

Watch the full episode here:

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It was the summer before my senior year of high school, and my dad was making me get a job. A friend of mine worked at the local radio station, WSWN AM & FM in Belle Glade, Florida, and that sounded a whole lot better to my lazy bones than unloading stock at the drug store.

Within a week, I had my first shift, babysitting the FM while we carried the overnight Larry King show. My duties were simple: hit the Mutual newscast at the top of the hour after the legal ID, and plug in a couple of PSAs to fill the local breaks.

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But I wound up becoming a DJ almost immediately because the guy who was supposed to come in for mornings never showed up.

We played country music, which I hated at the time, but I didn’t really care. Talking on the radio and spinning records was just too much fun.

By the time school started again, I had the afternoon shift. I’d race over to the station as soon as the last bell rang. We didn’t have much of a format back then. It was basically, “Play from this stack of records.”

After graduation, I moved to mornings. My alarm went off at 4:30. I’d watch CNN Headline News, grab a coffee and a copy of USA Today from the convenience store—assuming it had been delivered—and make the less-than-two-mile drive to the station.

By then, the FM signed off overnight, so I had to warm up the transmitter in time to hit the air at 5:30.

Those were also the days of my first groupies, who distracted me with phone calls. Imagine that. This nerdy kid suddenly had girls calling him. Of course, who knows what they looked like, but some of them had sexy voices. My girlfriend didn’t like it one bit. (Not that I minded thinking my radio gig impressed her.)

Somehow I made it through unscathed, learning the fundamentals of radio that stayed with me for the rest of my career. I went from country to full-service AC, to AC, to rock, to alternative, back to AC... and then, somehow, to news, where my former boss, the great Jhani Kaye, told me, “THAT is what you were born to do.”

Who knew?

God knows, I love talking. That’s always been the whole thing for me.

Talking into a microphone and knowing someone is out there listening.

I’m still doing it today, even if I’m not on the radio right now.

Hit the comments and tell me about your first job, radio or otherwise.

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The U.S. Supreme Court has opened the door for political parties to spend more money in coordination with candidates, eliminating decades-old limits on those coordinated expenditures.

The practical effect is simple: more campaign advertising is likely to flow through broadcast radio and television during election season.

For an industry that has spent years watching advertising migrate to Google, Facebook, YouTube, podcasts, and streaming, that’s unquestionably good news.

At least for the accounting department. For everyone else, it’s more complicated.

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Political advertising has become one of the last dependable revenue windfalls for many commercial stations. In some markets, election years can make the difference between finishing in the black and finishing in the red.

Now that parties can coordinate directly with candidates without the old spending caps, broadcasters are likely to see bigger buys, earlier campaigns, and longer political advertising seasons. Industry analysts already expect more money to enter the market before the 2026 elections.

If you’re a station owner trying to survive in 2026, that’s welcome news.

If you’re a listener...

...well, you know what’s coming.

More thirty-second spots. More attack ads. More claims and counterclaims. More commercials interrupting your morning drive.

Nobody tunes in hoping to hear another Senate commercial.

Why radio may benefit more than you think

There’s another wrinkle.

Federal law gives legally qualified candidates access to broadcasters’ “lowest unit charge” during the weeks before elections. The FCC has clarified that coordinated party advertising qualifying under its guidance can get those same discounted rates. Combined with the Supreme Court’s ruling, campaigns now have a much bigger pipeline for coordinated broadcast advertising.

That doesn’t necessarily mean every dollar goes to radio. Television will still capture enormous amounts of campaign money. Digital platforms will continue taking their share.

But radio has always been attractive because it’s comparatively inexpensive, highly targeted, and can saturate local markets quickly.

If parties decide they can now coordinate larger, longer campaigns, radio stations should see more business.

The bigger picture

Of course, there’s another question entirely. And it’s more important.

What does this mean for American democracy?

For years, critics have argued that wealthy donors already exercise outsized influence over elections, particularly since Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission. Supporters counter that spending money on political speech is protected by the First Amendment, regardless of who’s doing the spending.

But all that really means is that those with more dollars can buy the louder voices and drown out everyone else.

This ruling pushes further in that same direction, allowing parties to coordinate more closely with candidates while spending more money on their behalf.

Justice Brett Kavanaugh noted that the decision applies equally to Republicans and Democrats.

Formally, that’s true.

In practice, political influence tends to follow resources. The organizations and donors able to spend the most are positioned to have a larger voice than those who can’t.

Meanwhile, broadcasters get another profitable election season.

Whether that’s good for the country is a different question.

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(Updated numbers are below.)

The biggest layoff in radio history may be happening right now.

Or at least the biggest purge of on-air talent and programmers.

The layoffs at iHeartMedia began June 23, and they’re still going. The list keeps getting longer. RadioInsight, which has been tracking the cuts market by market, says it’s nowhere near complete.

I’ve been through iHeart cuts myself. Twice.

I was laid off by iHeart at KBIG, and years later again at KFI. I know what it feels like to get the call, clear out the desk, and wonder what’s next. This week, hundreds of people across the country are going through the same thing.

The cuts are part of a two-stage plan to remove $150 million in annual expenses. The company had already targeted $100 million in savings. Now it’s looking for another $50 million.

Markets including Atlantic City, Cedar Rapids, Erie, Fort Collins, Springfield, and Spokane have lost all of their remaining local on-air talent. Larger markets like Indianapolis and St. Louis have been reduced to just a handful of local hosts.

So is this the biggest layoff in radio history?

It depends on how you measure it.

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By total headcount, probably not. The Clear Channel layoffs of 2009 eliminated 1,850 jobs. The 2020 iHeart cuts were also enormous, with estimates ranging from hundreds to more than 2,000 employees.

But this round is different.

It’s aimed almost entirely at the people who make radio: hosts, programmers, and local talent. RadioInsight has called it “the biggest purge in the history of the industry” because of the percentage of those jobs disappearing, not necessarily the total number of employees.

After years of previous layoffs, there weren’t many people left to cut. This round reaches deeper into the people listeners actually hear every day.

The final numbers aren’t known because iHeartMedia isn’t releasing them. Much of what’s being reported is coming directly from the people affected. And with the layoffs still underway, nobody outside the company knows where they’ll end.

What we do know is that the list keeps growing. By the time you read this, it’s already out of date. More names are being added hourly.

This story isn’t finished yet.

And for more on this, check out Archer & Feldman on YouTube. Chris Little, the former news director of KFI Los Angeles, joins us to talk about his experiences being laid off. The episode drops Monday morning.

