Docked boats are seen at sunset on Aug. 1, 2017, in Gustavus, a town at the edge of Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve. (Photo Katelyn Smith/National Park Service)
On Jan. 23, 2018, I woke to the biggest earthquake I had felt in my 30 years in Alaska. A few minutes later, my cellphone started buzzing. A tsunami alert had been issued. We immediately turned on KTOO, our local NPR station. We decided to drive to one of two recommended high points in our low-lying town along Icy Strait, off the Gulf of Alaska. On the radio, a local DJ came on and kept us informed. We went home when he said the warning had been rescinded.
Our area has a 90% chance of a damaging earthquake in the next 100 years. In our town, we probably won’t have electricity right after a major earthquake. Therefore, no internet or cell service. But in a vehicle, we can pick up NPR implementing the Emergency Broadcast Network, perhaps as we’re heading to high ground or going to check on our neighbors.
In other communities, the danger could be fast-moving wildfire. Or landslides.
Commercial radio may be helpful down south, but rural Alaska is different. Pick any rural Alaskan community with exposure to these dangers. You will find they probably don’t have a commercial radio station. They probably do receive an NPR station.
In rural Alaska, there is no market-driven solution to ensure emergency broadcasts happen in a disaster that recurs on a 100-year time scale. The Alaska delegation should protect funding for public broadcasting.
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