Television Democracy Elections in Russia (Basees Routledge Series on Russian and East European Studies)

Television, Democracy and Elections in Russia

This book explores how the Russian media, in particular television, have shaped Russian politics in the post-Soviet era. It examines why the Russian mass media failed so spectacularly to develop as a pillar of civil society and aid to democratization, instead evolving into a mouthpiece for special interests. The book employs a range of data, including public-opinion surveys, content analysis of television news, focus groups, and in-depth interviews, to analyze the Russian elections in the period since 1993. It presents compelling evidence that television helped to inhibit the development of a democratic society as it served as a tool for leaders rather than as a conduit of information in the service of the electorate. It investigates what the Russian audience thinks about how television covers politics and shows that this group is often more comfortable with authority rather than truth in television coverage. Overall, this book is a detailed examination of how television has shaped politics in contemporary Russian society and provides a wealth of new evidence to elucidate the relationship among political parties, voters and television. Sarah Oates is a Senior Lecturer in Politics at the University of Glasgow. She is the author of numerous articles, chapters, papers, and a co-edited volume on Russian mass media, parties and the electorate. She has served as an expert on media monitoring missions during post-Soviet elections and received grants from the Economic and Social Research Council and the Leverhulme Trust to study media and elections in the post-Soviet region.

BASEES/Routledge Series on Russian and East European Studies Series editor: Richard Sakwa Department of Politics and International Relations, University of Kent

Editorial Committee: Julian Cooper Centre for Russian and East European Studies University of Birmingham Terry Cox Department of Central and East European Studies University of Glasgow Rosalind Marsh Department of European Studies and Modern Languages University of Bath David Moon Department of History, University of Durham Hilary Pilkington Department of Sociology, University of Warwick Stephen White Department of Politics, University of Glasgow Founding Editorial Committee Member: George Blazyca Centre for Contemporary European Studies University of Paisley This series is published on behalf of BASEES (the British Association for Slavonic and East European Studies). The series comprises original, high-quality, research-level work by both new and established scholars on all aspects of Russian, Soviet, post-Soviet and East European Studies in humanities and social science subjects. 1. Ukraine’s Foreign and Security Policy, 1991–2000 Roman Wolczuk

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2. Political Parties in the Russian Regions Derek S. Hutcheson

4. Repression and Resistance in Communist Europe J.C. Sharman

5. Political Elites and the New Russia Anton Steen 6. Dostoevsky and the Idea of Russianness Sarah Hudspith 7. Performing Russia – Folk Revival and Russian Identity Laura J. Olson 8. Russian Transformations Edited by Leo McCann 9. Soviet Music and Society under Lenin and Stalin The Baton and Sickle Edited by Neil Edmunds 10. State Building in Ukraine The Ukranian parliament, 1990–2003 Sarah Whitmore 11. Defending Human Rights in Russia Sergei Kovalyov, dissident and human rights commissioner, 1969–2003 Emma Gilligan 12. Small-Town Russia Postcommunist livelihoods and identities a portrait of the intelligentsia in Achit, Bednodemyanovsk and Zubtsov, 1999–2000 Anne White 13. Russian Society and the Orthodox Church Religion in Russia after Communism Zoe Knox

14. Russian Literary Culture in the Camera Age The word as image Stephen Hutchings 15. Between Stalin and Hitler Class war and race war on the Dvina, 1940–46 Geoffrey Swain 16. Literature in Post-Communist Russia and Eastern Europe The Russian, Czech and Slovak fiction of the changes 1988–98 Rajendra A. Chitnis 17. Soviet Dissent and Russia’s Transition to Democracy Dissident legacies Robert Horvath 18. Russian and Soviet Film Adaptations of Literature, 1900–2001 Screening the word Edited by Stephen Hutchings and Anat Vernitski 19. Russia as a Great Power Dimensions of security under Putin Edited by Jakob Hedenskog, Vilhelm Konnander, Bertil Nygren, Ingmar Oldberg and Christer Pursiainen 20. Katyn and the Soviet Massacre of 1940 Truth, justice and memory George Sanford 21. Conscience, Dissent and Reform in Soviet Russia Philip Boobbyer

22. The Limits of Russian Democratisation Emergency powers and states of emergency Alexander N. Domrin

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26. The Collapse of Communist Power in Poland Jacqueline Hayden

24. News Media and Power in Russia Olessia Koltsova

27. Television, Democracy and Elections in Russia Sarah Oates

Television, Democracy and Elections in Russia

Sarah Oates

First published 2006 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2006. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2006 Sarah Oates All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Oates, Sarah. Television, democracy, and elections in Russia / Sarah Oates. p. cm. – (BASEES/Routledge series on Russian and East European Studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Television and politics – Russia (Federation) 2. Communication in politics – Russia (Federation) 3. Public opinion – Russia (Federation) 4. Elections – Russia (Federation) 5. Russia (Federation) – Politics and government – 1991– I. Title. II. Series. PN1992.6.O28 2006 302.23'450947–dc22 ISBN10: 0–415–38134–7 ISBN13: 978–0–415–38134–5

2005030522

To David, for making all things possible

Contents

List of illustrations Acknowledgments Notes on the text 1 Introduction

x xii xiv 1

2 From Soviet to post-Soviet media

21

3 “You watch in pain”: focus-group findings about television viewing

44

4 The rise of the broadcast party in Russia

66

5 The genesis of television control and content in Russian elections, 1993–6

89

6 Consolidation of media control: the 1999 and 2000 elections

112

7 “No better heroes”: focus-group findings about political images, parties and voting in Russia

127

8 Television viewing and public opinion across Russia

146

9 Consolidation in Russian political communication: the 2003 Duma and 2004 presidential elections

163

10 Conclusions: tuning out democracy Appendix Notes Bibliography Index

189 195 200 212 219

Illustrations

Charts 4.1 5.1 5.2 6.1

Election results by party type, Russian Duma elections, 1993–2003 Television exposure in the 1993 Russian Duma campaign Television coverage in the 1995 Russian Duma elections Mentions of parties on ORT’s Vremya and NTV’s Sevodnya

82 94 95 118

Tables National television channels and viewership in Russia, 2001 Political and social characteristics of Moscow City, Ulyanovsk region and Voronezh region 4.1 Elections to the Russian Duma, 1993–2003 4.2a Presidential elections, first round, June 1996 4.2b Presidential elections, second round, July 1996 4.2c March 2000 presidential elections 4.2d March 2004 presidential elections 5.1 Issues mentioned in the 1995 Russian Duma campaign coverage 5.2 Parties mentioned in the 1995 Russian Duma campaign coverage 5.3 1996 Presidential candidates and coverage in the 1st round campaign 5.4 Primary themes of 1996 Russian presidential campaign coverage in 1st round elections on ORT and NTV news 5.5 1996 Russian presidential candidates and coverage 5.6 Primary themes of presidential campaign coverage in 1996 Russian presidential 2nd round elections on ORT and NTV news 6.1 Mentions of newsmakers on Vremya and Sevodnya 6.2 Main candidates share of news coverage on television, Russian presidential campaign 2000 6.3 Main candidates mentioned in news items, Russian presidential campaign 2000 6.4 Candidates speaking for themselves, Russian presidential campaign 2000 2.1 3.1

30 46 70 71 71 71 72 101 102 104 105 106 107 119 124 124 125

Illustrations xi 8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4 8.5 8.6 8.7 8.8 8.9 8.10

Amount of time spent watching television in Russia Media consumption in Russia Daily media use in Russia by socio-economic characteristics Television channel preference in Russia Predicting preference for ORT, regression analysis Predicting preference for NTV, regression analysis Reasons for picking favorite television channel Assessment of Putin by ORT and NTV fans Factors in assessing Putin’s performance, regression analysis Blame for Chechen war: who do you consider is to blame for the war in Chechnya? 8.11 The influence of television among voters, 1999 Duma elections 8.12 Putin vote in 2000, regression analysis 8.13 Zyuganov vote in 2000, regression analysis 9.1 Topics covered on Vremya and Sevodnya during the 2003 Duma campaign 9.2 Mention of individuals on Sevodnya and Vremya, 2003 Duma campaign 9.3 People who speak for themselves on Sevodnya and Vremya, 2003 Duma campaign 9.4 Mention of parties on Sevodnya and Vremya, 2003 Duma campaign 9.5 News coverage themes in 2004 Russian presidential election

147 148 148 151 152 152 154 157 158 158 160 161 162 169 170 171 172 180

Acknowledgments

I believe that I can say with complete honesty when I embarked upon a study of Russian elections and television, I had no idea it would launch an odyssey. It has stretched over a long length of time and space in my life. Throughout this journey, I have been supported by a large number of people and I will attempt to list them all below. I offer special thanks to Ellen Mickiewicz of Duke University and Stephen White of the University of Glasgow, who have provided immense support to my endeavors. I also would like to thank my dissertation supervisor, Thomas F. Remington, who initiated my writing about election campaigns in Russia. I extend my thanks to my fellow post-Sovietologists at Emory: Sue Davis, Moshe Haspel, Theresa Sabonis-Helf and Svetlana Savranskaya. Derek Hutcheson has been a marvelous and helpful colleague in the Department of Politics at the University of Glasgow (sharing with Stephen White a keen desire to improve my knowledge of Soviet geography). Timothy Colton at Harvard has been a consistent supporter of my work. Laura Roselle of Elon University has shared my enthusiasm as we worked together to analyze the Russian media during elections. I have been lucky enough to share work and ideas with various others who entered the field when the Soviet regime collapsed, especially Laura Belin, Åse Grødeland, Elena Korosteleva, Luke March, Claire McManus-Czubinska, Rob Moser, Regina Smyth and Matthew Wyman. I am grateful to Vicki Hesli and William Reisinger for organizing a conference at the University of Iowa for an excellent exchange of ideas about Russian elections – as well as Geir Flikke for organizing a conference on Vladimir Putin at the Norwegian Institute of International Affairs in 2004. Many people in Russia were kind enough to help me through the maze of post-Soviet politics. I particularly would like to mention the help of former Duma deputy and social reformer Galina Starovoitova, who visited my flat in Moscow in 1995 and warned me to stay safe. She was assassinated three years later in her home city of St Petersburg. A great deal of research for this book was carried out by the staff of Russian Research Ltd. (Moscow and London). I would like to thank Igor Galin, Tatyana Burchakova and Tatyana Kasaeva for their professional, cheerful and excellent work over the years. In addition, I would like to thank Mikhail Shumakov,

Acknowledgments xiii Katia Sedelnikova and Alexander Shestakov for assisting me with fieldwork in Russia. In 1999, I had the excellent opportunity to work as a media analyst for the European Institute for the Media in Russia and Kazakhstan, which provided me with particularly valuable insights. Sometimes in the course of work, you find a great friend. I thank Gillian McCormack for her insight into Russian journalism, her unflagging support of my endeavors and a really good sense of the absurd. Funding for this project, which spans eight elections, has come from several sources. I would like to recognize them here. Funding for the study of the 2003/4 and 1999/2000 election cycles came from two grants from the British Economic and Social Research Council (Grant R000223133, Building a New Democracy?: Television, Citizens and Voting in Russia and Grant R223250028, The Framing of Terrorist Threat in U.S. and Russian Elections). A Leverhulme Research Fellowship allowed me to look at the issues of media and elections in a broader perspective. Funding for fieldwork for the 1995/6 elections came from a Fulbright fellowship. In addition, I received funding for election studies from the International Research & Exchanges Board and The Joan Shorenstein Center on the Press, Politics and Public Policy at Harvard University. I also have learned the value of a supportive publisher, which I have found in Prof. Richard Sakwa and Peter Sowden, editors of this series for Routledge. Finally, I would like to thank my family for their unwavering support. My parents, John and Rosemary Oates, were even pleased when I resigned my post as a journalist to enter academia in 1992. My husband David Cross has supported me at every step of the way, even when that meant trading a life in Atlanta for a winter in Russia. Finally, I would like to acknowledge the happy company and support of my daughters, Laura and Emma Cross, who arrived during the course of this work.

Notes on the text

Transliteration For transliteration from Russian to English, I have used the standard methods, except for names that are in common use in English, hence Yeltsin instead of El’tsin and Gennady instead of Gennadii. The exception to this is my use of “v” instead of “g” to transliterate the Russian letter “r” when it is pronounced that way due to its position in the word. Hence the NTV television news program Today is transliterated as Sevodnya (as it would sound) and not Segodnya (as it is spelled). Fortunately, Russian has very few gaps between spelling and pronunciation. Russian words will appear in italics. When there are Russian phrases with particular resonance, they will be included in the text after the English translation and transliterated. This is relevant particularly for some of the focus-group findings and political party names. In order for the text to be fully accessible to people who do not speak Russian, I have used translation rather than transliteration for most words except when they are in common use or used quite heavily in the book. For example, the main Russian television channels resist translation and are, in fact, commonly referred to by non-Russian speakers by their Russian acronyms. Hence, Obshchestvennoe Rossiiskoe Televidenie (Russian Public Television) will be ORT and Rossiiskoe Radio i Televidenie (Russian Radio and Television) will be RTR. New shows that are mentioned repeatedly such as Sevodnya (Today) or Vremya (Time) will be given in their transliterated Russian format. I translated Russian names of political parties and other groups mentioned to English whenever possible. When Russian party names are abbreviated (which I have avoided as much as possible), the abbreviation of their English name is used. Hence Soyuz Pravykh Sil is translated as Union of Right Forces and abbreviated as URF. When there is a reason to use the Russian name, particularly when several parties had quite similar names or because the name has a particular resonance in Russian (such as Rodina or Motherland), I have mentioned the Russian name. On second reference, I have chosen to call the Communist Party of the Russian Federation the Communist Party rather than the CPRF. There still are different communist parties in Russia, but these Communists are by far the dominant group. When there are controversies about the translation of party names, I have remarked on this in notes.

Notes on the text xv

Channel 1 The prime state-run television channel broadcast on Channel 1 has gone by three names in the time period covered in this book. The state channel was known as Ostankino in late Soviet times. It was transformed into a state-run channel, with 51 percent ownership by the state and 49 percent by investors, by President Yeltsin and was renamed ORT. In 2003, the channel was again renamed, this time as the First Channel or Pervyi Kanal in Russian. Because the focus-group participants and others referred to it as ORT during this work, I will use this as the name for the channel throughout much of the book. For the more recent research in Chapter 9, I will refer to the main state television channel as the First Channel.

Surveys and focus groups The text will refer to and identify several different sources of investigation. Many of the conclusions are from public-opinion surveys, the first conducted in April 2001 and the second in December 2003–January 2004. Both were surveys of 2,000 Russians from across the country, representing a relevant socio-economic sample. Russian Research Ltd conducted both surveys. In the text, they are referred to as the 2001 survey and the 2003–4 survey. In addition, there were two rounds of focus groups. The first round was in 2000, with 24 focus groups of eight people each in three Russian cities (more details in text). Twelve of the groups were held just before the presidential elections in March 2000 and 12 were held just after. In late March and early April 2004, there were 10 focus groups in Moscow and Ulyanovsk (five groups in each city, eight participants in each group). These focus groups are referred respectively in the text as the 2000 and 2004 focus groups. Other surveys are cited and identified throughout. The British Economic and Social Research Council funded all of this work.

Rubles In the early to mid-1990s, the ruble was highly unstable and thus citing prices in rubles is problematic. In addition, the ruble was devalued over the time period of this book. As a result, when I mention a sum in rubles, I have translated this sum into US dollars for the reader.

1

Introduction

On a sunny Friday in May 2004, Vladimir Putin was inaugurated for the second time as the President of the Russian Federation in an elaborate ceremony in the Saint Andrew Hall of the Kremlin Palace. The state television cameras lingered on the historic buildings of the Kremlin, shot from a helicopter above. Inside, the cameras showed an honor guard marching with precision steps in dress uniforms styled from the time of Napoleon’s ill-fated invasion of Russia. On the stage in the splendid hall, a special edition of the Russian Constitution lay waiting for the presidential oath, next to a new, glittering state emblem to adorn the neck of the president. Joining Putin on the stage were the head of the Constitutional Court and the speaker of the parliament, to complete the illusion of the three centers of power in Russia. A crowd of dignitaries in somber suits huddled in silence under the white and golden walls of the palace, renovated back to their gilded Tsarist splendor. Solemn music swelled in the background. When all were in place, the cameras showed Putin arriving in his limousine, hedged by an honor guard of nine motorcycles and followed by three large security trucks. The cortège swept easily through the huge avenues and squares of central Moscow, eerily empty of both cars and people this bright spring day. The motorcade entered the Kremlin through the fifteenth-century Savior’s Tower gate, traditionally believed to provide protection to the Russian people. At the Kremlin Palace, the lean man emerged from his limousine, paused to shake hands affably with the commander of the guard, and headed off alone up the vast expanse of carpeted stair through marble halls. Putin strode through the crowds of officials as music swelled from the presidential orchestra. He mounted a podium, which was slightly raised and made him appear much taller. He swore the oath of office for the second time on the Russian Constitution. Unlike in the past, only Putin made a speech. Surrounded by the staggering opulence of the Kremlin Palace, Putin linked the Russian past to the Russian future. “We all are the inheritors of Russia and its thousand years of history, the inheritors of this land that has given birth to exceptional sons and daughters, workers, warriors and creators. They have passed down to us this huge, great state,” he said. “There is no doubt that we can draw strength from our past. But even the most glorious history is not enough to ensure us a better life. Today’s generations of Russians must reinforce this grandeur through

2

Introduction

their own acts. Only then will our descendents be able to feel pride in these pages that we are writing in the history of our great nation.” Amidst a chorus singing the national anthem, cannons boomed and Putin exited to review the presidential regiment, including cavalry troops dressed in the style of the Tsar’s Preobrazhensky regiment. The cameras pulled back, until the shot showed an aerial view of the heart of the Kremlin and her ancient churches, the marching lines of soldiers reduced to ant-like figures. This inauguration was an event made for, and by, Russian television, which was not covering a traditional event but rather attempting to create one. Some of the symbols were imported from the investiture ceremonies for Boris Yeltsin, notably the prominent display of the Russian Constitution. Yet, this event unashamedly looked back to the centuries of Tsarist history, bypassing the Soviet era of Leninist symbols of the Communist Party and the working class. Instead, the set of the inauguration was the ancient heart of the empire, glittering with gold and peopled with soldiers in Tsarist dress uniforms. The images of the inauguration, so magnificently presented by Russian television to the nation, are the culmination of a trend of the importance of image over substance that has grown stronger in this country as economic and political chaos have deepened. This book is about the role that television has played in the development of the young Russian state. By the end of the Soviet regime, glasnost had ushered in an enormous range of news and opinion in the Soviet media. Long schooled on grave, orderly images such as Soviet achievement in industry, agriculture and space, by the late 1980s television and other media devoted themselves to an indepth voyage of discovery about the f laws of the Communist system. Beyond that, the Soviet media led the discussion and, eventually, the popular movement for the rejection of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Arguably, without media coverage of such events as the protest movements in the Soviet republics, the military failure in Afghanistan, widespread strikes and the open discussion of the marked unfairness of many aspects of Soviet life, protests against the leadership could not have reached critical mass. Certainly, central television played a key role in defusing the attempted reactionary coup in 1991 as journalists risked their lives to defy orders and consolidated opposition to the coup plotters at a critical juncture. Perhaps even more importantly, television framed a political alternative by promoting the leadership of Yeltsin and other heads of former Soviet republics to facilitate the transfer of power. If there is one single enduring image of political change during the coup coverage in August 1991, it is of Yeltsin perched atop a tank, surrounded by a human shield of supporters, calling for release of Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev from house arrest. Yet television news in Russia today has very little of this populist appeal or raw political footage. Rather, the television system has evolved into a platform for specific interests, mostly relating to the presidential administration. While a range of voices on television, and throughout the rest of the Russian media system, had persisted into the beginning of the new millennium, there is now little variation or choice in news coverage. The prime state television channels have a clear bias

Introduction 3 toward the presidential administration. Those who do not openly support Putin’s regime, particularly commercial television channels, have been forced through financial or legal tactics to mute their criticism. To compound the problem, commercial media outlets often pursue their own political agendas rather than try to balance government propaganda with objective reporting. Today, Russian viewers will get little unbiased information from their national television screens, an echo of Soviet-style control that would have seemed unthinkable even a decade ago. This book examines the Russian system in an attempt to understand why the media, in particular television, failed to develop as a pillar of civil society and has evolved instead into a mouthpiece for special interests. This research is focused on the relationship of media to politics, specifically the development of political parties and candidate image through several elections in the post-Soviet era. The first election of Putin in March 2000 marked the end of a particular era in the development of Russian parties, voters and television. Namely, Putin’s victory could be considered the triumph of the media over the message, showing the ability of television to virtually create and market a leader. The situation, naturally, is not quite so clearly Orwellian, and this book explores the evidence and boundaries of the nature of television to shape politics. The cases that this book examines are the Russian elections from 1993 through 2004, but the ideas it explores are intended to be more global in scope. What is the relationship among parties, voters and television? How do they tend to affect one another? While this work does not rely on the simple idea that mere exposure to information on television leads to vote choice, what subtleties have developed in political advertising and news coverage that can sway an electorate? These elections offer exciting bodies of evidence with which to test existing theories as well as to possibly develop new ones that can elucidate how television affects the political process in general.

Media, democracy and the Russian case There is widespread concern in a range of democratic systems that the media work to undermine political parties and to trivialize politics. While this view is countered by cross-national studies that show the media play an important role in informing and motivating citizens ( Norris, 2000), much of the political communication writing is concerned with the notion of “Americanization” (Kavanagh, 1996) or “modernization” ( Negrine and Papthanassopoulos, 1996) that leads to political campaigns tailored more to sound bites than to sustainable policy. For example, Blumler and Kavanagh (1999) identify international political trends that include the growing professionalization of political communication; the transformation of mass publics into differently targeted markets for messages; testmarked appeals to private emotions rather than collective interests; and a decline of the ideological and party mechanisms that have structured power and participation in many nations over extended periods of time. Yet, Bennett (2000) highlights the idea that contextual factors within a particular country are

4

Introduction

important as well. The global trends interact with “local” factors that distinguish different political systems, including government institutions, political parties, participation patterns, communications technology, corruption levels, cultural norms about citizenship as well as the organization and regulation of the mass media. It is these important differences, in fact, that can highlight critical factors within major concepts about the media and the state in general. As Hallin (2000) wrote, the outcome of this type of comparison is “to force us to think in more subtle ways about the variety of relationships which can exist among the state, commercial media, civil society, the profession of journalism and other key elements of the system of public communication” (p. 106). For example, the existence of commercial broadcasters may change decisions by state broadcasters as to who, what, when and how much to cover. This is certainly true since the introduction of commercial television in Britain in the 1950s and – more recently – was evident for a short time with commercial television in Russia in the 1990s. Bennett points out that it is important to consider the implications of the notion that consumerism and market competition have become the “default” ideologies in many nations in the wake of the collapse of communism. There is not a lot of evidence in the form of audience studies to suggest whether those in postCommunist countries see themselves more as consumers or citizens – or even whether the public or the commercial media treat them as exclusively one or the other. In fact, this debate is central to the arguments in the West about the role of media in society. Does the responsibility of the media end with the presentation of a range of facts, sometimes in an abbreviated format to fit the notion of “infotainment,” or do the media owe society a higher level of investigation and analysis on the behalf of the public? This parallels the debate about liberalism versus social responsibility in the media, but that debate is often more about who should own the media rather than what is expected of the media in terms of output. Bennett finds it more useful to think about media’s relationship to political power when assessing the impact of media on societies. Bennett derives three aspects of perceptions of political power from Lukes’ typology of power in society (1974): People either accept political actions that affect them as legitimate, they resist them or they resign themselves to being powerless. The media can feed into these conceptions in three ways. First, the media can frame coercive power within societies in ways that can “encourage, discourage, hide or expose it” (p. 204). In addition, the media can be selective in their formal political coverage, covering some politicians and their activities and ignoring others. Finally, the media are important for “transmitting values, problem definitions and images of people in society that provide resources for people in thinking about their lives and their relations to government, politics and society” (p. 205). This final definition is particularly important in a transitional society. Yet it is also dangerous, in the sense that an emphasis on values that divide the population or fail to foster civil society – such as giving prominent coverage to the nationalism of the dominant group or strong leadership over mass preference – can have a detrimental effect on the development of civil society.

Introduction 5 The media also are faced with a fine balance between being followers or being leaders. If they cater too heavily to the underlying beliefs and preferences of their audience, they can be guilty of supporting a non-democratic status quo. Bennett cites problems with racism in the United States, noting Entman’s study (1994) that found racial framing a “subtle, but pervasive element in media content” in the United States (p. 207). In addition, Bennett perceives problems with the US media support of big business and saturation by public relations campaigns that are strongly oriented toward free enterprise. A further element is the fact that most US media are owned by large business interests who “do not support systematic reframing of the terms of power in society” (p. 207). Support of the status quo, of course, is not necessarily limited to the commercial media. For example, coverage of the opening of the Scottish Parliament in 1999 was framed as a British state event involving the Queen by the public British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) (based in England) and as a celebration of renewed nationhood for the Scots on commercial television based in Scotland.1 Yet if the mass media choose to “lead” their audience by attempting to challenge majority beliefs too strongly, they run the risk of losing both the audience’s attention and, in the long run, the audience’s trust. This is complicated by the fact that it is often hard to gauge the opinion or mood of an audience, particularly when journalists become somewhat isolated from average citizens. In addition, both public and commercial media outlets cannot act in isolation from the competition. Even if their funding structure allows them to ignore popular trends, if they lose audience share to a point at which they fail to communicate a message to a significant segment of the population, they have become marginalized. There is compelling evidence that the media pursue their own interests and traditions. The media in the United States, in spite of growing concerns over “infotainment,” still devote a relatively large amount of coverage to elections despite their lack of popularity with the viewers. The BBC continues to cover ceremonial state occasions such as the opening of Parliament at Westminster and the laying of wreaths for the war dead on Remembrance Day, notwithstanding their lack of dynamic viewing value. In order to be an influential medium, television must be seen as a pillar of society – even a pillar of the state in some countries – and this entails embracing some historical television traditions. Concerns arise when what could be termed tradition becomes too close to control by a particular group or part of the government, such as a charismatic leader and his or her following. This issue is also linked to the larger debate about media ownership. In Europe, where the consensus is that state-funded or public television is vital to society, there are quite serious conflicts about the control of the broadcasts. In the United Kingdom, the suicide in 2003 of a disarmament expert who was identified by the British government as leaking damaging information on an Iraqi arms dossier sparked a parliamentary inquiry about the BBC report. Eventually, after testimony by the BBC and even Prime Minister Tony Blair, the head of the BBC resigned when an inquiry sharply criticized how the public broadcaster had reported the story (Lord Hutton, 2004). On a broader note, there is widespread criticism of the US media in elections, claiming that the

6

Introduction

coverage has become little more than a “horse race” with actual candidates gaining less and less time to speak for themselves (Patterson, 1993). Arguably, the US media are continuing the tradition of covering elections, yet offering less useful and unbiased information to the voters. The very essence of democracy is change and uncertainty, a constant yet peaceful transition of power among parties, groups and citizens. In many ways, the Western media fail to reflect this, instead relying on certain events and symbols to suggest that democracy is, in fact, more stable than it really is. If established democracies and media systems – albeit quite different ones in the United Kingdom and the United States – face serious issues in terms of openness and control, the concerns for the post-Soviet media are far more stark. For example, it is not particularly surprising that the US media focus on political leaders rather than political parties. The lack of party discipline in the US legislature means that it is relatively rational for voters to base their vote decision on individuals. Hopefully, the voters will pay at least some attention to the policy issues as opposed to only perceived character strengths and weaknesses. In fact, there is evidence that US audiences, particularly those that use a variety of news sources, are not easily duped. For example, Zaller (1998) found that even with the saturation coverage of Monica Lewinsky’s sexual encounter with President Clinton in the mid-1990s, most viewers were still able to draw mature conclusions about the president’s political performance.

The political communication literature and the Russian case Where does this study of Russian election campaigns fit within the general understanding of the role of the media in civil society? The past decades in the Soviet Union and Russia have provided three distinct phases of the role of media in society. First, the Soviet government attempted to use the media – and increasingly television – as a propaganda tool for the state. During the glasnost era launched by Gorbachev in 1985, the media became an instrument for change. At first, glasnost or “openness” was a deliberate policy directed by Communist Party leaders to stimulate constructive discussion about improvements to the Soviet system. Eventually, however, it turned into a free-ranging discourse among a range of groups, leading to an exploration of alternatives to the current regime. Finally, after the collapse of the Soviet Union and with the foundation of the Russian Federation in 1991, the media have increasingly become puppets for political leaders and financial interests, with various stations and publications championing their causes. By 2002, Russia had no major media outlets in broadcast or print that could be said to have served the public in a disinterested fashion. Thus, the Soviet and Russian experience span the extremes of various roles that media can play in a society. Yet, what theory can this broad and arguably unique experience inform? Theories of political communication often are not clear, in particular because of the confusion about levels of analysis. As Mughan and Gunther (2000) point out,

Introduction 7 there have been several unhelpful divisions in the field, notably as the study of political communication is stretched across several disciplines and development of significant, testable theories that can be compared across country boundaries has stalled. As they note, there is certainly no dearth of interesting work in the field; rather it is sometimes difficult to extract useful generalizations from the published research. Mughan and Gunther find it helpful to distinguish between “micro” theories of political communication, such as media effect on individuals during elections, and “macro” theories that deal with government regulation of the media, media ownership, journalistic norms, content and the audience. This book argues that it is this final element, the audience, which could be the key to a much clearer understanding of the relationship between the media and civil society. In fact, if the notions of “micro” and “macro” are reordered into a more dynamic model, the importance of both the audience and the interaction among these elements becomes clearer. The evidence presented in this book will suggest that the media environment (including regulation, ownership and journalistic norms) to a large degree predicates media content, which in turn is presented to an audience. The audience then reacts to the material, showing varying degrees of attention, interest, comprehension, trust and reaction. At each of these three steps – media environment, content and audience – it is possible to obtain a measure of comparative elements. For example, the studies in Gunther and Mughan (2000) of several countries with a range of regime types analyze the patterns of government regulation, ownership and journalistic norms within various countries. It is possible to measure, for example, whether countries have laws protecting free speech, how well those laws are implemented, whether television is funded by the state or commercial interests and how journalists are expected to carry out their jobs (through surveys of reporters and editors). Yet, this is only the first step in understanding the media within a particular country. The next and most obvious body of evidence is broadcasting and print content, with a growing interest in Internet content as well. Despite the rising importance of television in virtually all countries, work on broadcasting analysis lags to a degree and it is more difficult to collect as well as code broadcasts than it is to study publications. In particular, decoding television content remains problematic, as not only the words but also the images, the framing, the presentation style and even the tone of the announcer can be important. However, there has been some significant comparative work in this area, particularly in terms of election coverage and media “framing” of political events (Ansolabehere and Iyengar, 1995; Iyengar, 1991; Iyengar and Kinder, 1987; Kaid and Holtz-Bacha, 1995; Patterson, 1993; Semetko et al., 1991). Arguably, the examination of television broadcasts has led to some of the most fruitful theories in political communication, particularly the debate on how issues are presented or “framed” for the viewers and how much this matters in terms of attitudes to newsmakers, political parties, politicians, candidates and issues. However, if there has been much useful work on the media environment and content, the audience has remained somewhat of a black box. It is not true to say that audience and audience response have not been studied. In particular,

8

Introduction

public-opinion surveys and even panel studies have been used to track changing audience attitudes during campaigns and important political events (Norris et al., 1999; Semetko et al., 1991). These changes can then be weighed against the reported media use of the participants to make judgments about media effect. But what is difficult to understand is the more subtle, long-term effect of a nation’s media on the audience. For example, researchers are well aware that both the media environment and content vary enormously from country to country, particularly between democratic and non-democratic regimes. Yet the “audience” variable has not really been unpacked, creating two critical barriers toward understanding the role of media in a civil society. First, what is the differential way in which audiences in democratic and non-democratic regimes (or even between more similar regimes) seek, absorb and react to messages from the media? Second, how does audience reaction to media messages affect change in the first two segments of the media environment/content/audience model outlined above? If an audience becomes resentful or rejecting of the message promulgated by the media – as arguably citizens in authoritarian regimes are – then there must be change in content and even in the media environment to re-establish the link with the audience. The audience is not passive, but a critical variable in terms of understanding media effect. How can this three-step model of media environment, content and audience be understood in terms of the some of the classic ideas about the role of the media in civil society? In particular, the Soviet and Russian media can be useful in attempting to understand a specific and well-studied phenomenon, the interplay among media, political parties and voters. The study of political communication has developed a great deal since the popularity of the “propaganda” model in the wake of the Second World War. When US social scientists tested the notion that the mass media could sway public opinion, then a popular explanation for the rise of Fascism under Hitler, they found relatively little direct influence of the media (Berelson et al., 1954; Lazarsfeld et al. 1965). Rather, people’s vote choices were much more likely to be determined by their socio-economic backgrounds and long-held beliefs. The influence of the immediate environment, notably among family and friends, was found to be more important than that of the media in this study. Later landmark work, notably The American Voter (Campbell et al., 1960) and The Changing American Voter (Nie et al., 1979), continued to emphasize the importance of long-term partisan identification. While there has been debate about the endurance of partisan identification, particularly in more recent elections, it continues to be treated as a far more important factor than short-term media effects or “propaganda” in terms of explaining election results. This particular explanation of the role of the media in elections, and in the construction and maintenance of civil society in general, leaves out a great deal of critical nuance. While studies have determined that media coverage and political advertising do not tend to change the choice of vote, for example, a committed US Republican to voting for a Democratic presidential candidate, it can make important differences at other levels. For example, the way that the news media often choose to frame elections as a “horse race” (Patterson, 1993) rather than as

Introduction 9 an educated discussion about issues allows politicians to compete with image and sound bites rather than to address important national problems. This type of framing of issues, in which some problems such as crime are over-reported until Americans gain a skewed vision of the real problems in society (Iyengar, 1991), is not a dilemma simply during elections. However, research by Norris (2000) suggests that even with some tendency toward sensationalism, the media still serve a useful and important function in keeping citizens informed and engaged in the political process. Her cross-national analysis provided evidence that the media remain the most effective way to link citizens and government. It also begs the question of how else the government might be able to communicate effectively with the masses. The media are not necessarily free and fair, even in societies that claim to support free speech. Aside from the problems of image-driven elections, questions have been raised about the enormous amount of paid political advertising in the US campaigns. Indeed, as studies have found that the advertisements are increasingly negative (and not always fair), there are concerns that the voters are receiving distorted information through this format (Ansolabehere and Iyengar, 1995; Kaid and Holtz-Bacha, 1995). Yet the notion of paid political advertising is considered important to the rights of free speech in the United States. Even in Great Britain, a careful construction of a publically funded state broadcasting system has not translated into fair and equal treatment at all times. For example, studies have found that the BBC has been biased toward the sitting government in election campaigns (W.L. Miller, 1991) and fiercely protective of British government interests in Northern Ireland (D. Miller, 1995). The problems in political marketing are underlined in Russia, however, by a combination of other factors that mitigate against democratic development. The components of civil society in Russia ranging from political parties to civic associations are relatively weak with shallow roots among the populace, throwing the influence of the media into sharp relief. There is little to counterbalance the media and there is no tradition of balance or fairness within the journalism profession itself. Rather, journalists in Russia can clearly trace their origins to the controlled, censored media of the Soviet period. Recent studies suggest that while older journalists were inculcated with the norms of obedience, younger journalists often are motivated more by the potential power and influence of the mass media than by a desire to serve the public (Pasti, 2005; Voltmer, 2000). The Russian situation combines little balance, scant objectivity and strong influence from government and financial interests, a dangerous mixture for the development of media as disinterested forces for civil society and the public good. This book examines eight Russian elections, from 1993 through 2004, to gauge what the interplay among the media, parties, candidates and the electorate has meant for the development of democracy in Russia. It must be acknowledged here that a work that attempts to talk about Russia over the course of more than a decade against the background of media, parties and general political development is bound to present only part of the picture. The attempt here is to present enough of the relevant information about the behavior of television and political

10

Introduction

parties during election campaigns to contribute to the general understanding about the relationship between the two in elections. In particular, what is valuable about the Russian case is the way in which it illuminates how television can subvert the development of political parties. What is slighted in this book are other political developments in this time period, most notably that of party development as organizations, the emergence of a type of oligarchic capitalism in Russia as well as the importance of the power struggles among groups including the central adminstration, the regions, various enterprises and individuals. This analysis focuses on national television and does not discuss the state of the regional or local media in Russia. Nor is it possible to track and debate the development of the legal framework in depth. There is the tension between presenting enough detail to satisfy the audience in post-Soviet studies, while not excluding those who would like to examine the case of Russia as part of a broader work in comparative media studies. It is hoped that this volume can strike the balance in a way that is useful to both these scholarly audiences. While liberal laws on access to television would suggest that candidates and parties had good opportunities to attract voters, there have been several elements in Russian media and politics that have mitigated against the growth of linkages between parties and the electorate. Notably, state-supported parties have tipped the scales unfairly in their favor, capitalizing on their dominance on state-run media. Instead of becoming vehicles to express the interests of the masses, parties have become more of an electoral “show” as many Russians say, merely creating a series of vague images during elections and virtually disappearing between campaigns. In fact, until the 2003 elections, the Kremlin reinvented a “party of power” at each parliamentary election and ignored them during presidential elections. This had led to a phenomenon of “broadcast” parties, which exist mostly through television images in the nightly news and political advertising. Evidence in this book will show that these “broadcast” parties have come to subvert more traditional party types in Russia, at the expense of parties attempting to function as pillars of civil society in this f ledgling state.

The Soviet media legacy It is important to consider how the Soviet media structure functioned, both in principle and in practice, in order to consider how that system developed into the contemporary Russian media. Soviet leaders were quick to identify the importance of the media to educate the public about communist values and to foster support for the regime. There were two important levels of control, first through censorship and strict control of content, but even more importantly via the development of a journalistic culture that led to the total support of the ideology and policies of the Communist Party leaders. Thus, the media environment was quite clear: The media existed to serve the party, to instil and maintain support for the regime and to foster the growth of communism. The law (which reserved the “leading role” in the society for the Communist Party), the complete state ownership of the media and the creation of a journalistic culture obedient to the state

Introduction 11 (the “internal censor”) were all important components of this environment (Mickiewicz, 1988). Content was relatively straightforward, in that overt dissent was not tolerated. However, as Mickiewicz has noted, that content was by no means uniform or the reflection of a single political line within the Communist period, although television news remained very tightly controlled and monitored. Soviet television did focus on the achievements of the Soviet state, but it was not all news reports about record-breaking harvests or the achievements of industry. Television in the Soviet era also featured nature programs, concerts, ballet, and reports from overseas (albeit with an ideological slant to teach the inherent problems of capitalism). There was no development of soap operas and night-time dramas as there were in the West, but some feature films (such as the 1979 Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears about a search for love by three women) made important social commentary about Soviet life. Sports programs and game shows were developed in the Soviet Union just as they were in the West – and were popular with the viewers.2 What about the audience for Soviet news? Work by Mickiewicz suggests that the Soviet audience was extraordinarily attentive and attuned to nuance, particularly in news programs. There was an enormous amount of news output. For example, in 1980, the Communist Party flagship paper Pravda (Truth) had a daily circulation of nearly 11 million while Izvestiya ( News) had a circulation of 7 million. It is true that much of the Party news output was ignored, but there is ample evidence that Soviet citizens were eager consumers of the news. For example, a survey in Leningrad in the early 1970s found that 75 percent of those surveyed read a newspaper daily and another 19 percent did so three or four times a week, suggesting that virtually every adult in the city was a regular newspaper reader (Firsov and Muzdybaev, 1975). Meanwhile, the Soviets produced large numbers of television sets even when other consumer goods were in very short supply. According to official data, at least three-quarters of all households across the vast Soviet territory had television sets by the end of Soviet rule and the typical audience for the main nightly news programme reached 80 percent of the adult population, including the entire armed forces (Mickiewicz, 1988, p. 8). While only about 5 percent of the Soviet population could watch television in 1960, at least one channel was available to about 99 percent of the country by the 1990s (while 60 percent of homes still lacked a phone and 13 percent lacked even running water).3 By the early 1980s, there were two large national television networks on Channels 1 and 2. Broadcasts on the Moscow channel and the St Petersburg (then Leningrad) channel also reached for beyond the city boundaries. It was this attentive audience that was to prove problematic for the Soviet regime. What Soviet leaders failed to appreciate was that the media, particularly television, was indeed a powerful weapon, but one that could work against the regime as well as for it. Secure in the knowledge that they controlled the journalists and the broadcast signals, they seemed unaware that the attentive audience spread across the Soviet Union would be very responsive to even the most subtle suggestions of societal change. The Soviet regime had created both an impressive

12

Introduction

media network and a well-primed, highly educated audience with a lively interest in the wider world. During the 1980s, those elements in society would begin to work against the interests of the Communist leaders as they sought to cling to power in a changing society. The introduction of glasnost by Gorbachev prompted change at an exponential rate in the Soviet media, notably major shifts in two relatively stagnant areas of the media environment and content. The earliest ventures into the more “transparent” news coverage that Gorbachev championed as a way to improve the Soviet system were quite modest. For example, Pravda created a sensation in February 1986 by reporting on special shops and other facilities that were reserved for Communist Party members. By the end of the decade, the media were running stories revealing Second World War atrocities by Soviet troops, challenging Soviet rule in the Baltic states, questioning the war in Afghanistan and even criticizing the tenets of Leninism. The print media espoused a broad range of views, from continuing support for the Communist Party to those that urged a Westernized political system and market economy for the country. While the debate in the print media about the future of the country – as well as the judgment of the Soviet past – became very lively, it was television that could serve as an even stronger catalyst for change. After decades of sanitized ideological coverage, television in the Soviet Union began to produce almost unremitting images of the failures of the Communist regime. The stories included criticism of the military’s treatment of young recruits, an expose of the Soviet mental health system and coverage of the demonstrations for independence in the Soviet republics of Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia. Shows and presenters started to gain immense popularity, often trading in the staid, measured tones of the traditional announcers for a fast-paced controversial style that featured more jeans and T-shirts than suits and ties. Television quickly outpaced the views of the Communist Party reformers, but despite some cancellation of outspoken television programs, the party had effectively lost control of the media system by the late 1980s. This loss of control can be traced to the profound changes at each of the three levels of analysis for the media in this study. First, the media production environment had altered completely, most notably the control of the “internal” censor. Journalists, particularly those on television, quickly found that they could attract public followings that were far more useful and powerful than recognition from Soviet-era editors and party bosses. This led to an era of intense personalization of television reporters and announcers, which has persisted in contemporary Russia. Taboos and rules of acceptable coverage shifted rapidly and finally virtually disappeared at the end of the glasnost period. As a result, content was enormously vibrant and interesting to the readers and viewers. Not only did journalists have several decades of important stories to report, but they were leading a heady debate about the nature of communism and the future of the country itself. Some newspapers, such as the liberal Moscow News, became virtually unobtainable even in the capital due to their popularity. Television did not suffer from the print industry’s problem of distribution (which became acute due to the rising cost of paper, inflation and a lack of a reliable delivery system) and, more

Introduction 13 importantly, had the advantage of presenting the population with the evocative images of change along with the narrative reports. Some of these images included the demonstrations for independence in the republics or pictures of dispirited Russian soldiers in Afghanistan. Closer to home, television played a key role in the disintegration of the Soviet state by broadcasting live the new Soviet Congress of People’s Deputies in 1989. Gorbachev, who had pushed for the live broadcasts, thought television would strengthen his image as a liberal Communist leader. Instead, viewers saw members of the new congress – many of whom had been elected in the first relatively free elections in Soviet history – stand up to challenge the Soviet leader on national television. It was clear that the audience for the parliamentary broadcasts was enormous; so large that productivity dropped as people stayed home from work to watch (Aron, 2001, p. 299). The culmination of the glasnost era was the coverage of the attempted coup by hard-line Communists in August 1991. Although the coup plotters managed to seize the main television station with troops and send tanks into the center of Moscow, they apparently had no media strategy whatsoever. Instead, they broadcast the ballet Swan Lake on all the television stations and expected the news announcers to cooperate with their plans. Very quickly, journalists defied the coup plotters, even managing to smuggle cameras out of the building to report on resistance to the coup and the reluctance of the troops to fire on the citzenry. Control over television and the rest of the media eroded hourly before the coup collapsed in a matter of days. It is possible to make inferences about the Soviet audience during this era and the assumption has generally been that audience was profoundly changed by these experiences. Instead of being passive, albeit attentive, consumers of the news, the media model had switched from a “top-down” system to one that catered to the interests and needs of the public. But was there a fundamental alteration in the audience? It was enormously difficult to tell because of the pace of the changes sparked by glasnost. The dynamic of change in the media environment was so rapid, with norms and rules shifting virtually daily at the height of glasnost, that it would take time to establish whether the media environment, content and audience had changed permanently or whether the fundamental relationships remained the same. As David Wedgwood Benn pointed out that for “the average Soviet citizen, glasnost meant little more than an unprecedented freedom to complain about an almost unprecedented drop in living standards as well as a particularly tyrannical history” (1992b, p. 196). Was the audience empowered to change society or merely to complain about it? There was the appearance of great pluralism in the Soviet media environment by 1991, but in fact the plethora of publications and new television shows masked a critical problem. There were two major barriers to the development of media pluralism or a libertarian model of the media. First, the nascent Russian market could not support all of the media outlets, particularly those that were catering to what was essentially a very small segment of the intellectual elite. Three of the main factors for support of a free-market media – corporate investment, advertising revenue and subscription fees from users – were in desperately short supply.

14

Introduction

Unsurprisingly, most media outlets in Russia continued to rely on state subsidies, as they had during the Soviet regime. This was a particularly unsatisfactory situation, for not only did it tie the media to state interests (editorial autonomy for the state-funded media never took root in Russia even in principle), but there was not enough money to support all of the media outlets at any rate. With paid circulation already plummeting because of inf lation at the end of the Soviet era, many publications were forced to close or limp along as much smaller outlets with their state subsidies. Even the once-mighty Pravda saw its circulation plummet from millions into the thousands and was eventually bailed out by a Greek tycoon. State-run television stations also faced the first of many financial crises, but they could rely on their greater inf luence and reach than the print media to assure at least some level of state funding as well as advertising revenue.4 President Yeltsin, who once called being denied access to state television by Soviet officials one of the most difficult trials of his political career, initially was relatively tolerant of pluralism on Russian television.5 Pluralism, however, did not take the form of objectivity or balance within a single news report, program or even channel. Rather, the national channels rapidly devolved into champions for their sponsors (Channel 1 to support Yeltsin), although there were various programs within channels that supported different points of view. Channel 4 rapidly lost influence and was eventually auctioned off to a commercial enterprise that had launched NTV.6 The parliamentary crisis in late 1993, which ended only when Yeltsin used force to expel the deputies from the parliament building, perhaps marks the end of plurality within Russian state television. The central television building itself came under attack and was caught in the crossfire.7 These graphic images were compelling lessons for Russian leadership of the need for “spin” and control of the nightly news. Soon after state-run television came under tighter control, however, the Russian state faced a new challenge in information control from NTV. Founded in 1993, NTV originally broadcast a few hours on day on Channel 5, eventually gaining the license to broadcast on Channel 4. NTV quickly was able to increase its reach to an estimated 75 percent of the Russian population by the late 1990s, but its distribution system meant it reached primarly urban audiences across the country. In addition, because the feeds were rebroadcast locally, technically local stations could delete or edit the broadcasts, although they were forbidden to do this under the terms of their contract with NTV.8 NTV was funded by the Media Most banking group, which was headed by Vladimir Gusinsky. Gusinsky, along with former Executive Secretary of the CIS and entrepreneur Boris Berezovsky, was one of the most prominent media moguls to emerge in the post-Soviet economy. Both men had extensive ties with the government, a necessary asset for business in the post-Soviet regime. Berezovsky initially chose to support the Yeltsin administration completely. He eventually acquired a major interest in Channel 1 when the state privatized part of the channel and transformed it from Ostankino into ORT in 1995.9 In addition, Berezovsky acquired a major interest in the new national commercial television

Introduction 15 channel TV-6. Through their corporations, both Gusinsky and Berezovsky also acquired controlling interests in publications and radio stations, with Gusinsky’s Media Most empire including the inf luential daily newspaper Sevodnya (Today) and the Ekho Moskvy (Echo of Moscow) radio station. Gusinsky’s support for the regime was more uneven than that of Berezovsky and made him the first major broadcasting target of the Putin administration. NTV built a formidable reputation quickly with its coverage of the first war in Chechnya (1994–6). While state-controlled television stations such as ORT were claiming Russian victories, NTV broadcast the darker side of the war as untrained recruits died needlessly. Even more painful for the Russian authorities, however, was the fact that NTV was unwilling to frame the Russian army as noble saviors of the Chechen people, making it clear that there were harrowingly brutal acts against soldiers and civilians by both sides. The NTV reports on the war were some of the most realistic portrayal of the realities of war since dispatches by US journalists from Vietnam in the 1970s. As the NTV broadcasts continually contradicted the more optimistic and sanitized reports on ORT, the state-controlled station was forced into more honest coverage of the conf lict. Many analysts believe that NTV’s coverage was a significant factor in changing Russia’s policy on the conflict.10 Despite the way in which NTV challenged the state in its coverage of the Chechen war, the commercial station chose to join with the state-run television channels in deceiving the public about Yeltsin’s critical ill-health during the 1996 Russian presidential campaign. By this time, Yeltsin was seriously ill with heart problems, yet the presidential administration was unwilling or unable to put forward a different candidate. After the severe economic shock to the country, Communist Party leader Gennady Zyuganov had drawn far ahead of Yeltsin in the polls. NTV head Igor Malashenko, who actually joined Yeltsin’s campaign team during the 1996 elections, later justified the action as a move for self-preservation as the Communists had vowed to end the freedom of commercial media in Russia (Mickiewicz, 1999). It is true that NTV was in general more balanced, objective and professional than the state-run television channels, but this quite flagrant departure from the ideas of liberalism was worrying. It highlights that what can be perceived as pluralism in the Russian media could also be defined as protection of a range of interests on the part of the station owners/controllers rather than a dedication to pursuing objective or balanced news coverage. As will be clear from focus-group and survey findings presented in this book, this rather well-founded suspicion of NTV and other commercial media outlets remains widespread on the part of the Russian audience. If the public saw a narrowing of media voices from 1991 to Yeltsin’s election in 1996, then choices have became even more circumscribed since Putin was first elected in 2000. Some of the most obvious targets have been the media moguls Gusinsky and Berezovsky. Not surprisingly, the first was Gusinsky’s more outspoken NTV, which had already come under significant pressure from the government for its coverage of the second Chechen war (launched in September 1999 after a series of explosions in Russian apartment buildings were attributed

16

Introduction

to Chechen terrorists and Chechen forces crossed into neighboring Dagestan). At first harassed by challenges to its war coverage, then raided by tax police, the presidential administration eventually managed to wrest control from Gusinsky as the state-run oil giant Gazprom called in a large bank loan to Media Most. Berezovsky, whose media had more consistently supported Yeltsin and Putin, was forced to give up his interests and leave the country as well. Laura Belin attributes the moves against Gusinsky and Berezovsky to part of Putin’s media strategy to return to a more Sovietized model of media control (2002a,b). In addition, some theorize that there is a personal element, in that Putin is more sensitive to media criticism than Yeltsin (Belin, 2002b; Shevtsova, 2003a).