UPDATE — July 4, 2026

The list kept growing through the holiday week, just like we expected.

Since this piece was published, new names have surfaced from Auburn, Providence, Salt Lake City, Salisbury, Seattle, and Anchorage.

Lance Venta of RadioInsight, who has tracked this industry since 1997, has stopped hedging. “This will go down as the worst layoff round in radio history when all is done,” he posted this week — on par with or worse than the infamous 2009 and 2020 bloodlettings.

Here’s some sad math. iHeartMedia employed 11,400 people at the end of 2019. By the end of 2025, that number was 9,550 — more than 1,850 jobs gone before this round even began. Cut a hundred people from a company of eleven thousand, and it’s a bad week. Cut them from what’s left after six years of cutting, and you’re carving bone.

Still no comment and no numbers from iHeart.

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There was a time when experience was something employers competed to hire. Now it often seems to be something they compete to eliminate.

That’s a strange thing to write after spending a lifetime in broadcasting. I grew up believing experience mattered. You learned the craft. You made mistakes. You figured out how to handle breaking news, impossible deadlines, difficult personalities, impossible bosses, and equipment that decided to fail at exactly the wrong moment. Over time, those lessons became your value.

Lately, they seem to have become your salary.

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Look around broadcasting.

Another round of layoffs at iHeartMedia. The dismantling of CBS News. The killing of CBS News Radio. Consolidation at Paramount and Warner Bros Discovery. Local television cutting staff. Newspapers disappearing. Radio stations run by fewer people than ever. Some now have no local staff at all—just syndicated programming with no one there to go on the air during an emergency.

The computers work fine—until they don't. The syndicated shows sound great—until an earthquake hits, a wildfire breaks out, or a chemical plant explodes. Then experience suddenly has value again. The problem is, by then you've already laid it off.

The announcements always sound the same. Companies talk about becoming faster. More efficient. Better positioned for the future.

But what they’re really cutting is experience and institutional memory. Knowledge earned doing the job, not handed out in a broadcasting classroom.

That isn’t unique to media.

Talk to software engineers who suddenly find themselves competing against AI coding tools. Copywriters. Customer service representatives. Lawyers. Even doctors are watching software begin to perform work that once required years of training.

For decades, companies invested in people because they believed knowledge accumulated over time. Someone with twenty years of experience wasn’t simply older. They were expected to make fewer mistakes, mentor younger employees, recognize problems sooner, and solve them faster.

Today, companies ask a different question.

Can we do it cheaper?

They always seem to be able to answer yes, even when the real answer is no.

One thing I used to hear around radio stations: “Is there anyone left to lay off?” The answer was always the same. “Trust me. They’ll always find somebody to cut. And a way to give bonuses to the C-suite.”

Automation really does eliminate repetitive work. AI really can speed up research. Modern tools really can make small teams more productive.

But what happens when you remove the people who know what “normal” looks like?

Ironically, companies often discover the value of experience only after it’s gone.

By then, there’s no one left to answer the questions. No one to train the replacements. No one to solve problems nobody had seen before. No one to figure out why the plan that looked so good in the boardroom isn’t working in the real world.

I’ve been thinking about this over the past year, not because I believe experienced people deserve jobs simply because they’ve been around a long time. We don’t. But dammit, you can’t build—or run—anything good without experience.

Monday morning on Archer & Feldman, Charles Feldman and I sit down with nationally syndicated broadcaster Mo’Kelly to talk about another wave of radio layoffs, what companies believe they’re gaining, what they’re risking, and where broadcasting goes from here.

Because the conversation isn’t really about radio anymore. It’s about the growing belief across American business that experience has become an expense instead of an investment.

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iHeartMedia has begun another round of layoffs.

The company says the cuts are part of a programming realignment designed to make operations faster and more efficient. The specifics are still coming out, but the pattern is familiar. Another major broadcaster is reducing headcount while asking fewer people to do more work.

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A year ago, I was on the receiving end of a similar decision.

Audacy eliminated my position at KNX. It wasn’t my first layoff. If you’ve been in broadcasting long enough, you’ve probably been through it yourself. Maybe a whole string of them.

No matter how many times it happens, it’s still a punch to the gut.

What surprises me is what I’ve heard from former colleagues since then: “Maybe we got out just in time.”

I’ve heard some version of that sentence over and over during the past year.

It’s not because they wanted to leave. People in this business, whether they say they love it or hate it, are drawn to it. It’s where they wanted to be. It defined their lives. But they say “maybe we got out just in time” because they look at what’s happening across broadcasting and wonder where the next round of cuts will land.

Radio stations continue operating with smaller staffs. Television newsrooms continue consolidating. Local journalism keeps losing positions. Every quarter seems to bring another restructuring, another merger, another promise of “efficiencies.”

Now comes the proposed merger between Paramount and Warner Bros. Discovery.

A Los Angeles County report estimates the deal could put nearly 2,500 jobs at risk in Los Angeles alone, with thousands more potentially affected worldwide as the combined company eliminates overlapping operations.

Eventually, somebody starts asking whether you need two news divisions. They’re looking at you, CNN and CBS News.

The concerns aren’t limited to Los Angeles. In Atlanta, where CNN remains one of the region’s major media employers, industry observers are already talking about the possibility of additional cuts on top of several years of downsizing.

There are still outstanding journalists doing great work. There are still strong radio stations, television stations, and newsrooms. But there are fewer jobs than there used to be.

That’s one reason Charles Feldman and I wanted to talk with Bob Butler, Vice President of SAG-AFTRA’s broadcast division and a longtime California broadcaster, on the latest episode of Archer & Feldman.

We discuss what the Paramount-Warner Bros. Discovery merger could mean for journalists, broadcasters, and media workers in California and across the country. We also talk about the larger forces reshaping the business and why so many people inside media are concerned about what comes next.

Watch the full episode here:

For thousands of people working in radio, television, and digital media, these aren’t just business stories. They’re future staff meetings.

There’s not one employee below the C-suite who hasn’t had the thought:

“I’m next.”

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Appeasement isn’t working.

For months, major media companies have tried to avoid conflict with President Trump and his allies. ABC settled a lawsuit. Paramount settled a lawsuit. Amazon signed on to produce a Melania Trump documentary. Executives visited Mar-a-Lago.

Now ABC appears to be reaching a different conclusion.

