Tavis Smiley: The Misstep on His Ascension to Greatness
By jimi izrael, AOL BlackVoices columnist
When Tavis Smiley got his own news affairs show on National Public Radio four years ago, I wondered if he was the right guy for the job. He doesn't bring a journalist's chops to the public radio game: He's too much Arsenio Hall and not enough Ed Bradley; soft-pitching deferential questions sealed on either end by his (sometimes) informed opinion or by full-on belly laughter, when nothing in the world could be that damn funny.
Smiley fancies himself some kind of vanguard journalist of the next generation. He is wrong. Smiley is a celebrity pundit, best when he's pretending to know something you don't, but not to be depended on to give you the straight story under any circumstances. Not because he doesn't have it, but because somehow the story gets coated in his editorial malaise, sickly sweet with black history month dogma and absent of any coherent practicality whatsoever.
There is nothing wrong with Smiley's approach to the game, if that's what you like. In fact, his show was probably terribly entertaining for his country-club friends and the fans of his weekly pep talks on the Tom Joyner Morning Show. But for the rest of us, who only listened to him on NPR, it left a lot to be desired. Still, I was an avid listener of Smiley's show until he stepped away from his post rather mysteriously, opting not to renew his contract. By his own admission, the show was performing above and beyond expectations -- what else could he reasonably ask for?
According to NPR spokesman David Umansky, Smiley wanted to tape the daily news show a day early, which I'd imagine to be a sticking point when you purporting to broker in something as timely as, you know, news. He also wanted to control the distribution rights of his show, a violation of federal laws that dictate that "public radio" remain public property via National Public Radio, and can not be distributed or re-sold for profit. He also demanded a $3 million promotion budget from an organization that had already spent a significant part of its six-figure budget on promoting his show, with intentions to practically double it in the years to come. Not too shabby. Did Smiley expect the NPR heads to press up ink pens and T-shirts to promote Smiley's show, like Kool Cigarettes or Colt 45? Not bloody likely. I'm not convinced that NPR was negligent in promoting Smiley’s show, nor am I convinced they had an obligation above and beyond what they were doing.
Sure, NPR recognizes it has some diversity challenges, and is committed to addressing them, whatever that means. Corporate diversity agendas are dicey and incomplete at best, often boiling down to Harriet Tubman or Nipsey Russell black history factoids posted in the break room, or the hiring of a Dominican mail clerk. Smiley knew that from the gate. While anyone can hear that NPR is radio targeted to white listeners, Smiley was making headway in uncharted waters. He was a guest that could have gotten more invited in. Sometimes, when you're cooking in someone else's kitchen, you're better off bringing your own hot sauce, and we all know Smiley has enough hot sauce in the black community to get his own pot boiling with a hot word-of-mouth campaign. Instead, he put the onus on an organization without those kinds of resources. At some point down the road, once he'd become a bankable NPR brand, he could have become unreasonable. But he played his hole card at the top of the game, a grave misstep.
Smiley's work in advocacy and furthering the cause of higher education is admirable. But anyone writing books dictating quasi-political agendas and holding "State of the Black Union" addresses obviously thinks too much of himself to be taken seriously as a journalist. He recently had a school of communication named after him, but that's an honor earned posthumously in tribute to a career that had great impact on the given discipline, right? I've not seen that greatness yet. I doubt that Tavis can carry his new two-hour stint on NPR, via Public Radio International, intended to air late nights between Friday and Sunday in most markets. Let's face it, he's no Terry Gross or Diane Rehm, so what will he pontificate on for two hours? Not just that, but his listeners are doomed to suffer because, well, we all know how much brothers love listening to NPR right before heading out to the club.
I don't doubt that Tavis Smiley has only just begun his ascension, but he could have broken even more ground if his ego could have allowed him to stick out his original deal with NPR.
About the Author
jimi izrael is a journalist and opinion writer living in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. His work has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, Chicago Tribune, Cleveland Plain Dealer, Atlanta Journal-Constitution and Philadelphia Enquirer. He blogs occasionally at www.jimiizrael.com.
March 24, 2005