The perfect description of interaction between the government and the media is provided by Hans Christian Andersen in "The Emperor's New Clothes". The government makes use of public relations and fear; and as long as this is the case, any deception of the public is possible. In order for the citizenry to see what is going on, an honest child is required to say: "But he has nothing on!" That is the function of the media - to believe its own eyes, to say what it believes, to call things by their true names. Incidentally, even the emperor himself would benefit from this, were it not for his weakness of character. After all, it's too absurd to walk around naked in public, imagining some kind of unbelievably wonderful new costume...
As promised, President Putin is holding major news conferences once a year. The most recent one was attended by seven hundred journalists. A furor was created by a journalist from a newspaper with the marvelous name of "Krasnyi Tundrovik" (The Red Tundra-dweller). The journalist asked why, in the Nenetsk autonomous district, "the third consecutive prosecutor investigating fraud has been forced to resign, while Governor Butov refuses to make himself available for questioning". The president's reply, broadcast across the nation, was the equivalent of winning the jackpot for this modest provincial newspaper. President Putin said: "I don't know anything about that, but I'll have a word with Prosecutor General Vladimir Ustinov about it today."
Two days later, the nation was shocked by a new announcement. The editor-in-chief of "Krasnyi Tundrovik" had lost her job - a decision made by the regional government. Though the news sounded like the punchline to a joke, the real story deserves some close attention. "The Red Tundra-dweller" - leaving Muscovite snobbery aside, this is not funny at all. It's real life, survival in the Arctic; for some reason, Soviet traditions are particularly well-preserved in the permafrost zone... the phantasmagorical difficulties of supplying provisions to the northern regions... the conflict over oil, with LUKoil playing the leading role. This corporation appears to have no concern for its public image at all; we know what kind of role it is capable of playing, from the TV-6 network saga, and the "Izvestia" newspaper before that. So the question here - including the question publicly posed to the president - may not be as clear-cut.
But the real shock came from the antiquated clarity and simplicity of ethics in the Russian provinces. The land of uncowed feudal overlords! The function of the media is to bow down to the regional government. The media is a silent servant, with no rights. If it should speak up - out! And no one tells the feudal overlords what to do. Not even the president, made to look foolish (wasn't it interesting to see what he would do?). And not the fact that there was a multitude of witnesses: a packed Kremlin conference hall, and the whole nation watching on television.
This isn't just about the Nenetsk autonomous district. It's the model for relations between the government and the media in any Russian region you care to pick. In an ethnic republic or in central Russia, in the "red belt" or a "liberal" territory, in the Arctic or a sub-tropical zone: the climate for the local media is identical - it's a satrap model, beyond the borders. This is not the exception; it's the rule.
The demise of the "Obshchaya Gazeta" newspaper and the slow fading of "Literaturnaya Gazeta" represent another round of this summer's media crisis.
"Literaturnaya Gazeta", with its former brilliance in commentary and analysis, is eking out a miserable existence within the framework of the Luzhkov-Yevtushenko "System", where they view it as a dependent and make no secret of valuing its office building more than the newspaper itself. Is this living?
The problem of "Obshchaya Gazeta", in its own words, was that it "ran out of romantic sponsors" - Gusinsky, Luzhkov, Kadannikov...
Before glasnost, we had journalists but we had no journalism. There was myth-making, the transmission of secret signals, coded messages; but no direct seeking and exposition of political truths.
The phenomenon of the best articles produced by "Literaturnaya Gazeta" - as well as "Komsomolskaya Pravda" and "Izvestia", let alone "Novyi Mir", the milieu from which perestroika journalism emerged - lay in that art of secret writing, writing between the lines. Can that be replicated now, when there's no barrier to collecting evidence and calling things by their true names - when it turns out that even the junta may be asked a direct question, to its face, live on television? And should it be done?
These days, information and entertainment are valued - as evidenced by the well-deserved success of business papers like "Kommersant" or "Vedomosti", which are finely attuned to the tastes of their successful and prosperous readers; not to mention all kinds of printing and advertising glamour. This is natural, and normal. However, it's regrettable that no market for ideas or analysis has yet been formed - media commentary, in other words.