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The company has launched a public campaign against the FCC, airing ads on ABC7 Los Angeles, promoting them on social media, and urging viewers to contact regulators directly. That’s a significant change for an industry that has spent a lot of the past year trying to stay out of the line of fire.

The campaign centers on the FCC’s decision to subject ABC-owned stations, including KABC Los Angeles, to an unusually early license review. The agency has also opened a proceeding involving The View. ABC says both actions raise serious First Amendment concerns and has decided to make its case in public.

ABC appears to have concluded that keeping its head down didn’t buy much protection.

The company paid millions to settle with Trump. But it found itself facing new regulatory scrutiny anyway.

That doesn’t make Disney a champion of press freedom. Disney is a corporation. So is Paramount. Public companies answer to shareholders before they answer to principles.

But corporations are good at recognizing incentives.

If executives begin to believe that settlements, concessions, and public displays of cooperation don’t reduce political pressure, they’re likely to change strategies. Fighting back starts looking like the more practical option. I doubt that comes from some newfound commitment to press freedom. It comes from recognizing that accommodation may not be producing the desired result.

It may be the first sign that parts of the media industry have decided accommodation has reached its limits.

I’ve spent most of my life in broadcasting. License renewals were usually paperwork. Lawyers handled them. Viewers and listeners never knew they were happening.

Now television stations are buying ad time to ask viewers to help defend their licenses.

Whatever the reason, it’s a new battlefront.

If you believe the FCC is overstepping its authority, tell them. If you believe press freedom matters, support the people who practice it.

Independent journalism survives because readers decide it should. Archer’s Line has no corporate parent, no shareholders, and no outside agenda. It has readers.

If you value this work, become a paid subscriber and help keep it going.

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When media companies announce a merger, Wall Street usually celebrates. But newsrooms don’t.

The proposed merger between Paramount and Warner Bros. Discovery would combine some of the biggest names in media under one corporate roof. CBS. CNN. HBO. Warner Bros. Local television stations. Streaming services. Thousands of employees.

And lots of those employees may be considered redundant.

So what happens next?

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In the latest episode of Archer & Feldman, Charles Feldman and I are joined by veteran broadcaster Bob Butler, former KCBS reporter and anchor, and current Vice President of Broadcast for SAG-AFTRA.

We talk about who’s most vulnerable when media giants consolidate, why CNN’s non-union workforce creates unique challenges, and what the deal could mean for journalists, broadcasters, and media workers throughout California and across the country.

We also discuss editorial pressure in modern newsrooms, the controversy surrounding CBS News and 60 Minutes, and whether local radio news still has a future in an era dominated by streaming, podcasts, and artificial intelligence.

If you’ve ever wondered what media consolidation actually means beyond the corporate press release, this conversation is for you.

See it here:

After you watch, leave a comment and tell us what you think. Is local journalism headed for a comeback, or are we watching the slow consolidation of the last major news organizations into a handful of corporate giants?

We’ll be reading the comments.

And if you enjoy Archer’s Line, please consider sharing this article and becoming a paid subscriber. Independent journalism only works when readers decide it’s worth supporting.

There’s a bill moving through Congress that could determine whether AM radio survives the next decade. And there’s a station in Los Angeles whose numbers may be telling us whether that even matters anymore.

The AM Radio for Every Vehicle Act has been kicking around Capitol Hill for three years — introduced, stalled, reintroduced, stalled again. Last month, the House Energy and Commerce Committee folded its language into the pending surface transportation reauthorization bill, which improves its odds of becoming law this year. The NAB called it essential for public safety. The Consumer Technology Association called it a cost-raising innovation killer. Place your bets.

The emergency broadcasting argument is the strongest card AM’s supporters hold. When Superstorm Sandy hit the East Coast, people didn’t reach for apps; they reached for AM radio. During the L.A. wildfires, the same story. There’s something about a 50,000-watt clear-channel signal that cuts through when cell towers go dark and streaming buffers.

But when your ratings argument gets wobbly, you lean on public safety.

Here’s Exhibit A: KNX.

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On May 11th, KNX News moved back to solely being heard on the 1070 AM signal, surrendering the 97.1 FM simulcast it had held since December 2021. That FM signal now carries sports. KNX goes back to being what it was for a century — an AM station.

I worked there. It was a big deal for us when that FM signal went live. Yes, AM has reach, but FM has relevance, and these days, relevance is more important. KNX picked up a lot of listeners who didn’t care about AM or didn’t like it because of the sound quality.

But I also know what an AM signal can do. On a clear night, 1070 reaches half the continent. In Los Angeles traffic, it’s the station on a million presets. But presets are set by people who remember setting them. The question is whether anyone new is setting them.

Even in cars that still have AM radio, the AM dial is an afterthought. And that’s even if someone takes the time to bypass the CarPlay or Android Auto app and go directly to the car’s audio settings.

In April — its final full month simulcasting on both AM and FM — KNX held a 4.1 share. In May, that number dropped to 3.5. That’s a 15 percent decline, measured over a survey period that captured only nine days of the new reality. Nine days isn't enough to call a trend, but it's enough to make you nervous.

Now zoom out. Who is actually listening to AM radio in cars in 2026?

The honest answer is: older drivers, rural communities, and people in emergencies. That's millions of Americans who depend on the format in ways streaming can't touch. The AM Radio for Every Vehicle Act has the support of farm broadcasting organizations and agricultural groups for this reason. In a tornado warning in rural Kansas, you aren’t asking Alexa.

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But here’s the tension the legislation’s supporters don’t want to talk about: the drivers most likely to need AM in a crisis are the least likely to be buying the new EVs from which it’s being stripped. And the buyers of those new EVs will never notice it's gone.

What's really being settled here isn't technical standards. It's a gunfight at the AM corral — over whose listeners count, whose emergencies matter, and whether a medium that once defined mass communication deserves a legislative life preserver or a graceful exit.

Momentum is building for the AM Radio for Every Vehicle Act, and it may well pass. But momentum in Congress and momentum in the marketplace are two different things.

KNX’s May numbers will tell us something. June will tell us more. By the time this legislation gets to a floor vote, we may already have our answer — not from a committee hearing, but from a ratings book.

If AM radio goes, FM becomes the afterthought. How much longer can it last once half the dial goes dark?

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Speaking of radio, the new Archer & Feldman podcast drops Monday morning on YouTube and wherever you get your podcasts. Bob Butler (KCBS, SAG-AFTRA) joins us to talk about what the Paramount/WBD merger means for California workers and for journalism. We’re also talking about how much longer radio news can survive. Subscribe to the YouTube channel here.

