Radio Bilingüe, the largest Spanish-language public station in the US, stands firm against Trump

Mariachis, banda, and salsa music ring out on the airwaves of rural central California. The Donald Trump administration would like to silence the station that broadcasts them. Radio Bilingüe, the largest Spanish-language public radio station in the United States, has been operating for 45 years and now faces its greatest challenge. Its current situation reflects the reality of hundreds of rural stations that have lost much of their funding due to the federal government’s cuts to the public media system.

Many radio and local TV stations are facing imminent closure, but Radio Bilingüe is holding on from its headquarters in Fresno. This resilience is no accident; it is the result of decades of organizational strength and strategic planning, which included diversifying its sources of income. It was well aware of the persistent criticism of public media, which the Trump government has aggressively embraced — a move that reflects the other side of the debate on free speech, which has been making headlines this week.

On July 24, President Donald Trump signed a law that was described as one of the most controversial of his second term, but largely went unnoticed amid other scandals. The Rescissions Act of 2025 instantly wiped out more than $1 billion in previously approved funding for the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB), the entity that has distributed federal resources to public radio and television in the United States since 1967. The impact was immediate: CPB announced its closure and the disappearance of grants that supported hundreds of local stations.

The measure is the culmination of a long-standing political and ideological campaign against National Public Radio (NPR) and Public Broadcasting Service (PBS), the two giants of public broadcasting in the country, which have been accused by the Republican right of being “radical leftist monsters,” in Trump’s own words. But the cuts go far beyond these two well-known brands, which in fact receive only a small fraction of their total funding from CPB.

It is estimated that, of the more than 1,000 radio stations and 300 television channels that received CPB funding, dozens of the smallest stations — rural, Indigenous, and community-based in some of the most remote areas of the country — are at risk of closing if they do not secure alternative funding. Some have already launched donation campaigns and merchandise sales to raise money, while others have begun making their own cuts to staff and programming to lower expenses.

For Radio Bilingüe, the blow has been significant, but not an existential threat — for now. “The direct impact for us is $300,000 a year out of a $4 million budget,” explains Hugo Morales, founder and co-executive director of the station. “On top of that, we lost $1.1 million from a grant meant to replace outdated transmission equipment. That’s immediate. And the CPB also covered the royalties for the music we broadcast on our 30 stations.” For the moment, they’ve reassessed some planned investments, such as equipment upgrades, and secured increased donations from major sponsors to help fill the gap left by the CPB.

But Morales also points out that the CPB was about more than just money. “It controlled the sound distribution system for all public radio stations; it was the manager of joint assets. It also imposed transparency and community service requirements: that each station have a real advisory committee, publish minutes of its meetings, hold annual workshops. All of that could disappear now.”

The Republican rhetoric against public broadcasting is not new. Since the 1990s, conservative figures have denounced the supposed “liberal bias” of NPR and PBS. But in the era of Trump’s culture wars, the tone has escalated. Republican congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene described them as “left-wing echo chambers for a narrow audience of mostly wealthy, white, urban liberals and progressives, who generally look down on and judge rural America.”

The White House has not hidden its disdain for public broadcasting, either. “Democratic paper-pushers masquerading as reporters don’t deserve taxpayer subsidies,” a spokesperson told Politico. “NPR and PBS will have to learn to survive on their own.”

The paradox, however, is that those who will suffer most from the cuts are not the big national networks that have been the main targets, but rather the rural and community stations, often located in areas that generally support Trump, and where they serve essential functions such as emergency alerts, local news, and educational programming.

From farmworkers, for farmworkers

That is precisely the case for Morales, who knows his audience well because he comes from it. Born in the Mexican state of Oaxaca to a Mixtec family, he emigrated as a child to the United States to work in the fields alongside his parents. Unlike most who share that background, he graduated from Harvard College and Harvard Law School. But instead of pursuing a career in law, he returned to California to found a radio station that would speak directly to agricultural workers.

“Radio Bilingüe was established by farmworkers, for farmworkers,” he says. “The audience we serve is predominantly Latino and working-class: people working in the fields, in hospitals, in stores. That’s why our music — mariachi, norteña, traditional sounds — connects with them. We also have programs in Indigenous languages, and even nighttime programs dedicated to people in prison. Radio is a public medium that reaches the people.”

What began with garage sales to fund its first antenna has grown into a network with 29 stations of its own and 92 affiliates across the United States, Puerto Rico, and Canada. Its news programs reach half a million listeners every month, while the broader schedule blends popular music with practical information: labor rights, access to public benefits, health workshops, and explanations about the Census.

Morales says Radio Bilingüe won’t lay off staff this year. The founder acknowledges that the network has an advantage over others thanks to a decision back in 1996, when its board voted to diversify funding and reduce dependence on federal dollars. Today, more than 90% of its budget comes from about 50 different foundations.

Still, the concern is palpable. “Our challenge is to maintain the equipment and not lay off anyone. We have 30 stations with antennas, towers, and generators. All of that costs a lot of money when it needs to be replaced.”

But for Morales, what’s at stake goes far beyond balance sheets. “We are a channel for a national Latino conversation. We discuss critical issues and provide guidance to citizens and undocumented immigrants on how to have influence and how to participate. We protect culture, broadcast authentic Oaxacan music, and encourage community participation.”

That role has only become more vital in an era of disinformation and polarization. “For me, [what’s happening] is part of a strategy designed to attack democracy and access to public information,” he warns. “There are interests that don’t want people to have access to this type of information. They used NPR and PBS as scapegoats, but in reality, the damage is being done to community radio stations.”

The outcome of this crisis remains to be seen. Some large national networks may even come out stronger if they succeed in mobilizing their urban audiences to donate more. But in rural areas and in Latino and Indigenous communities, the disappearance of the CPB threatens to leave news deserts. For now, Radio Bilingüe’s airwaves continue to carry the sound of mariachis, community newscasts, and voices in Indigenous languages.

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