Winnipeg radio host gains wide audience among incarcerated in part by not being judgmental

Winnipeg Free Press

2 days ago

For those of us with Spotify and Internet access, it's easy to take for granted that radio-request shows are all but obsolete; most have already dropped from the dial.
But there are vast expanses of northern Canada where Internet access remains patchy, and old-fangled AM-FM radio is still the go-to audio source of news and entertainment.
No surprise, here we find programs such as Native Communications Inc. in Manitoba and CKLB in the Northwest Territories offering local listeners call-in and request-based programming.
BROOK JONES/FREE PRESS
Rez Vibe Connections host Stephanie Kersey, 43, shows an image of her show's logo on her cellphone inside the CKUW DJ booth at the University of Winnipeg.
Stephanie Kersey, a Winnipeg-based radio DJ and personal support worker with a professional background in addictions and homelessness, uses her CKUW 95.9 FM program Rez Vibe Connections (which runs from 4 to 6 p.m. Fridays) to take song cues from an even more isolated population: the incarcerated.
'The show's for everyone, and I do get callers from all cultures and levels of society. But right now, the jails are the main focus. And people are being gracious enough to accept that,' she says.
'And just talking to (inmates) a few minutes, showing compassion, gets them excited and brightens their light.'
Kersey says calls are now coming in from most of Manitoba's correctional centres, since the show's picked up steam in the past few months.
Inmates share a quick, friendly chat while making their song request — often swapping a few jokes or words of encouragement.
'At first, I was wondering, are the people listening? Can they hear me?' she says. 'I was just building dialogue with them.
'Now they're calling in like crazy.'
Kersey, who is of mixed Indigenous and Black ancestry, says that for all the talk of reconciliation and inclusion today, those values often vanish where those with criminal records are concerned.
'No one actually wants to talk them,' she says. 'They're pretty much excommunicated from society.'
The DJ, who's 43 and has two children, has spent her life thinking about what it means to live on the social outskirts.
'I do get callers from all cultures and levels of society. But right now, the jails are the main focus. And people are being gracious enough to accept that.'–Stephanie Kersey
As a Black and Indigenous woman, she's often felt the usual cultural categories don't fully include her and her family.
'The government said that we (the Kersey Clan) are Métis! But we're not Métis,' she says.
Kersey grew up in Amherstburg, Ont., where her father was a Black Panther and legal activist whose causes included fighting to ensure that youth were not charged as adults.
In this crucible, a future social advocate was forged.
'My father fought inside and outside the system without formal education to back him up, and so did many of our elders and all of our family members,' she says.
'And we're now at a pivotal moment in time where we, the next generation, have had the privilege to go to school, get the diplomas, be in these higher positions so we can decolonize (the system) from the inside out.'
As a personal support worker, Kersey says she's been drawn to helping those struggling with homelessness and addictions. To do effective work in this field demands you leave harsh judgments and condescension behind, and that's also how she approaches Rez Vibe Connections.
'The people aren't perfect … and there's levels to it,' she says.
'But brother, (let's) leave your labels at the door.'
Kersey believes the connections and informal networks she's building with callers could help support people once they're released.
'It's the frequency that resonates through us all, that connects all of our spirits.'–Stephanie Kersey
'A lot of them are calling me after they get out, saying, 'I just got out! I just got out. I'm so excited!' I'm like, cool, holler at me, we can collaborate,' she says.
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'I have a lot of resources and programs I can (direct you to) so you won't fall through the cracks.'
She's interested to see how far this might develop, but doesn't want to be heavy-handed either. For her, the starting point has to be something uplifting, like music.
'Music is the baseline, it's the foundation, it's the platform for us to all come together,' she says.
'It's the frequency that resonates through us all, that connects all of our spirits.'
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Conrad SweatmanReporter
Conrad Sweatman is an arts reporter and feature writer. Before joining the Free Press full-time in 2024, he worked in the U.K. and Canadian cultural sectors, freelanced for outlets including The Walrus, VICE and Prairie Fire. Read more about Conrad.
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