Russia’s new media struggles for freedom

By William B. Ketter

At first glance, Russia’s news media appear to be flourishing under the hum of modernization that’s sweeping the nation. Newspapers, magazines, television networks and radio stations are no longer subject to strict censorship. Anyone with means can start a news outlet; everyone has access to what is published or broadcast. The freedom to speak out is evident on street corners and courtyards.

But a closer look at the new Russia reveals the chilly reality of trying to implement a Western-style free press in an economic system gasping for air. Government officials still indirectly control the technical side of the media. If they don’t like what you print or broadcast, they can and do coerce change. Or, in some instances, simply cut off funds.

Russia’s media, especially the regional press, struggle daily against the forces of government pressure and the lack of commercial support. Neither is expected to relent soon.

“We want to be independent, we want to be free to criticize our government officials,” said Margarita Vasileva, 23, a journalism school graduate and correspondent for Tverskaya Zhizn (The Tvers Life), a daily newspaper of 30,000 circulation serving the City of Tver 100 miles north of Moscow. “But there are consequences if we do. The government can be cranky and cruel.”

Vasileva, a spitfire idealist, got a tough lesson in just how cruel. Her paper ceased publishing the first week in November because it dared to criticize the governor of the region.

The governor didn’t officially close the paper. He simply refused to pay the printer used by The Tvers Life, and without a guarantee of money, the printer would not roll the presses.

“Oh, yes, we can start up again if we apologize and agree not to be critical,” explained Vasileva. “The only other option is to come up with 720,000 rubles to pay the print shop.”

Seven-hundred twenty-thousand rubles amounts to about 25,000 American dollars, no small sum at a paper with scant advertising and uncertain payment for subscriptions.

Unlike the United States, governments in Russia control printing presses, distribution networks, even the paychecks of some journalists. Political, legal and economic hurdles to an independent press are huge. The effect is defanged media watchdogs with no public confidence.

Why not move toward the Western model of advertising revenue? “We can’t,’’ allowed Vasileva. “Russian readers won’t buy a paper with lots of advertisements. They get angry because they cannot afford the goods and services advertised.”

If that is the case, you wouldn’t know it in Moscow, where the post-Communist cultural thaw is evident everywhere. Young people sport stylish Western clothes in contrast to the stodgy look of their elders. Billboards and neon signs advertise everything from rock stars to fast food to furniture to fast cars. GUM’s Department Store, once the site of interminable lines for sugar and shoes, has been converted to a shopping mall featuring a Christian Dior sign across from St. Basil’s Cathedral.

Yes, the transition from communism to capitalism is occurring despite the shaky economic conditions. Many Russians believe they are freer than the double-headed eagle that’s replaced the hammer and sickle inside the Kremlin. But, unfortunately, journalistic freedom is not soaring. It is in a depressed condition, and may face yet rougher seas under the presidency of Vladimir Putin.

Putin, a former officer of the KGB, has already co-opted some members of the press by getting them to sign a you-scratch-my-back deal with Russia’s domestic security service. The agreement requires the media to voluntarily censor what they say about the agency, known in Russia as the FSB, in return for access to information about various government investigations.

Yuri Veremeenko, a freelance journalist, felt the sting of the agreement when he turned in his copy about an ethics in government conference that I attended in Tver. Several paragraphs about the FSB questioning the Russian-speaking head of our American delegation upon arrival in Tver never made it into the local paper.

“I thought it was important, but the editor didn’t,” Veremeenko said. “Maybe he saved my neck.” After all, he added, more than 100 journalists have been killed or reported missing in Russia in the past decade.

One of the latest victims, Veremeenko said, was Artyom Borovik, the 39-year-old commentator who appeared from time to time on CNN. Veremeenko said Borovik made the mistake of writing about a secret deal between Russian officials and Chechen rebels. He died a few months ago when a charter plane he was aboard crashed while taking off from Moscow. Also killed in the crash was a decorated Russian oil baron.

“As far as I know,” Veremeenko said, “no one plans to decorate the journalist.”

Ketter, chair of the Boston University Journalism Department, is a former ASNE president.