People say one thing and do another.

That’s especially true when it comes to where they get their news.

Consumers say they want impartial coverage. They say they value facts over opinion. They say they want reporters to keep advocacy out of the story.

Then they go looking for news that confirms what they already believe.

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Anyone who’s spent time programming radio knows this cold.

I can’t count the audience music tests I’ve sat through where listeners complained about hearing the same songs over and over. They wanted variety. New music. Fewer repeats.

But every programmer knows what happens when you actually give them what they say they want. The ratings fall off a cliff.

No matter what they tell a survey, most listeners want familiarity. They want their favorite songs, and they want them often. The unfamiliar creates friction. Friction creates tune-out. And tune-out costs you your job.

News audiences aren’t different. They just pretend harder.

The latest Digital News Report from the Reuters Institute for the Study of Journalism documents the contradiction in black and white. Traditional news organizations still score far higher for accuracy and reliability than social media personalities and online “creators.” Yet audiences keep migrating toward social platforms, video networks, influencers, podcasts, and now AI chatbots.

Researcher Jim Egan puts it plainly: there’s “an apparent paradox between behavior and attitudes.”

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The paradox isn’t subtle. For the first time in the United States, more people reported getting news from social and video networks than from television or news websites in the weeks surrounding the 2025 presidential inauguration. More than half of Americans under 35 now cite social and video platforms as their primary source of news.

Those same audiences also identify online personalities, influencers, and politicians as the largest sources of false and misleading information. More than 70 percent say they’re worried about their ability to separate fact from fiction online.

Go figure.

I’ve been saying that a lot lately.

The trust problem goes well beyond American contradictions. Across all markets Reuters surveyed, trust in news has fallen to 37 percent — the lowest level recorded in a decade of tracking. In the United States, only one in four people say they trust most news most of the time. Among right-leaning Americans, that drops to 15 percent. CBS News, Fox News, and CNN all saw significant declines in the past year alone.

Yet people still say they value journalism. They still want reporters investigating powerful institutions, verifying facts, and providing context. The support for what journalism does is real, even as the audience for it erodes.

The gap between what people value and what they consume has never been wider.

None of this is new. Humans have always preferred information that confirms what they already believe. What’s new is that technology has become extraordinarily good at giving us exactly what we want, exactly when we want it, with no friction at all.

Algorithms don’t care whether information is accurate. They care whether it keeps your attention.

Lincoln gets credit for the line: You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.

The authoritarians of the 21st century may have found a workaround.

They don’t need to fool everyone. They just need to keep enough people inside information systems that never disturb what they already believe and let the algorithms do the rest.

Uninformed people are easier to fool. Every con artist knows this.

That’s the real business model of the post-news world.

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ABC’s legal battle with the FCC may become one of the most important press freedom cases in decades.

Because the outcome could determine whether government agencies can use regulatory power to pressure news organizations over speech they don’t like.

For years, press freedom battles in America have usually involved direct government action: attempts to block publication, force disclosure of sources, or punish journalists for reporting. Courts have developed extensive First Amendment protections against them.

The dispute between ABC and the FCC is different.

It centers on an important question: Can the government use regulatory authority to create pressure that stops short of outright censorship but still influences editorial decisions?

ABC says no.

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The company has accused FCC Chairman Brendan Carr of attempting to overturn decades of communications law and using agency authority in ways that threaten constitutionally protected speech. The network has also described parts of the FCC’s actions as unlawful, arbitrary, and unconstitutional.

The threat to press freedom may no longer come from explicit censorship. It may come from government officials using licensing, investigations, enforcement actions, and regulatory reviews to create consequences for unfavorable coverage.

The government is essentially saying, “We can’t tell you what not to say, but we can make it expensive and painful for you if you say something we don’t like.”

A newsroom doesn’t need to receive a formal order to stop reporting. Editors don’t need a government censor sitting in the building. If executives believe certain stories, interviews, or commentary could trigger investigations, licensing challenges, or regulatory headaches, the pressure can influence decisions before a single article is written or a broadcast airs.

The Supreme Court has long recognized this principle. Government actions that chill speech can raise serious First Amendment concerns even when no direct prohibition exists.

Carr has argued that programs like The View shouldn’t get exemptions from equal-time requirements that have applied to news and public affairs programming. At the same time, the FCC has accelerated review of ABC’s local station licenses while investigating issues related to Disney’s DEI policies.

The agency has launched similar DEI investigations involving other broadcasters, including NBC and CBS.

ABC argues the investigations, license reviews, and challenges to longstanding broadcast exemptions aren’t isolated actions. Critics see them as part of an effort to pressure media companies whose coverage the administration dislikes.

That is where the case moves beyond ABC.

Unlike newspapers, podcasts, websites, and streaming services, broadcasters depend on federal licenses. That has always created tension between government oversight and editorial independence. For decades, courts, regulators, and broadcasters operated under an understanding that licensing authority shouldn’t become a tool for influencing content.

ABC is now asking whether those protections still exist.

If the company prevails, the result could extend far beyond its own stations.

A strong court ruling could establish clearer constitutional limits on how federal agencies interact with news organizations. It could make it more difficult for future administrations—Republican or Democratic—to use investigations, licensing reviews, or regulatory threats in ways that could influence editorial decisions.

In effect, the courts could modernize press freedom protections for an era in which pressure is often indirect rather than explicit.

Such a ruling wouldn’t eliminate government oversight of broadcasters. The FCC would still regulate technical operations, licensing requirements, ownership rules, and other matters within its authority.

What it could do is draw a brighter constitutional line between legitimate regulation and government actions that risk influencing protected speech.

Many of the press freedom cases that shaped modern journalism involved direct attempts to block publication or punish reporting. Today's disputes often involve pressure applied through regulation rather than outright censorship.

The Constitution’s protections may need to evolve to meet that reality.

The case could help determine whether press freedom means freedom from direct censorship alone.

Or freedom from government pressure designed to produce the same result.

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I don't have a license that the government can threaten. What I have is you.

If you’d like to help keep Archer’s Line independent, please consider becoming a paid subscriber.

Sens. Ted Cruz and Ron Wyden don’t agree on much. But they do agree that government officials shouldn’t be able to pressure private companies into suppressing speech.

The two senators have introduced the Justice Against Weaponized Bureaucratic Overreach to Networked Expression Act — better known as the JAWBONE Act. The bill would create new legal remedies for people who believe government agencies or employees tried to coerce companies into censoring protected speech.