The contemporary Russian media and political communication theory What role can the Russian media, notably television, now play in civil society? In terms of the first two levels of analysis discussed above – the media environment and content – Russia’s media now would seem to have more in common with the Soviet regime than a Westernized media system. There appears to be neither a sense of social responsibility nor libertarianism; rather the media are deployed in support of the causes of those who support and fund them. For a time, there was enough variation in causes and sponsors to give at least an appearance of media pluralism. This was particularly true in the case of NTV’s coverage of the war in Chechnya. This coverage was perhaps the most significant example in Russia of the ability of the media to inform the public and to change public policy. More cynically, it could be argued that NTV covered the war with great attention in order to boost its own ratings and elevate the station to a status of national, wellrespected source of information. At any rate, under the tenets of the libertarian model, it is perfectly acceptable to pursue both the goals of the public interest and popularity simultaneously. Just as ownership and control of the media have narrowed, so has its content. There is anecdotal evidence of the switch in the political “line” at NTV after proPutin interests took control of the station and the news team was replaced. In fact, a study of the news content in the 2003 Duma elections suggests that NTV still offers more news on the Chechen war and opposition politics than the state-run channels, but cannot challenge the Kremlin news dominance as it once did. TV-6, once controlled by Berezovsky, was taken off the air and re-sold at auction (although TV-6 had little serious political content until it briefly inherited some of the NTV news team in 2001). Thus, by 2002 there was no longer any national television channel that could effectively present an alternative political view to that of the presidential administration. Finally, what about the audience? How have they been reacting to a return to a more Soviet style of newscast and political coverage? Do they have the potential or even the desire to demand more pluralism, that the media ultimately serve the interest of the public rather than the needs of the presidential administration? This book will discuss and analyze the media environment, content and the audience

Introduction 17 for news in contemporary Russia. In particular, the book will use data from all three of these levels surrounding election coverage from 1993 through 2004 as well as the proceedings of focus groups in 2000 and 2004 that allowed Russian citizens to talk in depth about their perceptions of the media and its role in their society. The book also uses a 2001 opinion survey that examined several specific issues relating to television use in Russia, including channel choice, viewing patterns, trust as well as how the mass media influenced Russian vote choice. A public-opinion survey conducted in December 2003 and January 2004 tests whether many of these opinions still held after another election round. Chapter 2 will discuss in greater depth the changes in the media environment from the Soviet era, through glasnost and the 1990s, to the current situation in the post-Soviet media. The chapter will trace the development of the media, particularly television, from its roots in the Soviet era to the present day. The chapter will discuss changes in law, ownership and television coverage. The central concern of this chapter is whether the media environment in contemporary Russia is more allied with its Soviet past than any Western models of media development. Was the explosion of pluralism during the glasnost era a reflection of free speech or more an outcome of the needs of different factions within the Soviet government? How enduring were any of the changes wrought by glasnost on the media environment? This chapter also will discuss the narrowing of political news available to the Russian public, particularly in the light of the switch in ownership at NTV. Chapter 3 is the first chapter of the book to focus on the media audience, particularly for television. After almost a decade of the narrowing of freedom of speech on television, what do Russians think of their broadcast media? In general, they like it, they watch it and, most intriguingly, they trust it a great deal. In fact, many Russian viewers appear to like state-run television primarily because it does not tell the complete truth about the problems facing Russian society. Many Russian viewers prefer that television present them with a positive image of their country, so that Russia can begin to rebuild from the economic and political chaos of the past decade. This was the most intriguing finding from a series of focus groups in 2000 and a nationwide survey of Russians conducted in the spring of 2001.11 It was apparent from both the discussions in the focus groups and the survey results that importing Western notions of the role of the media in society was insufficient to explain how Russians felt about and reacted to their own national media, particularly the power of television. How can one explain why Russians have this seemingly paradoxical attitude toward television? And what does this curious relationship between Russians and television mean for Russian politics, particularly for political image and election campaigns? In order to explore this puzzle, Chapter 4 examines the relative development of Russian political parties, how they attempt to communicate via the mass media and how successful they are at using the mass media for this purpose. Although the earliest Russian political parties attempted either traditional Communist-style mobilization or tried to sell messages in the manner of Madison Avenue, the response was generally poor. Only a handful of Russian parties, notably the Communist Party of the Russian Federation, developed as recognizable

18

Introduction

party institutions. What first might appear unusual or strange in the Russian context, such as the ability of parties to exist virtually on the airwaves and nowhere else, may in fact illuminate trends in political campaigns in Europe and the United States, not to mention in other post-Soviet societies. This book presents evidence to suggest that the Russians have successfully developed “broadcast parties,” parties that are created both by and for television. While Chapter 4 presents information from the political parties and their media strategies, Chapters 5 and 6 make an in-depth analysis of the content of television news during parliamentary elections (1995 and 1999) and presidential elections (1996 and 2000). In addition, there is a discussion of television coverage of the first parliamentary election in 1993. What emerges from this study is increasing bias and unfairness in the Russian media, sometimes merely a distortion of problems found in most media systems and other times completely new phenomena. For example, in the 1995 elections, the prime news program on state-run Channel 1 devoted an inordinate amount of time to covering the activities of Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin – who happened to be the leader of the pro-government party running for parliament. This is a common problem for broadcasters during elections as they struggle to cover the current government and provide fair coverage to any contenders for power, but clearly little attempt at fairness was made on Channel 1 in the parliamentary coverage in 1995. The popular Communist Party (which went on to win the largest number of party-list votes in the 1995 elections) was virtually ignored on Channel 1. On commercial NTV, election coverage was more balanced, but very minimal as the channel focused its efforts on its controversial coverage of the Chechen war. While that war coverage no doubt influenced the outcome of the election in alienating people from the government and pro-government parties, it was not helpful in providing adequate information on the range of electoral choices available. In the 1999 parliamentary elections, an ominous new element of aggressive smear tactics, particularly on Channel 1, became apparent in campaign coverage. This new kompromat – the Russian contraction for “compromising materials” – was both unfair and immensely popular with the audience. The practice continued, spreading somewhat to other stations as they contended for audience share, into the 2000 presidential elections. Once again, coverage was badly skewed, with various channels supporting “their” candidates. Chapters 5 and 6 will present content-analysis findings that provide convincing evidence of the continuing slant and bias on Russian television, particularly state-run Channel 1. How do Russians react to these tactics? In Chapter 7, the book again returns to an examination of the audience and uses information from focus groups to illustrate how Russians themselves felt about political advertising and news in the 1999 and 2000 campaigns. Many of the focus-group participants claimed they were aware of the attempts to manipulate their opinion yet were impervious to the propaganda. Yet, many of the remarks revealed the efficacy of the government campaign, particularly the public relations attack on liberal presidential candidate Grigory Yavlinsky. Although the focus-group respondents claimed they could well recognize slanted coverage, many admitted that negative news about

Introduction 19 particular parties or some presidential candidates did influence their vote choice. In addition, they did not find the relentless promotion of Putin on the nightly news particularly disturbing. Rather, they pragmatically accepted the notion that their president’s image was being created in front of their eyes, as he co-piloted a MiG fighter jet or performed other stunts for the camera. For many, it was fitting that television gave their national leader the best image possible, although many admitted Putin had little experience or leadership quality. As one respondent suggested, if television could get Putin elected, then television could indeed “make anyone president.” Not only do the remarks of the participants suggest that television plays a major role in shaping political attitudes and the vote in Russian society, survey responses in 2001 reinforced this idea as well. Chapter 8 will discuss survey findings that suggest that patterns of television viewership, notably attention to state television, can predict pro-state vote choice. While this is not surprising in that those supportive of the state would be more likely to watch state-run television over commercial television, the strength of the relationship is remarkable. According to an analysis of the 2001 survey, preference for watching ORT was a powerful predictor of vote for Putin in 2000, more robust than traditional voting indicators such as gender, urbanicity, education or income. In Chapter 9, the book turns to the most recent series of elections, the 2003 parliamentary race and 2004 presidential contest, to look at the consolidation or rejection of particular trends found in the analysis of the earlier elections. Coding of the news coverage of the Duma elections on state-run Channel 1 and NTV showed that while the commercial channel was less overt in its challenge to the Putin regime, it still presented alternative information to the electorate. However, at the same time, there was convincing evidence that interest and trust in NTV coverage had diminished since its financial takeover in 2001. Meanwhile, both focus groups and a public-opinion survey in December 2003–January 2004 found that Russian voters felt increasingly disengaged from their political leaders and more helpless to control the political destiny of the country through elections. The notion that the mass media should control, rather than inform, society had taken hold even more strongly in Russia. Chapter 10 offers some final conclusions. Ultimately, what do these findings mean for the relationship among the Russian media environment, broadcast content and the audience? First, it is clear that the Russian media environment has more in common with the Soviet style of mass manipulation than with notions of the media as playing either a libertarian or socially responsible role in society. Although the methods are somewhat different, the essential goal is the same: Both Russian authorities and Russian journalists accept that the media should be players in the political game, rather than disinterested observers working in the service of the viewers, readers or civil society at large. Struggles over legal points and ownership are best understood in this context, as ownership, laws and decrees are more battles in a political war among elites than attempts to help media to fulfill a civic duty. The in-depth study of broadcast content during elections, particularly as it related to the Chechen wars, underlines this point. Even NTV, a commercial station that has generally

20

Introduction

supported the notion of the Fourth Estate, often used its resources in support of particular causes rather than in pursuit of the truth. The evidence about content presented in this book is compelling in support of the argument that the Russian media have become increasingly biased. Overall, it is among the Russian media audience that this book presents its most intriguing findings. Through the focus groups as well as public-opinion surveys, it is clear that the Russian audience differs markedly from the expectations of Western analysts. There is a type of “media logic” that defies an easy, compact explanation. In particular, the Russian audience exhibits a paradoxical attitude toward state television. While state television enjoys a very high level of trust – indeed the highest level of trust of any public institution in this research – it is clear from focus-group responses that Russians are aware of the bias and distortion of their news. What emerges from the discussions is that the notion of media freedom and, in particular, the idea of objectivity is not central to Russian watching habits. Rather, Russians often seek something different from their prime television station, notably a sense of pride and nationhood in a troubled and chaotic environment. What is interesting is that Russian viewers appear quite aware of the paradox, stating on the one hand that they carefully screen out bias, and on the other hand that they would prefer not to see strongly argumentative views on television. Russians claim to follow the news; but in fact they are really being led, a problem that has been exacerbated by the narrowing of political viewpoints being broadcast. The fear is that television, viewed as a societal institution that could spread the ideas of democracy and civil society in the new Russian state, has become once again a very effective tool for repression and authoritarianism.

2

From Soviet to post-Soviet media

At first glance, it would appear that the contemporary Russian media have little to do with the austere, often drab media environment of the Soviet Union. There is a wide range of publications available at kiosks in the capital and throughout Russia. On television, the major news shows feature state-of-the-art sets, slick young presenters and a faster pace than the Soviet news programs. There is both state-run and commercial media, including non-state television, that provide original shows produced in Russia, films from around the globe and a more Westernized news format complete with short bulletins and snappy graphics. Nor is there a dearth of campaign messages, as political parties and candidates can air their views in paid political advertising, free broadcast time on state-run media outlets and in free space in state publications. Radio stations continue to broadcast, although more with music than news or political chat. While the use of the Internet in Russia lags behind Europe and the rest of the developed world, there is wide availability of political information both from home and abroad on the Web. Beneath the surface of diversity and choice, however, there are serious barriers to the Russian media functioning as a pillar of civil society. The gravest problems are continuing state control on media content; poor development of legal protection for freedom of speech despite constitutional guarantees; a selective application of the law to intimidate media outlets; and the lack of a sense of journalistic ethics on the part of either media professionals or government officials. On a more menacing note, journalists in Russia are vulnerable to intimidation and violence, either because of rampant crime and corruption, or more ominously, due to people who want to silence their journalistic voices. The Committee to Project Journalists estimates that 29 journalists have been killed during the last decade in Russia. Many have died covering the wars in Chechnya, but the organization estimates that at least 11 have been murdered in contract-style killings in the four years after Putin came to power.1 In most cases, the murderers are never found. The right to a free media is guaranteed in Article 29 of the 1993 Russian Constitution. Yet the guarantees in a constitution are only as good as the mechanisms that can enforce them. Unfortunately, as Russia lacks a tradition of law-based governance, an enforceable legal code or a system of impartial judicial review,

22

From Soviet to post-Soviet media

the guarantees cannot be upheld by political institutions within the society. Rather, the Russian Federation walks a fine line between outward respect for the law combined with general principles of media freedom and selective enforcement of the law to harass, intimidate or even shut down media that are consistently unsympathetic to the regime. This use of the media in service of the state, rather than for the people, has increased markedly since President Putin was first elected in 2000. This behavior and attitude toward the media resonates downward from the presidential administration, so that high-profile cases of harassment and intimidation, are echoed at the local level throughout the country. In May 2001, President Putin debuted on the list of the ten worst enemies of the press, a document compiled by the Committee to Project Journalists.2 In May 2005, the same organization put Russia on the list of the top five “most murderous” countries for journalists.

Political background and legal structure There are four relatively distinct political phases in Russia discussed in this book: the Soviet era; glasnost and the twilight of the Soviet state; the foundation period of the Russian Federation; and the contemporary Russian state. In the Soviet era, although media control differed in intensity from the strict censorship of Stalinism to the more liberal literary environment under Nikita Khrushchev, the central role of the Soviet media was to support the aims and objectives of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. While there are many arguments against perceiving the Soviet media as monolithic, in general little deviation from the central line was tolerated, either by Soviet censors or the journalists who were well inculcated with their duty to serve the state propaganda needs. Thus, media law and party policy were completely merged. Although the 1977 Soviet constitution guaranteed “freedom of speech, of the press” (Article 50) and the right to “free and all-round discussion of the political and personal qualities and competence of candidates . . . in the press and on television and radio” (Article 100), this was merely state propaganda. People who were discovered publishing anti-Soviet propaganda typically were arrested, sent to labor camps or incarcerated in mental institutions. It was Article 6 of the Soviet constitution that reserved the role of the “leading and guiding force of the Soviet society and the nucleus of its political system” for the Communist Party. Thus, the CPSU was to give a “planned, systematic and theoretically substantiated character” to the struggle for the “victory of communism” (Article 6), that is, by controlling all of the mass media to ensure they supported the party completely. There was some dissident media; notably foreign radio stations sponsored by the US government, as well as hand-circulated sheets of political dissent called samizdat (self-publication). However, much of this “alternative” media typically was concerned with promoting a particular type of regime for the country rather than with the disinterested notion of free speech. The changes introduced by CPSU General-Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev after he came to power in 1985 were designed to improve the Soviet system of

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 23 communication with the masses. Notably, his policy of glasnost or “transparency” was aimed at implementing a productive dialogue in Soviet society on how to improve the system. In addition, Gorbachev was convinced that glasnost would enable him to draw on popular support from the masses to fight stagnation and even corruption within the Party ranks. Yet ultimately instead of fighting for the interests of the Communist Party, journalists started representing different factions either within the Communist power structure or, eventually, interests that opposed the entire system. By the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, there was enormous pluralism within the Soviet media system. However, this pluralism generally took the form of various media outlets, including television channels and major newspapers, championing particular factions and causes rather than the notion of pursuing information in a disinterested attempt to inform their audience. While it became clear that people were agreed in their dislike of the Soviet system, there was little consensus on what should replace it. There was legal progress in terms of protection of free speech and the mass media during the glasnost era. The largest legal step was the reformulation of Article 6 in the Soviet constitution, which removed the “leading role” in society from the CPSU and opened up ways to stop the party’s dictatorial control of all aspects of civil society. Meanwhile, however, political events quickly outstripped legal changes. As the political struggles among Politburo factions increased, media outlets found themselves de facto free to run their affairs, that is to print and broadcast virtually what they wished. As opposition to the Communist regime hardened, it became relatively easy for the central media to promote a popular anti-communist agenda. Readership and viewership remained extremely high and attentive, which helped consolidate opposition to the reactionary coup in 1991 and reaffirm Boris Yeltsin as the Russian president when the crisis ended. One of the first acts of the Russian Federation was to pass a new law on the mass media, which was adopted by the Russian Supreme Soviet on December 27, 1991.3 The law prohibited censorship and guaranteed freedom of information. The law, which set out the regulation for owning and operating mass media outlets, allowed for commercial broadcasters and limited the rights of foreign citizens – but not foreign companies – in owning mass media outlets in Russia. The law also states that the founders of a media company cannot interfere in editorial policy (Article 18), but this clause has little to do with the realities of the Russian media either then or now. Two years after the 1991 coup, it continued to be a troubled and difficult time for many institutions in Russia, including the media, as the new government struggled to rule with outmoded Soviet laws and a deeply divided leadership. Finally, the Russian parliament – which had been elected during the Soviet era in 1990 – openly revolted against the pro-market policies of Yeltsin and his advisers in September 1993. Yeltsin ordered troops to shell the parliament building and illegally disbanded the legislature by force the following month. Unlike during the 1991 coup, this time the tanks that rolled into Moscow did fire. After dispatching the old parliament, Yeltsin immediately called for a critical election that would both select a new parliament and ratify a new constitution. Although the

24

From Soviet to post-Soviet media

state had changed radically, it was still functioning with Soviet-era legislation (albeit amended). Yeltsin had been using his considerable support and charisma to rule the country, but the legitimacy of his popular rule had been eroded badly by both the parliamentary crisis and the continuing economic shocks of the bumpy transition to a quasi-market economy. A new parliament was duly elected in December 1993 and the new constitution, which gave extensive powers to the Russian president, was narrowly ratified by the electorate on the same day. The 1993 Russian constitution pays careful attention to the protection of free speech. Article 29 promises that “everyone shall have the right to freedom of thought and speech.” Censorship is prohibited and “no one may be coerced into expressing one’s views and convictions or into renouncing them.” The constitution does mention limits to the notion of free speech, however, saying “propaganda or campaigning inciting social, racial, national or religious hatred and strife is impermissible.” Overall, however, the “freedom of the mass media shall be guaranteed.” Yet this freedom of the mass media is not really guaranteed under the legal system of Russia. Rather, the legal system is habitually used to limit rather than protect both the ability of journalists to disseminate information and the rights of citizens to receive it. Despite the sweeping promise of freedom of speech and free media in Article 29 of the constitution, there is no practical, day-to-day legal protection. There are four main flaws in the legal system in terms of protection of free speech in Russia. First, despite extensive debate and struggle among various political factions, the Russian Federation still lacked a comprehensive post-Soviet law on broadcasting as of 2005.4 Second, there is a “war of laws.” Not only are the media regulated by laws passed by the parliament and signed by the president, but they are subject to presidential decree as well. Thus, while the president cannot unilaterally repeal the media law or issue one that completely contradicts the existing law, he can quite effectively limit freedom of speech with edicts that address specific issues. In addition, all 89 subjects of the Russian Federation have the constitutional right to issue statutes on media in their jurisdiction, ranging from awarding additional subsidies to changing campaign regulations to the control of cable television. According to the Moscow Media Law and Policy Center, some regional legislation actually conflicts with national law, making it impossible for media outlets to operate within both legal boundaries (European Institute for the Media 2000, p. 19). The impossibility of operating within the law, particularly in some regions, leaves media outlets extremely vulnerable to government pressure because there are so many legal excuses for shutting down even the most scrupulous and honest broadcaster or publisher. The third problem is the selective application of the law. Evidence gathered by the Moscow Media Law and Policy Center suggests that media regulation in Russia often works against Russian journalists.5 The Criminal Code of the Russian Federation, which came into force in 1997, introduced criminal liability for slander (defined as dissemination of false information defaming other people) in Article 129 of the code. In addition, Article 146 stipulates that those who abuse copyright or plagiarize can be subject to fines, a jail term or even forced

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 25 labor. More ominously, Article 151 of the 1995 Civic Code and Article 43 of the Statute on the Mass Media “lay the responsibility for the correctness of information with the defendant (i.e. the journalist or the media outlet)” (European Institute for the Media, 2000, p. 15). This is a very different concept than legal precedents in the United States, which essentially protect journalists who inadvertently publish incorrect information. This leaves Russian journalists vulnerable to deception by their sources and, more frighteningly, civil suits even when they have tried to present a story fairly. Financial laws, including tax legislation, have been selectively used against media outlets that do not consistently support President Putin (discussed in the cases of commercial television stations NTV and TV-6). Finally, on an even more worrying note, the individual laws on the media, as well as the principles in the Russian constitution, are becoming increasingly less relevant to daily life in Russia. As there is no effective independent judiciary, the parliament is quite weak under the 1993 constitution and the presidential administration is increasing its hold on regional power, there is little recourse for any institution that attempts to challenge the presidential administration. Ironically, at the same time there are conflicting laws, sometimes there is a dearth of much-needed media law as well. For example, Russia still lacks a statute on television and radio broadcasting, despite work on passing a bill through parliament for several years. The fierce battle for control of the media, particularly television, has led to significant fights over the nature of the new statute. It should be noted that there are some laws that attempt to provide fairness in the media, particularly the 1997 Bill on the Right of Information. The mass media are regulated by a government agency known as the Ministry for Culture and Mass Communication. The ministry can issue warnings to media outlets for the misuse of freedom of the press and can even stop the activity of the outlet after written warnings (Article 16 of the Statute on the Mass Media). The ministry also regulates broadcasting licenses, which were put on a competitive footing by a June 1999 government decree. However, despite the careful considerations within the licensing law about fairness and openness in the competition, the executive branch retains the power to make sweeping changes in licensing agreements. For example, the national Channel 5 was taken away from the St Petersburg state television company in 1997 by a presidential decree. Channel 5 is now the advertisement-free Kultura-TV (Culture Television), which features historic films and other cultural programming. This move shows that at times highly valuable broadcasting assets can be reacquired by the central authorities without any bidding or other licensing competition (European Institute for the Media, 2000, p. 20). In more recent times, financial law has been invoked to significantly change the management of a station (as in the case of NTV in 2001) or even to shut down a channel (as in the case of TV-6). In addition to guarantees about free and fair elections in the 1993 constitution, there are detailed laws relating to election coverage in the media. The main tenets of the law call for the right of citizens to campaign freely for parties and candidates; equal access to the mass media for all parties and candidates; fair and equal treatment of all parties and candidates; an equal amount of free time or space to

26

From Soviet to post-Soviet media

all parties and candidates; the rights of parties and candidates to buy broadcast or print advertising; and the dissemination of election results. Although these laws are quite liberal in theory, particularly in terms of the provisions for paid and free time, in practice the system is unfair. Much of this unfairness springs from problems inherent in media coverage of elections, notably enormous differences in financial and other resources of the parties and candidates. For example, most Russian parties and candidates cannot afford to produce professional advertisements and the results range from mildly amusing amateur productions to unbearably dull talking heads during free-time broadcasts. Those parties that could afford to hire directors and use more sophisticated techniques have been able to make far more effective use of their free time.6 Obviously, there is the same problem with paid advertising, as most Russian parties simply could not afford the rates. In addition, from the first elections in 1993 to the present, news producers have found themselves deeply frustrated by neophyte politicians with poor television presence that alienated their audience. Forced by the law to provide a large amount of time to the parties, the state-funded stations found themselves losing viewers during the free-time slots. To make matters worse, parties would often refuse to cooperate in the production of the debates or round-tables, which the law requires should be at least 30 percent of the free-time content (On Basic Guarantees of Electoral Rights and the Right of Citizens of the Russian Federation . . . Article 40, Section 2, as amended March 30, 1999)7. To further complicate matters, the Russian laws on elections continually grow more detailed and unrealistic from a news production point of view. The law on the Duma elections signed by President Putin on December 20, 2002, provides some good examples of these problems. The law runs to more than 100 pages in Russian. It does provide some arguably good principles, such as the statement that “informational materials carried by the mass media or disseminated by other methods shall be objective and accurate and shall not violate the equality of candidates, political parties, electoral blocs” (Article 54, Section 2, Federal Law No.175-FZ, On the Election of Deputies of the State Duma of the Federal Assembly of the Russian Federation). However, the law then carries on from this general principle to extremely specific instructions. The law requires that election items “shall be always presented in the form of separate news items, without any comments” (Article 56, Section 4) and that any description of “possible consequences of the election or non-election of a candidate” is considered overt campaigning (Article 57, Section 3). In addition, news outlets cannot “disseminate information about the activities of a candidate unrelated to his professional activity or duties” without it being considered campaigning (Article 57, Section 5); a person cannot be shown to be endorsing a party or candidate unless there is written consent filed with the election commission (Article 57, Section 8); and a state print outlet must provide no less than 10 percent of its weekly space to candidates or parties free of charge (Article 61, Section 2). All of these rules would make it almost impossible for journalists to cover an election in a meaningful way. Some of the most detailed rules relate to publishing “informational materials (including such materials which contain reliable information) which may damage

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 27 the honor, dignity, or business reputation of a candidate” (Article 64, Section 6). According to the law, if the mass media organization cannot provide the candidate with an opportunity to broadcast or publish a denial or make an explanation in “defense of his honor, dignity, or business reputation” before the end of the campaign, then the media outlet cannot broadcast or publish the information. Anyone familiar with Russian elections since 1993 can understand the genesis of these rules. Except for a few broad statements on media freedom and responsibility, the bulk of this law is in response to problems with Russian campaign coverage. For example, the rule from Article 64, Section 6 on a prohibition on publishing damaging facts could be termed the “Dorenko rule” as Channel 1 television presenter and analyst Sergei Dorenko was notorious for spreading gossip and innuendo without giving his subjects a proper chance of rebuttal in the 1999 elections. Studies also have shown sycophantic coverage of pro-government parties and their leaders, slanting political coverage in the weeks before the elections with excessive, positive reports on these individuals (European Institute for the Media, February 1996, September 1996; Helvey and Oates, 1998; Oates and Roselle, 2000). Arguably, this has led to the ban on covering those in the elections in non-electoral events and duties. Yet the law is unworkable on two levels. First, it creates such stringent limits on what can be covered in the elections that broadcasters, in particular, are left with virtually no option but to show clips of candidates at rallies and giving speeches. In addition, there is no room for analysis or even an educated discussion. In fact, by 1999, the Central Election Commission was already warning television broadcasters to limit discussions and to present in the most straightforward fashion merely the faces and words of the candidates. This left the voters, faced with dozens of parties and thousands of candidates, even more confused and uninformed. The practical problems aside, the law bears little resemblance to the Russian media reality. While the parliament and president have chosen to pass a law requiring fairness in election coverage, Russian election coverage continues to be patently unfair. First, there is an undue amount of coverage, much of it positive, of pro-government parties and candidates. Some of this is in terms of the sheer amount of coverage, out of proportion with the initial support for the party. Some parties are virtually ignored or, when mentioned, presented in a more negative sense. The most outstanding example of this is the Communist Party of the Russian Federation, which despite being the most consistently popular political party in the country until recently, has received either scant attention or an unfair amount of negative coverage over the elections. Who is controlling whether a particular candidate or party gains favorable or negative coverage? At one point, different television channels in Russia picked their own candidates and parties to champion. As channels have been forced to shift ownership or shut down altogether, it is clear that positive coverage is reserved for President Putin and his supporters and negative coverage for those who can challenge Putin. Other politicians, who are deemed too minor to challenge the president’s hegemony, are either ignored or covered in a superficial manner. Where does this pattern of coverage originate in Russia? This is a

28

From Soviet to post-Soviet media

difficult area in which to conduct research. Reporters, editors and producers are not keen to say that their editorial coverage is “directed” in a Soviet-style fashion. It also is not in their best interest to pass this information on to social science researchers or others if they want to keep their jobs. In addition, it is a point of professional pride. Journalists may genuinely feel that they are reporting political news in a good fashion or at least in a way in which the audience expects it to be reported. Just because they are catering to a taste for kompromat and scandal does not mean that their reporting is necessarily flawed. In addition, it is important to understand that there is always a gap between journalistic policy and practice, even in the more developed democratic media system. Whether journalists are struggling for objectivity (a common goal in the United States) or balance (more standard in British television), these are elusive and sometimes ill-defined goals that rarely can be achieved. Journalists are constrained by time, manpower, poor management, outdated computer systems, recalcitrant sources and dozens of other practical problems. Space for reporting even a simple newspaper story is limited, while broadcast time is even shorter. Yet it is important to acknowledge how far short journalists fall from particular goals. In Italy, for example, Paolo Mancini (2000) reports that while journalists claim not to be political actors or elites, in fact Italian journalists are elites talking to other elites: “Italian journalists are political actors themselves; they write in a complex and political manner for few other political actors” (p. 206). Mancini finds a “striking contradiction between a sort of theoretical wisdom diffused among most of the professionals (journalism has to be neutral and detached from power) and real practice (journalists are advocates and close to different social powers).” The role of the media “patron” cannot be underestimated in the Russian case. Just as various Soviet organs were the patrons of news outlets in Soviet times, political factions and oligarchs became patrons of news outlets in post-Soviet times. Particularly since Putin’s first election in 2000, political interests have increasingly consolidated behind Putin, reducing the variation of coverage in Russian media outlets. As business interests are intertwined with the approval of the presidential administration, it is not surprising that commercial voices even mildly critical of the president and his policies have been silenced as well. It would appear that the editorial line is, in the first instance, dictated by the needs of the media outlet patron. Much as in Soviet times, tight control is not needed at every chain in the command. Rather, there is a good understanding of the “line” throughout the news organization.8 Journalists who choose to question this line by writing a story that is not in step with the needs of the patron would not long work for the organization.9 As a result, it is a system of disincentives to free journalism rather than censorship or direct orders that produces slanted, incomplete reports. While the unworkable legal requirements in Russia are serious drawbacks to meaningful campaign coverage, the dilemma of unfair distribution of money for political advertising and varying levels of quality in political broadcasts are problems in almost all countries with free elections. A far more serious problem in Russia is the complete lack of attention to the legal requirement for fair

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 29 treatment, particularly on state-run television channels. Studies by the European Institute for the Media, this author and others have found both quantitative and qualitative bias toward certain candidates and parties throughout Russian television (European Institute for the Media, 1994, February 1996, September 1996, March 2000, August 2000; Helvey and Oates, 1998; Oates and Roselle, 2000). Russian officials have never seriously addressed this problem. In addition, narrow interpretations of the law or blaming media outlets for problems with political broadcasts is another issue, according to television producers and editors interviewed during the 1999 Duma elections.10 It also should be noted that the Russian government took away much of the liberal nature of the media law in 1999 by requiring parties who do not gain at least 2 percent of the party-list vote in the Duma elections to reimburse television stations for their “free” time. This would be quite limiting, as in fact most of the dozens of parties have failed to reach 2 percent of the party-list vote in the course of the four Duma elections from 1993 to 2003. Although it is problematic to imagine how television stations could demand payment – or even set a price – from failed parties or candidates in the wake of the election, the change in policy was enough to deter some parties from using their free time. For example, the Russian Greens withdrew their free-time spots in the 1999 elections.11

Media ownership Russia technically has a diverse system of media ownership for its major media outlets, but realistically there is no central media outlet that can challenge the Kremlin’s monopoly on power and information. In this way, the Russian media have in a broad sense come full circle back to the media environment of the Soviet period. During the Soviet regime, the mass media were owned by the state, although various outlets were designed to function as mouthpieces of certain components of the vast CPSU system. Thus, Krasnaya Zvezda or Red Star was the central “organ” of the Ministry of Defense of the USSR, Literaturnaya Gazeta (Literary Newspaper) was the organ of the Board of the Writers’ Union of the USSR, and Sovetskaya Rossiya (Soviet Russia) carried the combined responsibility as the organ of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, the Supreme Soviet and the Soviet of Ministers of the Russian Soviet Federal Socialist Republic.12 During most of the Soviet regime, this made little difference in terms of overall political direction, as all publications followed strict Party guidelines about content and ideology. However, the Soviet audience was alive to various nuances among publications, knowing that official party directives would appear first and foremost in papers such as Pravda and that other papers, such as the popular Literaturnaya Gazeta, had slightly more leeway for artistic expression within the strict limits. By the same token, the flagship news program Vremya (Time) on Channel 1was recognized as a particularly authoritative, important news source (Table 2.1). This distribution of media control within the Communist Party was to prove important during the glasnost era (1985–91). As central control weakened and

30

From Soviet to post-Soviet media

Table 2.1 National television channels and viewership in Russia, 2001 Channel Name

Ownership

Daily reacha (%)

1

51% owned by the state, rest by a mix of public and commercial corporations State-owned

84

3 4

Russian Public Television (ORT)b Russian Television and Radio (RTR) TV-Center NTV

5

Culture

6

TV-6

2

Funded primarily by the City of Moscow Commercial but now controlled by state interests State-owned; cultural channel created by presidential decree in 1997. Only national television channel not to carry paid advertising Sports channel. Formerly a commercial station carrying some news; briefly inherited NTV news team before financial takeover by state interests in 2002

71 16 53 8

20

Notes a Figures on daily audience are taken from the April 2001 survey (2000 respondents across Russia). NTV and TV-6 have changed ownership since that time and TV-6 has switched from a commercial news/entertainment outlet to a sports-only channel. b Now called The First Channel.

various organs of the Communist Party became political organizations in their own right, they were able to turn media outlets that had served as party mouthpieces into their own vehicles of expression. That meant that various party-dominated bodies such as the Union of Writers or the Moscow City Soviet could now publicize independent views and ideas about the future of the Soviet Union. The quick transition of these media outlets from party organ mouthpieces to outlets for the interests of a range of dynamic groups helps to explain why the limited policy of glasnost rapidly evolved into the appearance of a pluralistic media in the late Soviet era. But once the new Russian state had been established, two problems hindered the development of the former Party organs into a diversified media. First, as discussed above, there was essentially little tolerance for a free and wide range of opinions despite the promise of a free media in the Russian constitution and certain media laws. The more immediate problem was that of financial survival. Russian journalists did not lack for creativity and force of ideas, but they had little business experience. While the Communist Party had supplied ideological control, it also had provided a tightly integrated system of supply for the media, notably newsprint, ink, cheap labor and a distribution system. All of these disappeared with the collapse of the Soviet state. Many media “collectives” found themselves unable to survive financially, leaving them either to cease operations or seek financial sponsorship. Even prominent media outlets such as the newspaper Izvestiya struggled in the new, unfriendly market era (Jones, 2002).

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 31 The Russian state continued to sponsor many media outlets (as it still does today), but the subsidies were never enough to cover the costs of operation. With the understanding of “he who pays the piper calls the tune,” most media outlets returned to the situation of the Soviet era, serving as an organ for a branch of the state or, more rarely, for one of the few business entrepreneurs who could afford a media outlet. During the early years of the Russian state, there were several media outlets founded along more ambitious lines, notably the NTV television channel. Nonetheless, Russian media outlets had to survive in the worst of both worlds, generally subordinate to both their governmental and financial patrons as well as to their advertisers. State-run and commercial media, including television channels, accepted advertising at this time.13 The large financial and political stakes in the Russian media market made it highly visible – and vulnerable – during the scramble by private investors for state assets in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet system. This was exacerbated by the refusal (or inability) of the state to adequately fund the so-called “public” television channels. Many individuals suddenly amassed huge fortunes by acquiring large shares in valuable state property, notably natural resource companies such as Russia’s vast oil enterprises. It was quickly apparent that investment in media outlets was particularly useful, for television channels, radio stations, newspapers and other publications could serve as mouthpieces for the interests of the wealthy “New Russians” (Zassoursky, 2004). Thus, although the Soviet system had collapsed, notions about how to use the media, that is as propaganda rather than in the service of the public, had persisted.

Circulation and viewership As noted in Chapter 1, the problems of lack of objectivity or balance do not keep Russians from reading, viewing and listening to the mass media. Russians routinely report a high level of television viewership in surveys (Oates, 2005). In a 2001 survey, 84 percent of Russians claimed to watch television daily.14 Nor did they merely flick it on and off, as most of them reported that they watched for 2 hours or more a day on weekdays and more on their days off. State-run Channel 1 remained the most popular choice, with 84 percent watching it daily, followed by 71 percent who turned on Channel 2 (RTR), and 53 percent who watched NTV on Channel 4 every day (see Table 2.1). Much as in the Soviet period, Russian viewers often switched among channels in order to glean information, particularly as they have a high level of awareness of the bias found among media outlets. For example, almost a quarter (21 percent) of those surveyed in 2001 claimed that they watched more than one news program a day on the same channel – and 22 percent claimed that they always watched more than one news program a day on different channels. An additional 45 percent of the respondents pursued both of these news-monitoring strategies from time to time. Russians also reported fairly heavy newspaper readership, although local papers were more popular than the national ones. In the 2001 survey, 58 percent of the respondents claimed to read local newspapers several times a week or more while 36 percent read national newspapers at the same rate.

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Research, including the focus groups and surveys cited in this book, suggest that there are two primary constraints that shape media consumption in Russia. In terms of television, it is the availability of the channels rather than the lack of a television set, which is surprising given reports of personal financial hardship in Russia. Virtually all Russian households own a television set; in the 2001 survey only 49 respondents out of 2000 (2 percent) reported that they did not have one. But while ORT on Channel 1 and RTR on Channel 2 penetrated into virtually every corner of the vast country, far fewer areas are able to tune into other national channels. In the 2001 survey, 95 percent of respondents reported receiving ORT and 94 percent said they could watch RTR. However, only 74 percent could view NTV, 36 percent TV-6, and 10 percent TV-Center. NTV’s reach in rural areas is particularly weak because it is relayed through urban partners. There is little satellite or cable subscription because of the problems of cost and access outside the largest cities. Thus, geographic location, far more than income, appears to dictate the number of channels received. On the other hand, income levels seem to play a greater role in terms of national newspaper consumption. Only about 28 percent of those who earned less than 1000 rubles (about $35) a month reported reading a national newspaper regularly, compared with 49 percent of those who earned more than 4000 rubles (about $140) a month. Interestingly, there was little variation in the consumption of local newspapers by income level in 2001.15 Russians seem to remain suspicious of the veracity of what they see, hear and read in the mass media. For example, only 9 percent of the April 2001 survey respondents had complete confidence in the objectivity of a news program on television. There was a division, however, in their attitude toward state and commercial television. In specific questions that separated these two types of ownership, the Russian audience showed more suspicion and distrust toward the commercial media. While their attitude also could be described as cynical toward state television, in a broader sense they appeared to respect the authority of the state-run media and, in the long run, trust it more than any other major political institution (according to the 2001 survey). For example, most of the respondents felt that the commercial television companies reflected the points of views of their owners: 14 percent to a full extent, 33 percent to a significant extent and 19 percent to a minor extent. Only 7 percent of the respondents felt confident enough to say that commercial television companies did not reflect the points of view of their proprietors at all. This does not stop Russians from tuning in to commercial television and 25 percent of the respondents listed their preferred channel as NTV (compared with 35 percent who favored ORT on Channel 1). State television in general continued to enjoy a special status among Russian citizens: 65 percent of the respondents ranked national state television as “the most unbiased and reliable source of information,” compared with just 13 percent who gave the same ranking of reliability to national commercial television. Both national and local newspapers also were perceived as relatively biased and unreliable (18 percent and 20 percent, respectively).

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 33 In a survey conducted in 2004, media preferences in Russia had changed little.16 National television remained the most popular media outlet, with 82 percent of the respondents watching it routinely and an additional 13 percent watching it sometimes. Local television was slightly less popular than national television. Local newspapers remained slightly more popular than national newspapers (31 percent were routine readers of their local press versus 22 percent who were routine readers of the national press). Additional questions about how the respondents gathered political information also amplified the importance of television: 62 percent said they received news about politics every day from television, compared with 28 percent from radio and just 14 percent from newspapers. Preferences for the three main news programs were about the same: 75 percent said they watched Channel 1’s Vremya regularly, 62 percent watched Channel 2’s Vesti regularly, and 38 percent watched NTV’s Sevodnya regularly.17

Media content There are two significant trends in Russian media content, one linked to market forces and the other to political pressures.18 First, much like British tabloid newspapers, the Russian media often seek readership through sensationalist reporting. For example, some of the most popular newspapers in the country rely on tabloid-style reporting. In an appeal to populist tastes, more in-depth issues are often ignored or reported in superficial ways. By the same token, newspapers are providing an important public service if they print information that readers find useful or interesting, ranging from classified ads to announcements about local government appointments. To suggest a parallel to the broadcast medium, game shows, soap operas, true-crime drama and other entertainment programs may be deprecated as lacking in cultural or educational value, but they attract and entertain a large audience. While Russians often complain about how market forces have made media content less substantive, less cultural and more violent, they nonetheless watch these types of shows in fairly large numbers. Yet at the same time, the more serious news shows on the main channels attract a loyal viewership. The issues about content have less to do with concerns about entertainment value, however, although there were some complaints among focus-group participants in 2000 about an occasional flippant tone or attempt to make the news amusing or light. Rather, news and political content on every channel has become more and more biased since the foundation of the new Russian Federation in 1991. While there was originally a fair amount of plurality of opinions, even on television, that diversity has narrowed considerably since Putin was elected in 2000. For example, during the 1995 parliamentary elections, quantitative and qualitative analysis of media outlets showed that there were significant differences in the amount of coverage devoted to various parties on different channels. State-run ORT gave far more coverage to pro-state parties while NTV was much more balanced in its treatment of the political contenders (European Institute for the Media, February 1996; Helvey and Oates, 1997; Oates and Roselle, 2000). By 1999, the differences were even more marked and the

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political battle fought via the media far more acrimonious, as outrageous accusations and mud slinging became commonplace (European Institute for the Media, 2000; Oates, 2003). However, media observers have noted a far less diverse media environment since the forced change in ownership of NTV in 2001 and the closure of TV-6 in 2002 (Belin, 2002b; Committee to Project Journalists, 2002). Although diverse voices remain on television – and in the summer of 2005 it was the commercial REN-TV that was providing the most open political analysis – they grow weaker and harder to sustain.19 Although the battle lines are often most defined during elections, it is clear that Putin’s consolidation of the media will have a serious effect on coverage in general. Currently, there are no national television stations or major newspapers that would be able to counter the domination of the presidential administration. This is particularly critical in terms of the second Chechen war. In the first Chechen war (1994–6), ORT was forced to modify statements about Russian victories when challenged by pictures transmitted by NTV. For example, Ellen Mickiewicz (1999) pointed out that Yeltsin ordered an end to the bombing of the Chechen capital of Grozny on December 27, 1994, but NTV continued to show pictures of bombs hitting the city for more than a week later (p. 244). In addition, Russian authorities were unable to sanitize images of war, often fought against civilians and with atrocities practiced by both sides, as NTV could transmit back images that countered the government’s version of the war.20 Although NTV was under pressure from the government, particularly for its contacts with Chechen rebels, the government could not refute images of downtrodden Russian troops, maimed civilians, destroyed homes or Chechens demonstrating against the Russian occupation.21 By the start of the second Chechen war in 1999, NTV was still ready to build on its reputation for war reporting. Pressure, however, was starting to mount in the run up to the new presidential campaign. While there was still doubt about Yeltsin’s successor, NTV was able to support alternative presidential hopefuls (notably former Prime Minister Evgeny Primakov) and continue with relatively free reporting from the war zone. However, by the time Yeltsin had selected Putin as his successor and his victory was assured in the 2000 elections, NTV had far less latitude for aggressive war coverage. Eventually, even with careful controls to avoid problems with government officials over war coverage, NTV was forced into a change of ownership. As a result, the Russian public lacks an authoritative, Russian source that can provide relatively unbiased information about the war. Rather, they have to rely on the Russian government to provide updates. While prestigious international organizations, including the United Nations and Amnesty International, have complained about atrocities in the current conflict in Chechnya, they have gone relatively unreported in Russia or in media from other countries. In Russia, there is no support at the governmental level for free reporting from the war zone. For media from other countries, the war zone has become too dangerous and difficult, with journalists facing grave risks from both sides in the conflict (Lupis with Kishkovsky, 2005). Also, it is a civil war, making it that much more difficult for the international community to intervene or mediate in the conflict.

