This is a special guest blog by Jonathan Avery, a recent M.A. graduate with a degree in communication and media studies from the University of Ottawa. You can access more material written by Mr. Avery at http://www.knowyourmedia.com

Have you ever wondered why Canadian private broadcasting networks such as CTV and CanWest air certain television programs over others? Why, for instance, does CanWest air House, or CTV air Grey’s Anatomy, over other television programs?

It would be to simple to suggest that a network’s choice to purchase the rights to a program solely comes down to affordability and audience preferences – that audience preferences dictate the types of programs networks purchase in order to maximize the size of their audience. In the Canadian market, however, it’s not so simple: broadcasting regulations have a significant impact on the types of programs made available to Canadian audiences. Some would argue that these policies not only constrain programming choices that should be left to Canadian audiences, but undermine the ability of the Canadian broadcasting industry to compete with our American neighbors. Others, on the other hand, argue that these regulations serve a vital cultural imperative and are necessary to create a unique Canadian broadcasting industry that can compete on an international level.

Canadian television is regulated by the Canadian Broadcasting Act. The goal at the heart of the Act is to strengthen Canadian society by providing content that reflects Canadian attitudes, opinions, ideas, values and artistic creativity. The Act requires that the Canadian broadcasting industry be owned and controlled by Canadians, and further demands that it encourage the development of the Canadian expression and maximize the use of Canadian talent and creative resources.

The Act also includes rules regarding Canadian content (commonly known as CanCon) that require a specific amount of air time that must be devoted to Canadian programming. To ensure this occurs, Canadian private broadcasters must devote, on an annual basis, 60 per cent of their overall television content to Canadian programming measured over the course of the entire broadcasting day, and at least 50 per cent between 6 p.m. and midnight. This does not include sports, national or regional news programming. To be classified as “Canadian,” a program is judged on the following criteria: whether its producer and key creative personnel are Canadian, the amount paid to Canadians for services provided to make the program, and the amount spent in Canada on lab processing.

Canadian broadcasting regulations, therefore, restrict the types of programs Canadian private broadcasters can purchase and air by requiring a specific amount of time devoted to Canadian programs. Regardless of Canadian audience preferences, Canadian private broadcasters must adhere to these policies. They cannot simply purchase the rights to any program they choose, even if it would attract a large Canadian audience. The question is, are these policies doing what they are supposed to be doing? Is favouring Canadian content genuinely enhancing the cultural fabric of Canadian society?

A simple glance at weekly prime time television on CTV and Global Television shows a schedule dominated by such shows as House, CSI, Grey's Anatomy, 24 etc. Though produced by American firms, each of these shows has associations with Canada. For instance David Shore, one of the co-creators of House, was born in London Ontario; CSI is co-produced by Alliance Atlantis Communications, which is affiliated with CanWest Global; Sandra Oh, one of the stars of Grey’s Anatomy, is from Nepean, Ontario; and several members of the cast of 24, including Keifer Sutherland, are Canadian-born. However, all of these programs -- filmed in the U.S. and dealing with American subject matter -- are overwhelmingly American in their overall impact.

These programs may feature Canadian artistic talent and may be associated with Canadian production companies, one of the requirements of the Act, but how do these programs enhance Canadian culture?  David Taras, a known Canadian communication scholar from the University of Calgary, argues in his book Power and Betrayal in the Canadian Media (2001) that many programs deemed “Canadian” under CanCon rules do very little for the enhancement of Canadian culture. In this book, Taras states: “Canadian TV will be Canadianized by first being Americanized” (186). Although Taras was commenting on programming available during the 80s and 90s, his arguments still apply even amidst policy changes made in 1999 to increase Canadian content production – that even though these programs may star Canadian born actors or be produced by Canadian production companies, they focus almost exclusively on American themes, issues and settings.

Of course, there are successful Canadian programs that do highlight Canadian culture. Programs such as Corner Gas (CTV), Flash Point (CTV), Little Mosque on the Prairie (CTV), Whistler (Global), The Guard (Global) and Degrassi: The New Generation (CTV) all air during primetime hours. These programs not only take place in Canada but also do not hide the fact that they are filmed in Canada. Would these distinct Canadian programs exist if the Canadian Broadcasting Act did not? Without the Canadian Broadcasting Act, would there be any imperative to produce distinct Canadian programs? In general it is more expensive to produce original programming than to purchase it, and audiences often prefer American programming. For Canadian broadcasters, the costs of creating distinctly Canadian shows often outweigh the benefits – recent successful exports, such as Flashpoint and Being Erica, only illustrate the rule that in order for Canadian programs to be successful they have to be indistinguishable from American shows.

As more Canadians turn to the Internet for their media needs, the Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunication Commission (CRTC) is becoming increasingly concerned over its ability to ensure Canadians are exposed to Canadian content. While the Internet provides access to endless amounts of content, though, it also provides the opportunity for Canadians to be involved in the production of their own content; without the need to appeal to a mass audience, online content may be free to be more “Canadian” than what is available on Canadian network television. (For example, the National Film Board’s online archive is one of the most popular sources of video accessed through iPhones.) It is possible that within ten years the notion of “CanCon” will be an anachronism – and that we may be consuming more Canadian content than ever.

