Gone, baby, gone

The CBC is laying off 800 people, cutting programming, and hacking at CBC North's budget (at least $500,000 gone for the North, possibly $1 million.) At least two former colleagues are definitely losing their jobs.

I'm in shock. A part of who I am is wrapped up in that place. I believe in the CBC's mission, especially in the North and in remote areas of Canada, and especially radio. And I'm so very sorry for my worried friends at the Mother Corp., all wondering who will get the ax and who will get pressured into taking early retirement. (They say it's voluntary, but I've seen how management pushes people they don't like to quit or retire.)

It's like the lockout all over again, the realization that the corporate types are out to protect themselves, rather than programming. (Why couldn't they merge the dual bureaucracy of CBC and Radio Canada? Cut the never-ending stream of managers?)

I don't even have the energy to be grateful I'm no longer there and not part of this. How can I be happy I'm not suffering, when so many good friends are, and when the listeners will ultimately lose out?

And now the politicking really begins, but it's going to make no difference. Thanks for trying, MP Charlie Angus.

Who's on top?

On my very first day at CBC Radio, my manager sat me down at a table with a piece of paper and a pen between us. P. drew a triangle on the paper; he drew a little circle on the top and a bunch of little circles on the bottom. He then drew some lines horizontally through the triangle.

"This is the CBC," he said. "The circle here is the president of the corporation. These circles down here are our listeners and viewers. In between are the vice-presidents, directors, managers and staff."

I nodded. It seemed like a pretty routine corporate structure to me.

"This is the way some people see it," he said, showing me the graph with the president on top.

Then he turned the paper so the viewers and listeners were up top, and the president at the bottom.

"This is how it really is," he said. "These people who listen to us, who watch us, they are the boss. They are the reason we are here. They are the reason we produce shows and run the news and try to make them laugh from time to time.

"We're here to serve them, to give them what they need, to tell them stories they need to hear. Never forget that, and you'll do all right."

Over my years at Mother Corp., I tried to remember P.'s advice. I tried to tell stories my real bosses needed to hear. Because of that, I was lucky to do some fun, intriguing and (I think) important work. I often covered stories people outside the North would think unimportant -- but hey, my bosses were Northerners, and at least half of them lived in small Aboriginal communities.


With all of the problems at the CBC lately (the enormous budget shortfall, the passive-aggressive statements from the federal minister responsible, the anxiety and panic amongst the staff as rumours of 600 to 1200 lay-offs float about), I keep remembering that Sunday morning in Yellowknife, and the look in P.'s eyes as he showed me that graph.


That's what is the root of the problems at the CBC, really. Sometime in the past ten years (or longer), the upper levels forgot they are actually the lower levels. They forgot about the real bosses. And oh boy, it showed

They chased after potential listeners/viewers, and ideal listeners/viewers, and hip ones and young ones and ones who dig it when you use swear words on the air. They worried about being contemporary and trendy. They Stromboed the news, rather than just The Hour.

And you know what happened? Some of the original bosses quit. Especially the television bosses, the elusive viewers. A lot of them quit. They went over to CTV and Global, where they weren't the boss, but at least they weren't being condescended to death.

Then the lower levels forgot the middle levels are the ones who keep the bosses around, who make radio and television worth listening to and watching. They tried to make us all expendable, contractors with no job security and no defense against being fired on a whim. At the same time, the amount of managers (who do not produce stuff for your eyes and ears) increased dramatically. They locked out the staff and pissed off a lot of the real bosses. Some of them never came back after the lock-out.

And now we are in a recession, and revenue is down, because why spend money on ads on a network that is losing its viewers hand over fist?

I don't know how to solve this crisis. But I do know if the CBC is going to continue to exist in some semblance of what was meant to be, the guys at the bottom need to wise up and remember the guys at the top.

On crises and desert times

When the Hubby and I planned our escape from the Great White North, we expected life to change, and change a great deal. What we didn't expect from our first year of southern living was a year full of illness, intense stress, disillusionment and crises of faith. But that's what we got.

The kids were hospitalized twice.

I couldn't get a job in journalism to save my life, despite eight years with the Mother Corp. and the statue in the living room.

My grandmother almost died, and I had to take a trip home I couldn't afford, at Christmastime, paid for by my mother-in-law (bless you, N.) so I could say good-bye. Thank God she lived.

I took a job doing something I always said I'd never do, simply to pay our student loans. We went through three sitters in five months. We are still waiting for our permanent nanny, five months later. (For new readers: a live-in nanny is a lot cheaper than day care when you have three kids.)