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 35

The fate of media oligarchs Two particularly dominant media oligarchs, Vladimir Gusinsky and Boris Berezovsky, emerged in the post-Soviet era. Gusinsky’s Media Most group, which was involved in banking and other enterprises, built a media empire that spanned the NTV television company, a network of regional television companies, the prestigious Echo of Moscow radio station and the Seven Days Publishing House. The publishing house included the influential Sevodnya (Today) newspaper and Itogi (Results) magazine.22 The Media Most group outlets had some of the most Westernized look and appeal of the new Russian media and, at times, adhered to libertarian principles. For example, election coverage has been generally more balanced and professional on NTV’s main news program than in the state-run broadcast media (European Institute for the Media, February 1996, March 2000, August 2000; Helvey and Oates, 1998; Oates and Roselle, 2000). The NTV channel’s flagship news program Sevodnya has led the Russian media industry in terms of format and style. In particular, NTV was the news industry leader in reporting on the complexities, problems and atrocities of the first Chechen war. Yet Media Most and Gusinsky’s commitment to journalistic integrity was sporadic, although there are compelling arguments that disinterested service to the public would have been impossible in the nascent Russian state. Gusinsky’s company won the bid for the television license because of close ties with the Yeltsin administration, gaining a very valuable asset for a token payment. From its inception, NTV was tied to the interests of the state, although the station proved it could act and report relatively independently in the first Chechen war. However, by the presidential elections of 1996, Media Most was willing for the NTV television station and its other media outlets to be co-opted into a conspiracy to support Yeltsin’s faltering bid for re-election. NTV dropped its criticism of the Yeltsin regime and deliberately avoided reporting on Yeltsin’s serious health problems, including a heart attack, during the presidential campaign (Helvey and Oates, 1998; Mickiewicz, 1999; Oates and Roselle, 2000; Zassoursky, 2004). According to Gusinsky, the reason for the overt propaganda was the quite real threat that communist contender Gennady Zyuganov could win the election. In fact, Zyuganov came very close to Yeltsin in the first round, winning 32 percent to Yeltsin’s 35 percent of the popular vote.23 NTV executives justified the station’s distorted election coverage as a necessary action in order to prevent Russia from being taken over again by the Communist Party. In the end, Yeltsin won handily in the second round with 54 percent of the vote to Zyuganov’s 40 percent.24 Media Most outlets became progressively more politicized, although its opposition eventually crystallized against the Yeltsin administration. During the 1999–2000 election cycle, the station provided coverage that was slanted toward Yeltsin’s opponents (European Institute for the Media, February 1996, March 2000, August 2000; Oates and Roselle, 2000). However, NTV’s coverage was noticeably more professional and objective than that of state-run television, particularly ORT’s sycophantic coverage of Putin and smear campaign against opponents of him and his regime. Within a year of Putin’s election, the central

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government began a selective application of the financial law against NTV. The demarcation between financial, personal and political battles is difficult to draw in Russia, although it is clear that all of these elements can have an influence (see Zassoursky, 2004, for an insider’s view of much of the conflict among the journalistic elite, for example). It is clear, however, that the reporting on the sinking of the Kursk submarine in 2000, the awkward handling of the situation by Putin and the defensive posturing on the part of the military that stymied rescue efforts hit a nerve with the Putin administration (Barany, 2004; Hale et al., 2004). The attack on NTV included raids by armed tax police and, eventually, the arrest of Gusinsky on charges of money laundering and tax evasion. Gusinsky was forced to leave the country and control of the Media Most group passed to investors who were friendlier to Putin’s policies. Much of the well-known NTV news team quit and migrated to the second-largest commercial television station (TV-6), which was later closed by government officials after a series of financial problems and turned into a sports channel. As Lipmann and McFaul note, “the Kremlin’s successful campaign to eliminate critical content from the Media Most media outlets without actually eliminating the media outlets themselves represents the latest and perhaps most consequential phase of consolidating managed democracy in Russia” (p. 1). Russia’s other prominent media investor was Boris Berezovsky, former Executive Secretary of the CIS and Deputy Secretary of Russia’s Security Council. By 1999, Berezovsky had acquired a large stake in the ORT television company as well as in commercial television station TV-6, a radio station, the National News Service and several publications including the national Nezavisimaya Gazeta (Independent Newspaper) and Kommersant (Businessman). Berezovsky’s media empire also supported Yeltsin during his difficult re-election campaign in 1996. Unlike Gusinsky, however, Berezovsky remained close to Putin as well. In addition, Berezovsky sought political power in his own right, running for and winning a Duma seat from an obscure region in 1999. However, Berezovsky came into conflict with Putin soon after the 2000 presidential elections, particularly for his plans to compete for power with the president.25 In another series of selectively applied financial laws, Berezovsky was stripped of his controlling interests in ORT and lost control of TV-6 as well. As with Gusinsky, Berezovsky found his privileged position – and ability to amass a personal fortune as well as substantial political power – lasted only as long as the presidential patronage. By the summer of 2002, both Gusinsky and Berezovsky were forced to live abroad, Gusinsky in Israel and Berezovsky in the United Kingdom.26 On August 25, 2003, Gusinsky was arrested in an Athens airport on charges of $250 million fraud brought by the Russian government but escaped extradition. The Russian government also attempted to extradite Berezovsky from Britain in the fall of 2003 on charges of fraud involving bulk car sales in the mid-1990s, but the Russian oligarch was granted asylum by the British government. As a result of the high-profile arrest, subsequent exile and further legal pursuit of the two major media oligarchs, other media owners and investors are now very aware of their vulnerability. By setting this example, the Putin administration has

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 37 made it clear it will selectively apply the tax code and other laws to silence and even shut down media outlets that consistently oppose the presidential line. Thus, Russia retains mixed ownership of media outlets, from tiny regional newspapers to vast national television channels, but there is now virtually complete state control.27

Violence, bribery and the problems of the journalistic profession in Russia As noted above, in recent years Russia has become one of the most dangerous places in the world to work as a journalist. Part of this is due to the war in Chechnya and the dangers for journalists in a guerilla war. What is particularly troublesome about violence against journalists in Chechnya, however, is that Russian and other reporters are at risk of being detained or shot by both the Chechen and the Russian forces. Although some journalists died in the violence of the first Chechen war, there was respect for the international norm of safe passage for war correspondents (to a degree) from both the Russian and Chechen forces between 1994 and 1996. In the current conflict, however, both sides have shown little interest in preserving the life or liberty of journalists. The Committee to Protect Journalists reports that seven journalists have been shot in Chechnya since 1999 (including in crossfire and by targeted killings blamed on Chechen forces) and armed groups have kidnapped five during the same time period (Lupis with Kishkovsky, p. 26). Violence against journalists and even their death must be expected in a war zone. However, violence against journalists that includes murder has become relatively common throughout Russia. There have been several high-profile assassinations of top journalists or media executives, in particular the slaying of popular television personality and Channel 1 head Vladimir Listyev in 1995 and the murder of Dmitri Kholodov, who was killed by booby-trapped explosives in a briefcase in 1994. Kholodov, who was investigating corruption in the military, was a reporter for the prominent Moscow newspaper Moskovskii Komsomolets (Moscow Young Communist) at the time of this death. In addition, there have been a spate of murders in the regions, in particular of journalists who have challenged corrupt administrations of local elites.28 Among those killed have been Paul Klebnikov, the American-born editor of Forbes Russia who was gunned down outside his office in Moscow in July 2004; Alexander Efremov, a photojournalist working in Chechnya for a Tyumen newspaper; and Artem Borovik, a well-known investigative journalist and owner of the Top Secret news magazine, who died in a mysterious small-plane crash with eight others. Igor Domnikov, a correspondent for the Moscow-based liberal newspaper The New Newspaper (Novaya Gazeta) died after being attacked with a hammer on a Moscow street. The president of a Smolensk radio station was slain by four shots at close range on the stairs to his apartment after reports on the corruption of a local official on his radio station. The Center for Journalism in Extreme Situations believes that the death toll of journalists actually will fall as media freedom decreases and fewer journalists are

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willing to risk reporting objectively, particularly on corruption, crime and Chechnya.29 The International Federation of Journalists identified a dozen Russian journalists who had been killed between the beginning of 2000 and mid-2003.30 Even on a non-violent level, the journalistic profession in Russia remains extremely vulnerable. Journalism veterans perceive a split in the profession. Some analysts feel that older journalists, who trained and started work in the Soviet era, are more determined to protect media freedom (Belin, 2002b). However, younger journalists are often more ready to merge the notion of business and journalism. Thus, some feel both old and young journalists “accept the political function of journalism as a propaganda machine for the power elite during elections and other important events” (Pasti, 2005, p. 89). In particular, Russian newspapers can be very blatant, running “secret advertising” for parties or candidates, that is, flattering articles that are paid for by parties or candidates but not marked as advertising. In addition, the secret advertisements are often written and by-lined by members of the regular staff of journalists (European Institute for the Media, March 2000). Although journalists are understandably reluctant to discuss bribery, former journalists and industry observers claim it is rampant.31 There is ample evidence to suggest this, although it clearly would be more problematic at a large, influential television station than at a small newspaper. Nonetheless, the problem of individual bribery from politicians or businessmen for favorable coverage is relatively minor compared with the lack of commitment to either a libertarian or socially responsible media. As in Soviet times, the media in Russia continue, for the most part, to work in the service of particular political and financial masters. Most journalists appear to accept this, continuing with the notion of the internal censor from the Soviet era. They either do not seek out or merely ignore stories that would disturb their sponsors, such as atrocities committed by Russian troops in the Chechen war or misappropriation of state funds in the privatization of Russian industry. In addition, all editorial content will be filtered to reflect a particular worldview. Thus, it is not only avoiding tackling important issues in society, but it is ordering the news in such a way that frames it in the best possible light for the political and financial masters. As a result, the news becomes more slanted and even sycophantic in a disturbing echo of the Soviet style, even while professional standards appear to have improved in terms of news-gathering and presentation. While news is becoming “more factual, more timely and broader in the selection of topics,” there is also a “high degree of subjective evaluations indicating the persistence of the historical legacy of Russian journalism” (Voltmer, 2000, p. 469). In fact, journalists who emulate Western standards of balance and objectivity can be perceived as “robots” by their colleagues (Voltmer, 2000, p. 478) and press freedom is often understood “primarily as the freedom to express subjective convictions publicly” (p. 479). In many ways, it is unfair to blame Russian journalists for the lack of openness, balance or fairness in their media. They have little financial or legal support; rather the financial and legal systems have been used to virtually eliminate independent coverage. Most journalists are poorly paid, making them both

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 39 vulnerable to bribes and worried about keeping their jobs. If they choose to take an independent line, in most cases they would quickly lose their jobs at any rate, rendering any attempts at more entrepreneurial coverage moot. There is evidence of retribution for reporting out of line with the wishes of the Kremlin. It is important, however, to realize that the situation is more complex than straight censorship. For example, Izvestiya editor Raf Shakirov was dismissed on September 6, 2004, after his paper provided extensive coverage of the terrorist attack on the school in Beslan, including questions about whether security forces mismanaged the response to the attack. In addition, the newspaper questioned Putin’s leadership in the crisis. In an interview with Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty’s Russian Service, however, Shakirov said it was the newspaper’s decision to run large, disturbing photographs of victims on the pages of its September 4, 2004, edition that led to his dismissal (Fitzpatrick, 2004). Thus, it is difficult to say whether it was the offense to Putin or to what many Russians would feel was an offense to decency – particularly as there had been a call for restraint on graphic images – that led to the editor’s dismissal. It is another example of pressure on divergent voices in the Russian media. While it can be difficult to isolate exactly who called for the dismissal of the editor, it does illustrate that a lack of media accountability and professionalism can facilitate the ability of the government to step in with more drastic interventions and legislation. Journalists in all countries are constrained from disinterested service to the public by a number of factors. In a market-based or libertarian system such as in the United States, journalists are under considerable pressure to produce stories that will attract an audience for advertisers. There is compelling evidence that market-based media systems not only ignore the needs of disempowered groups such as minorities or children, but also distort and sensationalize news such as school shootings or gang violence until many citizens are left with a skewed notion of the problems facing American society (e.g. see Iyengar, 1991; Patterson, 1993). On the other hand, the social responsibility model that is exemplified by British public television can lead to television that emphasizes the desire for social order over the need for truth and objectivity. In both systems, viewers and readers lose certain access to information, but at least their needs are taken into account (albeit differently) in the dissemination of news and other programming. In the Russian media system, the needs of the political and economic sponsors of the media outlet predominate over any notion of a liberal or socially responsible media. As a result, the public is left with media determined to distort facts to fit the needs of media sponsors. What does this mean in terms of content? The most systematic studies of content in the Russian media have taken place during election campaigns. Content studies, particularly of television, are difficult because of problems with collecting, archiving and coding the output. Yet, using evidence from the campaign news studies, viewing over the past decade and analytical discussions in Russia, two clear trends in news content emerge in Russia. First, the news in major media outlets has become increasingly slanted and biased toward the station sponsor or owner. Thus, the Vremya news program has become increasingly

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pro-presidential, while the Moscow-funded TV-Center has become more vocal in defending the interests of Moscow Mayor Yuri Luzhkov and his administration.32 The second trend is increasingly vitriolic attacks on the enemies of the media outlet sponsors/owners, particularly during the 1999 parliamentary elections. As journalists in Russia point out, it is difficult to remain above the fray once the cycle of biased and abusive reporting begins. Much as in the British tabloid newspaper market, news outlets need to meet sensational reports with their own fantastical scoops. And while many in the audience decry smear tactics, still more are fascinated by it and watch in large numbers. As one news outlet smears one official, another rushes to defend “their” official with counterclaims, dragging the level of coverage and the responsibility of the journalism down still further.33 This cycle of mudslinging and kompromat peaked in the 1999–2000 election cycle, as the lack of challenges to the Kremlin authority in the 2003–4 cycle meant less drastic measures were used.

Entertainment Economic constraints have dictated content of entertainment and other non-news programming to a certain degree in Russia. During the glasnost era and in the earlier days of the Russian Federation, inexpensive Western imports proved enormously popular. For example, the Mexican soap opera The Rich Also Cry was a big hit. In addition, other outdated American classics such as the evening soap Santa Barbara and Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman have appeared on Russian screens. According to information from analysts by Internews in Russia, the country has a vibrant broadcast industry, with the production of more than 100 new films by Russian directors shown on Russian television in the past year as well as many new serials.34 Even when Russian television imports a format such as Big Brother or The Nanny, viewers will see original twists and formats. At the same time, there are local productions that focus on patriotic themes, such as programs with positive spins on the work of the army and the police. Yet, while Russian television showcases the work of burgeoning and dynamic producers, there is no place for contentious news programs that challenge the authority of the Kremlin. In the 2001 survey, the two most popular television shows (rated as favorites by the respondents) were Field of Wonders (45 percent) and the KVN variety show (42 percent). While Field of Wonders is a Russified version of a Western game show, it is interesting that a homegrown variety show continues to enjoy great popularity.35 The other most popular shows on Russian television were listed as a mix of Western imports and Russian favorites, including You’re The Director, a soap opera called Wait for Me, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, My Family, World of Animals and Travel Club (30 percent or more of the respondents listed these as among their favorite shows).36 There is less interest, but still a substantial following for the true crime/action genre: 20 percent of the respondents said Catastrophe of the Week was a favorite, while 19 percent listed Highway Patrol.

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 41

The Russian media in comparative context The fusion of economic and political controls that allows elites to manipulate a media system is not unique to Russia. For example, in a chapter entitled “Media in South America: Between the Rock of the State and the Hard Place of the Market,” Silvio Waisbord points out that while many South American governments have abandoned direct control of the media, they now can concentrate economic resources and policy decisions in ways that are “vital” for media companies. In addition, governments can manipulate “highly prized” information for journalists. In turn, media organizations have made important denunciations about official wrongdoings, but “remain largely oblivious to issues of wealth concentration and social inequalities.” Governments continue with the historic pattern of cronyism, managing the news and legal maneuvers to intimidate news organizations and journalists who take an independent line (all from p. 60). The question, however, is more complex than simply the control of journalists and editors or even the direct manipulation of their output. Even within the relatively closed system of the Soviet Union, censors had to work within the bounds of reality. Thus, they could not claim that every Soviet citizen had a two-bedroom apartment or a car; clearly the Soviet audience would know that to be an outrageous lie. Rather, the discourse could safely lie within the language of plans, goals and Communist Party achievements; a rhetoric that stretched the truth and did not allow for discussion yet encouraged people to build on a sense of Soviet nationhood and pride. The link between the mass media and state building in the Soviet Union was clear. The mass media, particularly television, served as a critical tool for education and motivation of the Soviet population. It is not surprising that the same patterns would hold in post-Soviet Russia. It is their very influence that no doubt incited such rapid change and disillusionment with the Soviet leaders in the late 1980s. Yet the Soviet media did not start this challenge; rather it originated with directives from the CPSU itself. If the ability of the mass media, and particularly television, to effect change is recognized, it is also a cause for concern. Bennett (1998) argues that the revolutions of 1989 in Eastern Europe would suggest that “free media systems are much better at bringing down authoritarian regimes than they are at later sustaining stable, participatory democracies . . . . This global net of news, propaganda, consumer advertising, music and entertainment can inspire resistance and outpourings of public pressure, exposing the fragility of seemingly iron-clad centralized states” (p. 195). Can the same media that spark change then consolidate citizens? The answer to this question would appear to be no in the case of Russia, as there was no central point around which to consolidate citizens. After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, even the appearance of societal consensus about the direction of the country quickly eroded. Media freedom was first limited in the wake of the illegal shutdown of the Parliament in 1993. Voices against marketization and for a return to a Communist, or at least socialist, state were not seriously aired in the mainstream media. After a brief plurality in the media during the 1995 Duma elections and the first Chechen war, in large part due to

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From Soviet to post-Soviet media

the presence of a strong national commercial television station, the range of voices and opinions in the media has narrowed steadily. Respondents in focus groups in 2000 were less upset about the loss of plurality than the political and economic chaos in which they had to survive. As such, while many recognized the shortcomings of their media, they were prepared to trade information for stability, choice for calm, the messiness of democracy for the predictability of an authoritarian regime. This leaves the journalist in a post-Soviet country in a particularly vulnerable state. If he or she reports on the very real conflicts of opinion within the elites and indeed the masses, he or she runs the risk of contributing to the destabilization of the nation. On the other hand, if the mass media choose to champion a particular leader, party, policy, cause or ideology, they run the risk of alienating a large part of their audience or simply failing in their job to inform rather than indoctrinate. There is the middle ground, a system in which media outlets choose to support a range of causes. In this way, the audience can be informed by choosing to watch, listen or read a range of media sources. For example, the Kremlin generally has relied on the support on Channel 1. The Communist Party of the Russian Federation has had little influence on the broadcast channels, but has had the support of newspapers. Moscow Mayor Luzhkov has a television station funded by the city of Moscow, while commercial outlets such as NTV have tended to air the views of pro-market politicians. Another important factor in considering the nature of the media in the post-Soviet environment is the lack of a civic infrastructure. As Bennett (2000) points out: What is seldom acknowledged in public discourse following these celebrated regime changes is democracy requires social networks and political filtering organizations – whether parties, unions or other social institutions – to anchor and deliberate about the political communication received from suddenly distant and noisy channels. Thus we encounter the possibility that free political communication exerts an often discouraging effect at the next stage of building democratic institutions. (pp. 201–2) Thus, with a “lack of social contexts and community forums,” the political discourse often becomes volatile and personalized, according to Bennett (p. 202), “with political messages appealing to wide-ranging . . . emotions that lack social accountability.” In these conditions parties will “proliferate beyond any capacity to bring order to legislation and executives” while political advantage “quickly devolves to those with the resources to buy media and to hire communication consultants to create message content. Discontent is mobilized. Dialogue is discouraged. Noise reigns supreme.” Bennett has offered a good description of the situation in Russia. The analysis in this book seeks to see patterns in that “noise,” to establish whether conceptualization about parties, the media, elections and voters can be generalized under these circumstances.

From Soviet to post-Soviet media 43

Conclusions This chapter has addressed the first two parts of the three-part model described in Chapter 1 (media environment and content) and discussed the nature of the audience to a degree. The beginning of this book has examined a range of factors in the media environment in Russia, including the political background, legal aspects, ownership, patterns of use, the fate of media oligarchs and violence against journalists. While this chapter has discussed content in a general way, a systematic study of content, including quantitative measures of nightly news campaign coverage over several elections, will be addressed in Chapters 5, 6 and 9. What emerges from this study of the media environment in Russia are several significant barriers to the development of a free, disinterested media in the service of the public. There is no tradition of a free media in the Soviet Union or the Russian Federation. The brief plurality of opinions, now far less vibrant, was more a function of the struggle among political leaders than an interest in political dialogue. Media law, while seeming to provide basic guarantees of freedom of speech, in fact is often used to control media outlets that differ with public officials rather than guarantee the dissemination of information. Journalists are attacked or even murdered, sometimes in mysterious circumstances and other times directly in the line of duty. Against a background of poor legal protection and violence, financing and ownership of the media remain problematic as well. While the state provides some subsidies, it also demands that media outlets toe the state line, particularly that of the presidential administration. However, even state television outlets with funding face shortfalls in revenue and also must depend on advertising, making them prey to influence from the commercial sector as well. The interference of owners spills into the commercial media sector. Although the law technically requires that an owner not interfere in the editorial practices of a mass media outlet, in fact the opposite is true. While some commercial media (notably NTV) have shown higher professional standards and more interest in civic duty than state-run television, the commercial media also have been known to put political and business needs before the obligation to inform the public. At the same time, however, that these worrying trends in media control emerge in Russia, interest in the media – especially television – remains high. As a result, Russian citizens rely on a media system for information, but this media system provides only a distorted image of their society. The next chapter (Chapter 3) will discuss the paradoxes and problems the audience perceive with this flawed, albeit beloved media system.

3

“You watch in pain” Focus-group findings about television viewing

Russians often are not happy with the news provided by television, but it is not the bias and lack of objectivity that makes them particularly concerned. Rather, focus groups in three Russian cities suggest that many are weary of the relentless negativity of the news and often yearn for the measured, optimistic tone of Soviet television. While Western observers perceive a lack of media freedom, Russians often are more troubled by violence and chaos. Rather than increase openness on the news, many Russians would prefer that television fulfill the role of “Big Brother,” with an emphasis on information control rather than freedom of speech. These distinctive findings lend support to the notion that this post-Soviet audience has conceptions, feelings and reactions to the media that are distinct from audiences in other societies. In a series of 24 focus groups held just before and after the March 2000 presidential elections, complaints about the dark tone of the Russian news – which was tending to mirror the dire economic and social conditions in the country – were not the only surprising results from the focus groups. In many of the discussions, the 191 participants showed a curious duality: Although they were aware of bias on state and commercial television, they were not overly concerned about it. Rather, they expected that they would have to use a personal filter for the news, one that they had developed to a highly sophisticated capacity during the Soviet era. While they were often cynical about politicians and their broadcast images, at the same time they admitted that television influenced their ideas about parties and candidates. Overall it became clear that Western ideas about the role of the media in politics, particularly the concepts used to understand campaign effects during elections, need to be viewed through a post-Soviet lens. Conversely, this analysis of the preferences and ideas of a Russian television audience can show just how diverse and complex a variable an audience can be in a dynamic model of the media’s role in society. This study used focus groups to examine attitudes toward the media, inspired by earlier work (Mickiewicz, 1999) in which focus groups offered useful illumination on Russian attitudes toward the media. A number of studies have used public-opinion surveys in an attempt to elucidate attitudes about free media in Russia, but in general the questions reflect the Westernized assumption that free speech is more valuable than a controlled media to an audience. As a result,

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while many surveys captured the lack of support for free speech, it was hard to understand the more nuanced relationship between citizens and the media in Russia. The focus groups conducted in the spring of 2000 in Moscow, in a rural hamlet near Voronezh (about 270 miles southeast of Moscow) and in Ulyanovsk (about 550 miles east of Moscow) were designed to address this problem.1 Half the focus groups took place just before the 2000 presidential elections and the other half immediately after the contest. The questions for the focus groups were designed to target themes that had become apparent during fieldwork, particularly during media monitoring for the 1999 Russian parliamentary elections by the European Institute for the Media.2 Although many researchers have asked questions about the media in Russia, the results were often puzzling or unhelpful. There was often the assumption on the part of researchers that there would be a natural interest in media freedom, but there was little attention paid to issues of national pride and the mass media. As a result, it was decided to ask more open-ended questions.3 The focus groups were designed to last about two hours and have eight participants each. After a brief introduction, the moderator would ask the participants about their general views on the media.4 Participants were asked to define the role of the mass media, discuss how it had changed in the past 5–10 years and what they felt were the main issues in media coverage. Participants were then quizzed about their television viewing habits and what they felt made a good television program. In addition, they were asked (albeit more briefly) about radio and newspapers. The focus group also covered the concepts of media independence, how the media might influence their vote and, more specifically, the impressions of the focus-group participants about the media in the presidential elections. The focus groups were split into four age ranges (up to 25 years old, 26–35 years old, 36–49 years and 50 years old and over) so that the older members would not dominate all of the discussion.5 Participants were pre-screened to make sure they paid at least some attention to the media. The three different locations for the focus groups were selected to obtain some degree of variation in underlying demographics. Moscow was picked up as the wealthiest and most urban part of the country, in addition to being the capital city. By the same token, it was important to hear views from the hinterlands, given that only a minority of the population (albeit the most powerful and wealthy segment) lives in Moscow.6 The Voronezh region was selected as representative of the impoverished part of central Russia, where support for the former communist ideals was relatively strong. Ulyanovsk, an urban center southeast of Moscow, was selected as a somewhat typical regional location that is struggling with the new economic and political challenges of the post-Soviet regime. The distinctions among the regions include variations in voting patterns, life expectancy, employment and standard-of-living indicators such as running water and telephones in the home. A snapshot of the differing political and socio-economic characteristics of each of the three regions is provided below (please see Table 3.1). In addition, there was fairly recent work on the media in both of these areas that could be used to put the findings in context.7 These locations cannot provide a true cross-section of the regional and ethnic divisions among people in the Russian Federation, but

Table 3.1 Political and social characteristics of Moscow City, Ulyanovsk region and Voronezh region Political characteristics

City of Moscow (%)

Ulyanovsk (%)

Voronezh (%)

Voted yes for 1993 Constitution Pro-government support in Duma party-list vote (1993) Pro-government support in Duma party-list vote (1995) Pro-government support in Duma party-list vote (1999) Average of communist vote in Duma party-list vote, 1993–9 Vote for Yeltsin 1996 (second round) Vote for Communist leader Gennady Zyuganov 1996 (second round) Vote for Putin 2000 Vote for Zyuganov 2000

70 42

51 18

45 16

20

5

10

18

31

38

13

32

26

54 12

26 39

25 40

46 19

47 38

56 32

Notes For pro-government vote, the following parties were used: Russia’s Choice ⫹ Party of Russian Unity and Accord (1993); Our Home is Russia ⫹ the Ivan Rybkin Bloc (1995); Unity ⫹ Union of Right Forces (1999). The coding of these parties as pro-government is based on Oates 1998b as well as my additional research into party platforms for the 1999 elections. Communist vote is operationalized as votes for the Communist Party of the Russian Federation, with the addition of votes for Working Russia for the Soviet Union in 1995. Voting results were taken from the following sources published by the Central Election Commission of the Russian Federation: Byulleten’ Tsentral’noi Izbiratel’noi Komissii Rossiiskoi Federatsii No. 1 (12), 1994; Vybory Deputatov Gosudarstvennoi Dumy 1995; Vestnik Tsentral’noi Izbiratel’noi Komissii Rossiiskoi Federatsii No. 14 (34), 1996; No. 16 (36), 1996; and No. 17 (37), 1996; Vybory Gosudarstvennoi Dumy Federal’novo Sobraniya Rossiiskoi Federatsii 1999; Vybory Prezidenta Rossiiskoi Federatsii 2000.

Socio-economic characteristics

Moscow

Ulyanovsk

Voronezh

Region

Capital city

Volga

Population, 1989 Ethnic Russian, 1989 Income per person, thousands of rubles, 1995 Working population with higher education, 1995 Employed in industry, 1994 Employed in agriculture, 1994 Male life expectancy, 1994 Female life expectancy, 1994 Infant mortality per thousand births, 1993 Population receiving pensions, 1995 Crimes reported per 100,000 people 14 or older, 1994 Murders and attempted murders per 100,000 people 14 or older, 1995 Homes with running water, 1995 Homes with telephones, 1995

9 million 87% 691 38%

1.4 million 73% 147 14%

Central Black Earth 2.5 million 93% 128 20%

20% 0% 57 years 72 years 16 26% 1,283

32% 16% 60 years 73 years 22 24% 1,506

27% 19% 60 years 74 years 17 30% 1,574

24

25

12

100% 92%

87% 26%

72% 38%

Notes Most of these figures were gathered from several publications of the State Committee of the Russian Federation on Statistics (Goskomstat). Figures on population and percent ethnic Russian are from Rossiiskii Statisticheskii Ezhegodnik 1994, income and higher education of workers from Rossiiskii Statisticheskii Ezhegodnik 1996; agricultural and industrial employment from Svravnitel’nye Pokazateli Ekonomicheskovo Polozheniya Regionov Rossiiskoi Federatsii, presumed 1995; life expectancy from Demograficheskii Ezhegodnik Rossii, 1995; infant mortality from Sem’ya v Rossiiskoi Federatsii, 1994; pensions, telephones and running water are from Uroven’ Zhizni Naseleniya Rossii, 1996. The figures on murder and crime are from Prestupnost’ i Pravonarusheniya 1996, published in Moscow by the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the Russian Federation and the Ministry of Justice of the Russian Federation by the Inter-governmental Statistical Committee of Cooperative Independent Governments, 1997. All of these volumes are held in the Politics Department of the University of Glasgow. Note that the income figures are from before the ruble devaluation and are most useful as a comparison across the regions only.

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were an attempt to lessen the reliance often found in post-Soviet studies on people in Moscow and St Petersburg for in-depth interviews. These focus groups took place toward the end of the era of relatively free media in Russia, making them an interesting body of evidence in the failure of media freedom to take root in the country. At this time, a year before the forced change in ownership of NTV, the commercial television channel still provided clear opposition to the Kremlin’s attempt to monopolize power. While the station showed its own pattern of bias (discussed in more detail in Chapters 5 and 6), it was a powerful voice that could and did challenge an information hegemony by the presidential apparatus. Just over a year later, the broadcast landscape – and in turn the mass media in general – changed dramatically when this voice was effectively muzzled. As a survey in 2003–4 shows, viewership and reliance on NTV as an information source declined a great deal (discussed in Chapter 9). Thus, these focus groups show the thoughts and feelings of a group of Russians before this opportunity was taken away, which provides important evidence in explaining why there was no significant public outcry or protest over the government strategy to silence the strongest criticism on television regarding the president, the Chechen war and other key issues in Russia.

The findings While the focus-group respondents tended to be more attentive to the media than the general public as a whole, their patterns of use were not markedly different from those measured in the April 2001 survey. Perhaps some of the most surprising comments in the focus groups related to trust in the media as they discussed their preferences for state-run ORT and commercial NTV. Participants would often remark that they trusted a certain channel more than the channel they habitually watched. “It is a paradox,” said Anatoli Viktorovitch, a 54-year-old office worker from Voronezh. “I prefer NTV but I watch ORT more.” He was certainly not alone. When the focus-group participants were asked about channel preference and trust, they often said they trusted NTV more than any other channel, but did not necessarily pick it as their preferred channels for news, favorite channel for analysis or even their most-favored channel overall. For example, participants in a Moscow focus group (between 36 and 49 years old) put NTV in first place as having the most truthful news (pravdivye novosti), yet it was only in second place as their favorite for short news bulletins (korotkie novosti). They did rank NTV as first for analytical programs, with TV-6 and TV-Center tied for second and ORT and RTR tied for third. In another Moscow group for the same age range, four participants reported that they trusted NTV completely. None of the participants in that group said they trusted ORT, RTR or any other major channel completely. There was a wider spread of trust in other groups (including in a Moscow group for people 50 and older). In an Ulyanovsk group for those between 26 and 35 years old, six respondents said they preferred NTV and seven said they trusted it completely. The one respondent (Irina) who said she trusted NTV while at the same time preferring ORT pointed out that it was Sergei Dorenko’s show that attracted her to the first channel.8

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“You watch in pain”

Outside of Moscow, however, there seemed to be more trust in ORT and less in NTV. In a Voronezh focus group (ages 26–35), the respondents reported trust (doverie) only in ORT, although just two of them picked ORT and four selected NTV as their preferred channel. This is the same syndrome, that is people watching a channel that they do not trust, but in reverse. Meanwhile in another Voronezh group (ages 36–49), seven respondents said they trusted RTR and two said they trusted ORT, but no one said they trusted NTV. More people watched and trusted ORT in a Voronezh group for the oldest participants as well. While discussing trust in television channels, Sergei (a 30-year-old scientist from Ulyanovsk) said it was hard to judge, for example, whether people such as Dorenko on ORT were telling the truth about Mayor Yuri Luzhkov’s exploits because “we don’t live in Moscow, we don’t know about this.” But why not watch the channel that you trust the most? When asked about their viewing habits and trust, the respondents said that other factors outweighed trust when it came to deciding what to watch. While some were ready to admit that NTV seemed to be free from government influences, they did not like what they perceived as the faster pace of its news coverage or objected to certain announcers. There was also the argument that while perhaps ORT was not more trustworthy, it was more authoritative, which is also important. In fact, many aspects of ORT, particularly the longer length of its news segments, make it more similar to Soviet-era newscasts than NTV.9 Others put it down to habit or a preference for a particular program. Still other respondents could not seem to articulate their reasons, even sounding surprised with themselves once they stopped to consider the matter. The researchers found this conflict between preference and trust so interesting that it was introduced as a question on the public-opinion survey for this project (discussed in depth in Chapter 8). Viewing habits among the participants also seemed to reflect the tactics of the Soviet period of obtaining and comparing as many sources of news as possible. For example, it was quite common for the respondents to say that they would compare news coverage of an event on different television channels and, if it were an item of interest, they would then look for news about it on the radio and in newspapers. In fact, the Russian television schedule is perfectly designed for this. Instead of prime-time news shows that compete in the same time slot (as in the United States), the main daily news is staggered on each channel. In 2000, starting at 8 p.m., Russians could tune in to main evening news on RTR, switch over to ORT at 9 p.m. for Vremya and then on to NTV for the Sevodnya news show at 10 p.m. By 2000, Sunday evenings offered a veritable marathon of political discussion shows in the evenings in the place of the daily news. Once again, viewers could start with the bearded, urbane Nikolai Svanidze on RTR at 8 p.m., move to the more aggressive tactics of Sergei Dorenko on ORT and finish with the suave, but passionate Evgeny Kiselyev on NTV at 10 p.m. The focus-group participants seemed relatively complacent about the difference in coverage among state television, commercial television, domestic radio, foreign radio and newspapers of all descriptions. Rather, they often seemed to expect that media outlets would follow the interests of their sponsors, be that the

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Russian government, a foreign government or the commercial owner, in reporting the news. It was up to the listener, viewer or reader to compile his or her own version from contrasting or incomplete reports. As a result, new words such as “to surf ” (volnat’) the channels and “PR” (rendered as piar in Russian, a Russification of the English initials) were in common use among the focus-group participants. More ominously, words such as kompromat, an abbreviation for “compromising materials”, and “black PR” (chernyi piar) were quite common in Russian speech by that time as well. As they surf, how do Russians perceive the differences among the various media outlets? Studies, including those by the author and by the European Institute for the Media, have shown that various media outlets tend to pursue the interests of their sponsors, whether they are powerful businessmen or politicians. This tendency was most marked in the 1999 parliamentary elections, when TV-Center (Channel 3) devoted 71 percent of its news coverage to a national party co-led by Mayor Luzhkov (European Institute for the Media, March 2000, p. 37). Not surprisingly, TV-Center is funded primarily by the Moscow City administration. In general, ORT (Channel 1) and RTR (Channel 2) were supporting the presidential administration’s line, while TV-Center favored that of the Moscow administration during the 1999 elections. Of the national channels, that left only NTV and TV-6 to support differing views, although TV-6 had relatively little news or current affairs programming during the 1999 elections. Analytical programs, which generally feature interviews of politicians and discussion of current affairs, tend to mirror the political line of a station most closely. Studies of news programming over several elections show that this type of bias appears on the nightly news as well, in terms of both the amount of time devoted to various subjects and, increasingly, the tone of that coverage (European Institute for the Media, March 2000, August 2000; Oates and Roselle, 2000). The question is, are Russian viewers aware that television channels have particular slants? And does this bother them? The answers to those questions seem to be “yes” to the first and “not particularly” to the second: Just now on television, compared with television ten years ago, it has become more democratic, more varied, there are more channels, but each channel has its own censor, its own definite opinion, its own definite problems. (Alena, 33, a secretary from Moscow) It is all the same facts, it is just twisted to different sides. (Rustam, 21, an engineer from Moscow) If you don’t like what’s on one channel, pick another. (Vladimir, 24, an engineer from Moscow) Several focus-group participants used the expression “he who pays the piper calls the tune,” but there appeared to be little outrage about this. After all, as one participant said, how could any media outlet be unbiased? Isn’t it better to expect and understand the particular bias of a channel? One can always switch the channel and receive

50

“You watch in pain”

another point of view. It is up to the individual to figure out “where there are truths and where there are lies,” said Oleg, a 31-year-old in the militia near Voronezh. It isn’t an easy task, as another respondent pointed out in a Moscow group: If I have time then I try to watch various channels in order to compare what they are saying. Sometimes they repeat themselves, sometimes they say completely opposed things and sometimes you find something in the middle. Like they say, in between the lines, in between the words, you can find what is really going on. Only it is difficult. (Svetlana Ivanovna, 59, lecturer) There is a lot of commentary from famous people, a lot of shows with famous people. There are lots of political scientists and journalists and various others. They’re able to debate with one another. But they don’t publish it all so that a person can then read it and think it through. (Tatyana Ivanovna, 51, a sales manager, Moscow) Although the participants seemed quite patient with the need to sample the television channels to get a well-rounded picture, it did anger some: I personally need information to weigh things up. And just now I get some sort of opinions. And I get to pick among them. I saw [Liberal Democrat leader Vladimir] Zhirinovsky and [Communist leader Gennady] Zyuganov. It is not positive advertising, it is not negative advertising – It is just a fight. (Anna, 18, a student from Moscow) The problem is that the governmental point of view now dominates. At the time of the focus groups, the Russian government’s point of view was not predominant in the NTV newsroom. Although there was by this time significant pressure on NTV to toe the government line, content analyses showed that NTV was still providing less upbeat, more balanced coverage of Russian politics and the war in Chechnya during the 1999 elections. In particular, prominent NTV newscaster and commentator Kiselyev continued to present viewpoints opposing the Putin administration on air on NTV. The focus-group participants were very well informed about the on-going fight among various media oligarchs, particularly Boris Berezovsky and his interests in the state-run ORT and Vladimir Gusinsky’s financial investment in NTV. In fact, one group could even chant in unison that it was Berezovsky who heavily influenced Channel 1. When it came to discussing government influence on media versus that of media oligarchs such as Berezovsky and Gusinsky, many of the focus-group participants had quite subtle and complex understandings of the issue. As one participant pointed out, how does one really define the limits of business and government interests in a society in which the two are

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inextricably linked?: The government and some “shadows” who aren’t in the governmental structure – if you take Berezovsky – they have a share of the power at the highest levels, therefore they support the government and its policies of Putin. Therefore it is hard to say what are government interests and what are private interests. (Julia, 21, a student from Ulyanovsk) In addition to concerns about the overall narrowing of points of view on television, the polarization between NTV and the state-funded channels tends to divide the public as well. For those who do not have the time or interest in comparing news programs, there can be a further hardening of political divisions. If a person watches only “their” channel, their opinions will tend to be strengthened, but not challenged: “When I watch NTV, it supports my point of view and I like that, but when I watch ORT, it is not right for me,” said Viktor Vasilevitch, a 57-year-old retiree in Moscow. Others find the fighting between the television channels petty and stressful: “The channels are different, but none are of a high standard. They have just gotten so single-minded . . . at our age, with some of us on medication, you could give yourself a heart attack.” said Lidia Ivanovna, a 59-year-old retiree from Voronezh. Some are not happy with the entire situation and quality of news coverage: I’d like to say, forgive me, that it doesn’t help me to flip from channel to channel. All the same, it is just a bunch of rubbish, it is empty, useless information . . . There’s rubbish on ORT, there’s rubbish on NTV, it is just different rubbish . . . In any case, there’s very little news. (Sergei, 33, lecturer, Ulyanovsk) And where is there a guarantee that ORT speaks truth and NTV doesn’t? . . . One says it is white and the other that it is black. (Natasha, 21, personal computer operator, Voronezh) Many of the participants were not particularly impressed by NTV’s “independence.” They saw the channel as not particularly independent or unbiased, but interested in its own agenda. They perceived channels as having their own “masters” and many believed that NTV was simply another player in a game that left the viewers uninformed. “I think that it is simply a war, in which all the ethnical norms are broken,” said Irina, a 35-year-old lecturer from Moscow. Tatyana, a 44-yearold personal computer operator from Moscow, had more pointed criticism when she said she preferred Moscow-funded television (Channel 3): “There are people at the Moscow channel that I trust. Why not watch state television if you trust it? The independent channel NTV is strange to watch. They are independent from morals . . . not from the government.” On the face of it, this would seem to be an unfair assessment of NTV, particularly in that the channel was instrumental in exposing the tragedy of the first Chechen war as well as more balanced in its

52

“You watch in pain”

approach to most election coverage. Yet many of the participants were quick to point out that there is enormous profit to be made in television and claim that NTV – far from being concerned with the lofty ideals of journalism – was more involved with setting itself up as an opponent to the government in order to draw viewers and increase revenues. While some societies, notably the United States, are very comfortable with the dual role of television broadcasters as information providers and big business, most of the focus-group participants were not complacent about a mixture of capitalism and public service. Given the Soviet legacy of television as a pillar of the state, this is not surprising. In addition, some participants pointed out that when freedom of speech is stronger than the rule of law, it is somewhat inevitable that there would be abuses such as the “black PR” found in the election reporting. What they failed to perceive that it was the government itself, supposedly the upholder of fairness in society, that was slinging the most mud. Most Russians find the British media model of public funding of the main television channels preferable to the US model of mainly commercial media. The focus-group participants were aware that each system has its problems. They tended to perceive the US media as too driven by profit, sensationalizing violence to the detriment of society. By the same token, they quite realistically suspected that even the high standards of the BBC could still leave viewers with a pro-government slant.10 However, they tended to favor government-sponsored television, trusting that it would serve citizens better in the long run than commercial media: I think that it [television in Russia] is pretty awful, but I have this question: How would you avoid it? Of course, channels have to belong to some one, but they don’t have to be centralized. There needs to be a governmental, independent channel . . . I don’t want to watch each day the opinion of one person. (Irina, 36, teacher, Voronezh)

The history of television and its influence One of the key differences between how Russians and foreigners perceive Russia is that Russians tend to see more continuity with the Soviet regime in contemporary politics. For example, Sveta (a 29-year-old teacher from Moscow) still sees limits that “were narrow before but now they’re wider – from this to that moment it is possible, but it is forbidden to go further.” When they speak about censorship in Soviet times and the current media situation, it is clear that many of them do not see a fundamental difference. Officials controlled the media during Soviet rule and officials still control it today, although some of the contemporary officials are now businessmen instead of party leaders. Perhaps the largest debate raging in the post-Soviet field is the degree to which modern Russia is influenced by the Soviet experience. While Western and Russian scholars alike tended to emphasize differences rather than similarities in the early 1990s, there began to be more discussion of Russia as a “post-authoritarian”

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state rather than a “new democracy” or even “democratizing” state by the late 1990s. The first major concern about Russia’s tolerance for dissent was in October 1993, when Yeltsin used the military to quell dissenting members of parliament. The concern became deeper and more international during the first war in Chechnya (1994–6). Since then, despite relatively free elections and some media openness, conditions have not become more free and democratic in Russia, according to organizations such as Amnesty International or Freedom House. Rather, the war has been renewed in Chechnya, any significant independent media outlets have been muzzled and there are worrying reports of abuses of human rights, especially in Chechnya and Russian prisons. Public-opinion surveys at first tended to search for Western, liberal values among the Russian population. These values appear to have been very labile, although the bewildering range of surveys sometimes makes it difficult to judge. However, if one consults the regular surveys run by the All-Russian Center for the Study of Public Opinion (Moscow), it is clear that there has been a sharp decline in interest in Westernized, liberal values since the heady days of the creation of the new Russian state in late 1991. So it is not surprising that the Russians have not adopted Western values about the media. It is perhaps extraordinary, though, how pervasive the Soviet influence remains, even for some of the younger focus-group participants. However, it was the older participants who tended to be the most eloquent on the subject of the “painful” changes on television. For example, Valentina, a 58-year-old teacher from Ulyanovsk, has tried turning to her television for hope and solace and has been bitterly disappointed: I have to say that today it is only with pain that you watch TV and all the events that are going on . . . It is even with tears in my eyes that I watch. You watch, perhaps for some good piece of news but basically you watch in pain . . . We can endure everything, we don’t have salaries, we go hungry, but when our lads perish in Chechnya, that’s what is hard to survive. In Soviet times, television was “kinder,” it was not “one big advertisement,” according to Sergei, a 31-year-old engineer from Moscow. Many of the participants, even two of the youngest from Moscow, commented that the Sovietera newsreaders were more cultured and better spoken. Some participants found television in the Soviet era more “spiritual” (Evdokiya Mikhailovna, a 53-yearold personnel administrator from Voronezh) and there were several complaints about “negative” reporting, including this comment from Lidia Ivanovna, the 59-year-old retiree from Voronezh: In my opinion, before the mass media were more intellectual, more cultured . . . I think as far as I remember, it didn’t carry so much negative information like they publish nowadays in the newspaper. It just gives such a bad impression that I don’t even want to turn it on . . . I’m interested in life, but not in this sort of thing.

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In addition to feeling that the news was negative, there was some anger that certain sectors of society that had been glorified in the Soviet mass media were now ignored. Evdokiya Mikhailovna also commented that: I think it is more correct to publicize the labor of our workers, our agriculture, of all workers, the whole sphere as well as factories and industries. We used to know . . . who could really harvest the wheat or bring up milk production. Now we don’t know anything, it is not discussed anywhere, it is not written about anywhere and it seems no one needs this information. The only thing our country seems to need nowadays is sex, tampons, Snickers and things like that. Evdokiya Mikhailovna is from an agricultural area near Voronezh, so she and her group would be more likely to feel excluded in the new market economy. Her statement could easily have been challenged by the fact that Soviet officials were not interested in reporting the truth; rather the reports about the harvest and milk production were no doubt somewhat inaccurate.11 By the same token, how could two 21-year-olds, Katya and Elya from Moscow, really know how presenters in the Soviet era spoke, as they were not even in their teens when the Soviet Union collapsed? These type of comments that recall the Soviet era with fond nostalgia support the idea that impressions about a particular period are often rose-colored. Svetlana Ivanovna, a 53-year old lecturer from Moscow, was able to articulate this paradox: “Earlier, things were gilded. We lived in a fairy tale and when we watched . . . we knew that it wasn’t really like that but that didn’t spoil it for us.” In other words, people certainly were aware on one level that the Soviet system was flawed, yet they were content enough to participate in the comforting myth of economic achievement, fairness, justice and the overall superiority of the Soviet way of life. There was, however, a small yet vocal minority in the focus groups that were quick to point out that the Soviet system had contained misinformation, censorship and propaganda with the view toward controlling the population. “They just turned us into zombies [oni nas zombirivali],” said 28-year old Nikolai, a communications worker from Ulyanovsk.

The glasnost era It might seem paradoxical, yet the participants often viewed both the strict Soviet era before 1985 and the heady days of glasnost under Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev (1985–91) with nostalgia. If the earlier Soviet period was dignified and uplifting, the glasnost era was refreshingly exciting. “At the time, there was the possibility of a new life, there was hope, we were waiting for something,” said Evgeny, a 40-year-old electrical engineer from Moscow. Andrei, 24, a Moscow disc jockey, directly attributed the appearance of democracy to television: “Democratic ideas came into the country . . . It was, I think, the contribution of television.” The participants recalled some of new, ground-breaking shows, particularly Vzglyad (Glance), an analytical news program that pushed into

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12

forbidden areas and wound up too daring for Gorbachev. Respondents recalled “euphoria”, “freedom” and a “breath of fresh air.” Some of the participants remembered the 1989 meeting of the Congress of People’s Deputies, which was broadcast live while politicians openly debated the future of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in front of the nation. Television perhaps reached the peak of its influence during this time: I think that we were brought up at that time so that we couldn’t think for ourselves. Somewhere in the depths, in kitchens, we had conversations, but we were brought up in such a way that this was it and that there was no other way to be . . . And when they, little by little, somehow showed us that we could let go of our conditioning, you could begin to think that maybe that wasn’t all. You begin to think that life isn’t quite what they’re showing us. (Natasha, 41, university inspector, Ulyanovsk) But with the euphoria came tension, particularly for viewers who were used to a calm, measured tone and ordered images from their television screens. “I had the impression that it was a very high democratic wave,” said Nikolai (28, from Ulyanovsk). “But this wave also brought up a lot of bad things.” Nikolai said that one of those “bad things” was the lack of support for Russians living in the Baltic states as Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia pushed for independence. Sasha, a 22-year-old student from Ulyanovsk, remarked that the news programs really only carried the opinions of Gorbachev and “those that brought him to power.” He felt that the glasnost era was not freedom of speech; rather it was replacing the propaganda of the Communist Party with that of Gorbachev’s circle. Sasha was not alone in this opinion. Many of the focus-group participants perceived this move from the media as the promoter of the Soviet state to the media as the defender of the agenda of various politicians, enterprises, oligarchs and other forces in society. In fact, few participants seemed to feel that any era of the Soviet or post-Soviet state offered media freedom. They were much more concerned with issues of taste, coverage and amount of information. Some seemed deeply skeptical or even quite uncomfortable with the notion of an unbiased news broadcast or analytical program. They preferred to use their skills of hearing a range of opinions and biased reports, then using their own filters to process the information. Many viewed the idea of having information processed for them and presented in an allegedly unbiased way questionable at best and possibly even condescendingly dangerous. In any case, many felt that it is self-indulgent and irresponsible of the mass media to merely present information without any framework. Television used to “lead the people,” according to 21-year-old Vladimir from Moscow. Now it does not stir feelings of patriotism or cooperation, according to Irina, a 35-year-old from Moscow. Before it was better because “the thoughts of the people were as one,” said Tatyana, a 47-year-old technologist from Moscow. In fact, it promoted the common good, said Marina, 33-year-old shop assistant from Voronezh: “If before people thought about more lofty things, now they just believe in the

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minimum, their own personal goals.” Aleksei, an 18-year-old programmer from Moscow, said now television only united people “in the sense that if they show the price of vodka is going up, everyone goes out and buys more vodka.” Others showed that they felt little had changed since Soviet times: “You get your best information from rumors,” said Mikhail Alekseevitch, a 53-year-old communications technician in Moscow. In the end, what was the result of the freedom of the media in the late 1980s and early 1990s?: “I used to read magazines such as Ogonyok [Blaze] from cover to cover. Now I understand that this sort of open opposition to the government was not right, it destroyed the government.” (Aleksandr, 29, office worker, Voronezh)

Taste and violence An issue that relates to these attitudes about television is the notion of taste. Most of the participants, except for the very youngest, grew up watching the relatively sanitized images of Soviet television. Even entertainment fare was mild, as Soviet notions of what was acceptable in terms of sex and violence on television were puritanical by Western standards. Mostly, television and other media outlets worked at creating pride in the Soviet nation, particularly through ritualized television events such as the annual May Day and October Revolution Day parades. In addition, world events were presented through both factual programs and fiction to shape the Soviet national image still further: “There were a lot of films that formed our mentality. In all of these films they would talk about who we were as a people,” said Sasha, a 22-year-old student from Ulyanovsk. There was even outright nostalgia among the participants for the most staged of Soviet events. “When you saw the military parades on Red Square, didn’t you feel a sense of pride in your Fatherland?” Mikhail Mamikovich, a 62-year-old retiree asked his group in Moscow. “There were even tears in my eyes,” admitted Mariya Nikolaevna, a 64-year-old retiree, in response. In another focus group of older participants in Ulyanovsk, several people agreed that they felt betrayed by television. Television, they said, used to point the way: You don’t need to cut the patriotic theme from these programs. They worked for all of us. And therefore a young person was a patriot, starting from kindergarten, served in the Army with pleasure, worked and knew what would be. And now everything has collapsed . . . I used to think that I lived in a normal, good country where things got done. EVGENY (61, A SECURITY GUARD): And now I am ashamed of my country. VALENTINA: Now I feel I live in a begging, lowly, insulting, vandalizing country. For me, the recent news has killed off our last hopes of a better future. It is just too dark and tragic. Even sports news is in a very miserly quantity . . . while earlier there was more time spent on it. They generally have forgotten about culture, in my opinion. VALENTINA (53, A TECHNICIAN):

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In fact, Valentina blamed the media for broadcasting too much negative, destructive information: “Even in the most developed societies one must measure out the doses [of information] and set limits.” She is correct in that all societies have both formal and informal rules for the mass media, particularly in terms of how much can be broadcast in times of war or other national crises. Yet Valentina seems to be supporting a much broader concept of media control, that is that media are to blame for somehow encouraging people to act “negatively.” Others were more equivocal, yet still placed a great deal of responsibility on television – as opposed to politicians, organizations or even individuals themselves – for providing leadership. Olga Ivanovna, a 46-year-old accountant from Voronezh, said that she liked to see various opinions, yet “there needs to be . . . direction from television” to “show the right way to all”. She added, “I think that we are all a simple people and that we’ve never been abroad. We need normal programs that we can share with our family, which calm our nerves and our grandchildren and children could see some sort of ideology.” Even when participants do not blame television for failing to deliver the right ideology, they pointed out that television had acclimatized, perhaps even inured, them to the violence and injustices in the new Russian state. “If you watch television today, there’s someone murdering someone, someone robbing someone,” said Lena, a 32-year-old librarian from Ulyanovsk. “That was my first shock, when they killed [ORT executive Vladimir] Listyev . . . Before that it seemed that maybe it happened somewhere else, like in America, but not to us.”13 Or in the words of Irina, 36, a teacher from Voronezh: They got us used to the political situation bit by bit. They showed murders in St Petersburg to influence opinion so that it would seem as if we need an authoritarian regime, therefore they showed us more murders, acts of banditry to get us in the way of thinking that Putin must be an authoritarian type of leader, that we would support this and television, of course, formed the opinion of the public so that this is what they wanted. Sometimes the conversation took a sardonic twist to discuss the influence of coverage on political opinion, including hypocritical coverage praising Kremlin opponent and ex-St Petersburg Mayor Anatoli Sobchak after he died in 2000: Before we thought that everything was fine for us. They always said, it is good, it will be good. Now in these times when I see television, I don’t know what’s good and what’s bad. Yesterday it seemed that Sobchak was a very good man and then they said that Sobchak was a very bad person. TATYANA (28, WAREHOUSE WORKER, ULYANOVSK): He’s dead so now he’s good. IRINA (34, PERSONNEL MANAGER, ULYANOVSK):

Although in the minority, some of the participants liked the new style of Russian television. Tatyana Vasilevna, a 58-year-old train conductor from Voronezh, said

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“I watch, what I like I watch. All the robberies. In the six hours that I have it on [each day], I see what’s going on, who’s been murdered.” Although some participants were fairly philosophical about the violence shown in both news and entertainment programs, many respondents were very upset about the graphic content of television. The protests fell into two broad groups. Some people were displeased with it on the grounds of taste and, in particular, with the effect it might have on children and young people watching. They felt that much of it was a gratuitous aping of Western (particular American) programming or was contained in the relatively large amount of foreign programming broadcast on Russian television after the collapse of the Soviet Union. In a broader sense, however, the portrayal of violence and sex conflicted with their notion of television as a moral leader for society. By the same token, many respondents were uncomfortable with the large amount of advertising on television (especially on government-funded channels). While many of the focus-group participants were aware that the advertising provided funding for television, they felt that the ads were at best silly or offensive and at worst destructive to society as they tout wares or services that few can afford. Poor people are “neither seen nor heard,” as Evdokiya Mikhailovna said, or as it was put by Vladimir, a 61-year-old retiree in Ulyanovsk: Excuse me for being crude, but you know, it sometimes seems to me that it is just terror, real terror. The thing you should pay attention to is that the ads are watched by the people who are sitting at home and have nowhere to go. . . . these are the poorest people in society, they barely have anything . . . And, there is so much influence on these people who aren’t able, excuse me, to buy sardines, they can’t even sit there and eat jam normally, they don’t even have money for white bread. And they’re showing them things for these dogs, cats, for whatever you want. What do they need this propaganda for? Occasionally, respondents would defend the media. While Andrei, a 36-year-old sports club administrator from Moscow, said that the mass media were contributing to the rift between the haves and have-nots in society, Valentin, a 45-year-old engineer in the same group countered that one could not blame the media for the gap between the rich and the poor. He said: “They are showing things as they are. They aren’t encouraging it.” However, many respondents felt that the media were focusing on sensation in order to attract viewers and readers and, as a result, people were becoming hooked on scandal and sensation over important news. This is an echo of common complaints about the US media. Yet the focus-group participants were often pragmatic and they showed this attitude at times when discussing violence and taste on television. After all, the Russian government had set up a special ad-free culture channel to show artistic programs, patriotic films and other historic fare. When this Culture Channel was mentioned, people said it was boring or that they did not bother to watch. After all, things that are “objective” are dull, according to Vladimir, 21, from Moscow. A little bit of opinion adds spice, added others, including 34-year-old Vladimir,

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a real estate agent in Moscow. Anyway, objectivity was a concept that did not exist anywhere and people were fooling themselves if they thought that it did: “Even foreigners, the French, the Germans, not a single channel gives objective information,” said Nikolai, a 26-year-old builder from Moscow. When comparing the Russian system with what came before, two participants in a Voronezh group for the participants 50 or older summarized the arguments quite well: If you compare television from now and then, then the level of television has improved tenfold . . . and the amount of information and the reliability of information has grown. OLEG EVGENIVICH, 65, RETIRED: And so has the nonsense. ALBERT SERGEEVICH, 60, A DENTIST:

Coverage of war: Chechnya The war in Chechnya is one area that severely tests the limits of media freedom. In all societies, coverage of war tends to reveal the weaknesses and limits of particular media systems. Those who study the media and war (including Graber, 1996; Mowlana, Gerbner and Schiller, 1992; Philo, 1995; Taylor, 1992) have noted a trend in the West away from attempts at either overt censorship or free access by journalists (particularly after Vietnam) to trying to manage coverage through control of access to both the field of battle as well as information. Many analysts feel this has resulted in sanitized reporting of wars, particularly in the Gulf Wars, as journalists are co-opted into passively supporting their country without sufficient objectivity. While it may seem appropriate to support the government in a time of crisis, any evidence of co-optation or cover-up leads to a range of problems, from a violation of journalistic ethics to an erosion of trust in the media. The comments by people in the focus groups suggest that Russians were fairly comfortable with sanitized reports from Chechnya, while at the same time they were aware that they are not being told the full story, that the coverage is onesided. It was in the discussions of Chechnya that the conflict between pride in Russia and the need for objective information about society became most marked. On one hand, many of the respondents resented any coverage that reflected badly on their “lads” or soldiers in Chechnya. For example, several respondents clearly disliked NTV for its willingness to report on Russian military blunders and the harsh realities of the war. By the same token, the respondents knew they were not getting the full story and there was often concern on a personal level for themselves, their sons or other young male relatives who might be headed into the conflict. Their suspicions that the media were sanitizing the war had a dual effect: While it reassured them about national pride, it eroded their sense of trust in the media. In a discussion about whether Russia now has free media, Evdokiya Mikhailovna said the coverage of Chechnya proved to her that there had been little fundamental change since Soviet times: For example, I think that just before the mass media were silent about everything, just as they are silent now. Take what’s going on now in Chechnya.