References

Taras, David. (2001). Power and betrayal in the Canadian media. Canada: Broadview Press.

Jonathan Avery is a recent M.A. graduate with a degree in communication and media studies from the University of Ottawa. You can access more material written by Mr. Avery at http://www.knowyourmedia.com

This winter the Olympics return to Canada for the first time since the Calgary games of 1988. For many people, the most vivid memories of that Olympiad are the colourful stories of some of the less accomplished athletes, such as British ski jumper Michael “Eddie the Eagle” Edwards and the members of the Jamaican bobsled team. It’s unlikely, though, that there will be any charming underdogs in this year’s Olympiad, as the games become more and more the province of professionals. As audiences and advertising revenues drop, however, will the professionalization of the Games spell their downfall?

The notion that the Olympics are a celebration specifically of amateur sport dates back not to the ancient Greek games, as many believe – the Greeks made no distinction between professional and amateur athletes, and in fact had no word equivalent to “amateur” – but to the founder of the modern Games, Pierre de Coubertin. Greatly influenced by the ethos of the “well-rounded boy” and the “gentleman athlete,” de Coubertin felt that it was important that each nation’s athletes represent the general citizenry, not its professional athletes.

These rules were taken quite seriously for a long time, in some cases more strictly than might seem reasonable: participation in any professional or semi-professional sport was considered grounds for disqualification, as in the case of American athlete Jim Thorpe, who lost his medals for the 1912 pentathlon and decathlon because he had played semi-professional basketball. The rule clearly originated, at least in part, from an aristocratic distaste for anyone who had to work for a living – which explains the general disqualification of Swiss and Austrian ski instructors from the 1936 games. As the 20th Century wore on, however, the rule began to look like an anachronism – in particular because many nations “gamed the system” by supporting full-time “amateur” athletes.

In the 1980s two events dealt a final blow to the amateur ethos. The first was the creation of the so-called “Eddie the Eagle rule”: while audiences had found his relatively poor performance charming and even inspiring, to the International Olympic Committee it was an embarrassment, and a rule was passed that Olympic hopefuls must place in the top 50 competitors and the top 30 per cent in qualifying competitions. Where before it had been possible to go to the Olympics if you competed in a sport that interested few of your countrymen, it was now necessary to be one of the world’s elite athletes. At the same time, the International Basketball Federation abandoned the distinction between amateur and professional athletes in 1989, making it possible for professional basketball players to compete in the Olympics; as a result the American basketball team dominated the event for the next three Olympiads. This may be seen as an opening of the floodgates, as the governing bodies for other sports gradually abandoned the notion of amateur status as well (most notably hockey in 1998.)

A funny thing happened, though, as the Olympics became less averse to people making money from their sport: the Games started making less money themselves. The American network NBC, which bid successfully for the Olympic broadcast rights back in 2003, is expected to lose as much as $200 million on this year’s event. The Olympics, once guaranteed to deliver record ratings and revenues, have been reduced to that status of a “loss leader” that will, at best, draw attention to NBC’s more profitable offerings.

There are a number of reasons for this. Advertising is in a slump worldwide as a result of the recession, and many advertisers are moving more of their money to new media rather than traditional outlets such as print and television. At the same time, it does seem that the Olympics have lost some of their lustre. The increasing professionalism of the Games may have something to do with that: after all, if the Olympic Games are simply professional sports, why watch them instead of the professional leagues? The average hockey fan probably has more loyalty to his city’s team than to a Canadian national team that may not feature any of his favourite players – particularly when the Olympics causes a break in the hockey season. A uniformly high level of skill, meanwhile, may be satisfying to watch, but it has little emotional appeal: the travails of the Jamaican bobsled team in the 1988 Olympics became a successful movie, as did the underdog victory of the American hockey team in 1980, but it’s hard to imagine much drama in a film about the 1992 US basketball “Dream Team.”

What’s ironic about the increased professionalization of the Olympics is that it has taken place at the same time as what we might call the rise of the amateur in other fields: thanks to the increased availability of media production tools (such as digital video cameras, home recording equipment and video editing programs) and the advent of distribution channels such as blogs and YouTube, it has never been easier for amateur artists to find an audience. Some of these amateurs, of course, have ambitions to become professionals or semi-professionals; there have been any number of musicians, comedians, film-makers and even journalists whose amateur efforts have either found professional outlets or led to professional work. But what’s more interesting than that is the amateur ethos found in many online communities. As the authors of the recent book Hanging Out, Messing Around, and Geeking Out note, much of the creative work available online is not only done without expectation of material reward but in contexts where it is literally impossible for the creators to get paid for their work: fan fiction, unlicensed subtitling of foreign films (mostly Japanese animation), mashup videos and so on. This is work done truly out of love – which is, of course, the root of the term “amateur.”

Do the Olympics have a future? Perhaps not – it certainly seems likely that the broadcast rights will fetch a substantially smaller sum the next time they are auctioned off. It’s likely that they will continue, out of sheer momentum if nothing else, but there’s little question that their importance will be much diminished. Most likely we will someday look back at them as a symbol, like I Love Lucy or the last episode of M*A*S*H, of a bygone age when everyone watched the same thing – and when we still distinguished between professionals and amateurs, and between producers and consumers.