Under the proposal, people could sue government officials for so-called “jawboning” even if the effort to suppress speech ultimately failed. Plaintiffs could seek monetary damages and attorney fees. The bill would also require agencies, including Brendan Carr’s FCC, to provide Congress with certain communications involving requests to remove or restrict speech.

Cruz and Wyden come at the issue from different directions.

Republican Ted Cruz, playing to his base, argues the Biden administration pressured social media companies to silence people questioning vaccine mandates and election integrity. Democrat Ron Wyden argues the Trump administration has used government power to pressure television networks and media companies over programming and editorial decisions.

And you might recall that Cruz publicly defended Jimmy Kimmel against government pressure last year, despite being no fan of the late-night host.

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“Jawboning isn’t partisan, and it isn’t new,” Wyden said. “The JAWBONE Act would provide Americans with the ability to sue when the government illegally coerces censorship and create transparency around government requests to censor speech.”

The term “jawboning” refers to government officials using pressure, threats, or regulatory leverage to push private companies into restricting speech that would otherwise be protected by the First Amendment. Supporters of the bill say those cases can be difficult to prove because communications often happen behind closed doors, and lawsuits can become moot when administrations change or officials leave office.

That may be getting harder for government officials to hide. These pressure campaigns are playing out in public more and more, with politicians and regulators making their demands in front of cameras, in press releases, and on social media.

I’d argue that it’s been blatant. You can see it plain as day in Trump’s social media feed.

The bill would apply to efforts aimed at broadcasters, social media platforms, AI companies, and other communications services. Supporters say it would give Americans a clearer path to challenge government pressure campaigns and hold officials accountable.

“Holding the government accountable and giving Americans the tools to fight back is essential,” Cruz said. “The JAWBONE Act ensures the First Amendment is protected, not undermined.”

If the bill passes, I highly doubt President Trump will sign it. He’s been quite gleeful on social media about the end of Stephen Colbert’s show — taking personal credit for getting Colbert off the air — and often takes aim at Jimmy Kimmel. Not to mention his frequent attacks on journalists and news organizations, including outlets that generally support him when he decides they haven’t been sufficiently loyal.

And passing Congress is no sure thing.

But if it somehow becomes law, things could get interesting.

If media companies, broadcasters, or even former employees believe government officials crossed the line from criticism into coercion, they’ll have a new legal tool available to test that claim in court.

And I’d watch every minute of those hearings.

And now, a personal request.

I write and produce Archer’s Line without advertisers and without having to answer to a corporation. I’d like to keep it that way.

That’s why I’m asking you to become a paid subscriber and support my work. If that’s not in the cards right now, leaving a comment and sharing the article are also big help.

It makes the algorithm gods smile down upon me.

Thank you.

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What happens to the media when Trump is no longer the center of American politics? What happens to radio as AI takes hold?

In this episode of Archer & Feldman, we talk with media veteran Joel Denver about the future of journalism, broadcasting, and audience trust in a rapidly changing media landscape.

From the turmoil inside CBS and 60 Minutes to the collapse of traditional radio audiences, we take a look at how major media companies got here, whether they can regain credibility, and what comes next. Joel shares his perspective on the mistakes media organizations have made, the challenges of rebuilding trust, and why convenience—not loyalty—is increasingly driving audience behavior.

We also talk about the fragmentation of media, the rise of podcasts and streaming platforms, and whether legacy broadcasters can adapt to a world where viewers and listeners have more choices than ever. And we take a look at radio’s future in the age of artificial intelligence, including what AI may mean for programming, content creation, and the people who work in the industry.

If you’ve ever wondered what the future of journalism, radio, television news, and media looks like after Trump, this conversation is for you.

President Trump says the Los Angeles and California elections were rigged.

Spencer Pratt lost. Therefore, according to Trump and many of his supporters, something must have gone wrong.

There is just one problem.

Nobody has produced any evidence.

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Journalists are often accused of bias when they point out that a claim is unsupported. But saying there is no evidence for a claim isn’t bias. It’s reporting.

The media’s responsibility isn’t to act as a referee between two sides of an argument. The media’s responsibility is to determine what the facts are and report them accurately.

You know the illustration: One guy says it’s raining outside, the other one says it’s not. The reporter’s job isn’t to say, “Well, different viewpoints, and we’ll have to leave it there.” It’s her job to look out the window and report if it’s raining or not.

The standard doesn’t change because the person making the accusation happens to be the President of the United States.

California election officials have publicly explained how the vote was conducted. Ballots were counted under established procedures. The results are certified through the same systems that have been used repeatedly in previous elections.

Voting tabulations change as more votes are counted. In California, the mail-in ballots aren’t counted until after the same-day votes. That’s why there are delays in how the state reports vote totals.

Naturally, same-day tallies would show Spencer Pratt with a healthy number, since Republicans, especially the MAGA variety, have been trained to never vote by mail-in ballot (even though Trump does). Whereas Democrats, especially in this very, very blue city, tend to vote by mail.

Add to that that state law says people can mail in ballots up to election day, so long as they’re postmarked by then. That means late mail-ins can take up to a week to get to the vote counters.

People are free to dislike our system. They’re free to argue that California’s election laws should be changed.

Those are legitimate political debates. But what’s not legitimate is alleging criminal conduct without proof.

Even some of the defenses being offered have become almost comical.

House Speaker Mike Johnson recently suggested the alleged fraud is so sophisticated and “diabolical” that it cannot be proven.

A claim that can’t be proven because the evidence supposedly can’t be found isn’t evidence. It’s the absence of evidence dressed up as an explanation. That certainly wouldn’t fly in any court in a free society. The argument would be laughed out of the room.

Yet millions of Americans hear versions of these claims every day, and that creates another challenge for journalism.

The audience no longer shares a common information system.

Many Trump supporters consume media that reinforces election fraud narratives. More and more, Americans occupy separate realities constructed by different information sources.

That doesn’t relieve journalists of their responsibility. In some ways, it makes that responsibility more important.

The fact that a portion of the audience may never see accurate reporting isn’t an excuse to stop producing it.

The role of journalism isn’t to tell people what they want to hear. It’s to establish what is known, what is unknown, and what can be proven.

At the moment, the facts are straightforward.

Trump claims the election was rigged.

His supporters amplify the claim.

No evidence has been presented.

Those are the facts.