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In fact, participants in another Voronezh group (for those 26–35) saw Chechnya as a yardstick of objectivity in the Western media, believing that the West was more honest about events there. For example, 32-year-old Aleksandr, a shop assistant from Voronezh, commented on Agence France Presse and said: “If they are going to go and broadcast about events from Chechnya, then they’ll show just what they find there.” Even those who seemed skeptical about the Western media in other contexts said they would turn to Western sources, including Radio Liberty, to get information on Chechnya. Overall, however, the respondents seemed more pragmatic rather than outraged about a lack of openness about the war. After all, journalists everywhere operate under controls and with filters, according to 25-year-old Darya, a cashier from Moscow. She echoed the thoughts of many of the participants, who did not see the Russian media system as sui generis or authoritarian, merely on the more controlled end of the spectrum away from journalistic freedom. This seemed to lead to attitudes about the role of television in society that differed from some Western perceptions. Many saw the media’s primary responsibility as controller, rather than informer, of the public. For example, 21-year-old Vladimir from Moscow said he felt there should be consensus among news programs. The alternative medicine specialist pointed out that, for example, if different versions of the war in Chechnya were transmitted to the public, there could be unrest. Thus, the government should have some control over all news programs. While on the face of it this is a very illiberal attitude, it should be considered in context. All societies impose restrictions on the media during times of crisis, particularly in times of war. However, the focus-group participants often favored far wider restrictions, finding it dangerous even when the media broadcast the differences between the rich and the poor: “It’s like at work, you can’t be happy if you know how well the boss lives,” said Galina Alexandrovna, a 62-yearold retiree in Moscow. The participants, who did not hesitate to criticize their own media system, also had their doubts about media in other countries. In particular, they were suspicious of commercial television, especially if it meant heavy doses of advertising and violent shows to appeal to the masses. Many of them felt that television was too important as a national resource to be used for profit making: “The talent and the possibilities of television – it is really good of course. But they need to be regulated by the necessary rules – it needs to be five times better,” said Anatoli Viktorovitch, a 54-year-old office worker from Voronezh. Occasionally, the conversation took a macabre, but humorous turn when comparing Russia with the West, as in this conversation in Ulyanovsk for the youngest participants about violence against journalists: SERGEI: NADYA:

I haven’t heard that they kill journalists in the West. Why?

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I don’t know why but I haven’t heard of it. For us of course the death of a journalist isn’t that interesting. [MODERATOR]: Are our [Russian] journalists more free? SERGEI: No, maybe they’re stupider. SERGEI: NADYA:

NTV versus ORT As noted above, Russians tend to fall into two viewing categories: Some have their “own” channel and tend to watch little else for news while others channelsurf in an attempt to glean as much information as possible. Yet, were regular ORT viewers and NTV viewers in the focus groups different in their opinions? There were some differences in socio-economic makeup of the audience suggested by the focus groups (outlined above). Beyond that, it seemed that those who favored ORT had more Soviet-style expectations of a television channel. They were more comfortable with slanted news, somewhat old-fashioned presentation and a more formal appearance. Those who favored NTV, however, praised it for its broader scope, more energetic news team as well as more modern camera and film techniques. They even found NTV more “decorous” and “peaceful”, according to Anatoli Ivanovich (a 54-year-old office worker from Voronezh), referring to the fact that NTV did not indulge in as much mud slinging during the elections and at other times. However, many of the ORT fans did not like the somewhat sarcastic or ironical tone that NTV tended to adopt as a critical commentary. NTV is the most professional channel, in terms of how it is put together, the graphics in the news programs, in entertainment, in everything . . . In terms of the quality of information, they never try to put across their own opinion, they broadcast things as they are. (Vladimir, 20, a locksmith from Ulyanovsk) I prefer NTV. I like it and I’ve watched it for many years, it is my native [rodnoi] channel. I believe in it. I really like the journalists there. Fundamentally, my belief lies in this more democratic channel. (Julia, 22, an insurance agent from Ulyanovsk) Others who still preferred NTV were more cynical about the channel, particularly after its overt support for Yeltsin in the 1996 presidential elections: Earlier . . . NTV had an objective point of view. But they’ve drifted a little from this plan of independence and there were a few moments . . . such as in Kiselyev’s program where he very clearly gave his preference of candidates, for example, I can say [presidential candidate Grigory] Yavlinsky. All of the campaign was this way . . . well, this isn’t permissible, if there’s an independent campaign, then all the candidates need to be there. (Sergei, 45, a scientist from Ulyanovsk)

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Not surprisingly for a post-Communist country, there was distrust of “big business” or “capital” as well. No one would expect the owners of a media outlet to be interested in public service, according to some of the participants. Rather, they were concerned with profit: “Big Capital and Big Business always perfectly understand that if you own the media, you own the world. If you own information, you own the world,” said Igor, a 31-year-old dentist from Voronezh. In addition, the preference for channels frequently was more about personality than institutions, as is so often true in Russia. Many of the respondents either loved ORT’s abrasive Sergei Dorenko or despised him with a passion. Set against Dorenko and his attacks on enemies of the Kremlin were the more urbane Kiselyev on NTV and the less flamboyant Svanidze on RTR. Many of the focus-group participants were more than ready to heap abuse on Dorenko. “That’s not opinion, that’s not a man, men don’t conduct themselves that way,” said Evgeny, 40, from Moscow. He’s unethical “even for a journalist,” said Valentin (59, Ulyanovsk). “He’s a bought man, unclean and uncaring. They’ve already bought and paid for him, he’s lost what he was – a journalist and that’s a lofty word.” In almost the same breath, though, Valentin praised Dorenko for being unafraid to dig out facts, although he felt he was somewhat one-sided. It is this critical nature, the love of the crusader that appealed to participants such as Valentina Yakovlevna, 58, an Ulyanovsk teacher: “I really love Dorenko because he’s so critical and goes into everything fully.” In comparison, Valentina Yakovlevna found RTR’s Svanidze rather weak. Another fan of Dorenko described his feelings: I watch Dorenko, it is very interesting when he explains things. But I’m not saying I support ORT just because I watch Dorenko. I watch him because he broadcasts in a very interesting way and makes his points very forcefully. It this were soccer, he’d be the league of champions . . . If he were on the second channel [RTR] I’d watch the second channel. (Aleksandr, 32, shop assistant, Voronezh)

Conclusions The comments in the focus groups reveal several key points about the important characteristics of the media audience in Russia. Although these comments come from a relatively small group of individuals (191), the concepts and ideas seem to find resonance in the larger population. More to the point, they can explain many of the seeming paradoxes of the Russian media, particularly why ORT remains trusted, valued and watched even as its objectivity and commitment to public service have declined steadily. The main concerns of the Russian audience appear to be centered not on liberal concepts of freedom of speech; rather they are concerned that television upholds a sense of national pride. While the focusgroup participants differed in their opinions, a surprisingly large number of them were unconvinced that the media could serve as a watchdog for society. Rather, they perceived media as important players with each media outlet – public and

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commercial – pursuing its own agenda. The participants felt it was critical to employ a personal filter on the news rather than rely on what they considered the quite shaky concept of media objectivity. In this way, their attitude toward television was perhaps not markedly different from the attitude of Soviet times. Many of the focus-group respondents showed a marked distrust or even dislike of commercial television. In many democracies (aside from the United States), there is a great deal of concern over whether public broadcasting can continue to serve as a pillar of civil society in the wake of commercial globalization (Aldridge and Hewitt, 1994; Avery, 1993; Curran and Park, 2000; Tracey, 1998). In Russia, the case would appear to be inverted. With public broadcasting firmly in the grip of a narrow group of elites in Moscow, the best chance of breaking the information monopoly would appear to be a national commercial station with a reputable news team. Local and even regional television channels in Russia lack the ability to formulate national opinion, although they can challenge the information hegemony at a local level when they can escape control by local bureaucrats. This creates problems at the theoretical level – except for US scholars such as Doris Graber who eloquently defend the value of a commercialized media system – as public broadcasting is assumed to be in the service of the public, albeit often flawed and now somewhat commercialized. This is an assumption that cannot be made in Russia. Meanwhile, the one nationwide commercial channel that did rise to prominence in Russia, NTV on Channel 4, compromised its integrity in the 1996 Russian presidential elections and eventually lacked sufficient clout to fight off a takeover by financial forces friendly to the Kremlin in 2001. Interestingly, focus-group discussions in Russia that suggest emotions ranging from wariness to downright distrust of commercial media would find resonance with the work of Colin Sparks (2000). He argues that the discussion of media and society should be reordered from an examination of public versus commercial media to consider who controls the media under any type of ownership. For example, Sparks argues that two of the classic models of the media, in this case communist and libertarian, are not useful because economic and political power are blended in both systems. Thus, the systems never could be juxtaposed and compared as they share a basic component of media control in the hands of elites. This is a more extreme argument than those such as Tracey (1998), who see decay in public broadcasting due to commercialization and globalization. Rather, Sparks sees any media system in which elites control the means of communication as fundamentally flawed. His particular understanding of the communist media systems is distinct and useful. As he points out, media systems in communist countries differed markedly. He sees this as not strange, in that in communist media systems – along with those in capitalist countries – “far from representing the articulation of the core values of the system, these differences are better explained by the exigencies of political and economic pressures upon the communist elite and by the divisions that grew up between them as the terminal crisis of their system grew ever deeper” (p. 40). Also, Sparks rejects explanations of media systems that perceive the media as outside the central power conduit as he

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disagrees with the “classical” model of media theory that poses a “separate and distinct sphere of action for political and economic agents” (p. 42). While Sparks makes a compelling argument for the lack of a disinterested media in the service of the public in any system, it is important not to overlook the importance of variety and competition. In particular if one agrees with Sparks that media and elite power are forged, there would appear to be little benefit to the audience. There are some forces, however, that work to the benefit of the audience. First, whether it is a public broadcaster seeking supporters or a commercial broadcaster in quest of consumers, broadcasters need to concern themselves with attracting and retaining the audience as well as their attention. In the short term, this has the effect of providing some diversity of coverage while broadcasters compete with one another (within the parameters of their economic and political constraints) for audience share. In the long term, as Graber maintains for the US media market, this can lead to a sustainable, balanced news environment, even if there is an emphasis on entertainment over information. Also, it is difficult to conceive of an alternative to either public or commercial broadcasting, what Sparks considers media driven by elite needs. While the growing use of the Internet and digital television arguably offer feasible arrangements for disseminating news relatively free from the constraints of ownership and elites, the more anarchic world of the Web faces problems of professionalism as an alternative to either a public or a commercial broadcast arrangement. What makes Sparks’ conceptualization of a convergence between state and commercial media so compelling is how well it fits the Russian experience and the focus-group findings discussed in this chapter. Despite initial optimism on the part of Western and some Russian analysts, the Russian mass media failed to develop as a tool for the masses. Rather, after a brief period of plurality, it remains firmly entrenched as a tool for the elites, as in Soviet times. The people who remain unsurprised – and surprisingly accepting – of this fate of the Russian media appear to be the Russian audience. Through focus-group discussions and survey responses (discussed particularly in Chapter 8), it is clear that they expect a certain collusion between the power elite and the media. Like Sparks, they see little to recommend the possible disinterested community service of a commercial media owner. In fact, they prefer state-run television to all other major types of media – and imbue it with greater trust. While some evidence makes it clear that they are aware of the distortion and lies in the state media, other discussion shows that they accept this as a part of the state-building exercise. Weary of the political and economic chaos of the late 1980s and 1990s, many are ready to accept state television as a political Leviathan. Sparks recognizes that his theory fits the Russian situation particularly well, citing Zassoursky as identifying television as critical “political capital” (p. 43). In addition, “reflection . . . suggests to us that this situation of close links between political economic actors is very far from being some strange aberration unique to post-Communist societies” (p. 45).

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It is not surprising that Sparks finds the audience a large part of the solution to understanding and perhaps overcoming a media in service to the elites rather than to the public: the attention of students of the media interested in finding ways in which they may be democratized would be better directed at the relationships between the media and their audiences, and the fault lines within media organizations between those who give orders and those who are forced to take them. (p. 47) Thus, Sparks suggests, those who are interested in the relationship between democracy and the media need to shift their attention away “from these debates about the relatively empowering virtues of the state and the market and turn to the relations between the media and the mass of the population” (p. 47). Once the audience has been examined, as Sparks suggests, it would appear there is little expectation of objectivity, balance or even basic fairness from television. What do these attitudes mean for any hope for freedom of speech in Russia? The delineation of these attitudes could help to explain why NTV was unable to maintain editorial independence. Apparently, concern over national image – which was challenged by NTV – was more important than interest in relatively objective news. It also could be argued that NTV was not perceived as objective by many Russians, who either felt it was inappropriate for media to operate as a business or that NTV had revealed too many biases over the years. If the role of television is to inform rather than indoctrinate, then Russian viewers would perceive NTV as particularly valuable. However, if Russians adhere to a more Soviet conception of the media rather than embrace the need for free speech, it will be difficult for the media to function as a tool to promote a democratic society. Rather, people will perceive it as an arm of the state and if trust in the state and its leaders erodes, so will trust in the media.

4

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia

Political parties and the media enjoy a close, symbiotic relationship in any political system. Although political parties have various ways of communicating with the electorate, no method is as effective as the mass media, particularly television, in the developed world. Certainly, the Communist Party of the Soviet Union recognized this and developed the broadcast media as a way of spreading propaganda about its institutions to the populace. At the same time, parties in democratized countries were relying more and more heavily on television to transmit political ideas and create images that would help them gain or preserve political power. The collapse of the Soviet Union and the creation of the Russian Federation forced both Russian political parties and the media to forge a new relationship in a post-Soviet society. However, evidence suggests that by the Russian presidential elections in 2004 this connection had become closer to the Soviet propaganda model than to one resembling the interaction among parties, candidates, the media and the electorate in developed democracies. Rather than encouraging the growth and development of a range of political parties, media outlets in Russia have worked at supporting a relatively narrow group of elites. While the growth of political parties has stalled, at the same time the presidential administration and other powerful bureaucracies have improved their ability to create, market and win elections for a chosen few political parties and presidential candidates. While issues and government performance surely matter to Russian voters, the political fluidity and societal chaos have led to politicians relying more on short-term campaign appeals than on long-term accountability and plausibility for party formation. This makes manipulation and control of the media during election campaigns particularly important. This chapter argues that the Russian media, particularly television, have been used to subvert development of a pluralistic party system, with appealing broadcast campaigns outpacing the growth of responsible parties that are accountable to the electorate. As a result, these ephemeral “broadcast” parties and candidates increasingly are able to win votes at the cost of more accountable parties and candidates with definable ideologies, platforms and policies. A further discussion of the role of the media in the development of political parties and candidates will continue with an analysis of television election news (Chapters 5, 6 and 9) and the Russian audience reaction to campaign tactics (Chapters 7, 8 and 9).

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 67

Party development, mass media and the Russian case Most of the political science literature on parties focuses more on the gradual evolution of preferences within society than on the sort of political “big bang” experienced by Russia after the collapse of Soviet rule. However, there are still quite useful concepts that help in the understanding of how political parties have formed in Russia. For example, Lipset and Rokkan (1967) suggest that political parties develop along the traditional cleavage lines in society, such as religious or economic divisions. Recognizable cleavages emerged even within the relatively egalitarian Soviet system, including differences between those who lived in the cities and those in the countryside, among those with different levels of education as well as between the young and old. Yet the work of Lipset and Rokkan, while valuable for societies in which parties evolve over a relatively long period of time, becomes more problematic in societies such as Russia, in which an authoritarian system collapsed in a short span of time and civil society has had relatively little time to develop. At any rate, it is not enough merely to identify a sector of society and claim to be its representative. For example, studies of European parties have shown that they must change and reformulate as society changes (Dalton, Flanagan, and Beck, 1985; Merkl, 1988). Parties that purport to represent a large faction in society often fail, as Rose and Mackie (1988) suggest in their historical study of party success in Western Europe. The study of post-Soviet voting behavior has found some important links between attitudes and social characteristics, although the shifts in party names, organizations and even ideology between elections has made longitudinal studies difficult. In examining evidence from Russian elections, White, Rose and McAllister (1997) found that political attitudes were the main determinants of party choice in the 1995 elections, particularly feelings about the Soviet past, authoritarianism and a dislike of President Yeltsin. Colton (2001) used a major survey of Russian voters to find that attachments to parties played a role in shaping the outcome of the 1995 Duma elections, but Russian partisanship was “labile” and “restive” (p. 137). Yet if traditional cleavages do not provide solid bases for parties in Russia, what are their primary foundations? Parties, after all, cannot merely announce that they represent impoverished farmers or wealthy urban entrepreneurs and wait to be voted in at the polls. Parties must create some sort of reputation or, failing that, at least an attractive image for the voters. Some explanation for this comes in another facet of the comparative political literature in the West, namely political communication writings dealing with the “Americanization” of political parties. For example, Denis Kavanagh (1996) posited that the trend of US parties to rely more on image than substance has spread to other countries, particularly Great Britain. This has come about as the strength of partisan identification has eroded on a personal level, in parallel with the weakening of traditional class cleavages and party lines in Britain. Kavanagh lists components of Americanization as the devotion by parties of more resources to media strategy and tactics; the adaptation of the campaign to the requirements

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of television; the idea of electioneering as political marketing; and the increase in negative (or attack) campaigning. Kavanagh points out that British parties are somewhat restrained from following the Americanization model, particularly as British parties have less money for advertising, have stronger party discipline and attach more importance to policy than US parties. Other writers on political communication, such as Negrine and Papthanassopoulos (1996), suggest that it is not so much “Americanization” as “modernization” that is reflected in the more media-based political campaigns in recent years. They argue that as the world becomes more modernized, that is more educated, less insular and with broader communication systems to make more information available, voters no longer rely as much on passive cues for vote choice. As a result, media messages during elections become more important. Whether it is thought of as Americanization or modernization, it is useful to note that political parties in Russia are not alone in their focus on media over substance. However, unlike their counterparts in the United States, Great Britain or other advanced industrial democracies, most Russian parties lack roots either in the past or in the consciousness of the voters. Thus, while Western parties may be abandoning some of their traditions and history in a media-based push for the large segment of voters in the center of the political spectrum, most Russian parties have little political history to leave behind.

The Russian political party system When considering how parties campaign for office in Russia, it is important to note the rules of the electoral system. The role of parties has been twofold in elections to the Duma, the lower house of the Russian parliament. Through the 2003 parliamentary elections, half of the 450 seats were filled through a national party-list vote. Any party that received more than 5 percent of the party-list vote was assigned seats in proportion to its share of the popular vote in half the chamber. The other 225 seats were filled through single-member district races, winnertake-all contests in which the candidates could run with party affiliation or as independents.1 Party plays little role elsewhere in Russian politics. The members of the upper house of the Russian parliament, the Federation Council, have not been directly elected in a nationwide vote since 1993. In a profound change to Duma elections, the new federal law on electing Duma deputies of May 18, 2005, eliminates the single-member district race and mandates that all Duma deputies will be elected through a single, nationwide contest. All parties that receive 7 percent or more of the popular vote will be allocated seats in the Duma in proportion to their share of the vote. This means that large, centralized parties will have a huge advantage over grass-roots, local or regional politicians and movements.2 In presidential elections, both Yeltsin and Putin have declared themselves “outside” or “beyond” [vne] political parties. Both did use the state apparatus as their campaign organization, however, for everything from organizing election-trail appearances to funding advertising. Olga Shevtsova (2003b) argues that the Duma races have served as a primary for the presidential elections held a few

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 69 months later, thus linking the success of the “parties of power” supportive of the Kremlin in the Duma elections with that of the president. Nonetheless, neither presidential winner has had a direct affiliation with a particular political party. Party affiliation in the presidential campaign has, however, played a role for the losers. Leaders of the Communist Party and the Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia have run – and lost – in three presidential elections since the collapse of the Soviet Union. An attempt by Moscow Mayor Yuri Luzkhov and former Prime Minister Evgeny Primakov to create the Fatherland-All Russia political party for the 1999 Duma elections and then use it as a springboard for the 2000 presidential elections clearly failed. Primakov did not even run in the 2000 elections (although his party came in third in the Duma party-list contest in 1999). The Duma elections remain a testing ground for new political movements in Russia, even though the Duma is relatively powerless to effect real change. After Yeltsin dissolved a politically unfriendly parliament in September 1993 by force, Russia’s new constitution was voted in by a narrow margin to give preference to the executive over the legislative body in Russia. Technically, the parliament has the power to approve the budget, initiate legislation and check presidential power. Realistically, strong presidential powers in the 1993 Russian Constitution make direct confrontation with the executive branch problematic, as the president can dissolve an uncooperative parliament and call for new elections. Under the 1993 Russian Constitution, the first new Duma was elected for just two years; all subsequent Dumas have had regular terms of four years. (For a listing of election results in the Russian Duma, see Table 4.1. For results of the Russian presidential elections from 1996–2004, see Table 4.2(a–d).) On the ground, Russian party organizers complain bitterly about a lack of resources.3 For example, Valeria Gulimova, a campaign director for the tiny Pamfilova-Gurov-Lysenko Bloc in the 1995 Duma elections, said small parties such as hers suffered from a lack of money, the difficulty of following a spate of new election laws, dearth of equipment even as fundamental as a functioning fax machine, poor communication with the television channels over free-time provision, the low quality of poll workers who failed to follow election law and the high cost of television advertising. While the larger Democratic Russia’s Choice seemed to have enough money, party activist and candidate Anatoli Shabat in 1995 said problems lingered: “We have many difficulties. Our biggest – the voters don’t know anything, they don’t read the paper and don’t watch television. They don’t know for whom they’re voting.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, in the same year Communist Party political consultant Vladimir Akhimov found the voters intelligent and responsive, as almost a quarter of them picked his party in the party-list elections in 1995.4 While Davidheiser (1996) argued that organizational capacity could replace the need for a strong television presence, very few parties enjoyed either asset. The Communist Party and the Liberal Democrats both boasted of large grass-roots organization, although it was impossible to quantify the actual size of their organizations. Most Russian political parties come and go with astonishing speed. In 1993, 13 parties ran on the party list for the Duma. By the 1995 Duma elections,

— — —

— — 0 — —

— — —

— — 8.7 — 4.2

— — 8 141 —

8 141 —

— — —

64 67 48 23 32 26 19 15 —

Total seats

— —

— — —

5 27 16 2 11 6 1 1 —

SMD seats

— — 34 — 2.8

— — —

11.2 3.9 22.3 4.6 3.8 6.9 0.4 — 10.1

List %

1995

— — 0 — —

— — —

50 0 99 0 0 31 0 — 45

List seats

— — 32 77 —

— — —

1 9 58 3 20 14 1 — 10

SMD seats

— — 32 77 —

— — —

51 9 157 3 20 45 1 — 55

Total seats

— — 12.2 — 3.3

23.3 13.3 8.5

6 — 24.3 2 — 5.9 — — 1.2

List %

1999

— — 0 — —

64 37 24

17 — 67 0 — 16 — — 0

List seats

9 105 —

— —

9 31 5

0 — 46 0 — 4 — — 7

SMD seats

9 105 —

— —

73 68 29

17 — 113 0 — 20 — — 7

Total seats

37.6 9 17.2 — 4.7

— — 4

11.5 — 12.6 — 3.6 4.3 — 0.2 —

List %

2003

0 120 29 0 — —

— —

36 — 40 — 0 0 — 0 —

List seats

3 103 8 23 67 —

— —

0 — 12 — 2 4 — 0 —

SMD seats

3 223 37 23 67 —

— —

36 — 52 — 2 4 — 0 —

Total seats

Note Party abbreviations are: LDPR: Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia (competing, in 1999, as the Zhirinovsky Bloc); Communist: Communist Party of the Russian Federation; Women: Women of Russia; Agrarian: Agrarian Party; Russian Unity: Party of Russian Unity and Accord; Dem Party: Democratic Party of Russia; Fatherland: Fatherland-All Russia; Ind.: Independent candidates (running without party affiliation).

Source: Central Election Commission.

59 40 32 21 21 20 18 14 —

22.9 15.5 12.4 8.1 8 7.9 6.7 5.5 —

LDPR Russia’s Choice Communist Women Agrarian Yabloko Russian Unity Dem Party Our Home is Russia Unity Fatherland Union of Right Forces United Russia Motherland Others Ind. Against all

List seats

List %

Russia’s Choice

1993

Table 4.1 Elections to the Russian Duma, 1993–2003

Table 4.2a Presidential elections, first round, June 1996 Candidates

Affiliation

Vote

Boris Yeltsin Gennady Zyuganov Alexander Lebed Grigory Yavlinsky Vladimir Zhirinovsky Svyatoslav Fedorov Mikhail Gorbachev

None Communist Party of the Russian Federation None Yabloko Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia Workers’ Self-Governance Party International Fund/Socio-Economic and Political Research Socio-Economic Reform National Patriotic Party Russian Socialist Party Communista

35.3 32.0 14.5 7.3 5.7 0.9 0.5

Martin Shakkum Yuri Vlasov Vladimir Bryntsalov Aman-Geldy Tuleev Against all

0.4 0.2 0.2 0.0 1.2

Source: Central Election Commission results published in Rossiiskaya Gazeta, June 22, 1996, p. 1. Note a Withdrew at last minute in favor of Zyuganov.

Table 4.2b Presidential elections, second round, July 1996 Candidates

Affiliation

Vote

Boris Yeltsin Gennady Zyuganov Against all

None Communist Party of the Russian Federation

53.8 40.3 4.8

Source: Central Election Commission results published in Rossiiskaya Gazeta, July 10, 1996, p. 1.

Table 4.2c March 2000 presidential elections Candidates

Affiliation

Vote

Vladimir Putin Gennady Zyuganov Grigory Yavlinsky Aman-Geldy Tuleev Vladimir Zhirinovsky Konstantin Titov Ella Pamfilova Stanislav Govorukhin Yuri Skuratov Aleksei Podberezhkin Umar Dzhabrailov Against all

None Communist Party of the Russian Federation Yabloko None Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia Union of Right Forces (unofficial candidate) For Citizen’s Worth None None Spiritual Heritage None

52.9 29.2 5.8 3.0 2.7 1.5 1.0 0.4 0.4 0.1 0.1 1.9

Source: Central Election Commission. 2000. Vybory Prezidenta Rossiiskoi Federatsii 2000: Elektoral’naya Statistika. Moscow: Ves’ Mir, p. 191.

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The rise of the broadcast party in Russia

Table 4.2d March 2004 presidential elections Candidates

Affiliation

Vote

Vladimir Putin Nikolai Kharitonov

None Communist Party of the Russian Federation None None Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia Russian Party of Life

71.3 13.7

Sergei Glazyev Irina Khakamada Oleg Malyshkin Sergei Mironov Against all

4.1 3.8 2.0 1.0 3.5

Source: Elections of the President of the Russian Federation, March 14, 2004, Protocol of the Central Election Commission of the Russian Federation, Vote Returns at the Elections of the President of the Russian Federation, at http://pr2004.cikrf.ru/etc/prot_eng.doc (last accessed July 11, 2005).

43 parties appeared on the ballot, which dropped to 26 parties on the final ballot in 1999 and 23 in 2003. Most of the parties were small, poorly funded and tended to be organized around an individual or small group of people. Even relatively well-organized and wealthy parties such as Russia’s Choice often failed to maintain ties of patronage and power. The strongest party organization in Russia was for many years the Communist Party of the Russian Federation, the successor to the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. Although fieldwork to discover actual party organization elements, including membership, offices and contributions is difficult in Russia, the Communists had perhaps the best claim to a permanent party organization throughout the regions and in the center, as well as an official party platform. Both Yabloko and the Liberal Democrats also survived to run in six and seven elections respectively (Duma and presidential), but generally are not characterized as having as strong a grass-roots organizational base as the Communists.5 The Communists, Yabloko and the Liberal Democrats are the only Russian parties to consistently succeed in elections. However, Yabloko failed to cross the five-percent party-list barrier in 2003. The other dominant players have been parties created by powerful leaders or institutions, either “parties of personality” or “parties of power.” In each election, the Kremlin has promoted a different “party of power” with various leaders to forward its interests. These parties of power have the trappings of full-fledged political parties, with policy statements and usually with some sort of platform. Yet the foundation of the party is transparent, as the political marketing makes it clear that the party exists to reflect and further the government interests that created, funded and staffed it. Up to 1999, parties of power created by the Kremlin never managed to maintain their ties with the presidential administration until the next parliamentary election. In 1993, the primary party of power was Russia’s Choice, in 1995 it was Our Home is Russia and in 1999 it was Unity.6 By 2003, Unity had joined forces with a regional party of power, Fatherland-All Russia, to create the formidable power base of United Russia.

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 73 Evidence suggests that the Kremlin has done a better job in each election in creating a political party from scratch, from the selection of leaders to the crafting of the party program to the marketing of the party via television. Although the Kremlin’s main party of power received less of the party-list vote and fewer single-member constituency seats in 1995 than in 1993, it can be argued that its ability to succeed even when the presidential administration was extremely unpopular showed increasing skill in campaigning. In addition, Unity did even better as it managed almost to tie for first place in the party-list race with the Communist Party in the 1999 Duma elections, providing a smoother path for Putin’s victory in the presidential race a few months later. In 2003, United Russia won the largest party-list vote (38 percent) of a single party organization in the 12-year history of the Russian Federation. Russian voters get to hear a great deal about political parties through paid advertising, free time and news coverage. All parties and candidates have the right to buy advertising in the mass media. Technically, there are spending limits (about $2.4 million per party in the 1999 Duma elections) but these were rarely checked until 1999. Each party in the Duma election and candidate in the presidential election is given an equal amount of free time in the mass media, including on the prime state television channel. Thus, the tiny, but amusing Party of Beer Lovers had the same amount of free time as the Kremlin-backed Our Home is Russia in 1995. Although much of the free time is poorly used (and barely watched) it did give even the most miniscule parties the opportunity to reach a relatively large audience.7 The rules were tightened in 1999, however, when a new law required that parties that did not get at least 2 percent of the vote would have to reimburse state television and other media outlets for the time used. This effectively shuts out minor parties from using “free” time. Aside from free-time broadcasts and paid political advertising, Russian voters also see election coverage on the television news. Although this will be discussed in more detail in Chapters 5, 6 and 9, it should be noted here that there is often a fair amount of quantity, if not quality, in election coverage on Russian television. Studies have shown that the state-run channels, namely Channel 1 and Channel 2, provide disproportionate coverage of pro-Kremlin parties. Meanwhile, the once-influential commercial Channel 4 (NTV) has often supported the Kremlin opponents, except for its overt support for Yeltsin in the 1996 presidential election. By the 2000 and 2004 presidential elections, state-run television was a loyal supporter of Putin, to the point that Putin did not bother to use his free time. News and analysis programs were promoting him far more effectively. As noted above, Yabloko, the Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia and the Communists are the only three parties to have survived over several elections (see Table 4.1), but support has varied a great deal for the latter two parties. While Yabloko’s support had been about 6–8 percent in the elections until it earned just 4.3 percent in 2003, the nationalist Liberal Democrats in 1993 won about 23 percent of the party-list vote, then dropped to 6 percent in 1999 before doubling that in 2003. Support for the Communist Party grew from about 12 percent in 1993 to about 24 percent of the party-list vote in 1999, but dropped again to 13 percent in

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The rise of the broadcast party in Russia

2003. All of these parties have fielded candidates in the presidential elections, although only the Communist candidate has ever been a serious contender. Other parties, notably those put forward by the Kremlin, have managed to win seats via the party-list system. Party success also can be measured by how well the parties perform in the other half of the contest, that is in the single-member district races that elect half of the 450 Duma seats. Until the 2003 elections, the two electoral methods often balanced each other. For example, although the Liberal Democrats have always managed to win a large or at least reasonable percentage of the party-list vote, the party performs very poorly in single-member districts. Other results have been extremely labile, with the Communists quite strong in the single-member district elections until 2003. In addition, the central party of power did poorly in the single-member districts in 1995 and 1999. The fortunes reversed in 2003, however, when United Russia topped the polls in both the party-list contest and the SMD ballot, with an unprecedented 103 seats through first-past-the-post elections.8 Combined with its allotment of 120 seats from the party-list elections, United Russia immediately controlled almost half the Duma seats. Much of this success could perhaps be traced to the strong regional support within the original Fatherland party, which did extremely well in the single-member districts in 1999 (before joining Unity to form United Russia). The issues of party affiliation and its effect on single-member district are complex and have been analyzed by other scholars (e.g. Golosov, 2002; Hale and Orttung, 2003; Hutcheson, 2003; McAllister and White, 2000; Pierce, 2003; Thames, 2002). For this study, the only convincing evidence in the relationship between the party-list race and singlemember district elections lies in the ability of some candidates to use smaller national parties as a springboard for district success. For example, although the Agrarian Party has been unable to win any party-list seats since 1993, single-member candidates have been elected to the Duma in 1995 and 2003 while running with the party affiliation.9 What are the particular characteristics of the three longest survivors in the Russian party system – the Communists, the Liberal Democrats and Yabloko? The Communist Party often offers more concrete policies in its literature and free-time appearances than other political parties.10 The Communists have abandoned their demands for a return to a state-run economy, although the party often emphasizes the glories of the Soviet past in its campaigning (as do many Russian parties to varying degrees). The electoral success of the Communists eroded significantly by 2003, however, as the powerful pro-Kremlin party moved into a dominant position. Also, the Communist presidential candidate fared poorly against Putin in 2004. There are different theories on why the Communist Party has enjoyed relative success in Russia. First, there has been compelling evidence to suggest that the Communist Party had a relatively solid constituency among Russian voters. Not only did the party do a fairly good job of articulating an ideology (although one that became more reconciled to the market economy and the end of the Cold War) but it also appears that the party connected with a large segment of the electorate. While many Western analysts believed that Russian voters would

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 75 be ready to discard all aspects of communism, actually many voters still supported the idea of heavy state intervention in the economy, limitation of human rights in favor of a more controlled society and aggressive protection of the rights of workers. In addition to providing a coherent message that appealed to a large number of voters, the Communists had an advantage in that the party name, ideology and symbols are well known to the populace. As an additional strength, the Communist Party has maintained party organizations and structures that reached beyond its offices in the State Duma.11 While the Communist Party is perhaps the clearest example of a traditional party in the Western sense, both Yabloko and the Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia have many elements of traditional political parties. Yabloko, which means “apple” in Russia, was founded by Grigory Yavlinsky and other liberal politicians to represent pro-market, pro-reform forces in the 1993 elections. Yabloko won 5.9 percent of the Duma party-list vote in 1999 and Yavlinsky, an economist, garnered a respectable 5.8 percent of the vote in the 2000 presidential elections. He chose not to run, however, in the 2004 presidential elections. Yabloko has advocated a fairly coherent and stable set of policies and platforms, marked by interest in pro-market reform as well as opposition to the Yeltsin and Putin regimes. Yavlinsky was one of the few Russian politicians to suggest non-military solutions to the conflict in Chechnya, a position that may have cost him support because of the popularity of the war by the end of 1999. Certainly, Yabloko shows evidence of being a Westernized political party in its steady (if somewhat modest) success at the polls, its presence in the Duma and its relatively consistent ideology. Yet the party relies heavily on the image of its leader for the survival of the party. Yavlinsky is featured prominently in the promotion of the party and it would be difficult to imagine how the party would survive without him as leader. Yabloko was an important party in the Duma in that it was the only pro-market movement that did not cooperate with the Kremlin. As the party did not win any party-list seats in 2003, it now has virtually no presence in the Duma (except for a handful of members elected via single-member districts). If Yabloko could be considered a mixture of a Westernized party and one based on Yavlinsky’s individual strength as a politician, the case for the LiberalDemocratic Party of Russia is even more complex. The party leader, Vladimir Zhirinovsky, is arguably one of the most flamboyant and visible party leaders in the post-Soviet sphere. He has gained notoriety for such antics as participating in a brawl on the Duma floor with a priest and a female deputy, posing for news photos with an Italian porn star and suggesting that Russia take Alaska back from the United States. His statements range from the outrageous – especially when he breaks into seething rants against any of a range of non-Russian people – to the downright bizarre, particularly his comparison of various Soviet regimes to different types of sexual stimulation. Zhirinovsky and the Liberal Democrats were the surprise success of the first Russian parliamentary elections. Other politicians, notably the pro-Kremlin movement leaders, were shocked by the success of the Liberal Democrats in 1993. However, as noted above, the Liberal Democrats did

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The rise of the broadcast party in Russia

quite poorly in the single-member races, which has diluted their strength in the Duma. In fact, their popularity was strongest in the first election, although it bounced back to a degree in 2003. Leaders of the Liberal Democrats have had modest returns in three presidential races (see Table 4.1). Yet are the Liberal Democrats little more than a shallow following around a charismatic leader who is prone to offensive or irresponsible statements? There is evidence to suggest that the Liberal Democrats have some of the trappings of a Westernized political party. As with the Communists, the Liberal Democrats clearly have tapped into a relatively strong sentiment of nationalism held by the Russian electorate, in particular by espousing strongly pro-Slav, anti-Western views and being ready to use Soviet-style military threats. One of the major mistakes of parties in the 1993 was in underestimating the support for a strong Russian state, including military prowess, among the electorate. The Liberal Democrats, although with a curiously inappropriate name, clearly were a viable and attractive political option to many voters. Their electorate has been identified by public-opinion surveys as more male and less educated than the average voter (White et al., 1997b). While the image of the party is very closely linked to that of the outrageous Zhirinovsky, it also provided an electoral option for pro-Slav voters. Arguably, the use of nationalism by Zhirinovsky and the Liberal Democrats actually showed other parties the nationalist tendencies of many voters. Since 1993, Russian political party platforms have become markedly more nationalistic in content and tone.12 The Liberal Democrats, much like the Communist Party, claim that local offices, supporters and grass-roots support are key to their success. Yet party leader Zhirinovsky is very much a media phenomenon, particularly known for his outspoken performances during his free-time segments in parliamentary and presidential elections, including his physical attack on another candidate during a live, televised debate on NTV during the 2003 campaign. Regional offices of the Liberal Democrats do exist; in fact that party even technically requires members to pay 1 percent of their annual salary in dues.13 In addition, the Liberal Democrats enjoy the perks of Duma incumbency, including offices in state buildings, telephones, faxes as well as the ability to get news coverage for their Duma activities (as do the Communists and as did Yabloko until the 2003 elections). Yet there is also some compelling evidence that the Liberal Democrats are little more than a following around Zhirinovsky, albeit with some of the trappings of a national party. The party has never been able to field strong local candidates and, as a result, not even Zhirinovsky was elected in a single-member district in 1999 or 2003. While the party does publish and distribute its program and policies, there is little party accountability. In fact, despite Zhirinovsky’s posturing as a rebel who fights the presidential administration, his faction in the Duma often votes with Kremlin interests (Remington, 2001). If the case of the Liberal Democrats is somewhat confusing, mostly because the party has some institutionalized features and claims to a type of recognizable ideology, many Russian parties are clearly little more than a following around one person or a small group of individuals. In these cases, there is no difference

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 77 between the personal ideology of the leader and that of the party. These parties often are named after their leaders. While some of these parties have won office or influenced Russian politics, none of them has built a lasting political movement or a successful electoral vehicle that has endured beyond a single election. Personality parties were evident in the 1995 and 1999 Duma elections, although they appear to be on the decline (see Table 4.1). This is not surprising in a country that lived through the “cult of personality” with Stalin and to a lesser degree with other Communist leaders. Soviet politics were driven to a great degree by personality, whether it was the head of the Politburo or some of the powerful Communist leaders. Yet personality parties have uncomfortable historic problems, particularly given the success of the Nazis and Hitler or, to give a more modern example, Jean-Marie Le Pen’s xenophobic National Front party in France. There were parties that depended a great deal on political figures for their identity in 1993, notably Sergei Shakhrai for the Party of Russian Unity and Accord and Gavriil Popov’s Russian Movement for Democratic Reform. Yet these parties also emphasized their platforms in free-time advertising.14 However, in the 1995 Duma elections, many parties could be categorized as personality parties, ranging from the nationalist Govorukhin Bloc led by Stanislav Govorukhin to the centrist Party of Pamfilova-Gurov-Lysenko that showcased social reformer and government minister Ella Pamfilova. Another factor encouraging the growth of personality parties was the distribution of free time in the national media on an equal basis to all registered parties, no matter how small. As the Central Election Commission regulations for party registration were relatively easy to fulfill before the passage of the new law on elections in 2001, a small party provided a fairly low-cost way for politicians to try to win a national presence. Although the free-time spots did not attract large audiences, they were aired in or near prime time and there was some chance of news coverage as well. Many personality parties boosted regional leaders into national prominence and a Duma seat.15 A personality party is also an important tool for building a possible presidential campaign. One of the best examples of this phenomenon was in the 1995 Duma elections with the Congress of Russian Communities, which featured General Alexander Lebed as one of its leaders. The party had many nationalist elements, favoring law and order as well as a strong military role for Russia. Lebed was already popular and well known due to his work with the ethnic conflict in the TransDneister area. In addition to a spotless military record and the lack of a political past, Lebed’s deep voice and soldierly image worked well on television. While the Congress of Russian Communities just missed getting 5 percent of the party-list vote and any party-list seats in the 1995 Duma, Lebed went on to come in third in the 1996 presidential election with 15 percent of the vote in the first round.16 Single-issue parties have appeared in Russia, but only one has enjoyed significant electoral success. Women of Russia, which campaigned on a social-welfare platform and the notion that women were gentler, kinder public officials, won 8 percent of the party-list votes in the 1993 Duma elections.17 However, it did not win party-list seats in any subsequent elections. Other issue parties have included the Russian Greens, a youth party in 1993 (Future of Russia-New Names), the

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Association of Russian Advocates (1995), the Muslim Social Movement “Nur” (1995), Utility Workers of Russia (1995), Party of Pensioners (1999) and the Russian Party for the Protection of Women (1999). At the boundaries of the mainstream parties, there have been numerous small parties that espoused communist, nationalist and even liberal philosophies, but none of them have gained party-list seats. Some modest success of more reactionary parties, however, has certainly proven that part of the electorate is attracted to distinctly non-Western ideas. For example, the hard-line Communists for a Working Russia and the Soviet Union just missed the five-percent threshold in 1995 (see Table 4.1). In addition, there were several nationalist parties in the 1995 and 1999 elections. Meanwhile, it is important to point out that the party platforms of the main Russian political parties became markedly more nationalist, hawk-like and anti-market from 1993 to 1995 (Oates, 1998).18 The end of a rather colorful era of Russian political parties is perhaps best marked by the passage of a restrictive Law on Political Parties in June 2001. Like much Russian law, it contains many useful and liberal principles, but it is clearly designed to limit the ability of the citizens to challenge the organs of power, what Luke March (2005) calls a “manipulative and intolerant attitude towards social pluralism that coexists with democratic rhetoric” (p. 136). The key restrictions are in the requirements that political parties have branches in at least half of the 89 subjects of the Russian Federation and at least 10,000 members with a minimum of 100 members in each branch. Citizens cannot join more than one political party at a time. In addition, the law requires political parties to fulfill formidable and complex filing requirements. Article 9, Section 1 contains a broad clause that could be interpreted to mean many political parties: Creation and activity of political parties shall be prohibited if their objectives or actions aim at a forcible change of the fundamentals of the constitutional system, violation of the integrity of the Russian Federation, undermining of the national security, formation of military and paramilitary units, incitement of racial, national or religious enmity. Nor can some existing power bases be transformed into political power, as the law bans the creation of parties on a “professional, racial, national or religious basis” (Article 9, Section 3). In addition, a political party can no longer consist of people from a single profession (Article 9, Section 3). What is particularly disturbing about the 2001 law on parties is that while it specifically prohibits branches of the government from functioning as political parties (Article 9, Section 4), the presidential administration and others (notably Mayor Luzhkov and his Moscow administration) have co-opted state resources for creating and supporting political parties in every Duma race – including in the 2003 elections after the law had been in force for two years. The new law also states that people holding government or municipal office must not “take advantage of the privileges of their official position or status to promote the interests of a political party” (Article 10, Section 3). While pro-government parties might

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 79 argue that leaders of United Russia in 2003 were campaigning separately from their official posts as government ministers, these individuals would never have garnered the extensive coverage without their state connections. While there is plenty of scope for limiting public participation with this law, at the same time it is also clear that the pro-Kremlin elites will continue to manipulate the party system to their advantage.19

The broadcast media and Russian political parties What are the lessons that the Kremlin and others have learned in the creation and marketing of political parties? Russian parties and candidates have essentially three different ways to campaign via television: through their free-time allotment on state-run channels, in paid advertising and through editorial coverage in programs such as news and analytical shows. Until the 1999 Duma campaign, free time was distributed under a highly equitable system as each party received an equal amount of free time with no regard for its actual or projected amount of electoral support. Paid advertising is technically open to all; in fact Russian law requires media companies to sell it to all parties at the same rate.20 Most political parties, however, cannot afford to advertise on national television, where ad rates reached as high as $40,000 a minute during prime time on ORT during the 1999 Duma elections.21 Television coverage is both inadequate and biased (see Chapters 5, 6 and 9). There are three particular conditions in Russia that underline the importance of television, particularly during the campaign period, for electoral success. First, there are relatively unfixed voting preferences on the part of the electorate. If partisan allegiances are formed relatively early in life and are fairly enduring, fewer “floating” voters would be available to support new parties. In Russia, however, as in some other post-Communist states, a large percentage of people still appear to make up their minds during the campaign. For example, in the 2000 Russian presidential elections, 48 percent of the voters made up their minds in the two months before the vote and a surprising 22 percent of those who voted waited until the last week or later to decide.22 While there is evidence of some links between certain attitudes and social characteristics and vote choice in Russia as cited above, both the voters and the parties remain far more in flux than in the United States or Western Europe. In addition, Russia has a chaotic and rapidly changing political situation in which political parties have little real power. Not only is the executive branch strong enough to stifle the Duma, but also the office of the president has remained relatively free of party affiliation. Thus, the link between party support and power is quite tenuous. Finally, as discussed in Chapter 2, there is a lack of independent media in Russia. The political conditions in Russia mean that there must be different strategies and rules for electoral success than those found in stable democratic party systems. Most Russian parties cannot rely on loyal electorates; by the same token Russian voters would not expect to see many of the same political parties return in subsequent elections. To exacerbate the problem of party development, the

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two winners in the Russian presidential contests have not run on party tickets. These means that most successful political parties need the money and the influence to market themselves extensively and effectively on television. Influence, in fact, is much more important than money, particularly the ability to manage news coverage and content on at least one national television channel, preferably Channel 1. The marketing campaign is made easier if the party is new with no track record or burdensome past mistakes to explain. For example, 15 percent of the Unity voters said they chose this pro-Kremlin party in 1999 because it was new.23 In addition, these new parties need to be able to find a relatively large group of voters, probably at the center of the political spectrum, at which to target their policies and platforms, even if these policies and platforms are somewhat vague. This was a problem with the government’s first attempt at the broadcast party, Russia’s Choice in 1993. Russia’s Choice was trying to promote pro-market, Westernized ideas to a population that was experiencing grave financial hardship because of the transition from a socialist economy. In addition, Russia’s Choice was often critical of the Soviet past and of nationalist ideas, both of which still have great positive resonance for much of the electorate. Thus, a party must be at least partially in touch with the mood of the population to succeed even as a broadcast party. Ominously, however, there is no onus on the broadcast party to deliver on any promises – from those involving the market to foreign defense – once it is in office. Instead, the party will fade or change significantly and, until 2003, another pro-Kremlin party would appear to promise popular policies in the next election. Yelena Rykovtseva, a Moscow journalist who writes on television, coined the phrase “efirnaya partiya” [“airwaves” or “broadcast” party], pointing out that parties that do not exist outside of a stream of flickering electronic images are, in the end, merely a reflection of the popularity of television rather than a real political phenomenon.24 Finally, although this type of “broadcast” party could rely quite heavily on the media, it cannot exist in a completely virtual fashion. There must be national and local party leaders to stand on the party list; someone to campaign for the party on television and on the road; party workers to paste up at least a nominal amount of posters; and local party representatives to carry out organizational work, especially turning out the vote. In this sense, parties linked to the Kremlin or other government power bases have an enormous advantage, in that they can convert government workers into campaign workers for the duration of an election. This can range from the federal governmental apparatus with its far-flung regional offices to the powerful Moscow administration to a large business concern. Not only does this provide ready manpower and office resources, but it also gives the party a cadre of motivated political supporters whose livelihoods are linked to the political and economic power of their bosses. The options for competition among these power bases have become significantly more limited since the 1999 Duma elections. Both the Kremlin and the Moscow power base of Luzhkov chose to join forces and create a single, extraordinarily powerful party (United Russia) for the 2003 campaign. In addition, wealthy and influential oligarchs such as Boris Berezovsky, Vladimir Gusinsky and Mikhail Khodorkovsky have been forced into

