I didn’t grow up with cable. I grew up with PBS.

I still remember fiddling with the antenna on our old TV, trying to get the signal just right so I could watch Barney, Dragon Tales, or Sesame Street without static. PBS didn’t require a subscription or a fancy setup. It was just there. Free, reliable, and always playing something that made me feel calm, curious, or seen. For so many of us, PBS wasn’t just background noise. It was a lifeline.

I spent my childhood watching Sesame Street, and especially the Elmo’s World segments. These shows didn’t just teach me how to count or sing the alphabet. They taught me to imagine, to empathize, and to be curious. They showed me that storytelling could be soft and joyful, that characters could feel familiar, and that learning could feel like play.

And then came Maya and Miguel. It was the first time I saw a Latina girl like me as the main character of a cartoon. I didn’t have to squint or pretend. She was there, front and center. She was bilingual. Her family was loving and loud and layered. She wasn’t reduced to a stereotype or comic relief. She was the story. That mattered in ways I didn’t have the words for at the time.

I still remember one episode where they made mole or something that looked just like it. Mole was my favorite food as a kid. My grandma would serve it with soft Mexican rice, and I would always look forward to it after school. I can still picture myself sitting at the table on a Friday, eating mole while Maya and Miguel played in the background. That moment stayed with me. It made me feel seen.

Yes, The Proud Family came first on Disney Channel in 2001, but Maya and Miguel hit deeper for me. It wasn’t just about the representation, although that was powerful. It was about where that representation was happening. PBS wasn’t a premium channel. It wasn’t flashy or exclusive. It was public. It belonged to everyone. That show reached kids whose families couldn’t afford cable or streaming bundles. It said, you deserve to be seen. And it meant it.

PBS inspired me. I credit my love for journalism to public media. It was through PBS that I first felt the power of storytelling to inform, to include, and to uplift. I wanted to be part of that. I wanted to create stories that made others feel what PBS had made me feel. Safe, curious, and represented.

That is why what is happening now feels so personal.

In May 2025, President Trump issued Executive Order 14290, cutting all federal funding to the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and directing agencies to pull support from PBS and NPR. They said cutting the funds is about addressing media bias, but it isn’t. It is about power. And it is about who gets left out when that power is taken away.

PBS and NPR do not exist to make shareholders happy. They exist to serve the public. And when you defund public media, you are not just cutting a line item in a budget. You are cutting off access. For rural communities. For working-class families. For children of color who have nowhere else to see themselves reflected.

As the cuts threaten PBS Kids, some programs are finding lifeboats. Netflix secured the rights to Sesame Street, including its 56th season and 90 hours of past episodes, following the end of its deal with Warner Bros. Discovery. While Sesame Street will continue to air on PBS and the PBS Kids app for now, this shift raises serious questions about the future of public access. Elmo’s World, which has long been a segment within Sesame Street, will also remain part of these new episodes, but now partially behind a paywall for families without Netflix.

And what about shows like The Wiggles? They were once a staple on public television, blending music, movement, and learning in a way that felt both fun and foundational. Today, The Wiggles are touring internationally and even collaborating with artists like Dolly Parton. But most of their content now lives on paid platforms or ticketed live events. Meaning, even the most beloved educational shows have become brands. For families who cannot afford streaming subscriptions or concert tickets, this evolution makes quality programming out of reach.

Today’s media landscape is overflowing with content, but it is not equal. Most of what dominates children’s screens is algorithm-driven, overstimulating, and empty. The biggest programs are not even shows. They’re YouTube channels like Ryan’s World, Cocomelon, Diana and Roma, and prank-based family vlog channels that exploit kids for clicks. The content is loud, repetitive, and optimized for engagement. Not education. Not imagination. And definitely not representation.

Nickelodeon has faded into reboots and merchandise pipelines. Disney Channel, once a cultural touchstone, has quietly dissolved into Disney Plus. And while there are some great educational gems out there, most require subscriptions, tech savvy parents, and luck navigating the algorithm.

So let us ask the real question. Without PBS Kids, where are today’s children, especially low-income children of color, supposed to go for free, high-quality educational content?

Where will a curious second grader find a show that reflects their culture and teaches them emotional intelligence?

Where will a child who does not speak English at home see their language treated with dignity, not mockery?

Where will the next generation of storytellers find their spark?

Consider this your warning. We are letting one of the last truly public, truly accessible, and truly inclusive platforms be gutted. It is children who will pay the price. When we strip funding from public media, we are telling the most vulnerable among us that their access to joy, knowledge, and representation is negotiable.

I am a journalist now. I tell stories because I believe they shape us. PBS helped shape me. I owe it more than I can fully explain. I want that same opportunity, the chance for joy, growth, and connection, to be available for the next generation of Latinas. For kids in rural towns. For families who rely on a bunny-eared TV, not an iPad. For children who just want to feel seen.

Protecting PBS and NPR is not about nostalgia. It is about justice. It is about protecting the idea that learning and storytelling belong to everyone, not just the privileged.

We should be funding public media more, not less. The kids watching today deserve what we had. And better.