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The last time millions of Americans were told an election had been stolen without evidence, some of them eventually acted on that belief.

January 6 happened because enough people became convinced that evidence was unnecessary.

That may be the most dangerous lesson of all.

When citizens are taught that belief matters more than proof, facts become optional. Once facts become optional, democracy becomes fragile. The idea that fair elections are only the ones where your side wins, and that losing somehow "proves" the election was stolen — that leads to what we saw that day.

The media can’t force people to accept reality. But it can continue doing its job. It can continue demanding evidence. It can continue reporting what is true.

Even if it means the president throws down his microphone, stomps on it, and walks out of the interview.

And news media can continue refusing to pretend that unsupported allegations deserve the same weight as documented facts.

That is journalism.

Leave a comment and let me know what you think. If this article resonates with you, please share it with others.

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Institutions die long before they collapse.

This may be happening to journalism right now.

The first symptom is the departure of the people who know things. The veteran reporter who can spot a fabricated source in five minutes. The military officer who understands logistics because he’s spent twenty years moving troops and supplies. The career civil servant who remembers why a rule exists because she was there when the last disaster happened.

These people rarely become famous. They’re often expensive, sometimes stubborn, and frequently irritating to management. They ask difficult questions. They challenge assumptions. They remember mistakes everyone else would rather forget.

They are also the reason institutions work.

When organizations begin valuing loyalty more than expertise, these are usually the first people to go.

History is littered with examples.

In the late 1930s, Stalin purged the Soviet military because he feared they could be a threat to his power. Thousands of officers were arrested, imprisoned, or executed. Experienced commanders disappeared. Political reliability became more important than military competence.

Then Hitler invaded.

The German army crossed the Soviet border in June 1941 and delivered one of the most devastating military defeats in history. Entire Soviet armies were surrounded and destroyed. Millions of soldiers were killed or captured.

The laws of war proved indifferent to political loyalty.

Stalin eventually learned that lesson the hard way. The Soviet Union survived because experienced military leaders were promoted, restored, or empowered. Talent became difficult to ignore when survival depended on it.

The same principle applies far beyond the battlefield.

Every profession develops expertise through accumulated experience.

A good reporter learns how people lie. They learn it after thousands of interviews.

They learn which sources consistently exaggerate. Which politicians evade questions. Which public records offices hide information. Which statistics deserve another look.

They learn what doesn’t smell right.

When a veteran reporter says something feels wrong, the explanation is often invisible. They may not immediately know why. The only answer may sound like something from an old movie: “I’ve got a gut feeling.” Years of experience are processing information beneath the surface. Call it intuition. Call it instinct. It’s really experience.

The same is true in government.

A career employee at a public agency may know where previous administrations failed. They may remember which policies produced unintended consequences. They may recognize a problem that appears new only because everyone who encountered it before has retired.

Their value becomes obvious after they’re gone.

The modern economy has spent decades treating expertise as a cost center. Lay off senior employees. Replace them with cheaper workers. Offer buyouts.

And the spreadsheets do improve. For a while.

But then a crisis arrives. A pandemic. A war. A natural disaster. A financial meltdown.

Suddenly everyone starts looking for the people who used to know how to handle those situations.

News organizations are experiencing this problem in real time.

Across television, radio, newspapers, and digital media, veteran journalists have been shown the door. Some were pushed out by shrinking budgets. Others by corporate mergers. Others because executives decided experience costs too much.

Some were fired because they stood up for their principles.

The danger for journalism is that audiences often can’t see the difference until it’s too late.

The invisible assets are often the difference between journalism and content.

Every institution eventually encounters reality. And reality doesn’t care about political loyalty. It doesn’t care about corporate talking points. It doesn’t care about management theories.

It cares whether the people making decisions know what they are doing.

The kind of knowledge that comes from experience. Cut off experience, cut off knowledge, and you're left with a newsroom that can't find the truth, a government that can't manage a crisis, and an army that can't win a war.

I missed the chance to see Rush at the Forum 11 years ago, only to discover later that it had been their final show, their last with Neil Peart.

I’d managed to see almost all of my childhood progressive rock heroes — Yes, Genesis, King Crimson. The only exceptions were Emerson, Lake & Palmer and Rush. ELP was never going to happen; two-thirds of the band are gone. And for a long time, I assumed Rush would remain the one that got away.

Then came the surprise announcement: Rush was hitting the road again with a new drummer and a keyboard player.

Thanks to my wife Ronnie, who wasted no time grabbing tickets, I can finally cross the last attainable childhood prog dream off the list.

Anika Nilles is the real deal. She has the technique, the feel, and the groove to make it work. Any doubts about whether she could pull it off were erased on opening night, the first of four sold-out shows at the Kia Forum.

Geddy and Alex sound fantastic. They’re obviously having fun. There’s an energy and enthusiasm onstage that comes through from the first song to the last. The production is massive — lights, video, pyro — everything you’d expect from a Rush show.

They delivered nearly all the classics, with the notable exception of Closer to the Heart, and opened with Xanadu, which immediately told the audience this wasn’t going to be a greatest-hits-by-numbers night.

Here are a few clips from the show, followed by photos from our almost-nosebleed seats.

If you get the chance, go. Some concerts are just concerts. This one felt like getting back something a lot of us thought was gone for good. And the gods know we need that right now.

Last week, a federal judge ordered the Kennedy Center to remove Donald Trump’s name from its signs, documents, websites, and official materials. Within days, staff members were updating letterheads, email signatures, brochures, and signage.

That is how these things often begin.

One day, Donald Trump will leave the stage. Sooner or later, every political movement ends. The harder question is what comes afterward.

What does CBS News do if it suddenly decides journalism matters again? What do corporate executives say when they no longer feel compelled to settle lawsuits, fire troublesome reporters and talk show hosts, soften coverage, or accommodate political demands?

Do they announce a return to principle?

And if they do, who is supposed to believe them?

In Hungary, voters ended Viktor Orbán’s sixteen-year hold on power this spring. Attention immediately turned toward the country’s media system. The incoming government began discussing reforms to public broadcasters and state media organizations that had spent years serving the interests of the ruling party. Media executives, journalists, regulators, and politicians are now wrestling with the same question facing every post-authoritarian society:

What do you do with institutions that spent years accommodating power?

Orbán’s political machine invested years building a media ecosystem designed to amplify friendly voices and marginalize critics. Now that the political landscape has changed, reformers are discovering something uncomfortable.

Changing institutions is easier than changing public perception.

