Tag Archives: CBC

Celebrating Two Giants of Science Communication: Bob McDonald and James Burke

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In the world of public science education, Bob McDonald and James Burke stand as exceptional figures, each with a distinctive voice and approach that have resonated globally. Though separated by geography and generations, their work shares a profound impact: transforming science into a compelling story for the curious.

From Unlikely Beginnings to National Influence
Bob McDonald, born in Wingham, Ontario, in 1951, did not follow the traditional path of a scientist. He struggled in school, flunked Grade 9 and dropped out of York University after two years studying English, philosophy, and theatre. A serendipitous job at the Ontario Science Centre, earned through sheer enthusiasm, marked the start of a lifelong journey in public science communication. Without formal scientific training, McDonald has become Canada’s most trusted science voice, hosting CBC’s Quirks & Quarks since 1992, and serving as chief science correspondent on television. 

James Burke, born in Derry, Northern Ireland, in 1936, followed a more traditional academic route. He studied Middle English at Jesus College, Oxford, graduating with a BA and later MA. Between 1965 and 1971, Burke was a presenter on BBC’s Tomorrow’s World. He gained fame writing and hosting Connections (1978) and The Day the Universe Changed (1985), series that showcased his talent for tracing historical and technological threads. 

Education, Training, and Foundational Strengths
McDonald’s lack of formal scientific credentials is a central feature of his appeal. He studied the arts, which honed his gifts in storytelling and public speaking, skills that later became essential to his career. His journey underscores resilience and a capacity to translate complex ideas into accessible, journalistic narratives.

Burke’s Oxford education provided a structured foundation in research and critical thinking. While not trained as a scientist per se, he combined rigorous historical analysis with a broad intellectual curiosity. His RAF service and early career at the BBC developed his confidence and communication flair.

Contrasting Approaches to Science Communication
McDonald’s technique is rooted in clarity, practicality, and immediacy. Hosting Quirks & Quarks, he highlights current research, on climate, space, health, while prioritizing accuracy without jargon. His role as translator bridges the gap between scientific experts and everyday audiences: “Science is a foreign language, I’m a translator.”

Burke, by contrast, is the consummate systems thinker. His hallmark is showing how seemingly small innovations, like eyeglasses or the printing press, can trigger sweeping societal changes. Through richly woven narratives, he demonstrates how scientific ideas intertwine with culture and history, often leading to unpredictable outcomes. This interdisciplinary storytelling encourages deeper reflection on how technology shapes our world – and vice versa.

Media Styles: Radio vs. Television, News Today vs. History Forever
McDonald’s charm lies in his warm, unassuming tone on radio and television. He phrases dense topics through everyday analogies and stories from Canadian science, whether about the Arctic, Indigenous knowledge, or the cosmos. 

Burke’s on-screen style is brisk, witty, and expansive. His BBC documentaries – Connections, The Day the Universe Changed, and recent work on CuriosityStream, are known for dramatic reenactments, conceptual models, and a playful yet authoritative narrative. Burke’s reflections on the acceleration of innovation continue to spark debate decades after their original broadcast. 

Enduring Impact and Legacy
McDonald’s legacy lies in his service to science literacy across Canada. From children’s TV (Wonderstruck, Heads Up!) to adult radio audiences, he’s been recognized with top honours: Officer of the Order of Canada, Gemini awards, Michael Smith Award, and having an asteroid named after him.  His impact endures in classrooms, public lectures, and the homes of everyday Canadians.

Burke’s legacy is rooted in innovation thinking and intellectual connectivity. Connections remains a cult classic; educators continue using its frameworks to teach history-of-science and systems thinking.  His predictions about information technology and society anticipated many 21st‑century developments. Though some critique his sweeping interpretations, his work has inspired generations to view scientific progress as a dynamic, interconnected web.

Shared Vision in Distinct Voices
Both communicators share an essential understanding: science is a human story, not a closed discipline. McDonald demystifies today’s science by translating research into personal, relatable narratives rooted in Canadian context. Burke invites audiences on a historical journey, spotlighting the domino effect of invention and the cultural echoes of discovery.

Their differences are complementary. McDonald equips the public with scientific knowledge needed to navigate contemporary issues, from climate change to pandemics. Burke provides a framework for understanding those issues within a broader historical and societal tapestry, helping audiences grasp unexpected consequences and future possibilities.

Bob McDonald and James Burke are two pillars of public science communication. McDonald’s art lies in translating contemporary science into accessible stories for mass audiences. Burke’s genius is in contextualizing those stories across centuries and societies, revealing the hidden architecture beneath technological change. Together, they showcase the power of clarity and connection, proving that science is not only informative, but deeply human and forever evolving. Their work continues to inspire curiosity, critical thinking, and a deeper appreciation for how science shapes, and is shaped by, our world.

Public Broadcasting is Democratic Infrastructure: It’s Time We Treated It That Way

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A healthy democracy doesn’t just depend on free elections or a functioning parliament, it requires a well-informed public. And that, in turn, depends on public media. Yet, while countries like Norway, Switzerland, and Germany invest heavily in their national broadcasters, Canada lags behind, spending just $32 per capita on the CBC. The average among comparable nations? $82 per person, over two and a half times as much. These aren’t obscure outliers. They are the very countries we hold up as models of good governance and enviable quality of life.

The implications of this underfunding are profound and dangerous.

