Growing pains
By Byron T. Scott Posted Jul 1 2004
Lithuanians wave EU and Lithuanian flags at a concert celebrating the entry of their country into the EU.
On May 1, a day laden with Cold War footnotes, the European Union expanded from 15 to 25 nations. Eight of the 10 new members were part of the old Soviet bloc. For the more than 75 million people residing in new EU states, the accession is the latest and perhaps best evidence that they are full members of a democratic, free-trading “new Europe.”
In terms of press freedom, however, many of the EU expansion states are anything but equal.
Although the post-communist constitutions of all former Iron Curtain nations guarantee freedom of expression and of the press, since 1989 their legislative bodies generally have been slow to approve laws making Western-style journalism practical or safe. Governmental policies tend to follow old patterns. Too often, 1990s press laws tended to be repressive and restrictive. They denied simple access to public records and imposed severe criminal penalties for libel, defamation of government leaders and threats to national security.
For more than a decade, international professional associations such as the International Press Institute (IPI), the Committee to Protect Journalists and Article 19 issued protest after protest against challenges facing press freedom in Central and Eastern Europe (CEE). “For a while, not much changed,” says Polish journalist Jan Pieklo. “So the safest course was a lot of self-censorship.” CEE journalists had to assume that what was not specifically permitted must be forbidden, a philosophy foreign to Western journalists.
A generation of new journalists and media entrepreneurs, largely untrained and bent on either short-term profits or political revenge, didn't help. Advocates of punitive press laws were able to point to numerous unethical practices by journalists, ranging from selling false stories to the highest bidder to extracting blackmail to accepting bribes. Already low, media credibility was falling even further.
The prospect of EU membership accelerated legislative reform dramatically. Unlike the recent NATO memberships that also came to most of the same CEE nations this year, EU accession agreements (“acquis”) forced candidate nations to adopt media laws conforming to the European Convention on Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms. Over recent months, scores of legal “adjustments” have been passed, differing widely from nation to nation. But how will they be enforced?
Now that the EU runs from the Baltic to the Adriatic – the very same borders as Churchill's “Iron Curtain”- what can be expected for the media? This is a central question for investors as well as journalists working in the new EU. A core of highly professional, dedicated journalists and media owners has developed, benefiting from a happy combination of Nongovernmental Organi-zations (NGOs) and Western European sponsors. How rapidly can CEE journalism claim to match that of the original 15 EU nations?
Following is a nation-by-nation, north-to-south synopsis of problems and prospects in the immediate past and near future of journalism in the eight new EU members from the old communist world.
“Overall, the new members joining in 2004 have a worse press freedom record (than Western Europe ),” IPI Press Freedom Advisor Diana Orlova wrote recently, “but the situation becomes steadily worse as one moves further east. The Baltic states, which have traditionally fostered good relations with the Scandinavian countries, have the best records.”
Estonia was among the strongest and most progressive advocates for press freedom, beginning with adoption of its 1992 constitution. As happened in other CEE nations, an initial burst of independent media was followed by consolidation. Although there are still state subsidies of one TV channel and of centralized printing, independent survivors of the early '90s have been successful in finding international backers. For example, two of the three TV channels seen nationally, Kanal 2 and TV3, are foreign-owned by Norway's Schibsted and Sweden's Modern Times Group, respectively. Self-regulation includes two press councils and the active Estonian Union of Journalists.
Financial problems remain a pressure point for Estonian journalists. The ETA news agency, which had survived since 1918, went bankrupt in March 2003. Perhaps a larger continuing problem is language and cultural relationships with ethnic Russians and, as in all Baltic nations, Russia itself. In 2003 a well-published young Estonian journalist, Argo Riistan, admitted that he had made up a series of interviews, allegedly with such notables as billionaire financier-philanthropist George Soros and internationally known film director Milos Forman. Unlike several journalists charged with criminal defamation in recent years, he will not go to jail.
Lithuania is a more contentious journalistic environment, characterized recently by attacks and counter-attacks between the press and the government and acrimonious self-criticism within the media itself. Last year, the daily Respublika led media accusations that the Lithuanian government was recruiting “informers” among journalists and instituting other efforts to silence press criticism leading up to national elections.