History offers an even larger case study.

When Nazi Germany collapsed in 1945, the Allies faced a media landscape that had been thoroughly captured by the state. Newspapers had become instruments of propaganda. Radio served the regime. Film studios helped manufacture mythology. Independent journalism had long since disappeared.

The Allies didn’t attempt to reform Nazi media. They just shut it down.

Newspapers were closed. Broadcasting operations were seized. Publishing licenses were revoked. Journalists associated with Nazi propaganda were removed. New publications could operate only with Allied approval. Editors were vetted. Broadcasters were screened. Entire institutions were rebuilt from the ground up.

The structural work happened fast. The deeper work did not.

Germany’s postwar media system emerged within a few years. Public trust didn’t come back so fast.

Many Germans viewed the new press with suspicion. Some resented Allied oversight. Others wanted to stop talking about the recent past altogether. Many people who had accommodated the regime preferred to present themselves as reluctant participants rather than willing collaborators. Former Nazis gradually found their way back into public life.

The reckoning took decades.

The audience remembered who had said what. Who had published what. Who had remained silent. Who had prospered.

That may be the most important lesson from the postwar experience.

Trust isn’t restored by announcing that trust has been restored.

Institutions often imagine reputation works like a light switch. A policy changes. Leadership changes. A statement is issued. A new mission is announced. Everyone moves on.

Human beings don’t work that way.

We carry receipts.

Journalists earn credibility over years and spend it in moments. Institutions do the same.

Memory is the invisible archive. And unlike press releases, it can’t be edited.

That’s why the post-Trump period, whenever it arrives, may prove more difficult for some institutions than the Trump years themselves.

The pressure campaign ends when the pressure disappears.

The accounting begins afterward.

Executives who approved settlements. Owners who demanded concessions. Editors who softened stories. Universities that abandoned principles. Law firms that discovered flexibility. Media companies that convinced themselves accommodation was prudence rather than surrender.

All of them may eventually attempt to tell a story about what happened. They may insist they never really believed any of it. They were only being pragmatic. Only protecting shareholders. Only preserving access. Only surviving.

The audience already has its own version of events. And audiences, like history, are often less interested in what institutions say after the danger has passed than what they did while it was still present.

The audience remembers.

The institutions that emerge with their credibility intact won’t be the ones that rediscover courage after the danger has passed.

They’ll be the ones that kept it all along.

The rebellion inside 60 Minutes isn’t over.

Three of the program’s remaining correspondents — Lesley Stahl, Bill Whitaker, and Jon Wertheim — have announced they’re staying.

But before anyone at CBS News mistakes that for a vote of confidence, they should keep reading.

The trio issued a statement Friday explaining their decision. They described themselves as grieving. They said the program has been wounded and damaged. They condemned the treatment of colleagues who were pushed out. And they made clear that remaining at 60 Minutes should not be interpreted as support for the people now running it.

Instead, they say they’re staying for one reason. To fight.

“We don’t want to see 60 Minutes die,” they wrote. “We want to stay and fight.”

In most newsroom shakeups, employees either leave in protest or stay silent and keep their heads down. Veteran correspondents don’t usually issue public declarations that essentially amount to: We’re remaining because we’re afraid management might destroy the institution if nobody is left to defend it.

Just days ago, CBS News fired Sharyn Alfonsi, Cecilia Vega, executive producer Tanya Simon, executive editor Draggan Mihailovich, and other senior staff members during what employees have come to call “Black Thursday.” Then came the firing of Scott Pelley after his confrontation with new executive producer Nick Bilton.

That left a lot of observers wondering whether Stahl and Whitaker would be next out the door.

Instead, they’ve chosen a different path.

The statement also suggests something else. Despite the corporate messaging coming from CBS News leadership, the people who built 60 Minutes still view this as a fight over the identity of the broadcast itself. They’re arguing about editorial independence, newsroom culture, and whether the values that made 60 Minutes successful for nearly six decades will survive the current management team.

The people who remain are now carrying the entire legacy of the program on their shoulders.

And they just told CBS News management, in public, that they’re not prepared to hand it over quietly.

Read their full note below.

UPDATE: Scott Pelley responded to his firing. His statement is below.

Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised.

After all, Scott Pelley had effectively dared them to do it.

The veteran correspondent accused CBS News Editor-in-Chief Bari Weiss of “murdering” 60 Minutes during a contentious staff meeting. He openly challenged new executive producer Nick Bilton’s qualifications. According to Oliver Darcy’s reporting, Pelley even prepared a resignation letter, apparently expecting that his confrontation with management would leave little room for compromise.

But even knowing all of that, one detail stands out.

Scott Pelley wasn’t shown the door after a career spanning more than three decades at CBS News with a face-to-face conversation. According to Status, he was fired by email Tuesday night by a man who had been running the program for only a matter of days.

Oliver Darcy reports that around 4:45 pm, Pelley was summoned to the main CBS News building across the street from the 60 Minutes offices for a meeting with network brass. In the room were Weiss, Bilton, and CBS News President Tom Cibrowski. A human resources representative joined by phone.

The meeting, which lasted less than half an hour, was contentious. When Pelley returned to 60 Minutes headquarters, he told colleagues that he pressed leadership about the recent firings, but they didn’t want to talk about it.

A person close to CBS News leadership told Status that there had been a real effort to find a way for Pelley to stay on the show, but that management believed Pelley was not interested in working with them on that front. (Note: Pelley has vehemently denied there was any effort to keep him.)

And so, the decision was made to terminate Pelley. Bilton delivered the news to him by email, which was obtained by Status.

Bilton wrote, “I started this job excited to collaborate and to benefit from the wisdom and experience of the ‘60 Minutes’ veterans, with you among them. For that reason, one of the first things I did in my new role was call you to talk and invite you to dinner. It is a profound disappointment that you rejected that overture and chose ambush instead.”

Maybe management felt it had no choice. But whatever the justification, the larger question is whether 60 Minutes survives.

According to Darcy’s reporting, staff members are openly talking about the possibility of more departures. Bill Whitaker’s future is uncertain. Lesley Stahl’s contract has expired. Inside the program, there is reportedly growing concern about whether enough reporting and production infrastructure will remain in place to get the next season up and running.

It’s possible all of them may be gone by the time this article goes live.

The troubling possibility is that the destruction of 60 Minutes may not be an unintended consequence.

Perhaps Bari Weiss and Nick Bilton genuinely believe they are rebuilding the program. Perhaps they think they’re modernizing it.

