A Conversation with Ralph Walker

By Hanna Nielson

OnMartin Luther King Jr. Day, I arrive at KGEM-TV Studio in Monrovia to findRalph Walker busy interviewing candidates for the upcoming City Councilelection. As he does every year, he features each candidate on his locallybroadcast talk show, “Conversationswith Ralph Walker.”

“I keep looking forsomeone to pass the torch to,” he says. “But there isn’t anybody, and thatworries me.”

Walkeris adistinguished African American man in the unusual position of holding the predominatelywhite movers and shakers of a small California town to account. He has beenhosting his current show for over 20 years, co-produced by the nonprofitCommunity Media of the Foothills (one of less than 40 public access stations inCalifornia with facilities and equipment still available for public use).Thanks to the help and support of his local public access station, Walkerstarted his journey in volunteer journalism to champion voices that might nototherwise be heard. While his focus remains on the rich history and current affairsof the city of Monrovia, he has interviewed big names as they cross his path,such as California Governor Gavin Newsom, U.S. Congresswoman Judy Chu, and RepresentativeGrace Napolitano.

Oddlyenough, we start our conversation with an innocuous reminder that black peopleare often not heard. Taking a break between interviews, Walker asks the Alexain the lobby to play a song. The device fails to understand him after multiplerequests.   

“Is Alexa racist?” heasks, hoping it’s not true. After a few more tries, it is clear she refuses toacknowledge he has spoken. He asks a white male staffer to request the song forhim. Alexa immediately responds. “Now you see who designed it. You see who it’smeant for,” he quips. It’s hardly a promising start to what would have beenKing’s 90th birthday.

Fora former Black Panther who was at the front lines of the Civil Rights Movementin 1960s Chicago, it’s another reminder that racial equality in America remainsa distant goal. Yet, he is not without hope. Hosting his show, he says, “islike being a vehicle for positive change. I use it to educate, in a civicmanner, all walks of life in the same breath. The viewing audience is notprimarily black, which is unique. I look at the pros and cons of issues. I’mnot afraid to talk about anything that’s going on, business, social, political.For some child out there, it’s important witnessing a black man hold his own inthe media.”

Heelaborates, “I think when people see a black man on TV it’s like they don’tknow how to see him properly because of all the negative portrayals. They don’texpect to take him seriously. From the beginning of TV, or even film, wheneverblack people were shown they had to be smiling, laughing, dancing, singing — wewere just entertainment. We were never considered to have thoughts or opinions.A voice.”

Knownas “TheVoice of Monrovia,” Walker was honored by Monrovia City Council in 2009 for hisoutstanding contribution to local journalism. He credits Monrovia’s first blackmayor, Bob Bartlett, with steering him into his current role.

“Becausehe embraced me and supported my show, […] every new business, local celebrity,candidate running for election, or nonprofit trying to get their message out,they all came to me,” Walker said. It was a fruitful alliance, transforming1990s Monrovia from a segregated, blighted community to the prosperous,multi-cultural city that it is today.

Walker’s involvement in mediastarted as an undergraduate at Loyola University in Chicago. He was one of twoblack students in his year. A white professor told him he was only therebecause the 1964 Civil Rights Act forced them to integrate. Otherwise, he wouldhave been denied the right to higher education based on the color of his skin.Later, as a fresh graduate looking for a job, he was refused by a whiteemployer who resented the fact that Walker was both black and universityeducated (the employer had only completed high school).

Walkerrecalls switching from law school to a communications degree “before that was even considereda good major to have. But I knew that television and the electronic age was goingto play a major role in regards to criminal justice and how black people are portrayed.”  Starting with his move to California in 1979,Walker quickly took advantage of the public access station in Pasadena. There,he honed his interviewing skills and became passionate about giving a platformto those that would otherwise remain silent and overlooked.

Publicaccess television stations proliferated across America in the wake of the CableCommunications Act of 1984. The goal was to promote freedom of speech and civicengagement by preserving a portion of the airwaves for public use and providingcommunications equipment for local residents to create original content forbroadcast to local audiences. 

Myacquaintance with Walker began at Monrovia’s public access television stationrun by Community Media of the Foothills. Like others, I went there to gain filmproduction experience that otherwise would cost tens of thousands of dollars ata university or film school. Some have questioned the continued relevance ofpublic media and public access television in the age of streaming, socialmedia, and widespread access to audiovisual technology. Getting rid of it wouldcertainly save cable companies some extra cash. But at what cost to the rest ofus?