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 81 exile or imprisoned, stripped of their ability to use their massive capital or media outlets to create and support political movements. There are several items missing from the above list that one would expect to find necessary for party development. In particular, broadcast parties do not need an ideology or even a particularly coherent set of policies, but they do need good slogans and good sound bites for use on “their” media outlets. Nor do broadcast parties need grass-roots organizations, party regional offices, incumbency in office or a political track record. In fact, any of those elements could get in the way of an effective television campaign, taking away flexibility from political party image-makers as they construct television advertising and news campaigns. It could not even be argued that the party needs telegenic or newsworthy leaders, as this is not key to obtaining positive coverage on the nightly news and other programs. However, as Russian leaders realized after the 1993 elections, a pro-government party cannot attempt to foist unpopular economic or other policies on the population. Rather, it must at least suggest a palatable, popular economic and social program, which can explain why Our Home is Russia (1995) and Unity (1999) put much more emphasis on nationalism and social policies than Russia’s Choice (1993). Arguably, that could lead to a type of democracy, but the lack of a link between campaigning and policy-making suggests otherwise in Russia. Since 1993, broadcast parties have come to dominate in Russian Duma elections (see Chart 4.1). Some parties, however, are extremely hard to define.25 The concept of a broadcast party is, admittedly, somewhat slippery as many parties that meet the criteria also have elements of more traditional political parties. For example, the pro-government Russia’s Choice party in 1993 did have a platform, particularly in terms of the economy (not that it was particularly well articulated in party broadcasts, in ads or on the television news). All of the parties that ran in the 1993 elections were, of necessity, new parties without a past in parliament (although most individuals and some organizations had been involved in Soviet and post-Soviet politics). The phenomenon was clearer in the 1995 and 1999 elections, in which pro-government parties became increasingly less clear on policies and more image-driven during elections. In addition, Fatherland-All Russia, with Luzhkov at its head, was able to construct a national broadcast party because of the impressive resources available to the Moscow City administration, particularly TV-Center on Channel 3. It also should be noted that the discussion of the broadcast party leaves out a very important element that is far removed from the television screens. From Russia’s Choice in 1993 to United Russia ten years later, it was clear there was a great deal of networking and discussions about party organization, nomination, power-sharing and “horse-trading” that went on among national and regional elites. Thus, the parties had strong party lists with notable figures – as well as good local contenders in the single-member district races. Yet the face of the parties was somewhat virtual, particularly in that none of the parties survived to contest subsequent elections. Russia’s Choice was the first attempt to build a broadcast party. It met all of the criteria listed in the section above. It existed in a situation of little party

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Percent of party-list vote

50

40

30 Party type 20

Liberal Communist Nationalist Broadcast

10

0 1993

1995 1999 Duma election

2003

Chart 4.1 Election results by party type, Russian Duma elections 1993–2003. Party type definitions for Chart 4.1 1993 Broadcast: Russia’s Choice Communist: Communist Party of the Russian Federation Nationalist: Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia Liberal: Yabloko, Party of Russian Unity and Accord, Democratic Party of Russia, Russian Movement for Democratic Reform 1995 Broadcast: Our Home is Russia, Ivan Rybkin Bloc Communist: Communist Party of the Russian Federation, Working Russia for the Soviet Union Nationalist: Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia, For the Motherland Liberal: Yabloko, Democratic Choice of Russia, Party of Russian Unity and Accord 1999 Broadcast: Unity, Fatherland-All Russia, Union of Right Forces Communist: Communist Party of the Russian Federation, Working Russia for the Soviet Union, Stalinist Bloc Nationalist: Zhirinovsky Bloc (Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia) Liberal: Yabloko 2003 Broadcast: United Russia, Fatherland-All Russia, Rodina Communist: Communist Party of the Russian Federation Nationalist: Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia Liberal: Yabloko, Union of Right Forces Note While there were other small parties that could have possibly fit within these categories, relatively obscure parties were omitted because there was little information for either the electorate or scholars on their party ideology.

preference. The country was experiencing chaotic change, the Kremlin had fairly good influence over Channels 1 and 2 and the party clearly had ample resources to pay for political advertisements on television. In addition, NTV had yet to set up its national television network, so there was no serious challenge from commercial coverage to the government’s line on television. Russia’s Choice pursued

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 83 the most aggressive media campaign in the 1993 campaign, spending a great deal of money on paid advertising.26 In the end, though, the Liberal Democrats won almost a quarter of the party-list vote, with Russia’s Choice running second with just 16 percent. The Communists, despite virtually no television presence, received 12 percent of the vote. What had Russia’s Choice done wrong in 1993? There were several obvious problems. Most importantly, it seems that the Russian government, in formulating a liberal, pro-market party, failed to realize that such positions were far from those of the majority of voters. In addition, the party had missed the importance of the allure of national pride and the emotional appeals to nationalism. Prime Minister and party leader Yegor Gaidar, a cultured individual, seemed to lack a charismatic television presence that would appeal to the masses. More importantly, his economic policies to drive Russia quickly into the market were deeply unpopular with the Russian voters. No matter how much news time was devoted to Gaidar and to the party, it was not an attractive political product to many voters. Thus, despite its support among urban, wealthier, more educated voters, and an extensive campaign, the party did not manage the overwhelming victory it had planned (Wyman and White, 1995). It is clear that the Kremlin learned from its mistakes and produced a more popular party called Our Home is Russia for the 1995 parliamentary elections. The party presented a professional image than was arguably closer to the hearts and minds of Russian voters than Russia’s Choice in 1993. There were several key factors in the change. First, the party was again led by a prime minister, but this time by the more popular and telegenic Viktor Chernomyrdin. The party policies were no longer overtly Western and pro-market, although certainly more liberal in some respects than the more nationalist and communist party groupings in the country. Their ads now were more Red Square than Madison Avenue, the main spots using Soviet images such as a rocket launch, sparks flying in a factory and Russian children marching off to their first day of school.27 What did continue from 1993 was the lopsided domination of television by this pro-government party, as Our Home is Russia had almost a quarter of both the advertising time and the editorial coverage in the 1995 elections (European Institute for the Media, February 1996). The party won about 10 percent of the party-list vote in 1995, less than Russia’s Choice in 1993. However, it could be argued that the party was more successful, in the sense that there were more than three times as many parties in the race than in 1993, Yeltsin’s popularity had plummeted and the government was pursuing a then-unpopular war in Chechnya. The victors in the 1995 contest were the Communists, while support for the Liberal Democrats was cut roughly in half from 1993 (see Table 4.1). It could be argued that the triumphant performance of pro-government Unity in 1999 was a culmination of all the lessons learned in creating a successful broadcast party. The Kremlin was willing to continue to re-tool the party – from the way the leaders presented themselves to advertising images even to its stated policies – in order to win votes. Certainly nothing is wrong or unhealthy about a party reinventing itself; after all, this is a process that parties such as New Labour in the United Kingdom have undergone. Yet Unity was not ultimately concerned

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with a better fit with the public’s wishes. Rather, Unity wanted to consolidate the power of the Yeltsin administration by using the media both to shape public preferences and to convince the electorate it was the best party to take care of their needs. In point of fact, there was little link between policy statements – even vague ones – and actual policy plans. For example, there was no public discussion of plans to switch from broad benefits to cash-for-benefits, a broadly unpopular move implemented by the Putin administration soon after his re-election in 2004. The Interregional Movement “Unity” was created in 1999 to contest the Duma elections as Our Home is Russia and its leaders had long since broken with the Kremlin. This time the party image-makers chose a bear as the party’s symbol – partly because the first letters of the party’s long name in Russian spell out the word for bear and no doubt partly because the bear is a traditional Russian mascot.28 In addition, the party looked slightly further afield than the Prime Minister’s office for leaders and found three personable, newsworthy individuals: Emergency Affairs Minister Sergei Shoigu, famous Greco-Roman wrestler Alexander Karelin and Alexander Gurov, former head of the organized crime department of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs. The party image had shifted even more noticeably away from the slicker, westernized ideas used by Russia’s Choice in 1993. The imaging focused on the three leaders, particularly Shoigu’s activities in Chechnya. The party’s slogan of “Strength, Honesty, Worthiness” was backed up by images of Shoigu among the troops of Chechnya, Karelin throwing wrestling opponents to the ground and Gurov chasing down criminals. In fact, the image-makers avoided words as much as possible, using pictures of the three men respectively as soldier, wrestler and crime-fighter. One 5-minute free-time spot for the party, aired on ORT in November 1999, is almost without text. The spot shows the men in action in their various roles with stirring music (a different theme tune for each), allowing them each to utter a single sentence about strength and worthiness in the final seconds of the ad. Once again, the “party of power” was given much attention on television (European Institute for the Media, March 2000; Oates and Roselle, 2000). Where Unity really benefited was from extensive and virtually uncritical coverage of the invasion of Chechnya on state television. Unity’s link to the government and the war effort there provided a powerful psychological advantage in the marketing effort for the party. In fact, Unity was able to break through a very important barrier for the 1999 elections and found a broader base of support than either Russia’s Choice in 1993 or Our Home is Russia in 1995. Unity was relatively popular among rural as well as urban voters, according to post-election surveys by the Public Opinion Foundation as well as results from the 2001 survey cited earlier.29 This was the first time a pro-Kremlin party had managed to garner such a large base of support from outside the urban centers, although support had become less urban from Russia’s Choice in 1993 to Our Home is Russia two years later (Oates, 1998b). The Kremlin was not alone, of course, in attempts to use the mass media to build support for new parties. In the past three Duma elections, most of the parties were new and needed the support of the mass media to gain any sort of recognition. Fatherland and the Union of Right Forces, also relied quite heavily on the media in the 1999 elections, albeit on different television channels.

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 85 Fatherland-All Russia was created by urban and regional leaders, notably Luzhkov and St Petersburg Governor Vladimir Yakovlev. Fatherland was an attempt by powerful leaders outside the Kremlin to challenge its domination of Russian politics and it had serious media resources, particularly in the form of Moscow-funded TV-Center television on Channel 3. In addition, not only did Luzhkov enjoy a great deal of popularity, but also the party recruited popular former Prime Minister Primakov as co-leader. All of the men – Luzhkov, Yakovlev and Primakov – could command media attention in their own right as prominent Russian politicians. Yet, instead of a dialogue among leaders and a discussion of party platforms, Russian television wound up mostly favoring “their” politicians and parties rather than engaging in real news coverage in the 1999 elections. Fatherland-All Russia is a more complex case than Unity, in that the party was attempting to build on regional strengths to construct a national party that could challenge the Kremlin. In that sense, it was far more than a marketing campaign, although it had to use the media to create a party image that would transcend the combined reputations of its leaders. However, the fate of the party in the hands of ORT is telling evidence as to the importance of the national media in party creation and support. Fatherland encountered formidable opposition from the Kremlin authorities, who were obviously displeased at Luzhkov’s attempts to broaden his Moscow popularity into a national power base, as was reflected in his poor treatment on ORT (discussed in Chapter 6). When the results were announced after election day on December 19, 1999, it was clear that the Moscow-grown Fatherland lacked the popularity of its Kremlin counterpart. Fatherland was successful in the party-list contest, winning 13 percent of the party-list vote. However, Unity won nearly twice as much with 23 percent of this vote, almost tying with the Communists for party-list votes. While the bulk of Fatherland’s support came from Moscow, Unity’s support was spread across the country.30 Although operating to a degree as a broadcast party, Fatherland was not as effective a broadcast party as Unity. Certainly the party used Channel 3 as a venue for virtual infomercials on the nightly news, but it did not meet all the criteria for a successful broadcast party. Because of its leadership, Fatherland was linked with the large cities, an unattractive prospect for the large percentage of voters who live in rural areas in Russia. In fact, the reputation and fame of the party leaders, particularly Luzhkov and Primakov, meant that the party was dominated by particular personalities, more than was true of Unity. Fatherland was hampered from creating a Russia-wide political movement, even though it did reasonably well in the party-list vote and returned 31 deputies in single-member districts. Perhaps the final “broadcast” success of the 1999 campaign could be attributed to the Union of Right Forces, a new party that earned almost 9 percent of the party-list vote in the 1999 elections. The party, headed by youthful former Prime Minister Sergei Kirienko, was noticeably more liberal in outlook, taking under its wing an updated version of Russia’s Choice as well as other relatively pro-reform politicians. Kirienko was not a particularly popular Prime Minister and he lasted only a matter of months under Yeltsin. However, the party did advertise relatively heavily and received friendly treatment from the government.

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For example, a film of Prime Minister Putin appearing with Kirienko was used in a paid political advertisement on the eve of the elections.31 Like many other political organizations, the party did not exist until just before the 1999 elections. Yet through the use of advertising, endorsement by the president and relatively favorable news coverage on the main television channels, the new party was successful in 1999. One could argue that liberal voters turned to the Union of Right Forces as a fairly pragmatic choice and its strength came from actual voter preferences. However, it is difficult to see how many voters could have received much concrete, disinterested information about the party during a month-long campaign. Similar patterns were clear in the 2000 presidential campaign. This time, compromising material (kompromat) on state-run television channels was aimed at relatively moderate liberal candidate Grigory Yavlinsky (European Institute for the Media, August 2000). But this was a minor violation of journalistic ethics compared with the fact that Putin received an overwhelming amount of news coverage during the campaign, close to 50 percent of the total for all national television channels together (European Institute for the Media, August 2000). Communist contender Gennady Zyuganov, although he ran a respectable second in the race with about 29 percent of the vote, received just 11 percent of the news coverage on the major Russian television channels. Coverage on the major state channels (ORT and RTR) continued to be biased in favor of pro-government forces, in this case Putin. Other channels, including the commercial NTV, TV-6 and the Moscow’s TV-Center, were more balanced in their coverage, according to the European Institute for the Media report on the elections.32

The development of Russian campaigning Russian political parties, particularly those created and marketed by the central government, have developed a great deal since the first elections in 1993. In particular, those who advise parties and candidates have learned that political marketing in post-Communist states should be sensitive to the cultural values and norms of the post-Communist people. This seems quite simple and logical, but it was not universally accepted or understood in early post-Communist elections. Instead, parties such as Russia’s Choice in 1993 were more inspired by Western models than by an extension of the communist/post-Communist stock of imagery. It took the success of the Communists and Liberal-Democrat leader Zhirinovsky, with his own particular blend of showmanship and nationalist rhetoric, to show what sorts of political styles might appeal in Russia. In addition, it was important to understand that many Russian citizens have deep pride and attachment to the Soviet past. Although the Soviet regime had notable failures, particularly in the area of human rights, it had quite tangible achievements as well. To disregard or, even worse, to denigrate the Soviet past, proved an unpopular tactic with much of the Russian electorate. In addition, Russian image-makers learned that if one was going to try to influence the voters through television, it was necessary to use relatively subtle tactics to make sure the voter feels as if he or she were making real choice.

The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 87 As Mickiewicz (1999) has pointed out and the focus-group findings for this book suggest, the post-Soviet viewer is a canny and careful viewer. He or she is bound to be unmoved by a copious amount of meaningless coverage, free time or advertising. Rather, it is important to have the pro-government party or candidate persistently framed in a positive light on the television news and in other programs. This made the relatively popular second invasion of Chechnya immensely useful to pro-government Unity in 1999 as well as Putin’s presidential campaign. Both Unity leaders and the acting president could be presented as brave protectors of the Russian state. This also fits in well with a secondary theme to elections: Nationalist appeals are often useful. Although their claims were not as far-flung as some of those made by Zhirinovsky, the pro-government parties and candidates are now unafraid to denigrate the West while promoting pro-Russian national pride. In the course of doing this, they are not afraid to distort the truth or even tell lies. In addition, political marketing experts found that a relatively docile and universal television system is important for electoral success. If one is going to market a new political party or leader to the people in a short time frame, then little time is available to build a reputation or to answer negative news reports. Instead, it is important to pursue a pervasive, “feel-good” campaign with positive news coverage (albeit trying to avoid outright propaganda) and easily digested political advertising. Thus, there were feel-good advertisements by Unity and the decision by Putin not to irritate the voters with any free-time or paid political advertising. Putin did not need advertising. The primary state television stations already were providing ample footage during news and other programming. At the same time, campaigners found it helpful to make opponents seem less credible through vague, yet damning reports of titillating personal or financial scandal, that is kompromat.

Implications for the future What does the advent of the broadcast party, the relatively strong showing of Unity and the victory of Putin mean for the future of Russian politics? Several points could be considered, but perhaps the most important one is that television should not replace real party organization. The ability of political parties to spring up just before elections, put across a type of message to the voters and be voted into office is worrying. What responsibility do these parties have to their voters? What long-term stability can they offer? Isn’t the popularity of the political party little more than a reflection of the popularity of the television station that lends it support? Rose and Munro (2002) point out that “Russians are now free to voice demands for democratic government in a modern state, but political elites have yet to supply this” (p. 231). This lack of accountability of parties and candidates has turned Russian elections into exercises in acclimation rather than competitions for preferred policy and leadership, as underlined by a recent analysis of the post-Soviet party experience by Smyth (2005). When other political institutions are weak, the role of television becomes even more critical and prey to manipulation. In Russia, lacking stable traditions of the creation and passage of legislation,

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popular appeals through television can circumvent nascent political institutions. On a more sinister and cynical note, it could be argued that the broadcast party is more valuable to Russian leaders. A well-rooted party organization with regular meetings, rules, members and other institutions should be able to control the leadership, at least to a degree. Yet if parties do not become institutionalized, and if broadcast parties come and go (most have gone quite quickly), leaders are free to forget about even the most vague campaign promises and to rule unfettered by any party constraints or accountability to the electorate. Thus, Russian leaders have little impetus to build permanent party organizations.

5

The genesis of television control and content in Russian elections, 1993–6

Television is immensely important in Russian elections on two fronts. First, given a dearth of party organization and longevity, Russian voters must rely on television for a great deal of information in a campaign. Although television provides important voting cues in developed societies, in Russia it is often not just an augmentation, but in fact the central source of the party’s identity. At the same time, many Russians look to television, particularly state-run channels, to lead them in their political decisions. It is this combination that makes the role of television so important in the attempt to hold democratic elections in Russia. In general, Russian television has failed to become a democratic leader. Although electoral law mandates fair coverage and commercial television has provided a wavering voice for the government opposition, Russians have not been able to rely on television as a disinterested political player. Russian television has taken sides in all elections, and the result is a media system that serves political masters rather than the public. This chapter examines and analyzes television news content in several elections. As noted in earlier chapters, Russian electoral law allows for a wide degree of exposure of Russian parties and candidates on television, although in practice the amount and type of coverage varies enormously. This chapter will examine three types of television coverage – paid advertising, free-time advertising, and coverage on the main news program – for two Duma elections (1993 and 1995) and the two rounds of the 1996 presidential elections. Chapter 7 will provide a detailed analysis of the 1999 elections for the Duma and the 2000 presidential elections. Chapter 9 examines the most recent Russian elections in 2003 for the Duma and 2004 for the president to look at the development and synthesis of these trends. Over the years and various elections, several trends are clear, including the development of a particular “Russified” style of political advertising and the growth of image over substance. In addition, there has been the rise of “broadcast” parties as discussed in Chapter 4, as well as the use of the television news as a campaign platform for favored parties and candidates. By the same token, smaller parties and candidates have faced increasing barriers to a meaningful broadcast presence in Russia, effectively shutting them out of nationwide political contests. This chapter uses an extensive archive of Russian political advertising and election news broadcasts. For the 1993 Duma elections, this report will draw on

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the prime Channel 1 news (Vremya or Time), free-time broadcasts, and some paid political advertisements shown on Channel 1. For the 1995 Duma elections, the chapter will use tapes made by the author in Moscow during the elections, including the main news programs on ORT and NTV, free time, and paid political advertisements presented in and around the news programs on the main channels. The same taping was made in both rounds of the 1996 presidential elections. Starting with the tapes of news in the 1995 election, the author and collaborators developed a coding frame to assess how much time was devoted to various parties, candidates and topics. This project was continued for two rounds of the 1996 presidential elections, the 1999 and 2003 Duma elections, and the 2000 and 2004 presidential elections. The results, reported and discussed in this chapter for 1995 and 1996, show a consistent bias toward the favored political contenders, notably pro-Kremlin parties and candidates on ORT. In addition, the coders made notes on the qualitative nature of the coverage.1 The results of the coding are bolstered by reports from the European Institute for the Media (Düsseldorf).2 Erving Goffman (1974) and others have developed the notion of framing, a process through which societies reproduce meaning. The application of this concept has varied, making the notion of what scholars mean by “framing” somewhat indistinct. Scheufele (1999) suggests that it is particularly important to consider whether the concept is used as a dependent or an independent variable. This study does not look at how journalists arrived at a particular way of “framing” or organizing images and words for a story for Russian television. That would require research into how journalists put together a story, starting with an investigation into their editorial, financial and time constraints. In addition, there is the more difficult element of gauging how much Russian journalists are led by convention, and how much they predicate their coverage on a notion of self-censorship. Rather, this study focuses on the central level in the media environment/content/ audience equation. What evidence is there in news content that stories are being “framed” in a particular way? What subjects, political parties and individuals are most often seen and heard on the news? Who is able to speak for him or herself ? This means that this analysis attempts to define a type of Russian “framing” of the news, compare it across the main state-run and commercial news program during elections, and then discuss what possible effect these “framing” decisions could have on voters. There is some evidence of the effect of framing from the 2000 and 2004 focus groups, as the participants talk about their impressions, particularly of politicians, from television coverage. In this sense, the use of “framing” is both a descriptive exercise and an analytical tool – as well a way to define news coverage as a possible independent variable operating on the dependent variable of vote choice. This chapter divides the findings and discussion about television content and Russian elections into two primary segments. The first part will deal with the initial experience of Russia with television and elections in the first parliamentary elections of 1993 and 1995. While there were problems and concerns about connecting with the voters, television in the early Russian elections left scope for political entrepreneurs to create nationwide followings. In addition, voters could

Genesis of television control and content 91 get a fairly wide range of information through free time and, by 1995, there was a new commercial television channel with broad national reach. The 1996 presidential elections were the next evolutionary step, in which the broadcast media were co-opted more or less completely in the service of Yeltsin’s campaign effort.

1993–5: moderately free media The first Russian election rules gave wide scope for political parties to appear on television in parliamentary elections. Every party, regardless of size, was given equal access to state broadcast and print media, including roughly an hour of television broadcast time. In addition, parties were allowed to buy advertising time (constrained only by overall campaign spending limits, which were not enforced until the 1999 elections) and were able to try to get on the nightly news as much as possible. The law was unusual not only in that it granted the same amount of free time to large and small parties alike, but also because it allowed for paid political advertising along with free broadcast time. It even permitted paid political advertising on state-run channels. It would seem that Russians would have a great deal of exposure to all political parties under this model. Yet exposure is one thing; broadcast quality and attentiveness are other important issues. Overall, the 1993 free-time broadcasts were painfully dull. Following the Soviet model of providing ample time for talking heads, the segments were extraordinarily long for political advertisements. Parties were given three 20-minute segments each and then had to fill them as best they could. To be fair, they had few resources and little time for organization. As a result, most of the free time featured party leaders making vague speeches. It was earnest, but often difficult to watch. In addition, many of the parties tended to blend together. A few of the free-time broadcasts stand out, notably Vladimir Zhirinovsky’s vehement xenophobic speeches and the soft focus of the flower-filled vases in the Women of Russia clips. A review of free-time programming in the 1993 elections on The Voter’s Hour on Channel 1 shows that the nationalist Liberal Democrats used its free-time segments of 20 minutes to advance extremist, yet concrete policy suggestions.3 While pro-government and pro-reform parties – including Russia’s Choice and Yabloko – offered somewhat bland speeches during their free time, Zhirinovsky was unafraid to make extravagant promises in his fast-paced, energetic spots. The leader of the Liberal Democrats spoke for the bulk of the free-time programming and among his suggestions were closing off Russia’s borders to the “criminal element” from the Caucasus, giving school children free lunches and restoring all former Soviet territories to Russia. In addition, he promised apartments to 200,000 officers and an abundance of inexpensive vodka.4 At the same time, other major parties in the elections, including Russia’s Choice, Yabloko and the Communist Party of the Russian Federation, were not very successful at making recognizable policy statements during their free-time programming on The Voter’s Hour. For example, although Russia’s Choice argued for a market economy in its electoral platform, party leader Yegor Gaidar failed to take any

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meaningful position or state any policy about the market on his segment of the free-time programming. His only comment on the economy was a remark that inflation must be brought under control. In addition, his comments on socialwelfare guarantees were vague. The Russia’s Choice programming also presented pop stars, an uneasy juxtaposition with the serious Gaidar. Well-known economist and party leader Grigory Yavlinsky also failed to articulate concrete policies during his appearance for pro-market Yabloko. Even in this first election, it was clear that candidates and parties would use their free time in ways in which the government had not envisioned when designing the law to provide media access for parties and candidates during election campaigns. It was not uncommon in 1993 for parties such as Yabloko and the Communists to spend time attacking the government and its plans to rush through a new constitution instead of discussing their own party policies.5 In late November 1993, Yeltsin Press Secretary Vyacheslav Kostikov complained that the democratic offer by the president and the Central Election Commission [for free television time] is being used by a number of electoral blocs and candidates not to present their programs, but to make flagrant attacks on the President, the government and the blocs’ opponents . . . Streams of lies, garbled facts, social demagoguery and pure invective have been hurled at potential voters from television screens.6 One of the stranger effects of the division of free time equally among all parties is that many parties clearly had few resources with which to construct attractive or even coherent messages. Virtually all the parties used a mix of “talking heads” to discuss the attractiveness of the party, although few parties seemed able to find people who could make clear policy statements. This left viewers no doubt confused and alienated by the free-time programming. The exception to this problem during the 1993 campaign was the centrist, special-interest Women of Russia party, which used articulate party leaders and candidates to discuss the policy needs of Russian women, families and children. Women of Russia surprised analysts by doing relatively well in 1993, winning just over 8 percent of the party-list vote despite a lack of powerful leaders or strong links with large administrative power bases. On the other hand, viewers were presented with hours of dull, meaningless, and occasionally absurd free-time election programming from many parties.7 Russian voters also had ample paid political advertising to watch in 1993. According to the European Institute for the Media, there were 15 hours and 28 minutes of paid political advertising during the month-long Duma campaign (European Institute for the Media, 1994, p. 117) and pro-government parties were the largest consumers of paid time. Russia’s Choice bought almost a third of this time (4 hours and 41 minutes), while the pro-government Party of Russian Unity and Accord bought 19 percent. The Liberal Democrats bought 14 percent (130 minutes) of the paid time, a very large amount for a party without direct government connections. Perhaps it is most interesting that successful parties

Genesis of television control and content 93 such as Yabloko and the Communist Party bought little or no paid time. Prices for television advertising ranged from 150,000 rubles a minute (about $123 in late 1993) to six million rubles per minute (about $4,900), suggesting that some parties were offered better bargains by television channels (European Institute for the Media, 1994, p. 35). However, much of the fluctuation could be due to whether the advertising was placed in popular time slots. There were some large sums spent on television advertising, which suggests that parties had access to either private money, backing from businesses, money raised for the campaign or state funds subverted for the use of the campaign. Russia’s Choice spent 224 million rubles (about $183,000) for airtime, more than any other party in 1993 (European Institute for the Media, 1994). The Liberal Democrats were third, spending 154 million rubles (about $126,000). While Zhirinovsky favored personal appeals in his ads for the Liberal Democrats, Russia’s Choice used slicker graphics and a softer sell to market the party. Russia’s Choice tended to market the party like any Western product. In one advertisement, legs clad in jeans walk by a small child and a dog sitting on the household floor. A hand reaches down to pin a Russia’s Choice campaign button on the child’s shirt and he lisps “We can’t vote for Russia’s Choice because we’re too small” as he hugs the dog. This type of advertisement, with its reliance on the cuteness of child and dog for appeal, is in stark contrast to the rough, ragged appeal of the advertisements for the Liberal Democrats with the outspoken figure of the nationalist Zhirinovsky. The dignified silence of the Communist Party with its complete lack of paid advertisements made a statement of its own. In 1993, pro-government parties such as Russia’s Choice had distinct advantages in editorial coverage as well as in paid time. In a study of editorial coverage of political parties on Channels 1 and 2, the European Institute for the Media (1994) found that pro-government parties received 37 percent of the 16 hours and 18 minutes of campaign news coverage, most of it for Russia’s Choice (see Chart 5.1). Reform parties, especially the Russian Movement for Democratic Reform, also received a relatively large amount of news coverage. Despite going on to win the highest vote in the party-list race, the nationalist Liberal Democrats received a relatively modest amount of coverage. However, it is clear that it was the Communists and their Leftist allies, the Agrarians, who suffered from the worst media bias. The Communists received a scant 13 minutes of news coverage in the entire campaign (1.4 percent of the total) despite being a relatively strong political presence. In contrast, the heavily covered Russian Movement for Democratic Reform failed to even gain 5 percent of the party-list vote. It is clear that there was a bias toward covering pro-government and pro-reform parties and that the Communists had a particularly hard time gaining attention from the national broadcast media in 1993.8 This “telebias” toward pro-government and pro-reform groups is particularly apparent when examining the combination of paid advertisements and editorial time. Not only did Russia’s Choice broadcast twice as many minutes as any other contender, but the pro-government Party of Russian Unity and Accord and the pro-reform Russian Movement for Democratic Reform also dominated the airwaves.

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Russia’s Choice

285

PRUA

78

281

177

LDPR

125

RDDR

119

Civic Union

75

130 87

Yabloko Dem. Party Agrarians Future of Russia CPRF Paid advertising Editorial coverage

Others 0

100

200

300

400

500

600

Minutes

Chart 5.1 Television exposure in the 1993 Russian Duma campaign: minutes of editorial time and paid advertising. Source: European Institute for the Media (1994, p. 117). Numbers rounded to the nearest minute.

In addition, the European Institute for the Media report on the 1993 Duma elections notes that the coverage tended to lack analytical value (1994, p. 31). Between the paid time and editorial coverage, Russian viewers were receiving far more messages from a relatively narrow group of parties. Although it is beyond the scope of this analysis to discuss all television coverage, it should be noted that there was a clumsy attempt at propaganda against the Liberal Democrats with the showing of a documentary called The Hawk, designed to discredit Zhirinovsky and his party on the eve of the election. It is clear, however, that Russian voters did not merely absorb these messages and support only the parties with extensive television campaigns, either paid or through editorial coverage. Despite their dominance of television, pro-government parties received less than a quarter of the party-list vote in the 1993 Duma elections. Clearly, the link between television exposure and campaign success in Russia was somewhat tenuous at best in 1993.

The 1995 Duma campaign on television New rules set out by the Russian Central Election Commission on September 20, 1995, provided detailed guidelines for campaigning in the parliamentary elections of December 1995.9 State-funded media such as ORT were required to

Genesis of television control and content 95 refrain from bias in their news coverage. The guidelines also delineated rules for debates and round-table discussions, although candidates and parties almost all declined to participate in them or organize them during the 1995 campaign. Rather, much like their Western counterparts, they favored press conferences and rallies in which they could stick to limited topics, most of them vague and noncontroversial. As in 1993, the national television and radio channels were required to distribute one hour of free time daily to be split equally among the 43 parties on the ballot. This time, however, parties were given shorter spots. Parties could buy additional time, although they were limited by a spending ceiling of $2.4 million per party by law. However, the suspiciously large amount of paid advertising for pro-government groups, such as Our Home is Russia, suggests that these rules were bent or even broken by those with powerful government ties (White et al., 1997, p. 213). The cost of advertising had risen substantially since 1993, with broadcast time now costing between $10,000 and $30,000 a minute, depending on the time slot (European Institute for the Media, February 1996, p. 32). One of the most significant factors in the campaign was the large increase in the amount of paid advertising and editorial coverage of the parties in the elections. Despite the steep rise in price, the volume of paid advertising almost doubled, jumping from 15 hours and 28 minutes in 1993 to 30 hours and 40 minutes in 1995 (European Institute for the Media, February 1996). Although there were three times as many parties in the race, it should be noted that the increase came primarily from the rise in television advertising and editorial coverage for ten of the parties in the 1995 race (see Chart 5.2). The same pattern held for editorial

Our Home is Russia

670

Dem. Choice of Rus.

431

346

LDPR

200

Rybkin’s Bloc

199

Russian Communities

176

215

My Fatherland CPRF 160 Forward, Russia! Yabloko Paid advertising

Women of Russia

Editorial coverage 0

200

400

600 800 1000 1200

Minutes

Chart 5.2 Television coverage in the 1995 Russian Duma elections. Source: European Institute for the Media (February 1996, pp. 32, 34). This chart refers to paid and editorial time on ORT, RTR, NTV, TV-Center and TV-6.

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coverage. While editorial coverage of parties almost tripled, rising from 16 hours and 18 minutes in the 1993 campaign to 45 hours and 22 minutes in the 1995 campaign, it was still the major parties, and particularly the party of power, that dominated the election news. As the main 1995 party of power, Our Home is Russia benefited from the heavy exposure of party leader and Russian Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin. Chernomyrdin dominated the news as head of government, especially when Yeltsin was ill for long periods before his heart surgery. The prime minister displayed talent for mingling with crowds of workers, speaking from podiums at meetings, and striding authoritatively through manufacturing plants. In addition, the party recruited several other prominent Russians for its party ballot, including famous filmmaker Nikita Mikhalkov.10 Chernomyrdin was used consistently throughout the 1995 Duma elections, both as rationalization for news coverage (he remained in his post of prime minister throughout the campaign) and as a firm, yet likable image as a political figurehead. Posters showed Chernomyrdin holding a rooster under the slogan “Don’t Sleep Through Your Future” and making a reassuring gesture by bringing the tips of his hands together to form a roof as a symbol of protection.11 Chernomyrdin’s television appearances were a bit less creative than the posters. In the main spot for the party that was run constantly throughout late November and early December, Chernomyrdin was shown meeting with a crowd and saying some reassuring words about the party from behind a desk. Aside from Chernomyrdin, the main spot for the party showed sparks flying in a metal works, a rocket launch, an airplane that had been rescued from hijackers, children marching off to their first day of school as they clutched flowers, and a family group voting. The woman glances up at her husband for reassurance and slips the vote into the ballot box, then the image of a broad-based triangle with the red, white, and blue colors of the Russian flag appears on the screen. Throughout the commercial, there is a catchy Our Home is Russia theme song about the importance of voting for “Our Home” to protect “your home.” In another advertisement, Our Home is Russia attacked the communists, showing staged man-in-the-street interviews in which attractive, rational people said they would vote for Our Home while ragged, ranting people said they would vote for the Communist Party.12 Various parties have used this type of staged man-in-the-street advertisement in campaigns since 1995. The use of free time for this party of power was less well polished. During the free time on Channel 1, the party featured its leaders talking about the need for their party, yet little was said about definite policy or promises.13 In the same segment, there is a tape showing Chernomyrdin at a plant, some industrial shots of an assembly line, and tree logging. In addition, there are some shots of soldiers leaping into tanks and action shots of the tanks themselves. At the end of the segment, there are more man-in-the-street statements, as people briefly say that they are going to vote for Our Home is Russia. In another Our Home is Russia free-time segment, an unidentified party official talked about how successful the party organization had been in recruiting people, but he failed to address the party’s ideology or planned policies.

Genesis of television control and content 97 It is interesting to note the campaign of a spectacularly unsuccessful pro-government party, created by the Yeltsin administration along with Our Home is Russia.14 The Ivan Rybkin Bloc, named after its leader and Duma speaker, won just 1.1 percent of the party-list vote in 1995, despite two and a half hours of paid advertising and more than three hours of editorial coverage (see Chart 5.2). Clearly, it was a well-funded party with excellent connections and it ran an elaborate media campaign. Yet the party never managed to project anything beyond the image of its prominent, albeit soft-spoken leader.15 The way it chose to promote him could be most charitably described as quaint, and perhaps more realistically defined as strange. The most memorable ads involved two black-and-white cows standing in a snowy field and alternately discussing the concepts of justice, order and peace [spravedlivost’, poryadok, mir]. As the apparently wiser cow explains that there is little of this and that Ivan Rybkin can help, images flit by – a Mercedes callously throwing up mud, a truck bearing away the cow’s milk, etc. At the end of the ad, one cow urges viewers to “Vote for Ivan!” In another advertisement that was run repeatedly on Russian networks during the campaign, the viewer saw a series of old black-and-white family photographs of Rybkin. The talking cows, as well as rather dull and staid free-time broadcasts, seemed to have held little attraction for voters. It is a clear example of how the state directly funds “parties of power,” because only the state could have produced so much money so quickly for the expensive campaign. The fact that the party was so unpopular with the voters underlines the undemocratic nature of the state trying to create a party to support its policies. It also highlights that fact that even those in power must work at creating an attractive political vehicle. Meanwhile, Zhirinovsky repeated his charismatic performance from the 1993 elections to create rather more interesting free-time spots for the Liberal Democrats. Zhirinovsky is perhaps best known for his oft-repeated pro-Slavic, imperialist and racist views. In his 1995 party platform, Zhirinovsky wrote of support for Russians over other ethnic groups, a return to a state-supported economy as well as a more hawk-like policy toward the West and other countries.16 In his free-time segments, Zhirinovsky eschewed the avuncular image of the armchair politician and delivered his messages standing up, staring aggressively at the camera with his arms clasped behind his back.17 Just as he avoided relaxed poses, he also rejected timid statements. In his rumpled suits, Zhirinovsky assured voters that Liberal Democrats were the only honest party – and the only party with the guts to tame the Yeltsin administration.18 He was quick to assign blame, particularly to former Prime Minister Gaidar, the Yeltsin administration and the communists. Zhirinovsky especially excelled at making sweeping statements to the voters: “There will be not one hungry person, not one poor person, not one homeless person if the Liberal Democrats receive a majority of the votes” (November 16, 1995). In three segments, Zhirinovsky assured his viewers that others were “deceiving” them and causing the terrible problems in Russian society.19 Zhirinovsky warned the viewers on December 6, 1995, “if you don’t put Liberal Democrats in power, no one will return anything to you.” Thus, Zhirinovsky excelled at whipping his audience into anger at the alleged deceptions of their

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politicians, and then promising his party was the only one to fix the problems. While some Western observers have been quick to dismiss Zhirinovsky as a clownish boor, he clearly touches a chord in the Russian public. Zhirinovsky has relied on his considerable talents as a showman and political entrepreneur to create an enduring image for his party. The fact that his party has cooperated extensively with the Yeltsin (and later Putin) administrations once in power while he has railed against the government in political advertising has never been discussed seriously by the Russian broadcast media during his subsequent election campaigns. At least the leader of the Liberal Democrats could never be called dull. In one of his more restrained political advertisements in the 1995 campaign, Zhirinovsky is seen visiting a local market, waving around imported packs of frozen chicken parts and complaining about expensive imported food. Other advertisements for the Liberal Democrats featured the leader in more lurid surroundings. In some ads, Russian female figures including Natasha from Tolstoy’s War and Peace and a housewife offered to “do anything” for him. According to the European Institute for the Media report (March 2000), Zhirinovsky’s party bought the third-largest amount of advertising time (almost 3 hours or 10 percent of the total) and garnered more than 7 percent of the editorial time on television in the 1995 campaign. While the free-time spots for Yabloko were somewhat uninspired speeches by party leader Yavlinsky – as they had been in 1993 – this pro-market party made several clever and interesting paid commercials. These included advertisements that played on the party name, formed from the founder’s initials and meaning “apple” in Russian. One party ad showed Sir Isaac Newton slumped beneath the apple tree being hit on the head by the fruit and then looking joyfully inspired about the laws of physics while the announcer quotes Lord Byron. In another, a young man eats apples while his girlfriend sulkily tells him that “you love apples more than me.” But no, he insists, he “loves them both.” In another ad, a couple plays with their young son, then colorful graphics throw up a slogan on the screen for the support of the party, saying that the party will protect the “hearth” (ochag in Russian). Yavlinsky did not appear in the paid ads, although he dominated the party’s free-time spots. The Communist Party had virtually no paid advertising on television in the 1995 elections. However, it could be argued that the party’s use of free time was somewhat better than most, with an attempt to inform viewers about policies rather than merely introduce leaders or engage either in dull speeches with little meaningful content or stunts such as those favored by Zhirinovsky. Nor did the Communists choose flashy music or images in their free-time segments. Rather, they typically featured party leaders talking about the past mistakes of the Communist Party, including labor camps, while stressing the positive aspects of the communist achievements in both Russia and the Soviet Union. Unlike in the Our Home is Russia segments, in which Chernomyrdin sometimes took a hectoring tone, the communist leaders seemed to find a moderate, conciliatory way of speaking. In their free-time segment on November 28, the Communists used a brief film at the end of the segment, which showed traditional Soviet images of

Genesis of television control and content 99 a Stalinesque skyscraper in Moscow, the harvest, a street march complete with a hammer-and-sickle flag, shots of party leader Gennady Zyuganov with a crowd, a rocket lift-off, and films of factory production as some light martial music played. As the film showed, a voice said “For the honest and worthy support of the Russian great power.”20 In an odd twist, the clip also showed scenes of Sovietera voting. The shots of Zyuganov were staged in much the same way as the shots of Chernomyrdin in the Our Home is Russia advertising. While the communists may have seemed to capitalize on the past in a positive way, pro-market Democratic Choice of Russia seemed locked in its past unpopularity.21 The pro-market party did have a clear advantage during the campaign in the form of unusually high television exposure. Although only 3.5 percent of respondents picked the party in a 1995 survey just before the elections, the party spent money and attracted editorial coverage as though it were still a major political player.22 The party bought an hour and 43 minutes of advertising time (6 percent of the total) and received 13 percent of the total news coverage (see Chart 5.2). It is particularly interesting to put the amount of editorial time in perspective: Our Home is Russia was the only party to outstrip Democratic Choice of Russia in coverage time, although by a large margin. There are several reasons that the media devoted so much attention to the party, no doubt most of them linked to the figure of Gaidar. Russia’s Choice, the original party, was a major player in the 1993 elections and wound up with the largest number of deputies in the Duma (as a result of modest party-list success linked to a very strong performance in singlemember district contests). Yet Democratic Choice of Russia certainly failed to capitalize on the exposure. The party won 3.9 percent of the party-list vote in the 1995 elections, a slight increase over its showing in the November opinion poll and not enough to reach the five-percent vote barrier for party-list seats in the Duma. This seemed little return for an extensive television presence. In an interesting twist on the use of images of the past, some of the free time for Democratic Choice of Russia used film from Soviet times, apparently intending the footage as a warning to voters against the Communist Party of the Russian Federation. For example, for its free-time segment on Channel 1 on December 5, the party showed films of the massive Soviet congresses, May Day parades, former Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev on the Red Square podium, a little girl with Stalin, another little girl with Gorbachev, and then Gaidar at the head of a conference table.23 It is interesting to note that the Communists used quite similar images as a positive vision for Russia in its segment on November 28. Could the same images attract some voters and repel others? What impression would the inclusion of Gaidar in the historic film footage give the audience? More importantly, was the Democratic Choice of Russia strategy effective at promoting the party? Even if a viewer found the images of Soviet power negative, would he or she necessarily then choose Democratic Choice of Russia as the alternative? Other images in this free-time segment for the party seemed more evocative of the negative side of Soviet communism: bread lines, ration coupons, empty shelves in food stores, old women waiting in bread lines and a skirmish over sausages in a shop. In addition, the segment showed graphic, disturbing images

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of the war in Chechnya, including corpses littering the ground. Yet the party does not seem to have followed this up with hard-hitting policy statements or even mere speeches. Instead, Gaidar wandered in the past, justifying actions and trying to explain market economics instead of capitalizing on some demonstrable shortcomings of his communist, nationalist and pro-government competitors. In a detailed analysis of media and the 1995 parliamentary elections, the European Institute for the Media found that the Russian Central Election Commission had a difficult time overseeing the editorial coverage on state-owned broadcasting networks such as Channel 1’s ORT (European Institute for the Media, February 1996, p. 20). In addition, the institute’s quantitative and qualitative analysis of editorial time on five television networks found a bias toward Our Home is Russia and Democratic Choice of Russia (European Institute for the Media, 1996, p. 20). The institute also found that ORT avoided criticism of the government, often ignored the nationalistic trend in party politics, tended to overlook the smaller parties advocating swifter reforms, and frequently gave communists as well as nationalists negative coverage. The report noted that the trend of ORT to report positive news on Yeltsin and the government was particularly strong on Vremya, the main nightly news show (p. 36). The author’s study of ORT and NTV television news during the Duma campaign showed that the main state-run and prime commercial channels approached election coverage quite differently.24 While ORT’s Vremya devoted more time to the election coverage, it was biased toward the parties of power and neglected coverage of the competition. On the other hand, NTV’s Sevodnya provided more balanced coverage, but there was less of it as the commercial channel focused on reporting on the atrocities of war in Chechnya. Overall, ORT devoted about 28 percent of its news time in the 9 p.m. Vremya slot to the elections in the monthlong Duma campaign while the prime-time Sevodnya news show spent only about 20 percent of its airtime on election themes. Thus, viewers were seeing more on Vremya about the elections, but it had more the air of propaganda than Sevodnya’s briefer, albeit less biased, reporting. The author’s analysis shows that, much as in the 1993 parliamentary election coverage, there was a strong “how to” element in the ORT news. The analysis showed that in addition to a large number of references to the rules of the campaign, there was reporting on the role of the media in the campaign, including news stories of parties that were reprimanded for failing to live up to political advertising standards (see Table 5.1). There was an overexposure of pro-government and pro-reform parties, especially the relatively minor Democratic Choice of Russia, on Vremya (see Table 5.2). At the same time, the Communist Party was relatively underreported, despite its mounting popularity – and the hard-line communist Working Russia for a Soviet Union was not even mentioned although it won almost 5 percent of the party-list vote. The news covered some of the typical scenes of the election, including press conferences, staged appearances by party leaders, and sometimes featured a montage of party leaders at election events. As is often true in television campaign reporting in the West, there was an emphasis on image over issue, with little discussion of policy or platforms. Parties played

Genesis of television control and content 101 Table 5.1 Issues mentioned in the 1995 Russian Duma campaign coverage, November 15– December 16 Subject

Chechen voting Campaign in general Rules of campaign Media in campaign Parties Candidates Voter participation General polling data Federalism/center-region split Polling/candidates Constitutional reform/legal matters Campaign financing Voting falsification Total number of stories

Mentions on ORT’s Vremya

Mentions on NTV’s Sevodnya

Number

Number

Share (%)

Share (%)

37 27 25 16 14 11 10 9 6 4 3

30 22 20 13 11 9 8 7 5 3 2

34 16 3 8 13 11 2 0 0 1 9

35 17 3 8 14 12 2 0 0 1 9

0 0 125

0 0 100

5 1 96

5 1 100

Source: Author’s data. Note Percentages add up to more than 100 because some stories mentioned more than one issue. The number of mentions on the table adds up to less than the total mentions of various issues on Vremya and Sevodnya because categories are not included in the table.

a minor role on Vremya: The number of mentions of parties lagged behind mentions of campaign rules or mentions of the role of the media in the campaign. There was a major anomaly in campaign coverage on the eve of the election when ORT broadcast a lengthy speech by President Yeltsin. However, Yeltsin did refrain from direct electioneering (although going so far as to say “our country doesn’t need revolution,” which could be construed as a remark against voting for communist parties) and generally urged people to vote. There was little serious presentation of societal concerns during the election news on Vremya with coverage of the Chechen war as the notable exception. News about Chechnya appeared in more than half (53 percent) of the campaign news reports, including information about voting in Chechnya, Chechen military issues, Chechen residents and Russian soldiers there. The Vremya coverage favored the Russian military position and included very little meaningful input from the Chechen side. Much of the reporting focused on preparations for voting, including unlikely man-in-the-street interviews with Chechens supportive of Russian rule. If Vremya was offering one-sided fare during the elections, however, NTV’s Sevodnya offered a great deal of information about Chechnya and relatively little else in the end of 1995. Almost 35 percent of the total Sevodnya election coverage of about two and a half hours was devoted to

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elections in Chechnya. Voting in Chechnya was mentioned more than any other election issue and almost three times as often as political parties (see Table 5.1). By contrast, Vremya had emphasized campaign information (119 mentions) while citing all Chechnya news 66 times. Certainly ORT’s Vremya also mentioned Chechnya a great deal, but there was a distinct qualitative difference in the coverage. While the ORT Chechnya coverage emphasized support for Russian rule and the successes of the military, NTV presented the widespread anger among Chechnya residents about the Russian invasion. The difference in coverage crystallized in the election coverage, as ORT stressed alleged support for elections to legitimize Russian rule in the region and the NTV reports aggressively countered with stories pointing to the farcical nature of holding elections in an area in armed revolt against Russian rule. NTV even sensationalized the story, as correspondents prophesied violence on voting day on air. While Vremya had emphasized general campaign and how-to-vote information, Sevodnya’s non-Chechnya election stories often seemed almost random in their presentation. Election stories themselves offered disappointingly little useful information for the voter on party platforms, ideology or policies. There was, however, mention of some other important electoral issues, including legal cases, general campaigning, candidate characteristics, the role of the media in the campaign and electoral financing. A typical day of election coverage of Sevodnya might include some film from a press conference and a roundup of the activities of various party leaders for the day. NTV’s election coverage was more sensational than that on ORT, sometimes at the cost of good journalistic practice. For example, in reporting the death of a Duma member and candidate from Table 5.2 Parties mentioned in the 1995 Russian Duma campaign coverage, November 15– December 16 Party

Our Home is Russia Communist Party Democratic Choice of Russia Liberal Democrats Forward, Russia! Yabloko Congress of Russian Communities Women of Russia Christian Democratic Union Union of Labor Other Total number of mentions Source: Author’s data.