From the outside, though, it looks like they’re dismantling it.

And that leads to an even bigger question.

What comes after?

Donald Trump won’t be around forever. Political movements built around individual personalities rarely survive indefinitely. Eventually, the political climate changes.

When that day comes, what happens to institutions that spent years accommodating the demands of a thin-skinned president?

Do corporations suddenly rediscover principles they abandoned?

Do they install new executives and announce a fresh commitment to editorial independence?

Do they ask audiences to trust them again?

Because trust doesn’t work that way.

Once people conclude that principles are negotiable, they stop believing those principles ever existed.

That’s the danger facing CBS News. And not just CBS News.

It’s every media company, every corporation, every institution that adjusts its values according to whoever happens to hold power at the moment.

When the political winds change, audiences notice. Employees notice. Viewers notice.

And they remember.

Long after executives move on, long after the current political era has passed, audiences remember who stood for something and who simply stood where it was safest.

If 60 Minutes survives this crisis, that may be the hardest thing for it to overcome.

But honestly, I don’t think it survives.

A television institution that endured wars, scandals, recessions, and changing technologies has lost correspondents, producers, editors, and much of the trust that made it valuable in the first place.

This feels fatal.

Scott Pelley’s message to the staff of CBS News:

There has never been anything in America like 60 Minutes.

The Sunday tradition is the most successful program of any kind in history. For more than a decade, its innovative growth on every major online platform has extended its reach to countless millions around the world. This spring, at the end of our 58thseason, 60 Minutes grew rapidly with an unheard-of 9% jump in viewers on CBS.

“60” has been the number-one program in America for decades because our beloved audience finds integrity, quality, and humanity in our stories. When stewardship of the program passed to my colleagues and me, our responsibility was to expand energetically into a new age of media technology while preserving the values our audience expects. Now, the new owner of our network is casting this legend aside, apparently to curry a moment of favor with the Trump administration.

The waste is heartbreaking.

Last month, 60 Minutes lost its DNA when our entire senior leadership and two of our best on-air correspondents were cruelly fired without cause. Good people were silenced because they stood up for our audience. They stood for fairness against the forces of political bias; they stood for professionalism against chaos.

For my part, new management has instructed me to inject falsehoods and bias into a politically sensitive story. I’ve been told to include assertions that are unverified. To date, in every case, I have managed to ignore these instructions or refuse them. Recently, politicians have been invited to choose correspondents for interviews on the broadcast. Giving politicians control over 60 Minutes interviews is not how this is done. Finally, incompetence and unprofessionalism in the new management have wreaked havoc. In a case involving one of my stories, the entire program came within 19 minutes of not getting on the air at all.

At 60 Minutes, we have fought harder than anyone knows to save the program that became an American icon. We owed that to our millions of viewers. I am deeply moved by the thousands of wishes we have received to “keep up the good fight.” Most of the men and women of CBS News are still in that fight. But now the collapse of values at the top has become untenable. The leadership of 60 Minutes is no longer recognizable. The principles I hold dear are gone, and so I must leave as well.

I depart after 37 years at CBS with one emotion—a heart brimming with gratitude for the men and women of CBS News who encouraged and enriched my work, very often at the risk of their own lives. I pray for a day when those people and their ideals are honored again—a day when sanity, competence, and courage return.

Scott Pelley

If you thought FCC Chairman Brendan Carr was only putting pressure on television networks, think again.

The same FCC that’s been investigating network news divisions, questioning editorial decisions, and publicly sparring with major TV broadcasters is sending a message to radio as well: we’re watching you to make sure you’re serving the public interest.

And the most important question raised by that message is: who gets to define what the public interest is?

Last week, the FCC’s Media Bureau released a seven-page reminder of broadcasters’ public interest obligations. On its face, the document looks dry and bureaucratic. A refresher on licensing rules. Nothing new.

But that’s not how many broadcasters will read it.

The notice repeatedly reminds stations that they are temporary custodians of public spectrum. It emphasizes that licenses can be challenged. Transfers can be scrutinized. Renewals can become complicated. Enforcement actions can follow.

And it arrives at a moment when Carr has made it abundantly clear that he views broadcasters differently from other media companies.

His argument is straightforward: broadcasters receive access to public airwaves and therefore have obligations that newspapers, websites, podcasts, and streaming services do not.

That’s been part of communications law for decades.

What’s different is the tone.

The National Association of Broadcasters pushed back immediately, arguing that local broadcasters serve their communities because they want to, not because Washington tells them to.

Anyone who’s spent time inside local radio or television knows that’s true.

Broadcasters routinely cover school board meetings, local elections, weather emergencies, traffic disasters, charity drives, and community events that generate little revenue and even less national attention. They do it because that’s the job.

FCC Commissioner Anna Gomez — the lone Democrat — sees something more troubling in the agency’s latest notice.

“The public interest does not mean this administration’s interests,” she warned, accusing the FCC of using the concept of public service as a political weapon.

If recent history is any guide, the FCC’s concerns may not stop with technical compliance, public files, or license paperwork.

The next battleground could be diversity, equity, and inclusion policies.

You knew that’s where they were going.

The Trump administration has already targeted DEI programs across government, universities, corporations, and federal contractors. Media companies have not escaped that scrutiny. Several broadcasters have scaled back DEI initiatives over the past year amid growing political pressure.

It’s not difficult to imagine similar questions eventually finding their way into FCC proceedings.

Nor is it difficult to imagine heightened scrutiny falling on broadcasters perceived as politically unfriendly to the administration.

That possibility is what makes this notice feel different, because broadcasters have seen what has happened elsewhere.

They’ve watched investigations involving major television networks. They’ve watched public criticism — and sometimes government threats — directed at journalists and news organizations. They’ve watched regulators become more willing to engage directly in disputes involving editorial content.

Or the jokes of late-night hosts.

Now the FCC is reminding radio and television stations that their licenses remain subject to government review.

Officially, the agency says it’s simply enforcing long-standing law.

Many broadcasters hear something else.

For years, radio operators worried about audience erosion, streaming competition, declining revenue, and shrinking news staffs.

Now they may be adding another concern to the list:

Whether Washington is preparing to decide which broadcasters are serving the public interest — and which broadcasters are not.

If you made it this far, thank you. And now, I’d like to ask a personal favor: Become a paid subscriber to Archer’s Line. I don’t take advertising, and I’m not paid by a company. The only support I get is from you.