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-- May 27, 2002 --
Hello everyone,
My week in Kyrgyzstan ran nonstop, with lectures at the American
University in Kyrgyzstan (the first speaker at its recently inaugurated
and well-stocked American Resource Center), Kyrgyz State National
University, Osh State University - no, not the OSU of the Big
10 - and Jalal-Abad State University. I also conducted workshops
or group discussions with journalists from the independent news
and publishing service AKI, the independent Institute for War
and Peace Reporting and the Osh Media Regional Center, and met
privately with the editor-in-chief of the independent paper Agum.
Most engagements were planned in advance by the U.S. Embassy
in Bishkek, but when I arrived at Osh State, one of my hosts gave
me a half-hour's notice that I would also address about 500 undergraduates
at an environmental science conference. I seized the moment to
explain why it's important, as future scientists, for them not
to fear journalists and why it makes sense to cooperate with the
press.
Later, after lecturing to science students about environmental
journalism, I was besieged by autograph requests. I wish there
was that much demand for me to autograph my books (after, of course,
they bought them).
#
Students and journalists I've met here say they're proud of the
degree of press freedom Kyrgyzstan enjoys in a region where governments
view press freedom as a threat. True, opposition newspapers are
allowed to publish - unlike in Uzbekistan. True, there is no official
government censorship agency -- unlike in Uzbekistan. True, access
to Internet sites isn't blocked - unlike in China. But freedom
is all relative. For example, by government decree all presses
are under state control and the monopoly sets the price for printing.
The president's wife owns the major -perhaps only - glossy consumer
magazine published here. Independent broadcast stations are permitted,
but economic reality dooms most of them to a short lifespan, and
only one has a well-developed news department. Self-censorship
and unofficial censorship remain common.
And when I spoke with representatives of nongovernmental organizations
about media relations, they told me that they sometimes must pay
journalists to cover their news events.
On 22 May, the independent daily Moya Stolitsa-Novosti resumed
publication after a four-month shutdown imposed by the state-run
printing company. Lawsuits and countersuits, including a court-imposed
fine that the paper was ordered to pay for insulting the printing
company's president marked those months. In a statement, the paper's
editor-in-chief vowed to "write the truth about all events that
are happening in our country" and :to cover events objectively"
without supporting any specific party or politician.
Even "independent" may not mean independent. The "independent"
TV station KOORT, which has high-quality equipment and good salaries,
is owned by private companies. However, the president controls
those companies, I learned.
An Embassy media analyst told me that the major opposition newspapers
are flawed themselves. For example, some publishers have launched
their own political parties and one ran a dismally unsuccessful
campaign for president. They are further crippled by insufficient
advertising, low circulation and a poor reputation for ethics
and objectivity, including acceptance of payments from sources
for publishing favorable articles, he said.
"A few years ago, the government papers were more professional
-- I wouldn't say more reliable - and tried to be more factual,
more reliable," he told me. "Now the government papers are lowering
their standards, which is a pity, and have the same tone as opposition
papers - sensationalism and emotionalism. The opposition papers
are developing standards, but not as fast as we want."
The next day I spent an hour with Melis Eshimkanov, editor-in-chief
of the independent twice-weekly Kyrgyz-language paper Agum.
Eshimkanov was a respected journalist with a youth newspaper
under the Soviets and was elected its editor after independence.
It converted into a general-circulation paper, and things initially
went smoothly "because the old and new governments didn't have
time to control the media," he explained.
Problems started in 1994-1995 after the paper advocated a public
trial of the old regime. According to Eshimkanov's account, President
Asker Akayev directed pressure on the newspaper, creating a paper
supply shortage, pressure on advertisers and delivery problems.
Its top journalists were recruited to work for government.
But Eshimkanov still had faith in Akayev and even handled public
relations for his election campaign. Then shortly after the election,
Akayev engineered a referendum that dramatically strengthened
the president's authority "and became a monarch." Eshimkanov rejected
several government job offers, including am ambassadorship, and
pressures on his paper returned. The building that had housed
the paper for 30 years was turned over to the militia and the
paper was evicted - so the staff of 25 worked from his apartment
for the next two months. The tax police came in and assessed huge
bills.
Undaunted, he started seven themed newspapers. The most successful
and profitable covered health issues including sexual health such
as AIDS prevention but was shut down as immoral. Some staffers
were accused of spreading pornography. He liquidated his crime-oriented
paper - also profitable - in part because of threats from "the
criminal world." Crime bosses told him "you're just a frigging
journalist so get out of our way. You don't want trouble."
There was even a break-in at his offices, where the perpetrators
mysteriously destroyed all computer files - but not the computers.
Agum is his latest vision for an independent press. It started
publication in November 2001 and has 80 percent of its circulation
in villages and rural areas where many people don't speak or read
Russian.
Troubles continue. An explosive liquid was thrown through the
office window, he said, and two weeks before our meeting, 7,000
copies of the paper containing an article critical of a regional
government were destroyed at the airport.
Right now, he says there's an informal moratorium with the government.
Under the truce, criticism of most government officials is allowed
but not articles about the president's family and its business
activities. If that boundary gets crossed, "the paper will be
shut down." And if Agum is shut down, he vows to start another
independent newspaper.
#
More Press Notes:
In Bishkek, I met with Svetlana Kulikova, who chairs the journalism
department at AUK. Most of her graduates go into public relations
or advertising instead of reporting because of "the environment
for journalism" in the country.
In a 21 May editorial, the English-language Bishkek Observer
complained that some government officials and departments "claim
that it is not their duty to invite journalists for press conferences.
It is up to press journalists to ask them every morning, is there
any press meeting today?"
And when political science students at the Kyrgyz State National
University asked me about the future for would-be journalists
here, I replied that tragically many of the best will find jobs
with foreign media, or leave the country to work or, worst of
all, abandon journalism as a career. What was my solution? one
of them wondered. I had none. As much as outside experts may analyze,
criticize, consult and recommend, this problem goes to the core
of developing a free society and is a problem that only the people
and their government can solve.
#
The plaza within view of the Kyrgyz White House - the center
of governmental offices -- is no longer named Lenin Square but
Lenin still stands there in his statuesque glory, his right arm
stretching westward, his left hand gripping the lapel of his long
coat. On a nearby pole, the red-and-yellow flag of Kyrgyzstan
blows westward in the wind.
If we could see deep into Lenin's eyes, undoubtedly they would
still burn with passion, with true belief, with ruthlessness,
with mission, with vision, with a love for the people in general
although not for many individual ones. If we could hear what comes
from his lips, we would hear a message that would change the world.
Here in Bishkek as in most of the former Soviet Union, Lenin's
political and economic and social message has been rejected, but
the statue is more than an historic artifact. Elsewhere in the
region including Uzbekistan, statues of Lenin were torn down after
1991 independence, streets and buildings were renamed, the Communist
party banned. But in Kyrgyzstan's capital, you can drive down
major streets named Lenin and Soviet, and the Communists run candidates
for public office.
The State Historical Museum immediately behind the statue devotes
one of its three floors to Lenin and the Bolshevik Revolution.
Photos, a bust, quotes and, most impressively, a series of large-as-life
montages that look like bronze but are really painted plaster
commemorate the event. Peasant stands next to worker as comrades,
veteran missing a leg balances on crutches, desperate man clutches
rifle, czarist eagle shatters, death riders charge on horseback.
Eric
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