Mentions on ORT’s Vremya

Mentions on NTV’s Sevodnya

Number

Number

Share (%)

Share (%)

19 14 12 9 8 8 6

18 13 12 9 8 8 6

9 11 5 8 0 4 6

12 15 7 11 0 5 8

6 0 0 22 104

6 0 0 21 100

3 3 2 22 73

4 4 3 30 100

Genesis of television control and content 103 Rostov-on-the-Don on November 26, NTV newsreader Mikhail Osokin remarked that it was “the first murder of the campaign,” suggesting there were more to come. NTV also encouraged the idea that the death of Christian Democratic Union leader Vitaly Savitsky in a car crash on December 10 might not have been merely another Russian road tragedy, repeatedly quoting party leaders who claimed that there might have been foul play. Aside from these types of stories, parties received very little coverage indeed on NTV, although the mentions of parties appeared to be more in line with the results than the pattern of party coverage on ORT’s Vremya (see Table 5.2). While it could be argued that NTV was challenging the government by presenting the full, depressing state of affairs in Chechnya, the channel did not do a full job of presenting political alternatives through its coverage of the Duma race.

1996 presidential campaign coverage: from news leaders to cheerleaders The analysis of 1996 presidential election coverage on the ORT and NTV nightly news suggests the degree to which coverage changed, particularly on NTV. During the Duma elections a few months before, Yeltsin was not running for office, was not formally affiliated with any political party and, for the most part, he was shown promoting the electoral process rather than a particular candidate or party. In the 1996 presidential campaign, however, Yeltsin developed a strategy to win in the first round against a number of centrist or reform candidates (White et al., 1997). In the second round, Yeltsin ran against Communist candidate Zyuganov and effectively presented himself as the only safe candidate for whom to vote (McFaul, 1997). These strategies were seen clearly in both the Vremya and Sevodnya election news coverage. Moreover, the analysis below shows that both channels supported Yeltsin in the first and second rounds of the election. NTV president Igor Malashenko openly joined Yeltsin’s presidential campaign team (Mickiewicz, 1999, p. 171). Viewers were exposed to information about Zyuganov, particularly on NTV. The voice given to Zyuganov, however, was overwhelmed by the positive spin on the campaign for the ailing Yeltsin. In the first-round campaign (May 13–June 15, 1996), about 35 percent of the nightly news on Vremya was devoted to stories that mentioned the presidential election in some way, according to the analysis of the tapes. Yeltsin dominated the Vremya coverage (see Table 5.3). Out of a total of 152 election stories coded in the first-round campaign, Yeltsin was mentioned in 83 stories (55 percent). Zyuganov received 53 mentions (35 percent). There were important qualitative differences in coverage, notably that Yeltsin often did not have to share the limelight with other presidential hopefuls. There was extensive coverage of his trips to the regions and he was often shown meeting with local people, promising to address their problems. In addition, the primary subject in 5 percent of the elections stories concerned individuals voicing their support for Yeltsin (see Table 5.4). Prime Minister Chernomyrdin also came in for his share of attention, as an additional 5 percent of the Vremya election stories featured his travels and comments on his

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Table 5.3 1996 Presidential candidates and coverage in the 1st round campaign, May 13– June 15 Candidates

Occupation

Vremya Mentions

B. Yeltsin G. Zyuganov G. Yavlinsky A. Lebed V. Zhirinovsky S. Fedorov V. Bryntsalov M. Gorbachev M. Shakkum Yu. Vlasov Total number of stories

Incumbent Communist Party leader Yabloko leader Retired general LDPR leader Eye surgeon Entrepreneur Former Soviet leader Academic Weight-lifting champion

Sevodnya Coverage share (%)

Mentions

Coverage share (%)

83 53

55 35

91 52

59 34

29 27 25 24 23 13

19 18 16 16 15 9

33 38 23 21 5 6

22 25 15 14 3 4

12 4

8 3

2 1

1 1

152

100

153

100

Source: Author’s data, presidential election coding by Prof Laura Roselle (Elon College). Note Table does not include Aman-Geldy Tuleev, who dropped out late in the race in favor of Zyuganov. Percentages add up to more than 100 because some stories mentioned more than one candidate.

support for Yeltsin’s re-election. As in the coding of the parliamentary election coverage, these figures do not even count regular news stories about the running of the government. Although Vremya viewers did see other candidates on television, they learned little about their views on issues or even about their personalities. In fact, 26 out of 152 stories (17 percent) were merely montages of candidates with little beyond a quick image or sound bite for the viewer (see Table 5.4). Zyuganov did receive more coverage than the rest of Yeltsin’s competitors on the ORT news as Vremya featured the Communist leader as the primary subject in 5 percent of the election stories. It is also important to note, however, that this extra attention over other candidates was not always positive or even neutral. In an additional 4 percent of the stories, Vremya highlighted alleged divisions within the Communist Party. Although Yeltsin and Zyuganov were both presented as the front runners, there was little chance for the electorate to compare Yeltsin and his record with the other candidates and their platforms. Thus, candidates who might have challenged Yeltsin for the reform or centrist vote were presented as a group of virtually indistinguishable also-rans. The lesson of the Vremya coverage was that a vote for Yeltsin in the first round was the way to beat off the communist threat. As was typical of the prime government channel, many of the Vremya election stories covered the rules of the game, electoral organization and the preparation for voting day, much of the coverage with the sort of feel-good spin from the

Genesis of television control and content 105 Table 5.4 Primary themes of 1996 Russian presidential campaign coverage in 1st round elections on ORT and NTV news, May 13–June 15, 1996 Primary story theme ORT’s Vremya Multi-candidate roundup Election rules, organization, voting preparation, legitimization Yeltsin campaigning, meetings Support for Yeltsin Chechnya Zyuganov campaigning Chernomyrdin travels, comments Total number of stories NTV’s Sevodnya Zyuganov/Communists Yeltsin Election rules, organization, voting preparation, legitimization Chechnya Positioning/meetings Total number of stories

Number of stories

Coverage share (%)

26 19

17 13

11 8 8 8 8 152

7 5 5 5 5 100

32 19 19

21 12 12

16 15 153

10 10 100

Source: Author’s data, presidential election coding by Prof Laura Roselle (Elon College). Note Only the most important themes are listed.

Soviet days of predictable, orchestrated voting. A high turnout was encouraged, as was order: 4 percent of the Vremya election stories dealt with election security. While the focus on the rules of the electoral game was not new (Helvey and Oates, 1998; Oates and Helvey, 1997), the new element was the presentation of the idea that the re-election of Yeltsin was equated with the continuation of the democratic transition in Russia. The lines between support for the electoral process, upholding Russia and a vote for Yeltsin became quite blurred indeed in the Vremya coverage of the election. This type of melding of campaign coverage with political indoctrination has now embedded itself in campaign coverage on ORT, as will be clear in the discussion of subsequent elections in Chapters 6 and 9. Unlike in the 1995 Duma elections, NTV’s Sevodnya offered relatively little to counter the positive and often misleading coverage of Yeltsin in the 1996 presidential election. During the first round of the campaign, Yeltsin was seen or mentioned in 59 percent of the election stories (91 out of 153 stories). Zyuganov was mentioned in 34 percent (52 out of 153 stories). Yet there were some differences between the Vremya and Sevodnya news coverage. Sevodnya ran more separate stories on the candidates, including Yavlinsky (May 24, 31, June 1), Alexander Lebed (June 7, 12), Mikhail Gorbachev (May 22, June 1, 10), and even the wealthy businessman and rank political outsider Vladimir Bryntsalov (May 27).

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While Sevodnya also virtually ignored several of the minor candidates, the commercial channel did provide more information on Zyuganov than rival ORT. In fact, in 21 percent of the Sevodnya election stories, the primary theme or topic was Zyuganov or the Communists. In many of these stories, Zyuganov spoke for himself and presented his positions on the issues. For example, Sevodnya presented complaints by Zyuganov and other Communists about Yeltsin’s policy in Chechnya and also about how much time was devoted to Yeltsin in the mass media. Another important difference between Vremya and Sevodnya coverage was the emphasis in Sevodnya coverage on political positioning and meetings among candidates. In fact, 10 percent of the Sevodnya election coverage during the first round of the 1996 presidential campaign was about political positioning. Many of these stories were early reports about a possible alliance among presidential candidates such as Lebed, Yavlinsky, and prominent eye surgeon and entrepreneur Svyatoslav Fedorov. There also were stories about whether Yavlinsky would position himself with Yeltsin. These Sevodnya stories portrayed a more complex electoral process than that reflected in the coverage on Vremya. In addition, NTV did continue its focus on Chechnya, although significantly toned down from the Duma campaign coverage. For example, a Sevodnya report on soldiers voting in Chechnya on June 14 showed Russian soldiers voting and the correspondent said “most [are] voting for Yeltsin.” However, on May 28, Sevodnya also reported that presidential candidates Zhirinovsky and Zyuganov believed movement on agreements in Chechnya was merely a pre-election ploy on the part of Yeltsin.

1996 presidential campaign coverage: round 2 Yeltsin and Zyuganov ran neck-in-neck in the first round of the 1996 presidential elections, although Yeltsin did win more of the popular vote, 35 percent compared with 32 percent for the communist contender. For the second round, the electoral battle was more firmly framed by the main television channels as a vote for Yeltsin or a return to communist rule with Zyuganov – and television coverage changed to reflect this idea. Yeltsin still dominated on ORT’s Vremya, as he was mentioned in 81 of the 123 stories coded (66 percent) in the election coverage from June 17 to July 3, 1996 (see Table 5.5). Zyuganov was covered in 46 percent Table 5.5 1996 Russian presidential candidates and coverage, 2nd round, June 17– July 3, 1996 Candidates

Yeltsin Zyuganov Total stories

Vremya

Sevodnya

Mentions

Coverage share (%)

Mentions

Coverage share (%)

81 56 123

66 46 100

63 34 93

68 37 100

Source: Author’s data, presidential election coding by Prof Laura Roselle.

Genesis of television control and content 107 of the Vremya election news stories. Yet Yeltsin was rarely seen in public during the second round and rumors about his ill health were prevalent. The fact that he had suffered a heart attack between the first and second round of the elections – later revealed by his doctor in September 1996 – was not reported. Instead of seeing Yeltsin on the campaign trail, the news covered his executive duties as he brought Lebed into his administration, sacked key advisers and issued decrees on military reform as well as Chechnya. What is significant is that Vremya pursued the same tactics Soviet news producers had used with aging Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev in the early 1980s. Although most of the Russian public were aware that Yeltsin must be gravely ill, it was not mentioned or covered in any serious way, a case of the news presenting things as they should be rather than how they really were. In terms of the campaign, Vremya presented a dual message (see Table 5.6 Primary Themes of presidential campaign coverage in 1996 Russian Presidential 2nd Round Elections on ORT and NTV News). On the negative side, Vremya reporting warned against the dangers of reinstating communism. At the same time, the news on this prime state-run channel transmitted positive messages about post-Soviet Russia and Yeltsin’s ability as a leader to compromise, cooperate and build coalitions. Vremya used the popularity of Lebed, who had joined Yeltsin’s administration after the first round in the elections, as an electioneering tool for Yeltsin. In fact, even though he was no longer in the running, Lebed was mentioned in 44 election news stories, which was almost as many as Zyuganov. Eleven percent of the Table 5.6 Primary themes of presidential campaign coverage in 1996 Russian presidential 2nd round elections on ORT and NTV News, June 17–July 3 Primary story theme ORT’s Vremya Zyuganov/Communists Lebed Regional issues/opinions Results of the first round Election rules, organization, voting preparation, legitimization Power/personnel changes Total number of stories NTV’s Sevodnya Power/personnel changes Lebed Zyuganov/Communists Chechnya Military/reform Total number of stories

Number of stories 22 13 11 9 8

18 11 9 7 7

8 123

7 100

19 17 17 9 8 93

20 18 18 10 9 100

Source: Author’s data, presidential election coding by Prof Laura Roselle. Note Only the most important themes are listed.

Coverage share

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Vremya election stories focused primarily on Lebed and his dealings with Yeltsin. An additional 7 percent of the stories focused on personnel change and power shifts in Yeltsin’s administration. The Vremya reporting also highlighted Yeltsin’s ability to seize the initiative and to respond to the results of the first round of voting. Zyuganov did receive coverage on Vremya during the second round of the 1996 presidential elections, but it was of a markedly different type. Eighteen percent of Vremya election stories focused on Communist Party activities or on Zyuganov’s daily press conferences. Although Zyuganov sought to reassure voters that he would not return to the worst of communist rule, it was unlikely that most voters would find this coverage comforting. Another part of the campaign concerned regional issues, which often are glossed over by the national news in Russia. In 9 percent of the Vremya stories, different regions or cities were examined and people on the street were asked to discuss their problems and the election. For example, there were reports from Saratov, Voronezh, Samara, Yaroslavl, Kamchatka, Lipetsk, Dagestan and Krasnoyarsk. In many of these stories, specific problems were mentioned, such as transport, unpaid wages, agriculture, unemployment and the low level of pensions. Reporters interviewed people claiming to be supporters of both Yeltsin and Zyuganov. Yeltsin, however, was mentioned frequently in connection with important regional issues, although he was not actually shown in the regions (as by then he was too ill to travel or even appear on television). There was more emphasis on issues in the second-round reporting than in the first-round reporting on ORT’s Vremya. Whereas Yeltsin had been highly visible as an individual in the first round, it was his policies rather than his person that made the news in the second round. NTV president Malashenko has said that he could see that Yeltsin was ill but decided to help hide the information so he could win the election from Zyuganov (Mickiewicz, 1999, p. 185). So it is not surprising that Yeltsin was mentioned in 68 percent of the second-round Sevodnya election stories and Zyuganov was mentioned in just 37 percent. As Yeltsin was too ill to do much, it also is not surprising that NTV focused more on issues and government acts than on actual campaign activities to drum up news for Yeltsin. NTV’s Sevodnya coverage during the second round focused on the political repercussions of the primary elections and on Lebed’s role in the Yeltsin administration. As with the Vremya coverage, there were reports on changes in leadership, including the dismissal of Yeltsin’s unpopular and powerful bodyguard Alexander Korzhakov. This “new broom” attitude was tied to Lebed’s new role in Yeltsin’s administration (Lebed himself only lasted a matter of months in his new post). Eighteen percent of the Sevodnya election stories focused on Zyuganov’s campaign. For example, Zyuganov was shown playing volleyball, highlighting his health while rumors about Yeltsin’s physical decline abounded but was not discussed on either Vremya or Sevodnya. Zyuganov’s press conferences were covered and he was able to speak for himself. Unlike in the case of Yeltsin, however, not all of this coverage was positive. During these press conferences, Zyuganov frequently criticized the media, and particularly television, for supporting Yeltsin

Genesis of television control and content 109 so blatantly. In some of these stories, it was reported that television heads categorically (and unfairly) rejected Zyuganov’s claims. In other stories, unsuccessful presidential contenders from the first round of the elections were shown refusing to lend support to Zyuganov.

Conclusions Many studies of Western television have tended to stress the “minimal effects” model, the idea that television has some ability to shape political agendas and influence in only limited areas. Yet when television is not balanced by other democratic institutions, such as a stable government and a history of free elections, it can take on a far more central role in the development of democracy. Especially now that television has so far outstripped other forms of political communication in Russia, it has enormous power to influence a society just emerging from authoritarian rule. At the same time it would be naive to assume that there is a type of propaganda model of television at work in Russia. Russian viewers have developed great sensitivity to broadcasting techniques over decades of filtering through propaganda to glean news. As a result, overt attempts at manipulation or advertising techniques imported directly from alien cultures are likely to fail, as can be seen to a certain extent in the Duma elections. Yet television has played an important role in Russia both in the demise of the communist regime and the attempt to create a young democracy. As this study of the role of television in Duma campaigns suggests, some parties have benefited a great deal from well-designed television campaigns that attracted a particular constituency. By the same token, parties such as Ivan Rybkin’s Bloc, Russia’s Choice and many others seemed to have found television a stumbling block on the road to electoral success. In addition, Russian electoral broadcasting suffers from much of the same problems of coverage in the United States, with an emphasis on a narrow range of issues, an avoidance of serious analytical coverage, and a tendency toward coverage of the elections as a horse race. But unlike in developed democracies, Russian political coverage is not merely shallow or incomplete; it is unfair and it is clear it became even more so from 1993 to 1996. The way in which parties and candidates appeared on Russian television changed a great deal from the first parliamentary elections in 1993 though the second round of the 1996 presidential elections. Although there was electoral law allegedly designed to give fair and equal access by parties and candidates to the airwaves, in practice most of the important coverage went to the entrenched power bases. Thus, while small parties such as Future of Russia/New Names or the Greens could present their views during free-time blocs in 1993, they had insufficient funds to produce their messages professionally and certainly lacked the significant amount of capital needed to buy sufficient time to air commercials. More importantly, key television news programs did not cover them seriously. While they were occasionally covered as also-rans in news bulletins, they were not framed as serious contenders. To be fair, many of the smaller parties truly did not have a realistic ability to enter government. With the unfair slant on the sitting

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government and the virtual omission of information on the Communist Party, however, the main government channel itself became a player in the political game. As such, even as early as 1993, the prime state television news program Vremya was serving the interests of its political masters instead of the needs of the electorate. Despite the appearance of a strong commercial alternative, the Russian public was still poorly served by television in the next round of elections in 1995 and 1996. Although ORT’s Vremya did present a fair amount of information about various contenders in the 1995 Duma race, there was a significant bias toward the parties of power. On the other hand, the commercial NTV channel showed less bias and a more balanced coverage of parties in relation to their popularity – yet this was very little coverage indeed. Rather, NTV focused on the war in Chechnya and the elections there to an extent that the viewer was left with relatively little information on the 43 parties and their leaders in the 1995 Duma elections. While NTV’s coverage of the war was very important, in that it exposed the Russian state as untruthful about the atrocities there, in another way the commercial channel failed the public. By viewing the theme of the elections so relentlessly through the lens of the Chechen war, NTV did not provide basic political information to the electorate to help them make informed choices in the Duma elections. This suggests that although commercial television stations can provide important information on some themes, they may fail to provide public service in other areas. This tension between following a more compelling story and providing public service information, such as election news, is a familiar problem for television worldwide. While coverage of the Duma campaign diverged for the prime state and commercial channels flagship news programs in 1995, reporting in the 1996 presidential elections converged as the two television stations colluded in their attempts to hide the true state of Yeltsin’s health. Although NTV was not under the direct control of the government, the channel still promoted Yeltsin in its coverage and failed to report the most basic facts about his ill health. This was a particularly worrying sign for the future of television broadcasting in Russia. Although it was disappointing, but not particularly surprising, that state-controlled ORT would throw its resources behind support for an incumbent executive, it is even more distressing that a commercial channel would make the same choice. Granted, the choices were stark in 1996, as they were between a president who then supported relative freedom of the media and a communist contender who was openly hostile to the notion of free media. It was contended by many in Russia, not least a head of NTV, that the media needed to support Yeltsin to protect their very right to survive. Nonetheless, it is a dangerous precedent to ignore the tenets of responsible journalism and to design coverage to support a particular candidate or cause. Certainly, there are openly biased newspapers in many countries, particularly among the British tabloids, but this is within wellestablished democracies in which citizens have ample access to relatively unbiased information through many other sources, notably television. When the main sources of information become conduits for a single political faction in a

Genesis of television control and content 111 post-authoritarian state, citizens lose their ability to hear a range of viewpoints and political opinions. As such, they lose their capacity to make informed choices about their political future. Unfortunately, the analysis of the television coverage in more recent Russian elections (1999, 2000, 2003 and 2004) in Chapters 6 and 9 shows that the failure of television to put the needs of the electorate before the demands of authority figures has only increased over time.

6

Consolidation of media control The 1999 and 2000 elections

As television became steadily more partisan by the 1999 Russian parliamentary elections, the question was not whether television would provide unbiased information, but how it would draw up the political battle lines in Russia. While the prime commercial channel had sided with the Kremlin in supporting Boris Yeltsin over Gennady Zyuganov in the 1996 presidential elections, relations among the Kremlin, the regions and other power bases had soured notably by late 1999. It was unlikely in any event that this Russian election would be marked with a spirit of cooperation and a disinterested supply of information for the voters. In fact, the 1999 Duma elections and 2000 presidential elections were distinguished by increasing bias on television, greater distortions of fact to fit the needs of political oligarchs, and the rise in popularity of forms of black PR and kompromat. By the end of these campaigns, a centrist Duma had been elected along with Yeltsin’s last prime minister as president while the quality of the Russian mass media continued to decline. This chapter uses both quantitative and qualitative analyses of political advertising, free time and the main nightly news on two channels to show how television, through the 1999 and 2000 elections, came more to resemble Soviet propaganda than the Fourth Estate in a developing democracy. This book discusses television coverage of elections in depth, but it is important to point out that these measurements cannot capture other important changes in Russia and the media between Yeltsin’s victory in July 1996 and the formal start of the Duma campaign in November 1999. Some of the changes are discussed in Chapter 2, particularly the increasing financial and political pressure on the media to serve political and economic masters, as opposed to the public. These problems were exacerbated by a major financial crisis in August 1998, in which the exchange rate between the ruble and dollar plunged after the Asian financial crisis, problems with debt repayment by Russia and domestic turmoil including a large strike by miners. The sharp drop in business confidence hit the media hard as business dwindled and demand for advertising plummeted. Another major political change was the re-launching of the war against Chechnya in the fall of 1999, after a series of mysterious bombings that killed hundreds of Russians. While the election coverage of 1999 and 2000 does provide a useful marker of the development of the relationship between viewing and voting, there are interesting

Consolidation of media control 113 studies that include in-depth discussions of media developments outside the election periods as well (e.g. see Belin, 2002b; Fossato and Kachaeva, 1998; McCormack, 1999a,b; Mickiewicz 1999).1 As noted in earlier chapters, there were fewer political parties in the party-list contest by the 1999 Duma campaign. The entry costs to the political fray had become higher, particularly for those without an established power base such as Kremlin connections or incumbency in the Duma. Still, 26 parties ran on December 19 in the 1999 party-list contest. The rules governing the media changed little, but there were significant developments in some of the details and enforcement of the law. For the first time, the Central Election Commission enforced regulations that television channels provide advertising time at the same price to all parties. All invoicing and payment for political advertising were required to go through an official state bank account and media outlets were obligated to fix the costs in advance. Whether it was this new glasnost in political advertising or other factors, there was significantly less political advertising in 1999 than in the 1995 Duma elections, according to the European Institute for the Media (March 2000). In a somewhat more dubious move, the election commission limited access to free political advertising by announcing during the campaign that any party failing to garner at least 2 percent of the party-list vote would be forced to repay broadcast outlets for the time provided to them. This new rule was unsettling to most parties, few of whom would dream of getting so many votes. In another move, the election commission banned candidates who were running in single-member district from appearing in party free time to limit the abuse of free time for parties being used for personal campaigns (Moser, 2001). By 1999, parties and television channels alike were finding the free-time broadcasts difficult and unwieldy. While the election commission wanted to force parties into spending their free time at least in part on formats such as debates and round-table discussions, party leaders resisted being coerced into confrontations of their ideology, policies, or with their competitors. Parties preferred to present their cases without challenge and, as this was their right under the electoral law, television stations generally allowed them to air whatever they wished. Occasionally, good taste or libel law was violated, but the incidence of this was rare.2 A far greater problem, according to television executives interviewed in Moscow in 1999, was the poor production and low viewership of the free-time broadcasts. Standards had improved from 1995, as there were fewer parties and more with some experience, but the bulk of the free time was staged interviews and speeches with very little information for the voter. With one notable exception, the use of free time for the major parties followed trends set in other parliamentary elections.3 For example, the Communist Party used a format of introducing various political leaders and talked more than most about ideology and policy plans. Yabloko relied on the image of leader Grigory Yavlinsky, as well as some artistic black-and-white images, while Vladimir Zhirinovsky made his own charismatic presence the center of his spots. What differed most markedly was the rise of image over substance for the central party of power, in this case Unity. While the party of power had relied on weighty words

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and, to a certain degree, promises of authority and responsibility in earlier Duma elections, by 1999 the main party of power had all but abandoned words. Rather, the free-time segments tended to focus on the images of activities of the party leaders, mostly Sergei Shoigu’s work in Chechnya in his role as Emergencies Minister. A review of paid and free political advertising in the 1999 campaign shows that negative framing of events permeated advertising as well as editorial coverage.4 In general, the promotion of the parties was very similar and was marked by the same characteristics. As most of the candidates and parties were filmed in the same television studio with the same background, it was very easy to mix up the smaller parties. With few exceptions, the leaders of the smaller parties did not have a memorable television presence and their rhetoric was often unclear, even striking some as particularly uncultured and uneducated. The problem was compounded, as usual, by the lack of defined party statements by most parties. The trendiest technique, used quite well by Yabloko, was presenting promotion of the party as it were an old Soviet-style documentary, complete with use of footage from the Soviet era. Interestingly, parties with vastly different ideologies often used the same footage. Both Our Home is Russia and the Congress of Russian Communities5 showed a tape of a physical tussle on the Duma floor among Zhirinovsky, a female deputy and priest, apparently to suggest disorder in the parliament and society itself.6 This film clip of the parliamentary fracas, however, was quite mild when compared with some of the more gruesome shots in Russian political advertising, including murders, arrests and people taking drugs. In general, parties tended not to promote themselves, but to criticize contemporary Russian society and their opponents, sometimes in quite theatrical ways. For example, the Congress of Russian Communities showed market-reform ministers Anatoli Chubais, Sergei Shakhrai and Yegor Gaidar at a meeting – and then in a prison cell (apparently for the “crime” of their economic policies).7 The more established Russian parties continued with the political advertising styles they had developed and polished over the course of previous elections. In free time for the Communist Party, Gennady Zyuganov gave detailed information about the party’s political program. The party used a variation of its slogan involving victory, this time, “For Russia, for the Homeland, for Victory” [Za Rossiyu, za rodinu, za pobedu]. The party’s most powerful image for the 1999 campaign showed just the arms of two men arm wrestling. One arm, in an expensive suit with a flashy watch and a mobile phone within reach, was clearly a “New Russian” businessman. The other was the arm of a worker in a plain shirt. The years flash by on the screen – 1991, 1993, 1995 and 1997 – and the struggle continues. As 1999 comes into view, the worker triumphantly forces down the arm of the capitalist biznesmen. Yabloko still used the familiar apple as a symbol and the advertisements featured party leader Yavlinsky meeting with people and man-in-the-street interviews of people saying they would support Yabloko. Yabloko’s free time was somewhat moody, with black-and-white footage from the past and Yavlinsky surrounded by supporters in a cinema watching the film. “Our past is watching us,”

Consolidation of media control 115 he intones, intimating that the past Soviet generations expect Russia to do better. The Liberal Democrats needed to use advertising to spread the news of a forced change in the party name on the ballot, as the party was obligated to run as the Zhirinovsky Bloc for legal reasons.8 As a result, paid advertisements for the party stressed, “The Zhirinovsky Bloc – it’s the LDPR [Liberal Democratic Party of Russia]!” with shots of young people dancing around behind Zhirinovsky. Despite his xenophobic rhetoric in other contexts, the Bloc Zhirinovsky/LDPR ads were some of the most upbeat in the 1999 elections, announcing: “The strength of Russia is with us. Such support. In front of us, things will only get better, if we lead the homeland!” In the studio appearances, the LDPR leaders (including Zhirinovsky) were notable for being clear and forceful in their statements. How did the advertising for the new broadcast parties compare with that of three of Russia’s longest-running parties, the LDPR, Yabloko and the Communists? The two main broadcast parties in 1999, Unity and the Union of Right Forces, had large resources of money and talent with which to produce advertising campaigns. As noted earlier, Unity relied heavily on the news value of its leaders (and the link with Putin) to frame the party as effective and powerful. However, the party also used various symbols and other advertising techniques to market itself. One of the more memorable advertisements of the campaign featured a cartoon bear (Unity’s mascot) settling a dispute about animals that all wanted to live in the house (the animals all misbehaving and clearly representing various Duma factions). The party also used the Russian flag as a symbol. Advertising aside, there was the powerful and overt backing by Putin saying he would vote for Unity “as a private citizen.”9 The Union of Right Forces was a new party for the 1999 Duma elections, headed by the relatively young former Prime Minister Sergei Kirienko. While nominally a liberal, pro-market party, the main political identification of the party was a pro-market party with close ties to the Kremlin. The party emphasized its position as a “new strength,” using a casual tone to claim that voting for the party was the “right thing, a new strength, the voice of Russia, together we are the Union of the Right Forces. The choice is simple – you can pick Kirienko’s generation or maybe not choose at all. Listen to all this, guys, watch and understand – we need youth! How much has been wasted – we need youth . . . Young, energetic and educated!” The Union of Right Forces also used the Russian flag as a symbol and showed man-in-the-street interviews of supporters saying that young people are cool and at least they have done something for Russia. It should be noted that while Kirienko, a former prime minister born in 1962, was the visible head of the party, it also included two other relatively young, prominent politicians (Boris Nemtsov and Irina Khakamada) on the party ticket. The Union of Right Forces had taken the market-reform Democratic Russia’s Choice under its party label as well.10 In addition to the youth message, the Union of Right Forces also underlined its role as a party aligned with the Kremlin. One of its political spots showed Kirienko meeting with Putin, shaking his hand and presenting him with a massive economic plan (which Putin nonchalantly shoves to the side of the table).

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Fatherland-All Russia also was a new party for the 1999 Duma elections. In certain respects, it had elements of a broadcast party, in particular as the party was so heavily covered on Moscow-supported Channel 3 television. However, it also could be argued that the party was based more on the formidable regional power bases represented by its party leaders, Moscow Mayor Yuri Luzhkov and St Petersburg City Governor Vladimir Yakovlev, as well as the national prestige and reputation of former Russian Prime Minister Evgeny Primakov. In terms of symbols, Fatherland-All Russia did not use the Russian flag in its advertisements, but did have a party flag with red, green and blue. The party slogan, “Believe only in deeds,” could be interpreted as a slight against parties with relative political newcomers such as the Union of Right Forces that had yet really to achieve anything. Fatherland also used the documentary style of political advertising as well as featuring its three prominent politicians. Fatherland’s self-promotions, however, were overwhelmed by the negative news coverage it received on ORT. According to the European Institute for the Media, a new style of mudslinging characterized newscasts on ORT, although it was not much in evidence on NTV during the 1999 elections (European Institute for the Media, March 2000). In the Russian elections, negative attacks on candidates go far beyond the type of negative political spots found in many Western countries. While parties in the United States and Britain will use unflattering images, attacks on political records, policy failures, personality flaws and even dubious incidents from the past, Russian negative advertising can abandon any pretense of truth or fairness. In kompromat, Russian news shows use “compromising materials” gathered about a candidate or a party that probably has some basis in fact, but the material is presented in a biased or incomplete way in order to damage the image of that individual or organization as much as possible. Not only is there no attempt to be balanced or objective, but also the entire object of the report is to twist the facts into something with an aura of credibility that will in fact damage the individual. This is more sophisticated and intricate – and probably more effective – than simply slinging mud or reporting a negative news item. The point of the exercise is to obfuscate and confuse the viewer. Another related technique is “black PR” or “black propaganda,” in which publicity firms are tasked with finding out anything in a candidate’s past that could be construed as negative and used in a media war. The chief practitioner of the kompromat style in 1999 was irreverent political talk-show host Sergei Dorenko. In The Sergei Dorenko Program on Sunday evenings on ORT, Dorenko specialized in making a rapid list of accusations against his targets and, in many ways, came to define the Russian style of kompromat. While many of his stories had some merit, Dorenko often used flimsy and even tasteless “evidence” against people. During the 1999 campaign, his chief victims were Fatherland leaders Luzhkov and Primakov. Unable to attack Primakov on any particularly scandalous issues, Dorenko claimed the 70-year-old was too old for public office and ran a film of the type of hip surgery that Primakov had undergone, complete with the sound of grinding bone saws, to make his point. As for Luzhkov, there have long been issues involving the financing of the city administration. Instead of a serious investigation, however, Dorenko

Consolidation of media control 117 presented a series of allegations against Luzhkov by flashing bank documents on the screen, insinuating the mayor had bought expensive race horses with city funds and showing aerial footage of Luzhkov’s admittedly opulent country home. He also made reports that implicated Luzhkov in the assassination of American businessman Paul Tatum in Moscow in 1996.11 Dorenko’s particular personal style may have been journalistically questionable during the 1999 elections, but it was compelling viewing for the Russian audience. According to a major Russian advertising agency, The Sergei Dorenko Program was the most popular program on Russian television at the end of 1999, commanding up to $40,000 a minute for advertising slots.12 In addition, the scandal-mongering style of kompromat spread well beyond this single show on Sunday night. Reviews of news programming find that an emphasis on the negative permeated major Russian television outlets during the 1999 election campaign (European Institute for the Media, March 2000; Oates and Roselle, 2000). At the same time, favored parties, candidates and causes were promoted, a move still farther away from objective journalism for Russian television. In fact, the European Institute for the Media found that the coverage of the elections was biased, particularly on state-run television channels (March 2000, p. 2). This was particularly disappointing, the institute noted, because the government channels had a “particular responsibility to provide impartial and fair information about the political choice on offer to the electorate” (p. 2). Through the measurement of time devoted to each party on the major television channels, the European Institute for the Media (March 2000) found that voters were receiving markedly different information about various political contenders on separate television channels. On ORT news broadcasts, the focus was on the Unity party of power, which received 28 percent of all news coverage. This compared with 16 percent for the Zhirinovsky Bloc, 15 percent for Fatherland-All Russia, 10 percent for Our Home is Russia, and 8 percent each for the Union of Right Forces and the Communist Party. There were, however, important distinctions that go beyond the percentage scores: the bulk of the coverage for Unity was positive while ORT often presented negative news about Fatherland. While affect is notoriously difficult to code (i.e. the interpretation of a tone of story tends to be quite subjective and vary widely among coders), the differences in tone were obvious even to the casual observer in the 1999 Duma elections. For example, in the December 13 Vremya program, the news began with an update on the Chechen war. The news program went on to air a segment on how the Union of Right Forces and Putin would support one another, showing a meeting of party head Kirienko with Putin. The next story criticized methods used by the Moscow government to attract people to a Fatherland rally on December 14. There was then a profile of Kirienko, in which he voiced support for Putin and criticized Luzhkov. Another report pointed out that five more regional governors had signed an appeal in Putin’s support. Further in the broadcast a story accused Luzhkov of using money from charity accounts for his campaign, followed by a positive story on Unity leader Shoigu campaigning in Nizhni Novgorod. The tone throughout is that of supportive propaganda for those affiliated with Putin

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(Union of Right Forces, Kirienko, Shoigu) and black PR with vague and slightly shaky allegations against those challenging the Kremlin for power (Fatherland and Luzhkov). A quantitative analysis of campaign news coverage on ORT’s Vremya highlights this trend. As in other campaigns, Vremya devoted a lot of attention to the elections in its news coverage. During the four weeks leading up to the December 19 polling date (November 22 through December 17, 1999), Vremya mentioned some aspect of the elections in 75 percent of its news items. Vremya’s approach to covering the elections was to merge the image of certain parties (namely Unity and the Union of Right Forces) and politicians (in particular Putin, Yeltsin, Shoigu and Kirienko) with effective leadership. Thus, a story about Chechnya offered an excellent opportunity to present an interview with Shoigu or Putin about progress in the war and include a mention of the campaign. While incumbents will almost always have an advantage with their ability to make news during election campaigns, Vremya went much further than mere coverage of events. The events and news were ordered around the needs of the campaign. The analysis shows that Unity was mentioned in 13 percent of the election news stories (see Chart 6.1: Mentions of Parties on ORT’s Vremya and NTV’s Sevodnya, November 22 through December 17, 1999). Fatherland received more

20

Percentage

17

13 13 10

ORT 9

NTV

6

6 5

3

3 3

2

2

2

3

0 Fatherland Unity

Yabloko

Right Union Our Home is Russia LDPR Communists

Chart 6.1 Mentions of parties on ORT’s Vremya and NTV’s Sevodnya, November 22–December 17, 1999 (percentage of program content). Source: Author’s data.

Consolidation of media control 119 attention, but as noted earlier, the coverage was typically biased and negative. Fatherland was mentioned the most frequently, in 17 percent of the Vremya news stories during the Duma campaign. Unsurprisingly, it was Putin who was the most prominent newsmaker on Vremya, mentioned in almost a quarter of all stories during the campaign period as he was groomed as Yeltsin’s successor (see Table 6.1). In fact, although Putin was still only prime minister (his appointment as acting president was announced by Yeltsin 12 days after the Duma elections on New Year’s Eve), he was covered in almost twice as many Vremya stories as Yeltsin. Luzhkov also had slightly more coverage than Yeltsin, but it was often negative, as was coverage of Primakov. On the other hand, Shoigu had both a large amount of coverage for a government minister and it was extraordinarily positive. It should be noted that Fatherland leaders such as Luzhkov and Primakov were rarely given a chance to speak for themselves on ORT’s Vremya and when they did, they were often shown in the least flattering light possible. For example, instead of broadcasting his speech or showing the large amount of support Table 6.1 Mentions of newsmakers on Vremya and Sevodnya, November 22– December 17, 1999 Name

Position

ORT Mentions

Vladimir Putin Boris Yeltsin Yuri Luzhkov Evgeny Primakov Vladimir Yakovlev Sergei Kirienko Grigory Yavlinsky Gennady Zyuganov Vladimir Zhirinovsky Sergei Shoigu Alexander Veshnyakov Sergei Dorenko Total stories

Prime Minister, presidential hopeful President Moscow mayor, Fatherland leader Former prime minister, Fatherland leader St Petersburg governor, Fatherland leader Union of Right Forces leader, former prime minister Yabloko leader Communist Party leader

NTV Share (%)

Mentions

Share (%)

64

24

29

13

34 38

13 14

15 14

6 6

19

7

9

4

10

4

3

1

7

3

5

2

2 4

1 2

6 0

3 0

LDPR leader

13

5

5

2

Unity leader, Minister for Emergency Affairs Central Election Commission head Television journalist

20

8

5

2

9

3

4

2

7 264

3

4 231

2

Source: Author’s research and coding. Note that one story often contains mention of more than one newsmaker.

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Luzhkov garnered at a Moscow rally on December 14, Vremya ran footage of him singing a sentimental song. On NTV, the presentation of the 1999 Duma campaign was markedly different, according to both the European Institute for the Media and the analysis for this book. As in other years, NTV did not focus as much on the elections as on other issues. However, it is clear that there was some “contagion” from Vremya’s slanted approach to the news. In fact, NTV broadcast a series of well-produced and even-handed debates between main political figures on its Glas Naroda (Voice of the People) program hosted by lead network anchor Evgeny Kiselyev. While not as immediately obvious – and NTV generally did not react to ORT coverage by immediately championing “their” candidates – the European Institute for the Media quantitative analysis does show a bias (March 2000). For example, NTV head Evgeny Kulistikov noted that his station was providing more coverage of Fatherland in order to counter the excessive negative coverage of the party on ORT, as well as ORT’s attention to Unity.13 The European Institute for the Media quantitative analysis shows that NTV devoted a third of its campaign news programming to the Fatherland party, while the Communists received 18 percent, Yabloko 14 percent, the LDPR (Zhirinovsky Bloc) 10 percent, and Unity just 5 percent. Putin had a healthy amount of attention on NTV, according to the European Institute for the Media, with 38 percent of the news coverage (March 2000). Unity leader Shoigu, however, received just 4 percent of the news coverage on NTV, far less than on ORT. Fatherland leaders Luzhkov and Primakov were more the stars here, each with about 13 percent of the news coverage. “We are sympathetic with the Kremlin’s opponents and we give them the floor,” said NTV’s Kulistikov.14 As an example of the nature of the coverage, consider the news program on December 13, the same day that ORT’s Vremya presented slanted news in favor of Unity and the Union of Right Forces and against Fatherland and Mayor Luzhkov. On this day, Sevodnya led with news about a treaty with Belarus and some discussion of the Duma and its factions. There was a roundup of news in Chechnya, including the story of a Russian pilot who might have been captured by terrorists. While Sevodnya also reported that Putin met with Kirienko and pledged to support him, it was presented in a more detached and cynical fashion than the Vremya news item. In addition, Sevodnya did report on the rumors of possible problems with a massive Fatherland rally planned for Moscow on the following day (14 December), but also presented Luzhkov as saying the rally would be orderly. It is also worth noting the marked contrast in how Vremya and Sevodnya presented news on the rally itself on the evening of December 14. While Vremya focused on the disruption to the traffic in the capital, the cost to the city administration for policing and even interviewed girls who claimed they skipped school to go the event, NTV’s Sevodnya presented the rally as political news. There were other interesting elements in the two different approaches to the same story. For example, NTV’s Sevodnya was careful to cover both the rally of Luzhkov’s supporters (the first item, 5:38 in length) and a protest from Luzhkov’s opponents (second item, 4:25). In addition, Sevodnya reported that those arrested at the

Consolidation of media control 121 meeting had been released and then moved on to news from Chechnya. On the same day, ORT’s Vremya led with the Chechnya news and then the protestors at the Luzhkov rally (third item, 2:41). In addition, Vremya’s next report claimed that Luzhkov had denied free speech to Union of Right Forces supporters who wanted to demonstrate on the same day (fourth item, 3:19). The fifth item was on a court decision against the Moscow administration, while the sixth item focused on Pavel Borodin, one of Luzhkov’s weak competitors for the Moscow mayor post.15 The European Institute for the Media report on the 1999 elections showed that there was no consistent pattern of political coverage that stretched across the main channels in Russia, suggesting that channels were pursuing their own agendas rather than following common news stories. On the news on RTR (state-owned Channel 2), most of the coverage was split among Unity (24 percent), Yabloko (16 percent), the Zhirinovsky Bloc/LDPR (14 percent), Fatherland (13 percent), and the Communist Party (10 percent). Putin starred on RTR, with 40 percent of the coverage of key figures, while Shoigu had 15 percent of the key-figure coverage. The quantitative analysis, however, does not make clear some of apparent bias on state-run Channel 2, particularly on the Sunday news analysis show presented by Nikolai Svanidze. As with Dorenko, Svanidze used his show to campaign against the Fatherland party throughout the end of 1999 (European Institute for the Media, March 2000, p. 37). On the other hand, Moscow-funded TV-Center (Channel 3) devoted an enormous amount of its news programming to the Fatherland party. Almost three-quarters of its news programming (71 percent) was devoted Mayor Luzhkov’s party, while other major political parties, namely Unity, were virtually ignored. In addition, coverage of Putin was kept to a minimum ( just 18 percent of the key-figure news) on TV-Center, while Mayor Luzhkov had twice the coverage of the national leader. While many of the focus-group respondents said they were content with channel surfing to pick up as much information as possible, the variation of news coverage of the same election among Russian television channels in 1999 is deeply troubling. It shows that television channels were moving even further from good news practice as they pursued their own political agendas. It was clear that any shaky division between political benefactors and editorial teams, which had been preserved to a degree particularly on NTV, was breaking down badly by 1999. In a broad sense, this is troubling because it shows the erosion of the ability of the mass media to promote political options and choice in a tentative democracy. In more practical terms, it means that many voters did not have access to full information in 1999. For about a quarter of the country, there was not even access to NTV’s attempt to balance the political coverage because the channel had a smaller reach than ORT or RTR. For others, there was the lack of interest or time in trying to absorb so many conflicting reports or information in the elections.

The 2000 presidential elections While Boris Yeltsin had chosen to run without a political party label in 1996, Vladimir Putin barely deigned to act like a candidate at all in 2000. This was because he did not need to campaign. As he already held the post of acting

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president and controlled much of country’s resources, there was little point in running a formal campaign when he could inform the electorate through his statements and, in particular, his actions as acting president. Many of the focus-group respondents in 2000 felt that Putin barely went through the motions of running. Most of the major electoral issues surrounding the presidential campaign had been dealt with in the rougher, dirtier Duma campaign as the Kremlin used its broadcasting resources to discredit the Fatherland party, Luzhkov and Primakov as contenders for national power. There was little doubt that Putin would prove victorious in the presidential elections. As soon as he was appointed acting president, he had a comfortable lead in the polls. While Communist Party leader Zyuganov had steady support from much of the older and poorer segments of society, it was not enough to challenge Putin for the post. However, there was some doubt that Putin could win an outright majority in the first round, which would be required to avoid a run-off with the runner-up (almost certain to be Zyuganov). Yet Putin’s strategy was to avoid campaigning altogether. He announced the creation of an institute to formulate economic policy for the country, but the institute did not release an economic blueprint before the election. He published an open letter to the voters in the print media, but failed to use any of his free broadcasting time on television. Unlike in the 1996 campaign, there were no paid advertising or films of the incumbent president at campaign rallies. Instead, Putin continued to be featured heavily on the news. He was shown in his travels around Russia, promising increased salaries, better pensions, repayment of salary arrears to state employees and funding for various regional projects (European Institute for the Media, August 2000, p. 37). Given that Putin remained above any campaign fray, there was little the other candidates could do to engage in the contest. As a result, they wound up attacking one another or discussing relatively trivial issues. There was significant variation in the coverage of the elections among the main television channels. Not surprisingly, ORT was “clearly and consistently biased during the intensive parts of the campaign, the last ten days” (European Institute for the Media, August 2000, p. 38). In particular, ORT’s Vremya focused its attacks on Yavlinsky, the candidate who was thought most likely to draw votes away from Putin (although the Yabloko leader never had anywhere near the support to win the election). Vremya’s reporting had become more biased in each election and reached a peak just before the presidential election. One evening’s news program, highlighted in the European Institute for the Media report, showed how kompromat had come to dominate the ORT news. On the Vremya program of March 22, just four days before the presidential ballot, the news began with Russian military victories in Chechnya. The program then claimed there was a link between the Chechen fighters and Moscow banks, saying this proved that terrorists had contacts in high places outside of government. With this insinuation in mind, the Vremya program went on to discuss Yavlinsky’s alleged links with US financier George Soros and two German political foundations, although there was no concrete evidence presented.

Consolidation of media control 123 The Vremya program then accused its commercial rival NTV of getting in the way of Russian army movements with its coverage of military events in Chechnya and claimed the commercial channel was preparing a “treasonable” program about bombings in 1999. There was then a report on Putin’s travels around the country, followed by two other presidential candidates (Zhirinovsky and Konstantin Titov) walking out of a television studio after Yavlinsky failed to show up for a debate. Then the lone female presidential candidate, Ella Pamfilova, commented on the Vremya report on Yavlinsky’s purported cosmetic surgery, saying it was “unmanly.” Polls were reported that showed Yavlinsky’s support slipping to that of the level of communist outsider Aman-Geldy Tuleev. The negative news about Yavlinsky continued on the Vremya broadcast, mostly using innuendo about foreign financing, Israeli connections and other items that would touch on the prejudices of some in Russia. The contrast in coverage on Russian television news is quite stark when comparing the March 22 Vremya edition with NTV’s Sevodnya on the same evening. Instead of leading with the Chechnya story, NTV led with news of a gas explosion in Saransk and then presented a story on a mine explosion and a fight at a Ivanovo margarine factory. It is not until the fourth item that NTV mentioned the news that three banks were suspected of laundering money for Chechen terrorists. Although Sevodnya did report on Putin’s visit to Tatarstan and a meeting of Putin’s supporters, the items were shorter and less prominent than the report on the acting president’s trips on Vremya. The only news on Yavlinsky was from the Central Election Commission as he was warned about observing campaign rules; also, there was a report on a Zhirinovsky campaigner illegally distributing pamphlets in a military regiment. Thus, an NTV viewer would not be left with the impression that, at best, Yavlinsky was involved in suspect financial dealings with Western organizers or, at worst, that he had some sort of financial links to Chechen terrorists (as the juxtaposition of the news on Vremya for March 22 suggested). It is, of course, not surprising that Putin received the most television coverage, as he was both the leading candidate and acting president of the country. Overall, Putin received 43 percent of the news coverage across all main television channels in the three-week campaign period, according to the European Institute for the Media (see Table 6.2). This equated to almost 45 hours of news coverage of Putin. Unlike in the 1999 campaign, the disparity in coverage is not immediately apparent from a quantitative analysis of the campaign news from March 3 to 22, 2000. Most of the main television channels, state and commercial, spent about 40 percent of their campaign news coverage on Putin, with roughly 10 percent of the coverage for each of the other main contenders (Zyuganov, Yavlinsky and Zhirinovsky). However, the nature of the attention was quite different. While Putin was framed as what one focus-group respondent called a “hero,” Yavlinsky was the subject of dubious stories about possible cosmetic surgery on the bags under his eyes as well as purported links with Western capital or worse. The European Institute for the Media found just under three hours of coverage that could be deemed negative, and Yavlinsky received almost a quarter of it. Putin and

124

Consolidation of media control Table 6.2 Main candidates share of news coverage on television, Russian presidential campaign 2000 (March 3–24, 2000) Candidates

Overall %

ORT %

RTR %

NTV %

TV-Center %

Putin Yavlinsky Zhirinovsky Zyuganov

43 11 11 10

45 9 9 9

44 10 9 13

41 12 12 11

37 10 13 11

Source: European Institute for the Media, August 2000, pp. 60–83.

Table 6.3 Main candidates mentioned in news items, Russian presidential campaign 2000 (rounded percentages) Candidates

Vremya

Sevodnya

Putin Yavlinsky Zhirinovsky Zyuganov News stories coded

26% 11% 8% 6% 217

14% 5% 4% 5% 192

Source: Author’s data.

Zyuganov each had about 16 percent of the negative coverage. Most of Yavlinsky’s negative coverage was on ORT, while Putin received the bulk of his negative coverage on NTV (European Institute for the Media, August 2000). If Yavlinsky had to endure slanted, negative and trivial news coverage, at least he had plenty of paid advertising with which to counter the message. Yavlinsky was the only main candidate to advertise on four of the main Russian television stations (ORT, RTR, NTV and TV-Center). There was a total of 190 minutes in paid political advertising, most of it on ORT. In keeping with his strategy of being above the campaign, Putin purchased no political advertising during the three weeks of the campaign (European Institute for the Media, August 2000, p. 57). Results from the author’s separate analysis of news coverage during the 2000 presidential campaign find the same syndrome (see Table 6.3). Putin was the overwhelming favorite in terms of coverage, mentioned in 26 percent of all the news items coded on ORT’s Vremya. He received only about half as much coverage on NTV’s Sevodnya, where he was mentioned in 14 percent of all news stories (see Table 6.3). However, NTV provided less political coverage overall (as was true in previous elections) and other candidates also received fewer mentions. In general, NTV avoided the “black PR” tactics employed by ORT in the Duma and presidential elections. However, as the focus-group participants noted, NTV was not without its “ironic” moments. In arguably the strongest anti-government broadcast of the campaign, NTV mocked the candidates and their cooperation with Putin in the popular Puppets satire show. In the show, which featured puppets that were recognizable caricatures of famous politicians, the Putin puppet is

Consolidation of media control 125 Table 6.4 Candidates speaking for themselves, Russian presidential campaign 2000 (rounded percentages) Candidates

Vremya

Sevodnya

Putin Yavlinsky Zhirinovsky Zyuganov News stories coded

9% 3% 3% 4% 217

3% 3% 3% 3% 192

Source: Author’s data.

seen visiting the Duma, which is billed as a brothel. All of the other politician puppets are eager to service their new leader, with Zyuganov and Zhirinovsky shown as the most appealing. Primakov and Luzhkov, pushed from the presidential race during the Duma campaign, are shown as too old to entice the Putin-puppet. Finally, the political prostitutes all strip, fading away as their clothes come off. Puppets aside, presidential candidates were rarely able to speak for themselves. In Putin’s case, this was not a detriment, in the sense that he did not appear to have a particular set of policies or even a definable ideology. Much as with Unity as a party of power, it was images of Putin – visiting factories, co-piloting a MiG fighter jet or addressing the Duma – that were important in building an overall picture of him as an effective leader. As the focus groups in 2000 suggest, the Russian voters were by this time pragmatic, accepting that presidential style was a reasonable substitute for presidential substance, particularly when their opportunity for real political choice was so limited. However, ORT’s Vremya clearly gave Putin more of a direct platform. The acting president was able to speak for himself in 9 percent of the Vremya news items in the three-week campaign period, compared with in just 3 percent of NTV’s Sevodnya news items in the same time period (see Table 6.4). There was no difference between the two channels for the other three main candidates: Yavlinsky, Zyuganov and Zhirinovsky spoke for themselves only in about 3 percent of the news items on both Vremya and Sevodnya during the campaign.