Solvent demand for media commentary has yet to ripen.
Last week saw the conclusion of the Vladimir Gusinsky saga. It ended peacefully, suspiciously quietly, and without a single mention of freedom of speech. The former oligarch sold the controlling stake in his former empire to Gazprom. The value of the deal was not revealed; it was emphasized that the assets had been sold together with all debts. It is said that the final figure was less than the $300 million Gusinsky was offered at the start of (as an alternative to) the conflict. However, no one doubts that the figure is substantial. One key player in the first stage of the conflict said: "Both sides parted happy with each other." It may be assumed that each received what they need at the moment. The regime gets a "friendly takeover" of an important television network. The former oligarch gets the money and remission of sins. Now he is clean. No one is going to prosecute him for fraud now. Operations involving the transfer of astronomical sums of political money via media channels - the technique which made Gusinsky a multi-millionaire - have been conclusively legalized. The fact that once again, Gazprom had to pay out - having served as a bottomless well of political money for years - that doesn't matter, of course. True, it does seem slightly paradoxical for a creditor to buy out his own debtor's debts; but Gazprom could probably console itself with the thought that this was the last time. The last time for Gusinsky, at least.
The eclipse of the sixth channel - the shameful saga of the shut- down of TV-6 - ended on June 1. As we predicted, Yevgeny Kiselev's team returned to air. Having changed its logo slightly - to TVS. In a complex configuration - a voluntary-compulsory entente with a collective of money-bags (a pool of liberal capital) under the commissar-like supervision of Media-Socium, run by Yevgeny Primakov and Arkady Volsky.
Does the regime like the media? Of course it does; otherwise it wouldn't be trying to control it. And it knows the value of the media, or it wouldn't be trying to buy it together with the oligarchs, or buy it from unsuitable (disloyal) oligarchs.
Since the oligarchs were brought down, has there been more or less pluralism and information in our society? Less, undoubtedly - even if more. News broadcasting on all channels has become more sophisticated. There is more piety toward the regime, voluntary or involuntary, sometimes strong enough to be termed fear; there is more hidden pressure and self-censorship. There are fewer media wars.
The regime seeks to control the media: that sounds frightening. But it's worth being specific here. What does controlling the media mean, primarily: controlling the oligarchs, or controlling journalism? In the two Kremlin tele-wars to the death, journalists played some active or passive roles. Nevertheless, it was the oligarchs who lost their companies; but the journalists didn't wreck their careers, thank God. The Kremlin let it be clearly understood that it will not tolerate any competition on the field of power. Actually, even here the regime's brutality turned out to be slightly exaggerated. Of course, our media "star wars" were fought by Asian rules; but everything ended peacefully enough, as we can see. Oligarchs are not destroyed; they are bought off.
And yet, what is the real nature and extent of the Kremlin's control over the national media? Strictly speaking, it doesn't extend to the print media - unlike the electronic media. Perhaps the turn of the newspapers has not yet come? Perhaps; but for the time being, the independent newspapers are indeed independent.
The testing ground of political consultants, the conveyor belt of popularity ratings. They remember the miracle of 2000: when he who was nothing became everything - as if someone had waved a magic wand. And 2004 isn't all that far off; the political consultants are counting the days to the elections.
Control over the media ought to be the personal, exclusive asset of presidential candidate Vladimir Putin. It seems that the objective has been formulated in precisely this way. This isn't nationalization; it isn't even bringing the media under state control. Rather, it is an attempt to privatize the media in the interests of the head of state, in the name of the state.
No matter what, the emperor must have clothes. The courtiers think that loyalist media will be able to sew some amazing new clothes for the emperor.
In other words, what is the media? Tricksters, tailoring clothes to order? Or children capable of being surprised at the general agitation and saying: "But the emperor has nothing on!" The competition between these two media models will be the main feature of our profession for the foreseeable future. The intermediate results will be seen in 2004. (Translated by Arina Yevtikhova.)