For starters, let’s be clear about what a strong national broadcaster provides: verified, fact-checked information; in-depth investigative reporting; representation for marginalized communities; cultural production that reflects national identity; and local coverage that commercial networks consider financially unviable. It produces journalism and storytelling not because it will sell ads, but because the public needs to hear it. In short, a national broadcaster is not just media, it’s civic infrastructure.

And like all infrastructure, when it’s neglected, the cracks begin to show. Coverage gets thinner. Journalists are laid off. Investigative units are cut back. Cultural programming disappears. Public trust erodes. This is not some abstract danger. We’re already seeing it. In many rural and northern communities, CBC/Radio-Canada is the only news outlet on the ground. If we let it wither, those Canadians lose their voice.

Some critics argue that the CBC is biased or outdated. Others go further, calling for its privatization or outright abolition, but calls to defund the CBC aren’t coming from a place of principle, they’re coming from political convenience. The CBC’s critics are often those who fear being held to account. The very fact that it makes governments uncomfortable is proof of its relevance. A neutered or commercialized broadcaster wouldn’t challenge power. It would amplify it.

That’s why funding isn’t the only issue. Independence matters just as much.

Right now, the CBC depends on annual allocations from the federal government—allocations that can be increased, frozen, or cut depending on the political mood. That dynamic creates an impossible tension: how can journalists freely investigate the very politicians who control their budgets? To resolve this, Canada should follow the lead of countries like the UK and Germany, where national broadcasters are governed by arms-length boards and funded through fixed, long-term mechanisms like licence fees or parliamentary endowments.

We don’t just need to preserve the CBC, we need to drastically increase its funding. Canada should not be spending less than a dollar a week per citizen on one of its most vital democratic institutions. A national broadcaster must be robust, resilient, and equipped to compete in a rapidly changing media landscape. That takes serious investment. The federal Liberal government has acknowledged this, pledging in successive platforms to increase funding to the CBC and Radio-Canada; but pledges are not progress. What’s needed now is political will to deliver not just marginal boosts, but transformational support, the kind that allows the CBC to rebuild local newsrooms, expand digital services, and commission bold, public-interest journalism across all regions and communities in Canada.

We must also abandon the false binary that public media is either pro-government or obsolete. Neither is true. A public broadcaster does not exist to defend the state, it exists to inform the public. In an age when foreign disinformation campaigns, clickbait economics, and algorithmic echo chambers dominate, a trusted public voice is not a relic of the past. It’s an essential defense against manipulation and ignorance.

In fact, defunding public media doesn’t reduce bias, it opens the door to greater corporate influence. When information is treated solely as a commodity, public interest takes a back seat to private profit. Stories that matter but don’t sell, like Indigenous issues, climate policy, or rural healthcare, vanish from the airwaves. And the stories that do remain are curated not for accuracy or balance, but for engagement, outrage, and revenue.

We know where that leads. We’ve seen it south of the border.

So let’s learn the right lesson. Let’s fund the CBC, not as a cultural subsidy, but as a democratic necessity. Let’s enshrine its editorial independence in law. Let’s give it the tools to innovate, expand, and thrive in the 21st century. And let’s stop pretending that cutting public media is some kind of populist virtue.

Supporting a national broadcaster is not a left-wing or right-wing issue. It’s a civic one. And at $32 per Canadian per year, it’s also a bargain.

We don’t need less CBC. We need more of it, improved and independent.

North of North – Come for the Seal Meat, Stay for the Sass

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Let’s get one thing straight: “North of North” isn’t trying to be flashy. It’s not here for your big-budget drama tropes or your high-speed plot twists. This show rolls in on a Ski-Doo, offers you a cup of tea, and gently roasts you for not wearing the proper boots. And honestly? It’s perfect.

Set in the fictional Arctic community of Ice Cove, the show gives us radio gossip, community tensions, teenage awkwardness, and the kind of aunties who’ll roast you lovingly while handing you leftover caribou stew. The comedy sneaks up on you; dry, sharp, and sometimes so absurdly specific you’ll wonder how they knew about your cousin’s snowmobile getting stuck that one time.

At the heart of it all is Anna Lambe as Siaja, a young Inuk woman who’s back in her hometown trying to figure out life, love, and how not to lose her mind when your ex, your mother, and your new boss are all up in your business. Lambe delivers a performance full of charm, wit, and those subtle eye-rolls that speak louder than words. You root for her even when she’s screwing things up (which she does, delightfully often).

Backing her up is Maika Harper as Neevee, Siaja’s mother and the community’s unofficial Minister of Telling It Like It Is. Harper brings a perfect mix of heart and “don’t test me” energy that makes you want her on your side in any northern showdown, be it over land, love, or the last piece of bannock.

The rest of the cast (many of them fresh faces) bring the town to life in all its glorious, stubborn, sarcastic glory. From ambitious teens and well-meaning radio hosts to gruff mechanics and nosy neighbours, each character feels like someone you want to know. The writing is sharp, but never mean, the jokes land with the weight of a well-thrown snowball, and the community feels real enough that you’ll be checking flights to Nunavut “just to visit.”

And sure, it’s a little rough around the edges. The budget isn’t flashy, the sets are cozy, and the weather never takes a day off, but that’s kind of the point. This is a show that wears its sealskin parka with pride, and isn’t trying to impress you with glitz! It wants to make you laugh, maybe cry a little, and remind you that northern life is full of stories worth telling.

Bottom line? North of North is like a cup of tea after a blizzard; simple, satisfying, and a little bit magic. Watch it for the vibes, stay for the feels, and maybe learn how to make muktuk while you’re at it.

And the good news is that Netflix just announced that they are picking up the second season, while making the first amazing season available this month.