Other Lithuanian media scandals include draft laws and policies allowing civil servants to impose fines on media without court orders and a 2002 Constitutional Court ruling requiring journalists to reveal their sources. All appeared to retreat from highly permissive media legislation passed in the 1990s. Government-versus-media battles reached a crescendo when investigative reporters uncovered alleged links between Lithuanian President Rolandas Paksas and the Russian mafia and oligarchs, causing parliament to impeachment Paksas in late December. He remains under criminal investigation while denying any acts of treason or illegality.
Latvia is another recent battleground of laws, although journalists there have had more positive results. A strong movement to decriminalize defamation is underway, and a series of suits involving government requirements for Russian-language broadcasts lifted these restrictions. Previously, no more than 25 percent of broadcast time could be in languages other than Latvian. However, more than 40 percent of the population is ethnic Russian, and this tension remains. A significant proportion of Latvian print media is published in Russian and competes for scarce advertising dollars.
Although most murders of journalists in the region remain unsolved, four alleged members of organized crime were recently charged with the November 2001 murder of investigative journalist Gundars Matiss. In a bizarre case, a popular Latvian journalist, Lato Lapsa, went to court for his right to get Prime Minister Einars Repse to answer a list of 120 questions. Lapsa's grounds were a Latvian law giving every citizen the right to receive answers to questions submitted to public officials.
The 1980s loosening of Soviet control in the larger nations of Central Europe gave them a head start on democratic transition. However, here too, old habits die slowly. Professionalism and media protections still lag behind the older EU members in Western Europe.
Poland is both the largest of the new EU nations and arguably center stage for all the media adjustment problems of transitional nations. Name the scandal, the accusation, the repressive measure, the press protest, etc. They've all been part of Poland 's recent press history.
By far, the biggest recent bout of finger-pointing is the so-called “Rywingate” case that, ironically, began with 2002 attempts to adjust Polish media law to fit EU standards. The resulting legislation pleased no one, including IPI, which expressed concerns about the proposed rules for cross-media ownership. Internationally known film producer Lew Rywin (The Pianist, Schindler's List) was accused by the editor in chief of Poland 's largest newspaper, Gazeta Wyborcza, with soliciting a $17.5 million bribe from the paper's publishing company, Agora. The editor, Adam Michnik, published alleged transcripts from tape recordings of the alleged bribe attempt.
The result was more than a year of publicly televised finger-pointing and counter-allegations involving all levels of Polish government, including the license and frequency-issuing authority, the National Radio and Television Broadcasting Council, major political parties and media owners. Rywin was convicted of fraud in April and sentenced to two-and-a-half years in prison. Wrangling over adjustments to the controversial media law, however, continued virtually to the moment of accession May 1.
The Press Freedom Monitoring Center, a respected arm of the Polish Journalists Association, says the “Rywingate affair strengthened press freedom in Poland, in general, and the role of investigative journalism in particular.” The victory in public credibility is not yet assured, however, and there is evidence, based on statements by such figures as Prime Minister Leszek Miller and President Aleksander Kwasniewski, that Polish government officials mistrust journalists more than ever.
Hungary is no less a battleground for government seeking to influence an independent press. Post-communist governments throughout the region have fought stubbornly to retain control over television, even though they generally lack the budgets to subsidize broadcasting officially as they did in the past. Hungarian radio and TV journalists have fought a series of battles, punctuated by strikes and demonstrations, accusations and lawsuits, seeking to gain control of bodies governing public broadcasting and nationwide stations themselves. The Public Foundation for Hungarian Television also has been hamstrung by political battles between Fidesz, the political party that dominated 1990s Hungarian politics but lost power in 2002, and the current ruling coalition. Ironically, Fidesz, which had been accused of using national TV (MTV) for political purposes, is now making the same charges of the Socialist and Alliance of Free Democrats parties.
Private broadcasting is equally afire with controversy. Independent stations have been criticized for broadcasting excessively violent acts — many portrayed in American movies — for undermining public morality and, in the case of several private radio stations, for spreading ethnic and religious bigotry, particularly anti-Semitism.
The Association of Hungarian Journalists has condemned these acts as irresponsible abuses of press freedom. Among the ethical violations it has condemned was the publication in Hungary's largest circulation daily, Népszabadság, of a fake letter attributed to the late Nobel laureate Edward Teller.