Conclusions The 1999 parliamentary and 2000 presidential elections in Russia marked the continuation of several trends in the relationship among viewers, voters and political forces in Russia. Style became much more important than substance, as the ability of the voters to express actual political preferences through elections faded. Given that political power had ossified by 1999, primarily into the hands of bureaucrats in Moscow, it was enormously difficult to launch effective grassroots political movements. Even when such movements were initiated, they attracted either little media attention or derisive, negative coverage from staterun television. At the same time, even well-established parties such as the

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Communists or Yabloko had a difficult time competing against the well-funded broadcast parties that dominated the media during the campaign. In the case of the presidential race, Putin served as a “broadcast” or virtual candidate, a man with a relatively unremarkable past, unknown ambitions and apparent lack of any striking ideology. The media cast him as the hero of the Russian state, relying on images as there was very little that could be said that would not possibly alienate or alarm the voters. When not promoting the chosen leader, state television spent time smearing Yavlinsky, the only candidate likely to draw an appreciable number of votes away from the acting president (communist candidate Zyuganov was more popular with the electorate, but relatively far away from Putin in terms of either ideology or image). By the 1999 and 2000 campaigns, the Russian media had become more players in a political farce than channels for the democratization of the Russian state. Even the commercial NTV, once renowned for its brave coverage of the harsh reality of the war in Chechnya, took sides at crucial moments when it should have defended the public’s right to the full story. As such, television’s ability to facilitate democratic choice and the growth of civil society in Russia became a shadow of its former self.

7

“No better heroes” Focus-group findings about political images, parties and voting in Russia

Many Russians are dismissive of political advertising. Yet as they talk about it, they give clues to the broad influence the media have in shaping their political values. In times of elections, this effect is particularly important, as the dearth of long-standing political parties or even well-established leaders can make voting difficult and confusing. Russians often would like to think they are impervious to media cues, particularly those that they perceive as Western in style, yet they have relatively few other points of reference. As the parties, leaders and even entire governments change with great rapidity, they have been forced to collect a great deal of political information from the media. Trained in the Soviet period to approach media sources with cautious skepticism, Russian viewers show a great deal of insight into the attempts to manipulate their opinion. By the same token, they cannot avoid being influenced, particularly by the powerful state-run television on Channel 1. They may see quite clearly that the candidates and parties on offer are not addressing the deep problems in Russian society, yet there is little real choice. The words of Tatyana, a 47-year-old technician from Moscow, summed up the situation as she discussed how the campaign affected her: “It didn’t help me to be more informed, but it changed my opinion” about for whom to vote. It is disturbing to think that one could change one’s mind without becoming better informed, yet this was entirely possible during the Russian elections campaigns of 1999 and 2000. And as another participant put it in describing his reaction of the 1999 Duma campaign and the marketing of pro-government party leader Sergei Shoigu, even penetrating analysis makes trivial difference if there is little real choice: I didn’t listen to analysis, I tried to listen to the person directly – how the man spoke, what was he saying . . . I used this information and my experience and other sources of information and generally I made my choice absolutely on my own. I ignored some things, in some things I saw some clear lies, in some I saw some open dirty tricks. There was, say, with [Emergencies Minister and Unity candidate Sergei] Shoigu, when he returned from vacation and television day and night, even every half hour, one and the same showed him. Well, we have no better heroes to show except him. (Vladimir, 61, retiree, Ulyanovsk)

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How much does audience reaction to political messages matter to electoral outcomes? And how much does it mean in a post-authoritarian state such as Russia? Not surprisingly, political scientists have disagreed about this for decades, although research has identified several broad findings. As discussed in earlier chapters, the theories have moved on from the propaganda model to the more complicated models of voting behavior. As much as candidates and parties might wish for a simple correlation between the volume of information and the effect on the voter, the voters themselves appear to be very sophisticated – and often quite resistant – consumers of political information. Can the concept of media “minimal effects” or “consumer effects” be applied to the Russian electorate? It would be expected that voters in developing democracies, who need a great deal of information about their new parties and politicians, would be more likely to be swayed by a media campaign. Studies have found that the media can influence Western voters, but the effects are more subtle than a positive linear relationship between television exposure and the electoral support (Graber, 1988; Iyengar and Kinder, 1987; Patterson, 1993). There are useful studies in comparative politics on campaign effects that can be applied to the Russian case. For example, Semetko et al. (1991) found that the more centralized British parties are more effective than less cohesive US candidates in transmitting their campaign agendas through the media. Work by Bowler et al. (1992) tested whether voters responded positively to agendas promulgated by German and British parties in their 1983 general election campaigns. By using panel surveys, the researchers found that targeted campaigns did convince voters that certain parties could handle some issues better than others. When this research was carried out in Russia, albeit on a smaller scale, it showed that Russian voters also became more convinced about which parties could best handle certain issues over the course of the 1995 Duma campaign. This suggested that there was a measurable campaign effect on attitude toward the efficacy of parties in certain issue areas (Oates, 1998b). There is a compelling argument for the case that media effects would be far stronger in Russia because of a lack of party identification or even the development of parties themselves. As discussed in Chapter 4, only the Communist Party and perhaps Yabloko could be considered parties in the Western sense, that is, organizations that strive to aggregate the interests of voters, have a coherent ideology and pursue a fairly well-defined set of policies in local, regional and national office. Even the platform of the Communist Party has been changed significantly since its inception as the successor to the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and it could now be considered more socialist than communist. Although the Communist Party has gone as far as to mildly endorse some forms of capitalism, however, it is still a model of ideological cohesion when compared with other parties. Few major parties have endured and none except for the Communist Party and Yabloko have remained essentially the same from one national election to the next. With a lack of parties that are located along a recognizable political spectrum, Russian voters are forced to do a lot of homework if they want to make coherent

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choices. Overwhelmingly, they must depend on the media and particularly on television with its massive reach and influence in society. Although there is talk of printed platforms, party handouts, mass meetings and door-to-door canvassing on the part of party officials, realistically most Russians only have contact with party officials via the media.1 With neither fixed parties nor fixed preferences, the media element of a campaign becomes very strong indeed. It is interesting to note the discussion of the “Americanization” of electoral campaigns has, in a certain way, brought the debate back to a discussion of the domination of media over party politics. This Americanization model is relevant to the Russian campaigns, in that party organizations can be relatively weak in new democracies. That would suggest an interesting convergence, that both Russian and Western parties are more dependent on the media than the traditional models of voting behavior and party identification might suggest. However, it is clear that Russian voters rely on a far broader range of voting cues than the media, as the success of the Communists in 1995 would indicate. In addition to research about elections and campaigns, it is important to consider the nature of the Russian audience and the values they expressed in Chapter 3. Many of the focus-group participants felt that the most important role of television was to support the patriotic image of the nation rather than to provide actual news coverage of events. This conceptualization of television would immediately make election coverage problematic, for it should provide conflicting views within a democratic framework. Yet if the viewers are not comfortable with the messy confrontation of opposing sides – not to mention they may not approve of a democratic framework altogether – they are bound to be alienated by election coverage. Other studies of media effects on Russian voters have suggested that media matter, but only in certain circumstances. When looking at the behavior of voters, it is clear from public-opinion surveys around the time of elections that voter preferences can change radically within a few weeks (Oates, 1998b; White et al., 1997a; White et al., 1997b; Wyman et al., 1998). This change during the campaign would suggest that media coverage is enormously influential. However, there are several caveats when considering the large swings during the campaign period. Most importantly, it is unclear whether people are changing their minds based on media coverage during the elections or merely making a late declaration of their vote intention based on longer-term influences. In the focus groups, most of the participants would deny media influence on their vote choice. However, it is significant that the media seem to influence certain groups, notably young floating voters, at a far higher rate than other segments of society. For example, Communist Party voters are much more likely to claim that their vote is influenced by long-term preferences and even a sense of party identification than any other group of voters (Oates, 1998b, 2000). Thus, in Russia media effects must be seen as differential, depending on the recipient of the message. New parties can reasonably hope to attract Russian “floating” voters, particularly those who are younger, more urban and more educated. However, those with fixed preferences (notably communist) are relatively

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difficult to dislodge from their party preferences. For example, in the April 2001 survey, about 16 percent of the respondents said they picked their party vote for the 1999 Duma elections because “the party expressed the interests of people like me,” 11 percent because they liked the party leader, 10 percent because they felt the party could change the situation in the country, and only 2 percent because they “always vote for this party.” Different party supporters, however, showed markedly different reasons for their vote choice. For example, 49 percent of the Liberal Democrats voters chose the party because they liked the leader (Vladimir Zhirinovsky), while only 5 percent of the Communist Party voters picked their party for this reason. Rather, the Communist Party voters were more impressed that the party represented their interests (48 percent) or they were “used to” voting for the party (13 percent).2 As the last two chapters have suggested, news coverage is far more important than advertising. Many Russians resent advertising and are not comfortable with the concept of seeing it on television. Russia has a very liberal attitude toward political advertising and, in practice, allowed virtually unlimited paid advertising in campaigns from 1993 until the 1999 Duma elections. That does not mean the voters are paying much attention to it. Only 3 percent of the respondents in the 2001 survey claimed that paid political advertising influenced their 1999 Duma vote a lot and only 14 percent felt it was a small influence. In fact, more than half of the respondents (55 percent) said that paid political advertising had not influenced their vote at all in the 1999 elections. In addition, even when they apparently liked the advertising, it did not always seem to help the parties. For example, although Unity was judged to have had the best advertising campaign of any party (27 percent of the respondents picked them as the advertising leader), only 8 percent said this of the Communist Party. Yet the two parties were virtually tied in the party-list race in 1999, with the Communists having the slight edge. Interestingly, there is relatively little variation in how different party supporters had assessed the influence of paid political advertising. Only slightly more Unity voters than Communist Party voters said that there was “a lot” of influence from paid political advertising in general in 1999 (5 percent versus 4 percent). In addition, free time is distributed on an equal basis to large and small parties alike, giving Russian parties and candidates a great deal of access to television. Realistically, few can use the opportunity, as both paid advertising and professional filmmaking for the best use of free time are expensive. More importantly, Russians have a very high distrust of anything that smacks of an advertisement. The news, however, is quite carefully watched and relatively well received. As a result, it is access to the news (even though most Russians are aware that access is unfairly distributed) that is more important in election campaigns.

Viewers and campaigns Most of the focus-group participants said that they had watched election coverage and advertising for the parliamentary and presidential elections, but they seemed

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3

hazy about details. A few could remember some slogans or images, such as what clothes a certain candidate was wearing, yet there was scant mention of any policies, programs or even broad ideology. To help jog their memories, the participants were shown brief selections from election news coverage from ORT and NTV.4 They were asked to comment on the coverage and the advertising, as well as discuss their impressions about the news coverage and political advertising in the presidential campaign. Many of the general issues about television discussed in Chapter 3 were apparent in the conversations about election coverage, including the preference of many of the focus-group participants for order and politeness that was curiously coupled with a love of scandal-mongering shows such as The Sergei Dorenko Program. Reports on their campaign viewing and their impressions also show some of the results of the biased, segregated news system in the country in which both state-run and commercial media outlets supported “their” candidates and causes. While focus-group participants were ready to point out flaws in the system as well as in the particular video clips they were shown in the group, they were also ready to defend Russia’s media system. The participants were particularly sensitive to the idea that they were in any way duped by the media. As one participant pointed out, it was Austria and not Russia that had recently elected a fascist party into power (Nadezhda, a 46-year-old librarian from Ulyanovsk).5 And, as in any society, they tended to weary of election issues and coverage by the end of the contest: “There’s this on one side, that on the other. And I think that the other side is right. I agree with them. It’s just I simply want an end to it, that they’re elected and it is over,” said Lena, a 25-year-old doctor from Voronezh. Beyond the mere fatigue with the campaigns was another problem, voiced by Lyudmila, a 60-yearold cloakroom attendant in Ulyanovsk. She and other respondents often expressed the idea that they felt that competition among parties and candidates could hurt society more than it helped: I don’t like the way the candidates are always saying, “I know, I know how to run the country.” Well, you assemble bright people, we have a single country, gather together all the bright ones, then tell each other how it should be run. Each is somewhere building castles in the air and no one is really speaking to each other. That’s what I don’t like. The elections seemed to drag on for so long because of the scheduling. Like the British, the Russians technically have a very short election period. Parties and candidates are supposed to limit their campaigning to one month before the actual polling date. However, as the elections for the Duma took place in December 1999 and the presidential elections were the following March, realistically there was little break from autumn through almost spring. In addition, as parties and politicians used the Duma campaign to consolidate interests, attempt to gain recognition and float ideas for the presidential contest, the two have been linked in the 1995–6, 1999–2000 and 2003–4 election rounds.

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The viewers and the Duma elections The Duma elections are supposed to promote political parties, particularly in that 225 of the 450 seats of the lower house of the Russian parliament have been elected through a national party-list contest and this will rise to all seats elected via the party-list system in the future. Some of the candidates in the singlemember districts have run with a party affiliation, but most of those elected were running as independents (although they joined a party faction once they took up their seats in the Duma). In fact, Russian elections tend to subvert the nature of political parties. Unsurprisingly in a country in which power has been represented by individual leaders instead of political parties, Russian viewers often focus on personal qualities and candidates over parties and movements. “Many of us vote for a person, not for his program,” said 23-year-old Irina, a secretary in Moscow, a sentiment echoed by others in the focus groups. The focus-group participants were quick to notice the constant coverage of Unity and its leader Shoigu, especially on ORT. Some of them responded by supporting the party, including Lena (a 32-year-old librarian in Ulyanovsk) who said she liked Unity because it was “new people” even though the party was perhaps just an “advertising concept.” For some respondents, the notion of causality was a bit confused. Boris Nikolaevich, a 59-year-old engineer from Ulyanovsk, said that advertising mattered “without a doubt. Even if a person has already formulated something, if he knows something or other . . . this ad will pre-form it so that there is an effect.” What was the overall impression of the Duma campaign? “Hysteria,” said Igor, a 31-year-old doctor in a Voronezh focus group, as Irina, a library assistant chimed in with “dirt” and militiaman Oleg followed with “a lot of noise about nothing.” This set of statements pretty well sums up the attitude of the focusgroup participants toward the Duma elections, which were more marked by scandal and rumor-mongering than any discussions on the qualifications of various parties and candidates. “There wasn’t anything nice, just negative,” said Olga, a 46-year-old accountant from Voronezh. Indeed, kompromat and black PR were the order of the day in the 1999 Duma elections. At times skittering over the edge from muckraking into farce, tactics included a smear campaign on The Sergei Dorenko Program against the powerful Fatherland-All Russia party. This party, led by Moscow mayor Yuri Luzhkov, was the only realistic non-Communist contender for power with the Kremlin in the 1999 elections. How did the focus-group participants react to these tactics? Some of the participants dismissed them as unfair, offensive and even idiotic: I understand how it was planned. There was a lot of dirt thrown at Fatherland . . . It seems if there was so much against Fatherland, then why couldn’t they find anything against [former Prime Minister and Fatherland co-leader Evgeny] Primakov better than showing he was old and in bad health? In my opinion, that wasn’t proper, to talk about his health and his age. (Julia, 21, student, Ulyanovsk)

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Dorenko just dumped on Luzhkov so much . . . Did Dorenko tell the truth about Luzhkov? I can’t tell myself. If he were that horrible it would seem that the police would just kick him out as mayor of Moscow. Why haven’t they arrested him if he’s that bad? (Viktor, 47, worker in shop, Voronezh) Others who shared Viktor’s equivocation were not so sure that there was nothing in the allegations. While they were aware that not all of the accusations could possibly be true, the images left them with doubts about Luzhkov, Primakov and the Fatherland-All Russia party. For example, Elena, 39, chief curator at a museum in Voronezh, said that she had supported Primakov, whom she considered a respected diplomat, but she wavered during the Duma campaign because of: his age and things they said about him in the programs . . . personally it made an impression on me . . . it changed my opinion . . . I voted for Unity as a new and fresh strength. That is, I really understood what I was doing. The only thing is that there wasn’t an economic program. In other comments, it was clear that the presentation of leaders and parties was having an impact: The mass media present just an image, because people are sufficiently passive. I don’t go especially to the library to study what they stand for, their economic outlook, I take aboard just the image. (Julia, 21, student, Ulyanovsk) When Dorenko gave information about Luzhkov, you feel perhaps that it really isn’t like that, but still there must be something not good there. (Anatoli Ivanovich, 56, doctor, Voronezh) In fact, the respondents could not fail to notice the lavish coverage afforded to Unity. Some in an Ulyanovsk focus group for older respondents welcomed this “broadcast” party: And the people [narod] believe that at last there is someone who can gather together these forces . . . It was quickly clear that there appeared a new group, a new leader, it appeared that the leader for us was very mobile, not a Westernizer, it was the opposite, he had faith in the people [narod], as a person, who was able to get things done. And he did get things done. NELLI IVANOVNA, 62, RETIREE: Unity appeared. Of course, Shoigu, everyone knew him . . . Young, energetic, and most of all – new. Because the old parties had already lost their teeth. And this was a new strength. We wanted something new. BORIS NIKOLAEVICH, 59, ENGINEER:

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However, not all were impressed by Unity’s campaign: It seems to me that Unity has empty characters . . . It was just technique, a professional PR campaign and not a very good one at that. (Rita, 18, student, Ulyanovsk) Unity was promoted in such a way that people who went to vote didn’t really know for whom they were voting. I didn’t vote for Unity and I have a negative impression of the people who did vote for this . . . “bear” [party].6 They showed three people, but where did this party come from? (Evdokiya Mikhailovna, 53, personnel administrator, Voronezh) I have this tendency that the more they show a person then the less likely I am to vote for them . . . I have a choice. I already think, “Why change a horse in the middle of the journey?” (Olga, 46, accountant, Voronezh) In the end, though, coverage of parties as opposed to individuals and scandals seemed far less relevant during the 1999 Duma campaign to the focus-group participants. There were two reasons for this. First, those who already identified with a party (mostly Communists) indicated that they relied on a sense of party identification rather than media cues for voting. More tellingly, it was mostly the individuals and not the parties that were recalled by the focus-group participants, both in describing the television coverage during the Duma campaign and in explaining their vote choice. The comments show how deeply personalized politics remain in Russia, such as in this remark: I voted not for a movement, but for an individual personality. I just like how Shoigu worked. He’s sufficiently businesslike and effective. (Andrei, 40, radio engineer, Ulyanovsk) Or consider this interchange in the Ulyanovsk group of young participants: Lots of people, including myself, voted for Unity and the mass media influenced me in this decision. I approved of the personal quality of Unity and I didn’t hear any provocation or accusations against anyone. JULIA, 21, A STUDENT (TO NATALYA): I heard that Unity was just a charismatic organization, not even a party with a concrete program. Did you read about their ideas, see their program? NATALYA: As I already said, there is no special program or literature for our party that you could give out or go to a kiosk and compare with others. Nonetheless, the goals and ideas were formulated not on television but in the newspapers. Now people say that Putin doesn’t have a program, goals and that he doesn’t know where he is leading us. Yes, not all of have these illusionary goals, like [Communist Party leader Gennady] Zyuganov. NATALYA, 20, A STUDENT:

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You mean to say that you voted for an image? No, there were a lot of factors there. I am not going to justify my vote or the effect of the mass media on my vote!

JULIA:

NATALYA:

While those voting for Unity tended to cite the media, the Communist supporters spoke about more long-term attractions. In fact, they tended to claim the least attraction to the media. Lydia Ivanovna, a 59-year-old retiree from Voronezh, said she did not listen to the biased reports on television because “I voted for the Communist Party. That’s it. I made the responsible choice from the heart.” Yet Lydia Ivanovna admitted that she did not escape influence from the mass media because at one point she also had supported Primakov but was not pleased by his “switching from one side to the other” (a reference to the fact that Primakov had been pro-Kremlin before he was forced to leave his post as prime minister). Thus, despite her first statement that she was not influenced by the media, she then admitted, “it played a role. I don’t really know. You read some sort of news one place or another . . . yes, it plays a role.” While there were mixed feelings about the role of the mass media in influencing vote choice, it seemed that television in general did not emerge well from the fray. Most of the participants, while accepting of bias, were not particularly pleased by it. Possible short-term voting effects aside, the long-term effect of the biased reports was an erosion of trust in television, as 27-year-old Natasha from Moscow said in her discussion of the coverage of Luzhkov’s “scandals”: “It changed my impression of the mass media . . . of television, but not my impression of Luzhkov.” As television channels sought to follow a particular party line and undermine political actors in a single election, they could permanently undermine trust in the media as a political actor. In addition, an overload of biased information can turn the viewer not only against the media as an institution, but alienate him or her from politics in general. Sergei, 41, an electrical engineer in Moscow, was planning to vote for Primakov and the Fatherland party in the Duma elections, but “after such information I voted against all.” Many followed his example, as 3.3 percent of the voters voted against all of the parties, making this negative choice more popular than 20 of the 26 parties on the Duma ballot in 1999.

The 2000 presidential campaign Not surprisingly, the focus-group participants perceived the presidential campaign as far cleaner than the Duma campaign, “much more peaceful” in the words of Alsu, a 21-year-old shop assistant in Ulyanovsk. Putin had a clear lead from the time he was appointed acting president and there was little need for serious campaigning. In Russia, campaigning in 2000 meant a combination of spin-doctored good news about the Kremlin candidate as well as a broad-based smear campaign against any viable opponents. The focus-group respondents were occasionally outraged, but often philosophical, as in this discussion in an

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Ulyanovsk group (for ages 36–49) before the election suggests: I agree that they’re not after our vote, they’re just struggling for a presidential place. NADYA (LIBRARIAN): But how are they going to get a place without our votes? ANDREI (RADIO ENGINEER): Of course there’s a struggle for our votes, because they’re throwing dirt, it is all the same struggle for our votes, to show themselves in the best light. LIDA: Therefore, they’re smearing each other so they can show who will be the best president. LIDA (LOGISTICS MANAGER):

As one participant said, the campaign was “about image,” but the image provided by news mattered more than any advertisements. “Putin couldn’t have been president without the mass media,” said Timofei, an 18-year-old student in Ulyanovsk. Galina, a 59-year-old university inspector in the same city, agreed: “Well, Putin just came out of nowhere. He came out of nowhere, right? We didn’t know anything about him three months ago. He came out of nowhere.” Generally, the focus-group participants felt that the channels were biased toward one or another presidential candidate. In the more general discussion about television, many participants did not appear to be overly bothered about overt bias on television. Yet it was clear from many remarks during the discussion about campaigns that they found this bias petty, irritating, and even a violation of their rights as citizens that they could not get full information about all the candidates in the race. Putin was framed as the winner long before the formal start of the campaign in February 2000 and never even used his free time to present his program, policies or even personal information. With their sensitive news antennae, the participants were not pleased – but were generally resigned – about being “duped” by the media. One even dismissed the ORT news segment on the presidential elections as “an advertisement in the place of news” (Vyachislav, a 21-year-old mechanical engineer in Voronezh). If image triumphed over substance in the Duma elections, it was even more apparent in the presidential campaign. Putin was featured continually on the news. While ORT made a point of covering his every move and manufacturing photo opportunities, even rival NTV could not avoid covering the powerful head of the country. Once Boris Yeltsin made Putin acting president at the end of 1999, he was guaranteed the top spot on the television news. As is so often true in Russian political campaigns, however, ORT was not content with covering Putin. Among some staged campaign events – including whistle-stop train tours, meetings with youth and visits to factories – was Putin flying a MiG fighter as a co-pilot. While some of the participants dismissed this as an obvious stunt, it clearly made a big impression in the framing of Putin as a heroic man of action. Nadya (a 19-year-old student in Voronezh) said that the pictures of Putin showed that he was “simple, he’s one of us, he’s a little reckless – Russian people love this.” Others were quick to realize that the coverage was not fair. “The other candidates didn’t have the same opportunities. Zyuganov can play volleyball,

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basketball, he also could fly but he did not get the chance. It is not a level playing field,” said Tatyana, a 44-year old personal computer operator in Moscow. Although Russian participants still put faith in their individual knowledge and experience of the candidates, they seemed willing to be swayed by the image rather than their knowledge of the candidate. A few participants had taken careful note of the gap between the media image and the reality surrounding Putin. Aleksandr, a 48-year-old locksmith, recalled being stuck on the Moscow metro as a route was cleared for a visit by Putin. But on the news later that night, there was no mention of the disruption; it was shown “beautifully” according to Tatyana in the same group. In addition, Aleksandr also was disappointed when Putin failed to get out of the Hammer and Sickle special train to greet the crowds who had gathered to see him on a trip outside Moscow. Igor, a 31-year-old dentist in Voronezh, remembered how a woman in the crowd in his city tried to ask Putin how she could possibly live on 500 rubles a month (about US $18), but her question was deflected by a boss of the local administration. Some respondents felt that ORT was doing a good job not only of promoting Putin, but also of proving that Yabloko leader Grigory Yavlinsky, Zyuganov and the other challengers were not up to the job. “It seems to me that ORT showed that none of these candidates could be president,” said Anna, a 29-year-old shop assistant in Voronezh. Nadya, the 19-year-old student from Voronezh, was upset by the coverage, seeing it as an abridgement of her rights as a citizen: Just as in all the ORT clips that were shown . . . I think that it is not just negative advertising, but it destroys the rights of both the people and the candidate. In the first place, there were several offensive epithets. In the second place, it seemed to me that all of these clips . . . showed the unattractive side of Yavlinsky and Zyuganov, at the same time it is all done so that Putin is in the background. I didn’t hear a single bad word about him. Sasha, a 22-year-old student in Ulyanovsk, said that it was the images in particular that were biased: If you take away the commentary, then you see all the naiveté and unsatisfactory elements of ORT. They don’t broadcast information that I needed [to decide] whether to vote for this or that candidate, rather they just show their nature, play on the emotional feelings, that’s it. NTV remained less aggressive about mud slinging in the 2000 presidential campaign. Some of the participants, however, picked up the ironical tone on NTV that often gently mocked the presidential candidates: It seems to me that this isn’t a positive ad or a negative ad. The authors of this piece showed light irony both toward Putin and Zyuganov. There were several moments . . . such as when they showed Putin’s book and then showed Zyuganov also presenting his book about how Russia can get out of crisis.

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Others did not see the NTV coverage as merely ironic, but actually anti-Putin. Vladimir, a 24-year-old electricity controller from Voronezh, said that NTV pointed out problematic aspects of Zyuganov’s program and also highlighted the fact that Putin did not have a program at all. Nonetheless, the television coverage was, in Vladimir’s opinion, irrelevant for the presidential elections: Everyone knew Putin would win; he did not need any kind of advertising, as it “was just a matter of time.” Stanislav, a 31-year-old security guard from Voronezh, perceived the NTV coverage as more “tactical” in nature: “They never attack directly, at least not that I heard even once. At the same time on ORT that’s how they do it [more directly].” Yet this more even-handed approach, ironic or not, did not find favor with all the focus-group participants. Some seemed to prefer the Soviet style of more ideological coverage. For example, Sergei, a 33-year-old lecturer in Ulyanovsk, said that the NTV clip was merely “rubbish,” adding: “There was no absolute information. It is routine work. Someone arrives, registers, doesn’t register. No one needs this.” The participants did notice that candidates, in general, were able to speak more for themselves on NTV. Some liked this and cited it as evidence that NTV was more fair and balanced, particularly in the way that candidates were framed: Take the example of Channel 1 [ORT]. NTV, in the first half of the report, gave us a bigger segment on each candidate. Yavlinsky spoke a great deal and Zyuganov also a lot. And between them the journalist very quickly and neutrally made statements. And then there’s the second spot by ORT, where they dumped dirt on Zyuganov . . . They presented his words, but their spirit was against him . . . That is, the journalists showed their opinions in the beginning, then returned to the words of the candidate. (Sasha, 40, lecturer, Ulyanovsk) The correspondent talked a lot on ORT and put forth his own opinion. The correspondent seemed to think that he had the right to put forth his own opinion, that he spoke in these old stilted phrases . . . And on NTV they allowed people to speak directly and a person himself could decide for himself to vote or not. (Elena, 36, kennel operator, Moscow) On NTV the commentary was often silent. Either Zyuganov spoke or Yavlinsky or someone else. That is, they themselves explained their points of view . . . they themselves were accountable for that. In terms of ORT, they

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showed us Zyuganov and then only a few phrases that were perhaps not very fortunate. It was the same for Zhirinovsky. All the rest of the time [on ORT] there was the methodical commentary, pedantically giving their own point of view . . . It is just that ORT doesn’t let anyone open their mouth and they have their own commentary. (Sergei, 30, scientist, Ulyanovsk) Others, such as Sergei, the lecturer from Ulyanovsk, felt that unedited appearances were boring at best and quite possibly offensive or dangerous. As Valentin (a 45-year-old engineer in Moscow) said, “On ORT there are morals and facts,” while Lyudmila, a 50-year-old in the same profession, snapped back, “Very few facts and lots of morals.” Some respondents claimed that ORT was more professional. For the older participants, “professional” seemed to mean that the focus was on news analysis rather than news reporting. There is an emphasis on order over free information flow. For younger participants, the idea of professionalism in the news seemed to parallel the Western model, that is, that a series of facts are presented and the viewer must make his or her own analysis. However, even for the younger viewers there is often the expectation that the news will take sides – at least to a degree. As was pointed out in Chapter 3, the participants often were concerned particularly with state television, due both to its greater reach and the idea that it should represent the national interest. As this discussion in a Moscow focus group shows, they were quite aware of both the technical reach and the authority of ORT: ORT covers more territory. The Eskimos [chukchi] sit in their igloo [chume] – they only show them ORT. They don’t know anything else. ALEKSANDR (48, LOCKSMITH): Not just Eskimos. Actually 300 kilometers from Moscow it is hard to get other channels. YURA: They just don’t know any other opinions. They listen only to Dorenko. For them there was no choice. YURA (36, ELECTRICAL ENGINEER):

Or Nadya’s comment in the Voronezh focus group from the youngest participants: If I were a person who didn’t follow politics, if I didn’t know anything – I turn on ORT and I don’t have any other channels – what would be my attitude toward Yavlinsky? Of course it would be negative. Some participants were quick to dismiss all election coverage as boring, but there was a dedicated core of people in the focus groups who were quite interested in events. However, between trying to assess the bias in various news reports and sit through numerous free-time broadcasts, it was hard to stay interested. Vladimir, a 46-year-old security guard from Ulyanovsk, said he enjoyed the round-table discussions that were broadcast on ORT in the mornings and RTR in the evenings, as he got a chance to see the candidates engage in a real dialogue: “This is where I picked up the greatest amount of extra information.” Yet he still had the feeling

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that it was all a charade: They’re not interested in how we form our preferences. It is just that now there is such a war over information. To me it seems that we’ve already come to the time of reckoning. It is already been done, there will be Putin. It is just that they have to placate us a little so that they can say they’ve informed us and then wait for our votes. Aleksandr, a 32-year-old shop assistant in Voronezh, was more blunt: “It is like this – Putin is going to get in, but they need to encourage us a little.” Viktor Ivanovich, a 52-year-old driver in Voronezh, put this idea in more sophisticated terms: The elections were decided by retirees and state employees. Putin plays a greater role because there’s a lot of money coming from the federal budget and this money plays a role. If Putin doesn’t win, I won’t get 100 percent of this money. All of the working class votes for Zyuganov anyway. In terms of image, it was clear that Putin’s message was getting through. After Yeltsin’s prolonged illness and eventual infirmity, youth and health were particularly important, apparently more significant than qualities such as experience and accountability. Aleksandr, the shop assistant from Voronezh, called Putin “young, handsome, bright, a judo expert.” Others called Putin “courageous, a fighter” (Ilona, 20, an accountant in Ulyanovsk), a “hero” (Alsu, the young shop assistant from Ulyanovsk) or said that television was trying to make Putin look “that young, he won’t be beaten by the Chechens, he’s a strong personality” (Aleksandr, a 26-year-old student in Ulyanovsk). Others had even more praise, as this conversation in a Voronezh focus group for the oldest participants shows: Our people and our government have been with a sick, old president who couldn’t realize our hopes. There was this situation with the retirees and all the people . . . There’s a lot dependent on the head of government and not just for international affairs, but for our daily life. And now the people and me, at this time, want to see our young, smart president who gives us some hope. ALBERT SERGEEVICH, 60, DENTIST: We’re used to seeing and listening to a sick president. And suddenly onto the scene appears a healthy, strong person who does sports, flies an airplane, etc. VALENTINA STEPANOVNA, 64, RETIREE: It is always been done that way with us. President or premier, each step he takes. NINA VASILEVNA, 64, RETIREE:

If the respondents considered it proper to have extensive coverage of the country’s leader, they also expected him to act in the correct, Soviet-style fashion. For example, along with Aleksandr’s complaints about Putin failing to greet the crowd at a train stop, Vladimir (a 61-year-old retiree from Ulyanovsk) was upset that Putin did not congratulate all women on International Women’s Day as he

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greeted female soldiers. The fact that Putin only greeted female soldiers instead of all women was a social faux pas in Vladimir’s opinion. Nikolai (a 38-year-old engineer in Voronezh) remarked that the president’s eyes tended to dart about. In addition, the respondents were, quite correctly, suspicious of this type of coverage after the 1996 news portrayal of Yeltsin as healthy when he was already suffering badly from heart problems: “They showed us Yeltsin before the elections, he danced and after the elections he started to die,” said Illa Petrovna, a 65-year-old retiree in Moscow. Overall, though, there was surprisingly little concern about the lack of real knowledge about Putin as a politician or even a person, although Lyudmila (a 43-year-old economist in Voronezh) said “he’s like a cat among the mice and you don’t know what he’ll do in the future.” Although Putin had the bulk of the coverage, comments from the participants suggested that television helped make them aware of other candidates, particularly Yavlinsky. In fact, Yavlinsky clearly has worked hard over the years and through elections on improving on his 1993 campaign appearances by making his speeches and messages more forceful and sharp. Working against this was the fact that he was the target of the largest amount of kompromat in the 2000 presidential campaign (European Institute for the Media, August 2000). Feelings about him were mixed in the focus groups, as these comments from Moscow suggest: He’s a smart, young man, he doesn’t deceive. He would live by the constitution, absolutely lawfully . . . It also seemed to me that he spoke simply enough, clearly, precisely, concisely and, at the same time, to the point. TAMARA, 46, OFFICE WORKER: What can I say about Yavlinsky? Yes, he speaks well, correctly – but he’s an economist and that’s it . . . To be a leader of a country . . . you need some sort of quality, he’s very soft. VALENTIN, 45, ENGINEER:

However, Yavlinsky had far more to contend with than an image of being “soft,” ironically an unlikely word for his political opponents to choose to describe him. Yavlinsky was the target of a negative news campaign by ORT, including allegations that he had undergone cosmetic surgery and, more seriously, that his campaign was financed by Western sources. That coverage may have backfired to a degree, as respondents felt that coverage of his possible cosmetic surgery was in poor taste. (Meanwhile, Yavlinsky claimed that he never had any surgery for the bags under his eyes.) “So he privately had some plastic surgery. It has nothing to do with the elections. It is just a private, personal thing,” said Julia, a 22-year-old insurance agent in Ulyanovsk. Sergei (the 30-year-old scientist from Ulyanovsk) generously said, “at the end of the day, everyone has the right to be handsome.” More importantly, felt one respondent, it was irresponsible of ORT to make insinuations of campaign law violations when Yavlinsky had been cleared of any infractions of election law by the authorities: The Central Election Commission was satisfied with these facts and didn’t say anything . . . they need to tell the voters if he did break the law or why he broke the law and if so in what way he broke the law. Otherwise, people get the wrong impression. (Sergei, 45, scientist, Ulyanovsk)

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Others felt it was a bit much to criticize Yavlinsky for using funds from the West, as it was unlikely that any candidate or party had completely honest funding. In particular, it was clear that the national budget must have funded much of Unity’s Duma campaign and Putin’s presidential race, while the Moscow city government must have paid for much of the foray of both Luzhkov and Primakov into national politics in the Duma elections. One respondent felt that Yavlinsky had been victimized by the state-run media in the campaign because he was closer in image to Putin, particularly in terms of age, than candidates such as Zyuganov or Zhirinovsky.7 Still, there were comments in focus groups that suggested that the campaign against Yavlinsky was effective. As some respondents noted there was “no smoke without fire” (e.g. Vladimir, 20, a locksmith in Ulyanovsk). More tellingly, Valentina Andreevna, a 62-year-old retiree from Ulyanovsk, said: I started out with a positive attitude toward him, but after all that I heard this week, without end on television, so often . . . And I started not to like him after all . . . it wasn’t how he conducted himself, but how it appeared. I very quickly had such negative impressions. Although to a certain degree the presidential election coverage was irrelevant – Putin had a wide lead and it was unlikely that any campaigning would change that – in a broader sense irresponsible coverage undermines trust in the media. If people see biased reports about candidates such as Yavlinsky, in the short term they may tend not to support Yavlinsky, but Russian viewers are not easily fooled. They should start to distrust television: ORT is the pro-governmental channel . . . it has the point of view of the government. It is particularly noticeable during the time of elections, on the eve of the presidential elections. For example: for three days before the elections on ORT there was all this information on Yavlinsky, how he overspent the campaign limits, more than was allowed under law. The thing was that for several days all the programs on ORT started with negative facts about Yavlinsky. I turned on NTV – there wasn’t a word about it. If ORT was disinterested and Yavlinsky was right, why didn’t NTV show it? Not a word. I specially turned on NTV to see. (Misha, a 23-year-old shop assistant in Ulyanovsk) This also underlines the importance of NTV, even though by the 2000 presidential elections the channel was under serious pressure from the Kremlin to provide positive coverage of the president, the war in Chechnya and the Russian government in general. While NTV has been criticized for a lack of objectivity, particularly during the 1996 presidential elections, it provided an important and trusted alternative for information in Russia for several years. Although Russians will no doubt continue to suspect information on Channel 1 without the relatively independent NTV broadcasts, it will be harder to make direct comparisons and, in effect, catch the government out in lies now that NTV is no longer a strong alternative voice.

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Despite an awareness of the relative objectivity of NTV, though, many simply preferred the more decorous, albeit more pro-government campaign coverage on ORT: “The pretty pictures . . . warm your heart,” said Zoya, a 31-year-old service industry worker in Moscow. “No one was fighting, it was just pretty and cultured,” chimed in Nadya (a 28-year-old doctor). Other candidates running against Putin in 2000 fared little better than Yavlinsky. For Zhirinovsky, the outspoken nationalist, his often-ludicrous antics netted him his usual share of media coverage and the label as a “clown” from some focus-group participants. In a Voronezh focus groups for those aged 26–35, respondents recalled his scandals, the fact that he danced with some gypsies and the legal battle over the registration of his party for the Duma elections. Natalya, the 20-year-old student in Ulyanovsk, said “I don’t think they showed Zhirinovsky in a very good light. Out of all of the candidates, he was the obviously unsatisfactory face, a funny face. They showed him as an absolutely non-serious person, even openly saying that he could be called schizophrenic.” On the other hand, at least he does not “waffle,” according to Rita, an 18-year-old student in Ulyanovsk, who also said he acts like a “crazy man”: It is simply his way of presenting himself . . . On the one hand, he has an effective image, in the sense that he is strong. He really has a good interview technique, he is always able to give an answer. He doesn’t waffle, he doesn’t correct himself, he has a straightforward style and he always backs up his statements. He doesn’t take anything from anybody. You can throw stones at him from all sides and he’ll still score. Despite their complaints about Zhirinovsky’s behavior, the groups showed good recall of his antics. As Anatoli Viktorovich, a 54-year-old office worker from Voronezh, said, “Anything on Zhirinovsky is always interesting,” a sentiment echoed by television producers during the 1999 campaign.8 The Communist Party leader Zyuganov, on the other hand, was “very forgettable,” according to Tatyana, a 48-year-old accountant in Voronezh. “He’s neither fish nor fowl,” said Lyudmila, 60, the cloakroom attendant in Ulyanovsk. “He’s not very sharp, he’s this gray-haired guy,” said Marina, a 33-year-old shop assistant in Voronezh. Unlike with the other candidates, Zyuganov’s policies actually attracted some attention with the participants. However, Valentin (a 59-year-old engineer from Ulyanovsk) merely found him “naïve” if he planned to lower tax on production. Igor, the dentist from Voronezh, was reassured by Zyuganov’s proposal of a minimum pension of 1000 rubles (about US $35) a month. This was far more concrete than the ideas mooted by other candidates, according to Igor. It is important to remember that, despite these rather unenthusiastic remarks, Zyuganov was the only remotely viable opponent to Putin in the race and he managed to garner 29 percent of the vote. As surveys have suggested, Communist Party supporters are the least likely group to be swayed by media cues in a Russian election. NTV’s presidential election coverage was judged as less aggressive and more ironic, as it had been in the Duma campaign. In the 2000 presidential campaign,

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NTV did not pursue aggressive kompromat reporting in the same style as ORT. While the participants often appreciated NTV for its more peaceful tone, the channel was not perceived as effective in countering allegations about Yavlinsky. In other words, NTV did not defend “their” candidates as strongly, refuting all the allegations and lobbing counter-allegations against the “enemy” candidates back Thus, it was not really an even fight as NTV used different tactics. NTV was more constrained both in its at least partial allegiance to unbiased reporting and by its relatively vulnerable status. There was little recall of paid advertising in the presidential campaign and none of the participants seemed to have much good to say about it. It is not surprising that the participants were uncomfortable with advertising in the campaign, as many did not approve of television advertising in general and were dismayed at the idea of politicians marketing themselves like toothpaste or candy bars. Sometimes it was difficult to tell exactly what the participants meant when they discussed political advertising as they used the Russian word roliki, which translates as “film clips” and can mean paid advertising, free-time spots or even a short film shown as part of news broadcast. However, the linguistic difficulties do not prevent one from getting a clear impression that the participants were deeply wary of any attempt at marketing. Roliki are for “people who do not care, people who go into the shop and buy the shampoo they just saw advertised,” said Sveta, a 29-year-old teacher in Moscow. “They should make roliki better or just get rid of them,” said Konstantin, a 33-year-old teacher, adding that he had read Yavlinsky’s program for himself long before election day and did not need gratuitous advertising. Some of the younger respondents claimed that political ads were made for “grandmas” [babushki]. “Whoever will raise their pensions, that’s for whom they’ll vote,” said Vladimir, a 21-year-old specialist in alternative medicine from Moscow. Andrei, a 24-year-old disc jockey in Moscow, added that “grandmas” would vote for “whoever they understand, Zyuganov, for example, ‘For Victory’ [the Communist Party slogan]. Grandmas see this and understand.” Despite Vladimir and Andrei’s dismissal of the older generation, the older participants did seem more critical and analytical of television in general. This relatively strong lack of trust or interest in advertising made the news coverage of candidates even more important for them: “I believe in news but not in ads,” said Antonina Zinovevna, a 52-year-old homemaker from Voronezh. Many participants saw no point to having ads for the presidential race when the ORT news was serving that function: “It was an advertisement in the place of news,” said Vyachislav, the 21-year-old mechanical engineer from Voronezh. In general, the participants judged the presidential campaign as less interesting and pretty much just theater, as the outcome was known. However, it was at least decorous and one could argue that even the losers came out ahead from their media attention, as Andrei (a 47-year-old worker in the oil industry) said: There was the impression that only one man was really running, i.e. Putin. But the losing candidates also got something out of it . . . . But why they were

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running isn’t really understood . . . It didn’t beat you over the head, it was very competent [eto ne v lob delaetsya, a ochen gramotno]. It was a clean campaign, but it was senseless. (Sergei, 41, an electrical engineer in Moscow)

Conclusions What do the conversations in these focus groups suggest about campaigning in Russia? One of the clearest conclusions is that despite discomfort with television as an advertising tool, Russians seem to accept it as a government propaganda outlet. While they claim to be cynical and aware of bias on channels, by the same token their statements show that their vote choice was influenced by television. While they do not believe everything they hear, they heard enough dirt in the Duma campaign and against Putin’s opponents to influence their vote choice. The 1999 and 2000 campaigns were the continuation of trends in post-Communist campaigning that have been traced throughout this book, with an added element of high levels of kompromat and black PR. An initial euphoria with an enormous flood of information, as well as reliance as an “Americanized” method of political advertising, quickly gave way to a more Soviet style. This style is more Soviet in both content and control and the advertisements themselves often owe more to classic Communist Party propaganda than modern political images. As has been suggested by the findings of the focus groups and the 2001 survey, there is an emphasis on order over truth. This somewhat chaotic time of democratic choice is closing for Russia. Now there are limited choices, which have become significantly narrower with the end of divergent views on commercial television and the conclusive victory of Putin over his communist contender in 2000. After the presidential administration consolidated its power in 2000, there promised to be little substance, but a great deal of Soviet style, in future Russian election campaigns.

8

Television viewing and public opinion across Russia

Almost in the same breath that Russians complain about political mud slinging, they do admit that there must be something to it or it would not be on television. In this way, Russians are not particularly different from audiences around the world, as numerous studies have shown that the political attitudes of most people are affected at least to some degree by what they see on television. This chapter will pick up important themes from the 2000 focus groups and examine whether these attitudes resonate throughout the Russian population. The chapter will use data from a survey of 2,000 people across Russia.1 This opinion poll asked many questions based on the discussions in the focus groups during the 2000 presidential elections in Russia. In particular, this chapter will attempt to define the differences in political attitudes between those who routinely watched staterun television and those who favored the commercial NTV network. What emerged were important variations in opinion and political behavior between these two groups. The analysis in this chapter will focus on whether viewers of state television were accepting the authoritarian message to the point that they were reacting to state messages more like subjects of a repressive regime than citizens of a new democracy. This analysis of the Russian media audience at large will serve as the final step in the consideration of the role of the Russian media in civil society, fitting it into the third segment of the model of media environment, content and audience discussed throughout this book. It is, of course, a sweeping claim to use a single survey to “define” the role of the media. Although the sample was constructed to be representative of the Russian population at large, it is a lone statistical snapshot in time. Arguably, attitudes in a fluid society such as Russia could change markedly in a matter of weeks, not to mention in the many years between elections. However, this survey attempted to gauge a particular post-Communist approach to media and elections. It looked for, and even assumed, a bias toward a controlled media and an authoritarian state on the part of many respondents. In this way, it was distinct from many earlier works in that it did not assume a bias toward freedom of speech. Some of the responses and results might seem paradoxical without some extrapolation from the focus-group responses and the curious love-hate relationship that emerges when Russians talk about their media (as well as their state in general). This chapter will look at the following national patterns: media use; preference

Television viewing and public opinion 147 for particular media outlets and trust in those media outlets; perceptions of the media’s proper role in society; ORT versus NTV; assessments of the past media system; and the different role of state and commercial television in elections. Throughout this inquiry runs the notion of what Russians perceived as the proper role of the media, although there appeared to be a fundamental disagreement about this between those who preferred state television and those who championed commercial television at this point in Russian history. The findings in this chapter suggest that there was a broad division in the Russian television audience in 2001. These choices and options have narrowed significantly with the forced changes at NTV in the spring of 2001, just as this survey was being completed.2

Media consumption and trust in the 2001 survey The sheer volume of time that Russians spend in front of the television is impressive. As discussed in previous chapters, about 80 percent of Russians tune in seven days a week and more than 70 percent of them watch for at least two hours a day on weekdays and even more on their days off (see Table 8.1). In addition, 57 percent of them pick up a local paper at least several times a week and 36 percent of them read a national newspaper at the same rate (see Table 8.2). However, the 2001 survey results suggested that there were two quite distinct groups of media users in Russia: those who used a range of media outlets and those who relied quite heavily on television, often because those with the least education tended to rely solely on television. Overlapping with these two groups (yet slight different) were those who preferred ORT and those who favored NTV. For some, the choice was made for them, as NTV was not available to about 25 percent of the population, according to the survey (the same as in the current media situation in Russia). Television is the great leveler in Russia – young, old, rich, poor, men, women, the highly educated and those with little schooling all watch it a lot (see Table 8.3).

Table 8.1 Amount of time spent watching television in Russia (rounded percentages) Length of time

Weekday (%)

Day off (%)

Less than 1 hour 1 to 2 hours 2 to 3 hours 3 to 4 hours 4 to 5 hours 5 to 6 hours 6 hours or more Hard to say

5 16 29 20 12 6 7 2

3 9 16 19 16 14 21 3

Source: April 2001 survey. Note N ⫽ 1,939 people who claimed to watch television regularly out of 2,000 respondents.

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Table 8.2 Media consumption in Russia (rounded percentages) Frequency

National television (%)

Local television (%)

National newspapers (%)

Local newspapers (%)

Every day Several times a week Several times a month Several times a year Never Hard to say

77 15

49 22

12 24

17 40

4

9

23

19

2

5

16

10

0 0

11 4

25 0

13 0

Source: April 2001 survey. Note N ⫽ 1,939 people who claimed to watch television regularly out of 2,000 respondents.

Table 8.3 Daily media use in Russia by socio-economic characteristics (rounded percentages)

Overall Young Old Women Rural Live in Moscow Least education Most education Those in work Low income High income

National television (%)

Local television (%)

National newspapers (%)

Local newspapers (%)

77 73 74 75 77 75 62 81 78 75 78

49 46 48 49 52 22 48 46 47 52 48

12 8 12 10 14 25 6 19 12 11 14

17 13 21 17 17 13 10 20 16 19 15

Source: April 2001 survey. Notes Young refers to the 18–24 age group. Old are those 65 and older. Low education is defined as those with primary school education or less. High education is defined as those with incomplete or complete higher education. Low income is defined as those living in households with less than 1,000 rubles (approximately $35) a month; high income is defined as those in households earning more than 4,000 rubles (approximately $140) a month.