“[Publicaccess] cable television is like the last breath of the First Amendment,” Walkerpoints out, adding that corporations have nearly succeeded in strangling publicmedia funds “in an attempt to dominate the narrative.” Quoting Laura Bush, headds, “Media has the last word.”

Themedia’s word, historically, has been that African Americans are more inclinedthan other ethnicities to violence, criminal behavior, and poverty. While notreflected in crime statistics, it dominates media stories about crime. Theresult? Brutal policing, harsh judicial sentencing, skyrocketing prisonpopulations, and the wholesale removal of black men from communities — creatingfamily instability, poverty, and knock on effects that spur negative mediacoverage…and the cycle repeats.

When media has a vested interest in creatingnarratives that sell, facts that contradict that narrative are ignored. Accordingto a 2017 report by Thomas Dixon at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign,66% of poor Americans are white (compared to 38% of blacks). Black people aredenied a voice in media and politics, meanwhile poor white communities sufferin silence because no one knows their problems exist. The status quo of denialis maintained until something happens to capture media attention, such as theRodney King riots in Los Angeles or the rise of present day populism inflamingboth ends of the political spectrum.

To continueour conversation, Walker and I sit down for happy hour at Great Maple in Pasadena.I ask him about his legacy. What difference has he made in the changing medialandscape? Introspective, he says, “It’s been an interesting journey […] Ialways think after every show, that’s the last show. Sometimes Monroviaresidents approach me and tell me, ‘Wow! That was a good show!’ That encouragesme to do one more show. Butwho’s going to carry the torch when I want to set it down?”

Thetruth is he’snot easily replaced. “If Ralph retired or moved on, he’d have to train several differentpeople, each with a different aspect of Ralph, to take over,” says Dirk Beechamfellow volunteer at KGEM-TV. “He’s at all the city events and committees — buthe makes it look easy. And, he’s a thoroughly liberated 21st century modernmale: he makes sure he’s home every night to cook dinner for his wife.”

“He sees things we often don’t see,” explains David Palomares, executive director at Community Media of the Foothills (home of KGEM-TV). “Soon as he comes in the door, he takes an interest in everybody. Whether they’re 16 or 70, he wants to know their opinions. […] He does what he does with the purest intentions, not because he wants a bigger stage or to promote himself. It really is important for him that the community has a voice.”

Aswe wrap up, I ask Walker what he would wish for his final episode. He thinksfor a moment and answers that he would be “highly impressed and honored to have aconversation with Stevie Wonder, a man who has internal vision versus externalvision. And, if I interviewed a woman, I would choose my wife [Judy], a veryreluctant speaker, someone who’s been behind the scenes for me all these years.But I would like to have her in the spotlight, just once.”

Lookingat the table across from us, Walker spots a multi-racial family and gives thema neighborly hello and wishes them, “Happy MLK Day.” In leaving the restaurant, Imake it all the way outside before I realize Walker hasn’t followed. He spottedan older African American actor and befriended him in the space of a few seconds.I join them and Walker introduces me to Dorian Harewood, who portrayed JesseOwens in the television miniseries, “TheJesse Owens Story.” It’s another MLK Day moment and I reflect that both Walkerand I were just sitting in the same booth at a restaurant, a black man and awhite woman having a conversation. It’s a simple act that would have gotten usarrested, or worse, in the time of Martin Luther King, Jr. Is this progress?Yes. But, is it enough? Not nearly.

Asmuch as Walker frets over who will pick up the torch after him, he might takecomfort in knowing he is not alone in carrying it. While his mother was busy as anactivist in 1960s Chicago, my mother was a high school student in Omaha. Shewent to hear Robert F. Kennedy speak only days after a race riot. When herheroes were struck down, she took it upon herself to see that RFK’s hopes andMLK’s dreams lived on. I grew up in a neighborhood full of single mothers andfamilies of every color, from every country, determined to make King’s rainbowa reality. I thought it was normal that everyone I knew had a different shadeof skin, type of hair, and spoke a different language. My mother made sure thatwe always talked about the stories being presented in the media and the methodsbeing used to make them seem “true.”

Studies show that cultural barriers are only broken down by direct contact and human interaction. If we never meet those we are taught to fear, how will we know they are just like us? If we don’t know we are being manipulated into fear, how can we begin to question it? That is why public media matters. It gives us the tools and opportunity to interrupt and question society’s narratives. We can change the story, but first we must understand we have that opportunity — and champion those who dare to take it.

The world of today is not perfect, but at least it is the kind of world where I get to have this conversation with Ralph Walker.

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