Czech Republic journalism, while considerably less acrimonious, is anything but tranquil. Its rebellious broadcast journalists settled many of their differences a couple of years ago. Instead, investigative reporters are the center of protests and demonstrations. Several have been the targets of violent acts and threats by criminals, businessmen and government officials.
In June 2003, the former general secretary of the Czech Foreign Ministry, Karel Srba, was convicted of contracting the attempted murder of an investigative journalist, Sabina Slonkova of the Prague daily Mlada Fronta Dnes. Six men were arrested for threatening to break the arms and legs of Czech television reporter Jiri Hynek, who had been investigating irregularities at a herbicide plant. Neither journalist was harmed, but Hynek briefly went into hiding after his report was broadcast. Former officials at the plant and the accused hired assailants are awaiting trial. Another television commentator and journalist, Petr Hanousek, was forced to resign his position in November after a Czech Television broadcast compared parliamentary deputies to termites: “because they are aggressive insects that don't work and only spend their time building their own fortresses,” according to a World Press Freedom translation. A non-journalist was found guilty in Prague district court of slandering a local building official in an Internet chat room, perhaps setting off a more modern line for future conflicts in free expression.
On a calmer note, Czech media legislation was generally in line with EU standards well before the end of 2003. Continuing business and political pressures will affect how well they are applied.
Slovakia, the other half of the “Velvet Revolution” that created two countries from the former Czechoslovakia, is not only economically weaker than its sister but also is more vulnerable to economic pressures against independent media. Although defamation was decriminalized in September 2003, other attacks are still common.
In April of last year, the Slovak government unanimously approved the EU accession treaty, but practice does not always follow directly on intent. In July, an independent TV station, Joj, and the independent daily Sme discovered that their editorial offices were being illegally wiretapped by the Slovak Intelligence Service (SIS) in direct violation of the European Convention for Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms. The same entrepreneur owns both media operations. The chief of SIS resigned on the day a parliamentary inquiry of the charges was to begin. However, allegations of similar acts continued to be lodged against his successor, who is, ironically, a former journalist.
Accusations and counter-accusations, many associated with political affiliations of media or public officials, continue to characterize Slovak daily journalism. Media have been variously accused of anti-Catholicism in criticizing government expenditures ahead of a mid-September visit by Pope John Paul II, of siding with the mafia in order to discredit government anti-crime efforts and of defaming current and former public officials. In October, a Bratislava court found the weekly Domino Forum guilty of defaming a former secret service director even though he is currently being prosecuted for kidnapping, murder and abuse of power while in office. Slovak journalists have protested the court order, which ordered the publication to pay one million Slovak crowns (more than US$28,000) for characterizing the man as “the best known crook in Slovakia.” The parliament meanwhile rejected a penal code amendment that would have abolished the nation's stringent “insult laws.”
A new governing body for Slovak radio and television, taking office in early 2004, already is being criticized for budget cuts and job losses as well as pressures on editors working on stories critical of the government.
Slovenia, on the shores of the Adriatic, is also a nation that has benefited from its proximity to developed EU media, notably in neighboring Italy and Austria. Most of the time, it is a tranquil place to do journalism, but there are recent exceptions.
The government reacted angrily when media revealed how the government distributed funds to local television stations to produce pro-NATO programs prior to a March 2003 referendum. The amount was essentially equal to government subsidies already given to encourage media development in Slovenia. In answer, the government called criticisms of this “co-production” initiative a disregard for national interests.
As in many other CEE nations, journalists are finding that former state subsidies are diminishing or disappearing, despite contractual agreements that unions insist are still in force. RTV Slovenija, like many of the state stations in surrounding nations, is carrying a deficit of more than 20 million Euros (about US$24 million) per year. Print and broadcast associations complain that media are increasingly using “black labor,” part-timers or freelancers who are ineligible for benefits.
Although difficulties parallel to those existing in the EU's newest members can be found in other nations, it is clear that a combination of recent history, current economic weakness and unwillingness to surrender past perquisites continue to retard free press development from the Baltic to the Adriatic . In fairness, the press of these nations should not be immediately judged by the same standards as those of the old EU. Inevitably, however, they will be so judged.