I had the worst Valentines Day, birthday, Easter and Mother's Day of my life.

As a family, we have struggled to attend Mass, and I have struggled with my prayer life and my faith. I feel very far from God lately, and I know I'm the one who put the distance there.

As a consequence of all this, my marriage has suffered. Nothing terribly serious, but something we need to work on.

There are many bright spots in all this.

A. has learned to ride a bike with no training wheels. His four front teeth have all fallen out, and his adult teeth are coming in nicely. He can read, which forever amazes me.

Big I. is no longer Little. He is a brown, sturdy, upright little man who has an incredible imagination and a lively wit.

Toddler N. is almost two, has about 150 words and is the most stubborn child on the planet. Her head is a mass of strawberry blonde curls. She loves to sing.

The Hubby 's training is going well and he is enjoying life in the military. He still has that zany sense of humour, and is well-liked at his latest assignment.

I like my co-workers very much and can live with the work I'm doing, but I know I am not doing what I am meant to do in life. To quote Stevie Cameron: "All I have ever been, all I have ever wanted to be, is a reporter." So I continue with this work because it pays the bills, and dream of a time when I might steal a few hours here and there to sell the odd article, to build my reputation here and get away from the Dark Side.

I have also been thinking about my other passion, health, and wondering if I have a future there, wondering how old is too old for medical school. I can't even think of going until the kids are all in high school or beyond, so perhaps it will never be anything more than a dream. But I know I could do it; I was always a straight-A student, and nothing can gross me out too much anymore, not after all the IV needles and vomit I've endured. I might puke, but I wouldn't pass out.

My parents are coming to visit this week. My dad hasn't seen the boys since Isaac was a baby. He and the kids have been plotting days filled with ice cream and beaches and parks.

So I sit, halfway through 2008, and ask myself to consider my blessings rather than dwelling on all these hard times. This is what I come up with:

1. The kids are healthy and whole.
2. My husband loves me and I love him.
3. My parents, in-laws and grandparents are well.
4. My friend E. had her first son (yaaaayyy) and my friend S. is expecting her first daughter any day.
5. I've only gained back 10 pounds of the 30 I'd lost since I switched from stroller-pushing to a desk job, and I've maintained that weight for five very hard months. (Hey, you can't know how incredibly happy I am to still be in single digit sizes!)
6. My faith is based on logic rather than feelings (or I don't think I'd have any left!)
7. A house, food, clothing and beer in the fridge.

Back on the payroll of Big Crown Corp.

On Friday, I escaped the bonds of housewifedom for a few hours and plunged back into the adult, workaday world again.

In other words, I had a job interview.

While I'm not interested in going back to work full-time, I am going a little shack-wacky here in the burbs. Being with the children can be fun and fulfilling, but many times it is also emotionally and physically draining, as well as boring. There are only so many times I can talk to Little I. about his favourite Transformers or teach A. how to spell a new word.

So about a week ago I called the manager of the local CBC Radio and asked if he wanted to meet and talk about casual work. He did.

We made a number of plans for a get-together, but my child-care schedule kept getting in the way. Finally, we agreed on Friday afternoon, since the Hubby gets off early on Fridays.

That morning was a flurry of washing and shaving and hair-styling. I picked up the boys at day camp and hauled them to the local McDonald's for lunch, then ran some errands around Esquimalt. Baby N. and Little I. dropped off to sleep in their car seats while the minivan sat in the Canex parking lot. A. listened to a CD while I put on make-up.

I marveled at how wrinkly I had become over the past year, and how the concealer was NOT concealing how old I looked.

We picked up the Hubby and headed downtown.

I was incredibly nervous.

I found the building easily enough, and the manager I had spoken to. He welcomed me into the office and we started talking.

The first thing he asked me was if I had been a lockout blogger.

"Why, yes," I stammered. "How did you know that?"

"Because I used to read you every day," he said. "I was on the management bargaining committee."

Oh dear Lord, I thought. There goes my casual job.

Seeing my discomfiture, he laughed. "I loved your blog," he chuckled.

After that, we got along like a barn on fire.

I've been added to his "stable" of available casuals, working the odd evening and weekend shift.

He even hinted about a full-time producer position being boarded right now, but that's too many hours for me right now and too much responsibility.

I can't tell you how relieved and comfortable I was in that news room. It felt like a little piece of home.