Those with the least education were slightly less likely to watch than those with more education, but the difference was relatively small when compared with the fact that those with little education read far fewer newspapers than those with more education. Only St Petersburg residents showed a marked difference, claiming to

Television viewing and public opinion 149 watch less television (only 64 percent of them reported watching television daily, compared with 77 percent overall).3 If Russians were spending an average of 2–4 hours daily in front of the television in 2001, how much did they like what they saw? If nothing else, they trusted what they saw and heard a great deal more from national state-run television than they did from any other source. Sixty-five percent of the respondents picked national state television as one of the “most unbiased and reliable sources of information” – far more than those who selected local newspapers (20 percent), national newspapers (18 percent), Russian radio stations (16 percent), commercial television (13 percent) or even relatives and friends (14 percent). It was particularly surprising that Russians had such a high level of trust in state television even though propaganda and the obvious manipulation of the news had increased steadily in recent years and even in the months leading up to the 2001 survey. Despite this – and many Russians clearly showed they were aware of government interference – they believed in state television more than any other media outlet in the country. In another survey question about trust and political institutions, this bias toward the state media was again clear. More of the respondents (57 percent) said they had more full or considerable confidence (doveryayu polnost’yu or doveryayu bol’shoi stepeni) in state television than in any other institution on the list. Other rankings for full or considerable confidence were 52 percent for radio, 50 percent for the armed forces, 48 percent for the church, 47 percent for the print media, 38 percent for commercial television, 30 percent for the government, 16 percent for the parliament and only 11 percent for political parties. This would suggest that Moscow journalist Elena Rykovtseva (mentioned in Chapter 4) was correct in her assessment that any power of a political party would most likely lie in its ability to be associated with the mass media, especially state television. The patterns of use for national newspapers and local newspapers were slightly different from one another (see Table 8.3). As discussed in the focus groups, they seemed to fulfill different roles for the readers. While national newspapers offered more in-depth information and analysis on broader issues, readers turned to their local papers for important daily information on survival, ranging from local politics to advertisements for handy shops to job listings. The most important determinant for newspaper readership was education: Those with higher education were more than three times as likely to read a national newspaper every day as those with the least amount of education. National newspapers were most popular among those aged 40–54, according to the survey. In fact, 41 percent of those 65 or older reported that they never read a national newspaper, compared with just 22 percent aged 40–54. Women were somewhat less likely to read national newspapers. Muscovites were the most enthusiastic consumers of national newspapers, with a quarter of them reporting that they read a national newspaper daily (compared with just 12 percent overall). However, as the Moscow papers serve both a national and local function for these readers, it is not surprising that more of them read their hometown paper.

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The pattern for reading local newspapers was somewhat similar, particularly in terms of the impact of education on readership. However, the effect was not as strong, as those with the highest amount of education were only twice as likely to read a local newspaper as those with the least amount of education. Patterns were similar for age, gender and rurality – but low-income people were more likely to read a local newspaper than a national paper. In fact, as those earning less than 1,000 rubles (about $35) a month per household were slightly more likely to read a local newspaper than those earning 4,000 rubles (about $140) or more a month. Many Russians, like many Europeans, believe that television is such an important national asset that it should be owned (if not controlled) by the state. This could go a long way toward explaining the gap in trust between state-run and commercial television. For example, few believed that commercial television was not influenced by its owners. Half of the respondents felt that commercial television did reflect the owners’ views either to a full extent (14 percent) or to a significant extent (33 percent). A mere 7 percent of the survey respondents believed that commercial television companies did not reflect the point of view of their owners. It is true that commercial television channels, most notably NTV, have used their formidable national presence to pursue their own political agendas rather than strive to give viewers objective information. Thus, while NTV could in many ways be said to have been more even-handed and objective than the main state television channels by mid-2001, nonetheless it could not be trusted to present disinterested information in all situations (such as in the critical 1996 presidential campaign). As such, viewers appeared to be much more comfortable with the state-run media, which was clearly biased, but perceived not to be pursuing the agenda of commercial owners.4 People in Russia often see the media more as a pillar of the state than as a watchdog of the state. For example, while 68 percent of the respondents said that the most important role of the mass media in Russia was “to give citizens unbiased and objective information,” 28 percent responded that its most important role was “to strengthen the feeling of national unity of the Russians.” These two roles seem contradictory, yet the respondents did not necessarily perceive them as incompatible: 23 percent of the respondents who felt that the unbiased and objective information was most important, also felt that the media should strengthen national unity.5 Unless the media chose only to report good news (objectively) and ignore the bad, this would be impossible. In addition, 20 percent felt that the most important role of the mass media was “to elucidate the position and views of our leaders.” Only a third of the respondents picked entertainment as a critical role of the media. Is it the older generation, raised on the communist idea of the media as helpmate of the state, that holds the more nationalistic view of the media? The group was filtered so that only those that felt the media should strengthen national unity and did not pick distribution of unbiased information as a main role were examined. In fact, the attitude does not appear to be linked to age, gender, education, urbanicity, income or working status. There was no meaningful statistical relationship through cross-tabulations or a multiple regression analysis.

Television viewing and public opinion 151

Channel preference and trust Perhaps more can be understood about Russian viewers by considering their specific channel preferences in 2001 (Table 8.4). As noted above, Russia’s favorite channel was ORT at the time of the survey, followed by NTV. Just over a third of the respondents (37 percent) selected ORT (called here ORT fans) as their favorite channel and 26 percent picked NTV (NTV fans). Part of this pattern is dictated by availability, as NTV does not reach roughly a quarter of the population, primarily in rural areas. It is quite significant that in areas in which survey respondents said NTV was available in April 2001, it ran head-to-head with ORT in terms of popularity: NTV and ORT each were favored by about a third of the population. This shows that NTV was just as popular as the main government channel when it was available to the viewers. That finding suggests just how much the Russian viewers have lost with the takeover of NTV by state interests. In addition, the survey showed that these two channels had markedly different audiences. Cross-tabulations indicate that the viewers of ORT in 2001 were older, poorer, more likely to be female, had less education and were less likely to live in urban areas or work at all. A regression analysis, however, finds that only rurality and not living in Moscow are significant predictors of a preference for ORT (see Table 8.5). However, it is important to make an additional step in the analysis. As ORT is available in virtually every corner of Russia and NTV is limited to the more urban areas, clearly much of the viewing pattern is linked to availability, not choice. Yet, when the audience is examined for the areas in which both ORT and NTV are available, both being female and lower education still are significant in predicting the preference of ORT to NTV. Not surprisingly, rurality becomes less significant in the model, yet it is still the most important predictor

Table 8.4 Television channel preference in Russia (rounded percentages)

Overall Areas with NTV reception Young Old Women Rural Live in Moscow Least education Most education Those in work Low income High income

Prefers ORT (%)

Prefers NTV (%)

37 31

26 33

35 47 40 47 12 48 32 33 40 26

28 17 21 20 45 8 32 30 21 33

Source: April 2001 survey.

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Television viewing and public opinion Table 8.5 Predicting preference for ORT, regression analysis Predictor

Beta

t-score

Significance score

Older age Female More educated Working outside the home Higher income Urbanicity Muscovite

0.042 0.045 ⫺0.019 ⫺0.039

1.6 1.9 ⫺0.7 ⫺1.4

0.107 0.059 0.464 0.148

0.010 ⫺0.115 ⫺0.059

0.4 ⫺4.0* ⫺2.2*

0.691 0.000 0.029

Source: April 2001 survey. Note Adjusted r-squared ⫽ 0.030 * Significant.

Table 8.6 Predicting preference for NTV, regression analysis Predictor

Beta

t-score

Significance score

Older age Female More educated Working outside the home Higher income Urbanicity Muscovite

⫺0.032 ⫺0.118 0.092 0.031

⫺1.2 ⫺5.0* 3.5* 1.2

0.216 0.000 0.000 0.247

0.035 0.025 0.070

1.4 0.9 2.6*

0.176 0.374 0.009

Source: April 2001 survey. Note Adjusted r-squared ⫽ 0.048 * Significant.

of preference for ORT. When preference for NTV was the dependent variable in the regression analysis, it showed that being male, living in Moscow and having more education made one more likely to favor the commercial channel (see Table 8.6). However, the same statistical test on only the areas in which NTV is available show that urban density is not a positive predictor. Clearly, NTV was a popular option when it was available and relatively free from Kremlin influence. As noted in the focus groups, there was often a curious gap between preference and trust of television channels. Who did Russians trust the most to present the news? How did this vary from channel preference – as it did at times in the focus groups? Overall, ORT emerged as the favorite once again, with the prime state channel picked as having the most trustworthy news by 31 percent of the respondents. NTV was selected by just under a quarter (24 percent) and state-owned RTR on Channel 2 by 12 percent. Availability of programming, however, again

Television viewing and public opinion 153 has a significant impact on the assessment of the news. In areas in which viewers could watch NTV, they trusted the commercial channel’s news more than that of ORT. In areas with NTV coverage, 32 percent of the respondents picked NTV as having the most trustworthy news, compared with just 29 percent who selected ORT. In addition, trust in the state-owned RTR’s news dropped slightly as well in areas in which NTV was available. When viewers were able to see and compare news programs, trust in ORT declined to the point that NTV became the most trusted channel for news. This, however, contradicts the overarching lack of trust in commercial television in general discussed above and suggests a broad division in society – those that find state-run television authoritative and those who find it deceitful. Both groups apparently were aware of the lack of objectivity in the news, yet some of the audience found this acceptable while others did not. Nationwide, the most popular evening news program was the ORT flagship Vremya (Time), named by two-thirds of the respondents as the news program they watched most often. This was followed by RTR’s Vesti or News (55 percent) and Sevodnya (Today) on NTV (30 percent).6 Once again, popularity and trust did not track completely. In areas in which NTV was available, the rating for Sevodnya rose to 40 percent, while the ratings for Vremya and Vesti remained almost the same. This suggests that while people were switching on NTV where it was available, they continued to watch the ORT and RTR news with regularity as well. Thus, people in areas in which NTV was available were, on average, watching more news programming. That is not surprising, as most Russians watch more than one news program on a regular basis. Over a fifth of the survey respondents (22 percent) reported watching more than one news program a day on different channels, and almost half (45 percent) reported doing this from time to time. Only about a quarter of the respondents reported that they never bothered to tune into different channels to check out the reporting from competing news teams. It would seem that many Russians are news junkies, as a similar number reported watching more than one news program a day on the same channels. Once again, it would be expected that NTV viewers would be more cynical and inquisitive. In fact, they were more likely to check out news programs on competing channels: About 29 percent of the NTV fans always watched more than one news program a day on different channels, compared with 22 percent of the ORT fans. The NTV fans also were more likely to channel-surf than the ORT fans. This suggests that ORT viewers were more complacent while NTV fans were more inquisitive. Of course, in some areas people had no choice as they could only get national news on state-run channels, and there would be relatively little news value in switching between ORT and RTR as their political lines were relatively similar. However, when the analysis included just respondents who were able to watch NTV, the figures for daily channel surfing for news were only slightly higher (24 percent). Did Russians believe what they heard on the news was objective in 2001? The amount of crosschecking by watching more than one news program, particularly on different channels, would suggest that they were quite skeptical. Indeed, Russians reported little confidence in the objectivity of news programming: Almost

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half (47 percent) reported that they had either “not much confidence” or “very little confidence” in it. Only 9 percent said they had complete confidence and about a third of the respondents had “almost complete confidence” in the objectivity of the news. NTV fans were more convinced that the news was objective (presumably because they watched the more objective Sevodnya program). Almost half the respondents who preferred NTV (49 percent) had either complete or almost complete confidence in the objectivity of news programs, compared with 42 percent of the ORT fans. However, there were more cynics among the NTV fans, as 9 percent had very little confidence in the objectivity of a news program, compared with only 6 percent of the ORT fans. If they had doubts about a channel and its news coverage, why pick it as their favorite (see Table 8.7)? Many respondents ranked a channel by its reporting: Almost half (48 percent) based their choice of favorite channel on news coverage. They also were attracted by what they considered to be the best films (33 percent), entertainment programs (26 percent), presenters (21 percent), documentaries (15 percent), serials (14 percent) and sports (9 percent). Those who favored NTV were just slightly more concerned about news: 61 percent of the NTV fans selected it because it had the best news coverage, compared with 57 percent of the ORT fans. In addition, NTV fans were more attracted by presenters (32 percent) than ORT fans (22 percent). They were almost equally split in weighing the value of good films, entertainment and sports programming. Children’s shows, educational programming and serials were slightly more important to ORT fans. NTV fans were more articulate about their preferences, however, as only 4 percent could not give a reason for their choice, compared with 9 percent of the ORT fans. What were the reasons for deeming a channel trustworthy? Issues of ownership and control were apparent in the responses. Viewers were mostly interested in facts: 38 percent of them said they trusted a certain channel the most because “it presents facts.” Other reasons for trust included habit (15 percent) and the

Table 8.7 Reasons for picking favorite television channel (rounded percentages)

Best news Best presenters Best entertainment Best sports Best films Best serials Best documentaries Best children’s programming Hard to say

All Russian TV channels (%)

ORT fans (%)

NTV fans (%)

48 21 26 9 33 14 15 6

57 22 32 11 38 19 19 9

61 32 30 10 40 13 19 5

6

9

4

Source: April 2001 survey.

Television viewing and public opinion 155 presenters (10 percent). Ownership made a difference, but preferences clearly diverged, as 13 percent found a channel most trustworthy because it was a state channel while 7 percent picked their channel as most trustworthy because it was commercially owned. There was some mild confusion on the part of respondents as to the ownership of ORT and NTV. For example, 3 percent of those who preferred ORT said they favored it because it was not a state channel when it is in fact the premier state channel. However, given the mixed nature of ORT ownership, it is perhaps more surprising that so many respondents could understand which was state and which was commercial.7 About 4 percent of those who preferred NTV said they did so because they (erroneously) perceived it to be a state channel. The overwhelming majority of the respondents clearly understood the complicated ownership structure of the major Russian television channels.

Perceptions of the past From the focus groups and this survey, it was clear that many Russians were not happy with their current media system. This is not particularly surprising, as studies have shown that the television news had become increasingly biased. However, this is not what bothered many Russians in this study. Many of them, particularly those who favored ORT, sensed a lack of order and discipline in the media. They showed little nostalgia for the heady days of glasnost and the exciting pace of change on television. Most respondents (43 percent) felt that television was better under Putin than it had been under Gorbachev or Yeltsin. They said they preferred it under Putin’s administration as it had “more facts” (24 percent) and was “more balanced” (17 percent). Although quantitative studies of the news discussed in earlier chapters show that the news now was presenting fewer facts and was less balanced, this was not the perception among many Russian viewers at the time. Surprisingly, the second-most popular period of Russian television was during the Soviet regime. Seventeen percent of the respondents said television was better during this era, despite the fact it was censored. What would cause people to favor a censored system? Much of the concern with contemporary television was over violence – 12 percent of those who favored the Soviet television system did so because there was less violence (compared with 2 percent of those who preferred television under Putin). Other reasons for a preference for the Soviet past were given as fewer foreign programs (9 percent), more organization on television (9 percent) and more patriotism (8 percent). Only a handful of the respondents felt that Soviet television offered more facts or was more balanced. While those who favored Soviet television were somewhat more likely to be ORT fans (20 percent compared with 12 percent of NTV fans that preferred Soviet television), ORT and NTV fans were equally likely to find television under Putin the best yet the country had to offer.

Viewing patterns and support for free speech Did ORT and NTV fans show distinct attitudes in their respect for freedom of speech? The 2001 survey asked three particular questions about freedom

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Television viewing and public opinion

of speech – whether people had the right to say what they wanted even if it increased civil unrest; whether the Russian government should ban extremist organizations from appearing in the media; and whether the mass media should be independent from government control. Russians were not overwhelmingly liberal on these questions, although about 73 percent of the respondents either completely or mostly agreed that there should be freedom of speech in society even if it caused tension. Meanwhile, 30 percent felt strongly or fairly strongly that the government should censor views in the mass media – although opinion was quite split on this as 32 percent disagreed with the notion of government censorship altogether. In addition, 27 percent felt it was “very important” and 37 percent felt it was “quite important” that the mass media should be independent of the government. Across all three of these questions, NTV viewers showed more liberal attitudes toward the mass media. For example, while only 36 percent of ORT fans said they were fully convinced that there should be freedom of speech even if it caused social tension, almost half (47 percent) of the NTV fans supported freedom of speech in this scenario. In addition, 36 percent of ORT fans also supported government censorship at least to a certain degree, while only 25 percent of NTV fans felt the same way. The difference is starker in the negative answer to this query, in that only 26 percent of the ORT fans disagreed with the notion of government censorship completely, compared with 42 percent of the NTV fans. Finally, there were significant differences in terms of support for television being independent from the government. Only 20 percent of ORT fans found this “very important,” compared with 39 percent of the NTV fans. To a certain degree, these findings were not surprising as it is likely that an individual who supported editorial independence from the government and greater freedom of speech would be more likely to watch a non-state broadcaster. It is difficult to assess whether watching non-state television caused these attitudes or merely reinforced them, but one suspects that there was a great deal of pre-selection here as those with a more liberal attitude would tend to prefer nonstate media. Thus, it was not really the case that watching non-state media would convince a viewer of the importance of independent viewpoints. Rather, the viewer switched it on, in the first place, because he or she already held these views. The same could be said about state television – those who supported the state in the first instance would be more likely to watch it over commercial television. Thus, there may be very little persuasion and, instead, people are merely reinforcing their existing attitudes. However, it does point out some serious differences in attitudes between the ORT and NTV audiences, differences that were only likely to become more marked with time. There appeared to be little chance that NTV could persuade dedicated ORT fans to rely on commercial television for news, while those who were used to NTV’s greater fairness or openness would remain suspicious of ORT coverage. Do varying attitudes about the media resonate into other important differences about society or are these differences mostly confined to ideas about the media? In terms of general attitudes about leadership and democracy in Russia, the NTV

Television viewing and public opinion 157 fans actually appeared to hold similar attitudes or even to be slightly less liberal than the ORT fans in their survey responses. For example, almost the same percent of ORT and NTV fans (35 percent and 33 percent respectively) agreed strongly with the statement “a powerful leader does more for a country than laws.” In addition, more NTV fans than ORT fans completely agreed with the statement “Russia is not yet ready for democracy” (28 percent compared with 22 percent). It is clear, however, from other questions that ORT viewers were more attracted to the Soviet way of life. More than a third of the ORT fans (37 percent) picked the Soviet system as the most acceptable political system for Russia, compared with only 24 percent of NTV fans. In addition, far more ORT fans claimed preference for a one-party system (30 percent) than did NTV fans (19 percent). Thus, NTV fans were curiously illiberal on some indicators, yet they showed far less support for the Soviet system than ORT fans. Whether that means that by default they supported democracy appears unlikely, given the relative enthusiasm of NTV fans for a strong leader and their agreement on Russia’s lack of readiness for democracy. It would appear that NTV fans were only more liberal on attitudes about the media, not about society as a whole. If NTV fans were almost as enthusiastic about strong leaders as ORT fans, were they also as enthusiastic about President Putin? The focus-group discussions suggested that those who were more content with Putin and pro-government forces were more likely to be fans of ORT. The 2001 survey asked respondents to evaluate Putin: About 10 percent said that he carried out his duties very well, 54 percent felt that “in general he does his job well,” 22 percent felt he did not do his job very well and only 4 percent felt he did his job “badly.”8 ORT fans were more likely to give a positive assessment. For example, 12 percent of ORT fans felt Putin was doing “very well” compared with 8 percent of NTV fans (see Table 8.8). By using a regression analysis, it is clear that the link between a preference for NTV and a dislike for Putin is quite strong indeed – NTV preference Table 8.8 Assessment of Putin by ORT and NTV fans (rounded percentages) Assessment

ORT fans (%)

He carries out his duties very well In general, he does his job well He does not do his job very well He does his job badly I do not know anything about the work of the president Hard to say/No answer

12

8

57

49

22

29

3 2

8 2

5

5

Source: April 2001 survey.

NTV fans (%)

158

Television viewing and public opinion Table 8.9 Factors in assessing Putin’s performance, regression analysis Predictor

Beta

t-score

Significance score

Male Older age Higher income More education Urbanicity NTV fan

⫺0.051 0.041 0.011 ⫺0.042 ⫺0.032 ⫺0.108

⫺2.1* 1.5 0.4 ⫺1.6 ⫺1.2 ⫺4.3*

0.039 0.124 0.692 0.115 0.000 0.226

Source: April 2001 survey. Note Adjusted r-squared ⫽ 0.021 * Significant

Table 8.10 Blame for Chechen war: who do you consider is to blame for the war in Chechnya? (Rounded percentages)

Chechens Russian army Yeltsin Near East extremists USA Other Hard to say

Overall (%)

ORT fans (%)

NTV fans (%)

21 16 24 5 2 5 27

24 14 24 5 2 4 27

18 21 26 5 2 7 22

Source: April 2001 survey.

is the strongest negative predictor of a good assessment of Putin in a regression model that includes the gender, age, urbanicity, education and income as independent variables, that is, predictors (see Table 8.9). This divided audience resonates into other important beliefs and attitudes among the Russians. For example, there were important differences in perceptions about the war in Chechnya between the two groups of viewers (see Table 8.10). When asked who was to blame for the war in Chechnya, 21 percent of the respondents blamed the Chechens and 16 percent blamed the Russian army. Yeltsin came in for the most censure, with 24 percent claiming he was responsible for the war (compared with only 5 percent who said it was the fault of Near East extremists). However, those who preferred NTV broadcasts had somewhat different opinions, with fewer blaming the Chechens and more blaming the Russian army. Yeltsin, however, came in for almost exactly the same amount of blame. When ORT fans were compared directly with NTV fans on attitudes toward the Chechen war, the difference was even greater. People who preferred ORT were

Television viewing and public opinion 159 more likely to blame the Chechens (24 percent versus 18 percent for NTV viewers) for the war. Meanwhile, NTV fans placed more responsibility for the conflict on the Russian army, with 21 percent of them blaming their own army versus only 14 percent of the ORT fans. Arguably, this attitude could be more a reflection in the different socio-economic mix of the two audiences. After all, ORT fans tend to be older, more rural and less educated. A regression analysis looking at those who believed the Chechens were to blame for the war found that only being female was a predictor of this attitude and the availability of NTV was not a factor. A preference for ORT, however, did predict that a person would blame the Chechens. Preference for NTV did not predict blaming the Chechens for the conflict or, in fact, blaming the Russian army.

Viewing and voting The discussion above has delineated several interesting points about Russian television viewers. Notably, there were marked differences between those who preferred ORT and those who chose NTV as their favorite channel in 2001. There remain important questions about how these preferences may have affected voting behavior. Did constituencies for political parties and presidential candidates mirror preferences in channels? Did the availability of NTV have an impact on voting patterns? Was preference for ORT or NTV a decisive factor in voting decisions for Russians? If so, the takeover of NTV by interests friendly to the Kremlin in the spring of 2001 would have to be considered a serious step in undermining free and fair elections in Russia. The use of the April 2001 survey is problematic in terms of answering some of these questions because the survey took place about a year and a half after the 1999 Duma elections. Questions were asked about vote choice in the 1999 partylist ballot as well as about the choice of presidential candidate. The responses for the Duma elections suggest that there were some problems with recall, particularly with regard to some of the newer parties.9 As a result, it would be difficult to rely on this survey to define groups of party supporters and analyze the impact of media use and preference on their vote choice. Fortunately, the New Russia Barometer VIII collected data on these questions immediately after the 1999 elections.10 That data, with a survey of 1,940 people across Russia, will be used for an analysis. There are more minor problems with recall of vote in the 2000 presidential elections (recalled vote for Putin is slightly higher while support for Communist leader Gennady Zyuganov was suspiciously low). However, as the election was more straightforward and more recent, those figures from the 2001 survey can be used for analysis, although in particular the results for Zyuganov’s constituency must be viewed with caution.11 What is clear from the 2001 survey, regardless of the timing of the research, is that the respondents felt that state-run television was particularly important in guiding their vote choice, especially in the presidential elections. When asked about their most important source of information for deciding how to vote in the presidential elections, 920 respondents (46 percent) had picked state television.

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Television viewing and public opinion

A mere 39 respondents (2 percent) choose national commercial television, showing that even NTV fans were pragmatic about the power and influence of state television. The assessment of the role of state television in vote choice was very similar to the 1999 Duma elections, although more of the respondents claimed they “did not pay attention to anything” in determining their vote choice in the Duma elections (24 percent) than in the presidential elections (19 percent). The New Russia Barometer VIII from 2000 allows for a comparison among groups of voters for various parties and the influences on their vote. This group of 1,940 respondents also were asked about influences on their vote choice in the 1999 Duma elections, although they were asked to rank how important state television, commercial television and newspapers were rather than asked to say which was the most important influence (as in 2001). Fifty-three percent of the respondents said that state television was either very or fairly important in their vote decision (White et al., 2002; also please see Table 8.11: Influence of Television Among Voters, 1999 Duma Elections). Meanwhile, 36 percent said commercial television was either very or fairly important in their vote choice. It is particularly interesting to note the wide variation in the reported influence of the media among various party electorates in the 1999 elections. For example, Unity voters were the most likely to say they had been influenced by state television. At the other extreme, Communist voters were less likely than others to cite state television among the factors that had influenced their vote choice. Yet media influence, as discussed throughout this book, is only one element in a complex model of Russian voting behavior. This question was addressed through a logistic regression analysis with data from the 2000 survey, using the reported influence of state television, commercial media and newspapers, as well as assessments of the fairness of television coverage, the vote tally and the single-member district race (White et al., 2002). In addition, the model weighed

Table 8.11 The influence of television among voters, 1999 Duma elections Unity Watch television 90 regularly (%) Television important in vote: State television (%) 74 Commercial 42 television (%) TV coverage fair (%) 71 Number of 287 respondents

Communist Party

Union of Right Forces

FatherlandAll Russia

Liberal Democrats

85

85

87

88

52 35

64 55

62 55

47 40

57 278

66 98

64 134

77 71

Source: Data from 2000 survey as reported in White et al., 2002. The response for “television important in vote” combines the answers “very” and “fairly important.” The response for assessment of television coverage combines the answers “definitely fair” and “fair.”

Television viewing and public opinion 161 whether the respondents had followed the campaign on television or in the newspapers. For socio-economic variables, the model used gender, age, higher education and urbanicity. The analysis found the largest influence on Unity vote to be an affinity for state television and a dislike of commercial television as well as being young and living in a more rural area (although this final element was less important). The media influence on the Communist Party vote, unsurprisingly, was the opposite. An affinity for state television was negatively correlated with a vote for the Communists. Older age and rurality were important predictors, with a lower level of education a less important indicator of a Communist Party vote in the 1999 elections. In terms of developing the argument for the broadcast party, it also is significant to note that affinity for commercial television was a strong, positive predictor of a vote for Fatherland-All Russia.12 If patterns of media preference were important in explaining vote choice in the 1999 Duma elections, they were also useful in explaining how Russia voted in the presidential elections of 2000. As discussed in earlier chapters, presidential campaign coverage in Russia could never be assessed as fair. By the 2000 elections, the Kremlin had developed its system of media control very well indeed, even though NTV failed to cooperate with the government line in 2000. Did Putin supporters differ greatly from others in their preference of television channel? Did the availability of NTV as an alternative voice, albeit flawed, have an impact on the vote for Putin or Zyuganov? Putin received 53 percent of the vote and enjoyed a “halo” effect in the survey, as some respondents no doubt mistakenly reported that they supported the winner. There is a strong link between preference for ORT and vote for Putin in the 2000 elections (see Table 8.12). The Putin constituency was more female and located in more rural areas, but in a regression analysis the two significant factors in predicting a vote for Putin were younger age and preference for ORT. The availability of NTV does not appear particularly significant in a cross-tabulation. Much like the support for the Communist Party in the Duma elections, those who picked Zyuganov tended to be older and more rural as well as have less income and less education. Television preference or reception did not appear to matter: In Table 8.12 Putin vote in 2000, regression analysis Predictor

Beta

t-score

Significance score

Male Older age Higher income Urbanicity More education ORT fan

⫺0.034 ⫺0.078 ⫺0.016 ⫺0.049 ⫺0.014 0.067

⫺1.2 ⫺2.5* ⫺0.5 ⫺1.6 ⫺0.5 2.3*

0.236 0.012 0.616 0.115 0.649 0.022

Source: April 2001 survey. Note Adjusted r-squared ⫽ 0.010 * Significant

162

Television viewing and public opinion Table 8.13 Zyuganov vote in 2000, regression analysis Predictor

Beta

t-score

Significance score

Male Older age Higher income Urbanicity More education ORT fan

0.013 0.185 ⫺0.018 ⫺0.012 ⫺0.020 ⫺0.010

0.4 6.0* ⫺0.6 ⫺0.4 ⫺0.6 ⫺0.4

0.655 0.000 0.568 0.697 0.521 0.724

Source: April 2001 survey. Note Adjusted r-squared ⫽ 0.034 * Significant

the regression analysis, neither preference for ORT nor availability of NTV were significant predictors of support for Zyuganov – only older age was a significant predictor, albeit a very strong one (see Table 8.13).

Conclusions It is clear from this analysis that there were important distinctions between those who preferred ORT and those who were fans of NTV in the spring of 2001. It is particularly significant that support for Putin and preference for ORT was so strongly linked. Of course, it is impossible to determine the direction of this relationship. From this data, you cannot tell if people watch state television because they support Putin or whether they are persuaded to support Putin because of what they see on ORT. This research cannot answer that question, yet it should be noted that the NTV fans were a distinct group from the ORT fans. The NTV fans were less likely to support Putin and demonstrated some attributes of political discontent with the regime (while not particularly showing higher support for many liberal values). Once again, it must be said that the NTV fans could well have picked the channel because they were unhappy with Putin’s rule. However, the evidence of the popularity of NTV, as well as the lower support for state-run television in areas in which viewers could see and compare both the main state-run and commercial channels, was quite interesting. It was clear that the presence of NTV made a difference on audience perceptions of the news, particularly with what they were seeing on state-sponsored news. Now that state interests have muzzled NTV to a degree, what does this mean for media freedom and voting in Russia? This is a difficult question to answer, in that there is still at least some free flow of information in Russia, although there is no major commercial television source that can directly challenge the Kremlin. The next chapter will use the 2003 Duma elections and 2004 presidential elections to analyze how the media and political landscape have further shifted in the wake of the changes in Russian television.

9

Consolidation in Russian political communication The 2003 Duma and 2004 presidential elections

This book has outlined evidence from several elections in Russia that suggests important trends in election campaigns. In terms of news production, the main nightly news programs have done a relatively poor job of informing the electorate, either because of specific bias or a relative lack of attention to electoral politics in general. Over the years, the coverage has evolved disturbing features, such as the black propaganda and kompromat particularly apparent in the 1999 and 2000 elections. Meanwhile, some parties apparently have learned better marketing techniques, finding particular ways to reach the Russian voters. However, both free-time and paid political advertising have come to rely more on images and personalities, leaving little room for discussion about policies and the problems confronting Russia. Broadcast parties with only shallow roots in the electorate have come to replace more traditional forms of political parties. Finally, the audience seems to have failed to respond to the calls made by some leaders for a party-based democracy. Viewers rely on their broadcast media for a sense of order and authority rather than expecting them to communicate the messy plurality of an electoral democracy. This chapter examines the Duma elections on December 7, 2003, as well as the re-election of Putin on March 14 the following year to see where these trends have led Russian television, parties and the electorate. This chapter will provide a qualitative and quantitative analysis of the news coverage on the First Channel’s Vremya as well as on NTV’s Sevodnya during the 2003 and 2004 campaigns. The chapter also examines the paid political advertising in the campaign. A publicopinion survey of 2,000 Russians conducted in December 2003 through January 2004 gives an updated look at the media and political values. The chapter provides a briefer discussion of the presidential elections, labeled by many Russians as little more than a “show” as Putin had no serious contenders. Finally, the chapter uses findings from a series of 10 focus groups in Moscow and Ulyanovsk in late March and early April 2004 that included discussions of the media, the political image of Putin and the presidential elections. Overall, the evidence in this chapter points to a continuing dominance of the broadcast party, although some of the analysis suggests various complexities within the Russian political communication sphere.

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Parties and candidates in the 2003 and 2004 Russian elections By 2003, it would appear that the Russian executive was quite skilled indeed at creating a last-minute party and making it a popular choice for a broad spectrum of voters. This is not an entirely fair analysis, however, as the pro-government party Unity had more or less endured since the 1999 elections. For the 2003 elections, it was merged with the now docile Fatherland-All Russia party (after Moscow Mayor Yuri Luzhkov entered into a pact with Putin) to become United Russia. Was this a completely different party? The leaders were somewhat different, now with an emphasis on Luzhkov and to a lesser extent Emergencies Minister Sergei Shoigu and Interior Minister Boris Gryzlov. The party marketing was quite similar to Unity in 1999, with an emphasis on images over words. However, the party now had more direct emphasis on its link with the president, including its slogan “Together With the President!” While the name of the pro-government party and some leaders had changed somewhat from the 1999 campaign, the concept of Unity and Fatherland were essentially the same and the voters would clearly have understood the power bases that lay, somewhat static, behind the new party label of United Russia. Nor were the Russian voters slow to pick up on United Russia as the “pro-presidential” party as 80 percent of survey respondents felt Putin full supported the party and 84 percent recognized that United Russia fully supported Putin (Hale et al., 2004, p. 294).1 This identification of the party with the president – although short of Putin’s formal membership in United Russia – was critical in determining party support, according to Hale, McFaul and Colton. Their research found that 26 percent of the United Russia voters gave Putin’s support as their primary reason for voting for the party, with 29 percent giving it as the secondary reason. This was the leading reason why people picked the party, although approval of the party’s program was a close second (p. 295). United Russia won 37.6 percent of the party-list votes in 2003. The other parties to cross the five-percent barrier were the Communists with 12.6 percent of the vote, the Liberal Democrats with 11.5 percent and the new party Motherland (Rodina) with 9 percent.2 These were the only parties to win enough party-list votes to be allocated party-list seats in the Duma, which meant that Yabloko failed to gain any party-list seats for the first time since the founding of the modern Russian Duma. Nor did the surprise success of 1999, the relatively liberal Union of Right Forces, manage to reach the five-percent barrier (see Table 4.1). Overall, turnout was relatively low for Russia at 56 percent, but there were not a huge amount of wasted party votes, as about 70 percent of the electorate cast votes for parties that won party-list seats.3 About 5 percent of the voters voted against all parties. It was clear that this would be a Duma particularly friendly to the president’s agenda, especially when the pro-government party won an unprecedented number of seats (105 out of 225) in the single-member district races in 2003. As with the previous Duma elections, the large swings in vote choice could be initially quite puzzling. However, it makes more sense if two attributes of the Russian

Consolidation in political communication 165 political system are taken into account. First, it is less that the underlying political preferences have changed than the party landscape has shifted. It is clear that the message of anti-oligarch, patriotic Motherland would attract many voters who might previously have voted for the Communist Party. At the same time, the central broadcast party had quite a wide appeal that worked in both rural and urban Russia.4 There is increasing pragmatism and respect for authoritative parties in the Russian political sphere. As such, the parties of power would tend to attract more votes as people decide that a pragmatic vote is perhaps better than an actual preference. This could help to explain the failure of Yabloko to gain party-list seats in 2003. Yabloko came close with 4.3 percent of the party-list vote, but this left the relatively liberal party effectively shut out of the Duma agenda-setters with only four single-member district winners. There is a combination of factors that could explain the failure of Yabloko to garner 5 percent of the vote. The “liberal” end of the Russian political spectrum was split in 1999, when the Union of Right Forces was formed. In fact, the relationship between the two parties, perhaps the closest on the political spectrum, had become openly bitter by 2003. In August 2003, Yabloko Deputy Chairman Sergei Mitrokhin accused the Union of Right Forces of using $5 million in a campaign to discredit Yabloko, including issuing false statements in Yabloko’s name.5 Again, it is difficult to tell whether inter-party squabbling or the underlying political situation was more important. After all, the Russian economy had apparently stabilized since the 1999 elections and some voters may have abandoned Yabloko for the more pragmatic views of United Russia. Yabloko had virtually no presence on television news, coming in second to coverage of the Union of Right Forces in terms of more liberal views. The fate of the Union of Right Forces, which also failed to reach the five-percent barrier, may be due to some of the same reasons. However, Union of Right Forces had other problems as a party, including its own leadership struggles. A new party, Motherland, emerged with its relatively strong showing on the party list. The party was headed by economist Sergei Glazyev, politician Dmitri Rogozin and 79-year-old Second World War hero Valentin Varennikov. While the party relied somewhat on the reputation of its leaders, its party platform emphasized the “return of the country’s wealth to the people” (a slogan from its paid ads) and the smashing of the oligarchs. The party was nationalistic, in particular emphasizing Rogozin’s role in the founding of the Congress of Russian Communities and his campaigning for the rights of Russians in places such as Chechnya and the Baltic countries. In addition, the party clearly benefited from approval from the Kremlin, in that it received relatively favorable and extensive coverage on the nightly news (also see Sakwa, 2005). What some Russian political parties might find particularly frustrating is a gap between what voters claim are their own concerns and the party that they pick at the polls. For example, although Yabloko arguably stressed human rights (including the war in Chechnya) more than United Russia in the 2003 campaign, three times as many respondents picked United Russia as likely to do the best job of safeguarding “human rights and freedoms,” according to research by Hale, McFaul

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and Colton (2004, p. 302). Only 4 percent of the respondents felt that Yabloko would do the best job in defending human rights. In terms of social guarantees, despite years of campaigning on the part of the Communists, only 10 percent of the respondents felt that the Communist Party could do the best job in this policy area. Despite the fact that United Russia’s clear policy has been to cut social benefits, the largest group of voters (35 percent) picked this party as the best in providing social guarantees (Hale et al., 2004, p. 302). As it is clear from the proceeding research that Russian voters are neither uninformed or naïve, one can only assume that they are responding in a pragmatic, rather than idealistic, way to these questions. While Yabloko might delineate liberal ideas, the chance of Yabloko acquiring enough power to implement any of its ideas were very slim even in 2003. Hence, the respondents answer the question in a more reasonable manner, that is based on which party has a realistic chance of affecting policy – as opposed to the parties that might have an ideology more supportive of human rights or social guarantees. This suggests that Russian voters disregard party platforms as divorced from Russian political reality, further limiting the ability of elections to fulfill a democratic function of articulating public interest. In its assessment of the 2003 elections, the Organisation for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) found significant problems. The report, conducted by the organization’s Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights (ODIHR), found trouble with a selective application of the electoral law to punish opponents of the Putin regime, widespread lack of secret balloting as well as problems in tallying and reporting the vote. In terms of the media, the OSCE was concerned with a new Basic Guarantees Law (adopted in 2003) that was directed at some of the media practices of kompromat and black propaganda prevalent in the 1999/2000 electoral round. The new law defined campaign propaganda so broadly that it made it virtually impossible for news outlets to mention parties or candidates in normal news coverage. In one of the few victories for open media in Russia in recent years, the Russian Constitutional Court upheld an appeal lodged by journalists and deputies against these provisions in October 2003. While this did alleviate the fear of some sanctions, particularly those used selectively by government officials against reporting on political opponents, it could do little to inject much enthusiasm into the voters about the campaign. As the OSCE/ODIHR report notes, there appeared to be little interest in the campaign.

Coverage on the nightly news It is unsurprising that evidence from the nightly news on the main state-run and commercial television stations shows that there were significant differences in their prime news programs.6 It is worth noting, however, that the differences still existed and were quite marked despite the forced change in ownership at NTV in 2001. The main news story just before the elections was the arrest and imprisonment in late October of Mikhail Khodorkovsky, the extraordinarily wealthy oligarch who headed the major Russian oil concern Yukos. Khodorkovsky had become increasingly involved in politics, funding media outlets and political

Consolidation in political communication 167 ventures, before he was arrested on charges of fraud and tax evasion. Yet it is striking how Khodorkovsky virtually disappeared from the main nightly news on Channel 1’s Vremya. On NTV’s Sevodnya, Khodorkovsky received more coverage during the Duma election campaign, yet the underlying human rights issue – the selective targeting of a wealthy rival to Putin in a virtually lawless system – was not discussed in a meaningful fashion. Rather, NTV’s Sevodnya mentioned the issues in an ironic and sometimes indirect way. The central themes on Vremya on the First Channel could be described as the efficacy of President Putin; the prominence of top leaders of United Russia and their close political relationship with the president; how the central government would strive to fix problems in the regions; and Russia’s role in the international sphere. The main international story for Russia at the end of 2003 was the political turmoil in Georgia, which led to the ousting of Georgian leader Eduard Shevardnadze. NTV’s Sevodnya presented somewhat more of a political spectrum and less of Putin, yet the president was still the dominant Russian personality on the newscast. NTV was somewhat less interested in the international role of Russia and more in general news item. While there appeared to be relatively little news on Chechen warfare on Vremya, Sevodnya still carried some news from the front, although it was only a shadow of the more aggressive war coverage during the 1995 Duma campaign. Vremya was generally more serious and didactic; Sevodnya was more relaxed, sometimes a bit sensational and more ironic. The most apparent difference was in the choice of which stories to run and how close to the top of the newscast the items appeared. While there will always be at least some difference in choice of stories on major news networks in general, the differences between Vremya and Sevodnya were so marked that sometimes it was hard to imagine that this was coverage of the same country on the same day. For example, compare the coverage on the two shows on November 11, 2003. Vremya led with a story about the police taking control of the failing municipal water supplies in Vladivostok, then covered a water shortage due to accident in Novocherkassk. The other stories (in order) were Putin’s speech to a congress of local governments, bribery allegations at the Ministry of the Environment, the political revolt in Georgia, reassurances about Russian military bases in Georgia, a terrorist attack in Iraq, a visit from the Indian Prime Minister, a report on new biological technology, Interior Minister and United Russian leader Gryzlov’s visit to farmers in Kostroma, a cabinet meeting on new legislation on industrial investment, a journalist who was beaten in an apparent robbery, an electricity cut in Krasnodarski Krai due to a storm, a heroin bust in the Samara region, crocodile hunting in the Far East and a Russian-language program at an Iranian school. On the same day on NTV’s Sevodnya, the lead story was the rejection of Khodorkovsky’s appeal in a Moscow court, followed by an item on harassment of Yukos companies in the regions. The rest of the stories (in order) were: the water crisis in Novocherkassk and Primorsky Krai; Putin at the congress of local authorities; presidential representatives in St Petersburg; the political crisis in Georgia; an official Russian statement about non-interference in Georgia; commemoration of the First World War in Britain; plans by wealthy philanthropist

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George Soros to fund opposition to President George Bush in the upcoming US elections; and international chess champion Gary Kasparov playing against a computer. Both channels covered the water crisis, Putin at the local government congress and the political problems in Georgia. However, Vremya ignored the Yukos story. Indeed, Khodorkovsky is one of the “disappeared” on Vremya, barely mentioned during the coding period and never shown. Perhaps because of the time spent on the Khodorkovsky and Yukos stories on Sevodnya (almost 6 minutes), NTV did not cover as wide a range of national news as Vremya on this day. For example, there was nothing on Sevodnya on the Indian Prime Minister’s trip to Russia, not a trivial state visit given the importance of India in political and economic international affairs. Also, when NTV did cover foreign affairs on this day, there was a distinctly more Western agenda. While Vremya mentioned India, the Far East and Iran, Sevodnya’s stories from overseas were on Britain and the United States. NTV’s coverage of the Georgian crisis was less concerned with the implications for Russian military bases in Georgia and Armenia. The content was different and the focus varied as well. It was only a single night of election news, but an analysis shows that these patterns were quite typical over the coding period (weekdays from November 7 through December 5, 2003). In terms of coverage patterns, it is interesting to note that NTV no longer had shorter segments than Vremya (109 seconds on Sevodnya versus 103 seconds on Vremya). Although the segments were very similar in length, the focus on news topics, individuals and parties were distinctive (see Table 9.1). As in previous years, Vremya focused to a greater degree on the campaign. Campaign characteristics were mentioned in 16 percent of Vremya’s stories, compared with 13 percent for Sevodnya. Meanwhile, Sevodnya had a heavier emphasis on both the former Soviet Union and crime. However, the commercial news show paid little attention to political parties, with just six mentions of parties over the entire course of the campaign, compared with 38 mentions on Vremya. In addition, Vremya had twice as much coverage of the role of the president. There was more coverage of Chechnya on Sevodnya. How did these differences in the coverage of issues equate to coverage of individuals? Here there were some more striking differences between the two news shows. Interestingly, the top newsmaker during this period was not even Russian, as Shevardnadze garnered the highest number of mentions (39) on the nightly news during the campaign period (see Table 9.2). Putin was a close second, with 35 mentions, although he was mentioned almost twice as often on Vremya than he was on Sevodnya. The continuing impact of the Georgian crisis on Russian news was clear, with two other Georgian leaders among the top newsmakers, as well as Russian Defense Minister Sergei Ivanov. United Russia’s Gryzlov had the highest number of mentions among party leaders, while mentions of veteran party leaders Vladimir Zhirinovsky, Gennady Zyuganov and Grigory Yavlinsky were rarer. Granted, the latter three men did not have government posts, but all of them led important party groups in the Duma. In addition, Zhirinovsky was virtually ignored on Vremya ( just one mention out of total of seven) while Zyuganov was

Consolidation in political communication 169 Table 9.1 Topics covered on Vremya and Sevodnya during the 2003 Duma campaign (rounded percentage mentioned in news stories, total number of stories) Subject

Campaign characteristics Former USSR Crime Party characteristics Economy Culture Terrorism related to Chechnya Role of president Terrorism Role of legislature Economic crimes Military general news Participation Iraq Social services Foreign policy (general) Other campaign news General politics Corruption Education Rules of campaign game Crime, law, and order Criminal campaign acts Russian soldiers in Chechnya Media in campaign Chechen soldiers in Chechnya Health care Kompromat Total number of stories coded

Mention in news stories

Vremya

Share (%)

Share (%)

No. of stories

Sevodnya No. of stories

Share (%)

No. of stories

15 11 9 7 7 6 5

86 63 54 44 40 37 28

16 9 6 12 8 4 3

49 27 19 38 25 12 10

13 13 12 2 5 9 6

37 36 35 6 15 25 18

4 4 4 3 3 3 3 3 3 2 2 2 2 1 1 1 1

26 26 21 19 19 16 16 16 15 14 14 13 13 8 8 7 4

6 5 4 1 3 3 3 4 4 3 2 2 1 1 1 1 0

18 15 12 4 9 10 10 12 12 8 5 6 4 4 3 1 1

3 4 3 5 3 2 2 1 1 2 3 2 3 1 2 2 1

8 11 9 15 10 6 6 4 3 6 9 7 9 4 5 6 3

1 1

6 6

1 0

1 1

2 2

5 5

1 1

6 4 593

1 1

4 3 307

1 1

2 1 286

Source: Author research. Television programs coded by the author, Andrei Rogatchevski, Boris Rogatchevski and Katia Rogatchevskaia. Percentages add up to more than 100 because one story can have more than one topic (up to seven in the coding scheme).

mentioned only once on Sevodnya (out of six total mentions). This unevenness in coverage of individuals was particularly conspicuous in the case of Khodorkovsky. Out of a total of 10 mentions, his name was mentioned only once on Vremya and nine times on Sevodnya during the coding period. Boris Berezovsky the exiled oligarch remained newsworthy, with five mentions on Vremya and four on Sevodnya during the coding period.

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Table 9.2 Mention of individuals on Sevodnya and Vremya, 2003 Duma campaign Individual

Position in December 2003

Total mentions

Mentions on Vremya

Mentions on Sevodnya

Eduard Shevardnadze

Deposed Georgian leader President Georgian interim president US President Defence Minister Leader of Ajarian Autonomous Republic in Georgia Georgian leader United Russia leader, Interior Minister Prime Minister Jailed oligarch Oligarch in exile Liberal-Democrat leader Chechen militant leader Communist Party leader Union of Right Forces leader United Russia leader, Moscow mayor United Russia leader, Emergencies Minister Italian Prime Minister British Prime Minister Chair of Central Election Commission Yabloko leader Former president

39

18

21

35 22

22 10

13 12

19 18 17

12 12 8

7 6 9

12 11

4 6

8 5

10 10 9 7

6 1 5 1

4 9 4 6

6

2

4

6

5

1

5

2

3

5

2

3

5

3

2

4 4 4

0 3 2

4 1 2

4 4

2 0

2 4

Vladimir Putin Nina Burjanadze George Bush Sergei Ivanov Aslan Abashidze Mikhail Saakashvili Boris Gryzlov Mikhail Kasyanov Mikhail Khodorkovsky Boris Berezovsky Vladimir Zhirinovsky Shamil Basaev Gennady Zyuganov Anatoli Chubais Yuri Luzhkov Sergei Shoigu Silvio Berlusconi Tony Blair Alexander Veshnyakov Grigory Yavlinsky Boris Yeltsin Source: As Table 9.1.

To be mentioned is one thing – and the quantitative coding does not make the distinction of whether an individual is praised or criticized – but speaking for oneself on the news is particularly important.7 In the coding scheme for 2003, opportunities to speak for oneself and mentions were coded separately (it is rare but possible for individuals to speak for themselves without being mentioned separately by an announcer or reporter). Unsurprisingly, television gave the greatest voice to Putin, who was able to speak for himself in a total of 38 news segments in one month (see Table 9.3). Once again, the attention was uneven on

Consolidation in political communication 171 Table 9.3 People who speak for themselves on Sevodnya and Vremya, 2003 Duma campaign Individual

Total

Vremya

Sevodnya

Man in the street Putin Boris Grzylov, United Russia leader and Interior Minister Yuri Luzhkov, United Russia leader and Moscow mayor Vladimir Zhirinovsky, Liberal-Democrat leader Alexander Veshnyakov, Chair of Central Election Commission Mikhail Kasyanov, Prime Minister Eduard Shevardnadze, leader of Georgia until December 2003 Grigory Yavlinsky, Yabloko leader Sergei Ivanov, Defence Minister Anatoli Chubais, Union of Right Forces leader Gennady Zyuganov, Communist leader Sergei Shoigu, United Russia leader and Emergencies Minister

87 38 11

44 26 11

43 12 0

9

6

3

9 8

6 3

3 5

6 6

2 3

4 3

6 5 3 3 2

6 3 0 3 2

0 2 3 0 0

Source: As Table 9.1.

state-run and commercial news programs: Putin was able to speak for himself more than twice as often (26 times) on Vremya than on Sevodnya (12 times). There was no figurehead who could compete with Putin for an authoritative voice. Rather, both Vremya and Sevodnya seemed to have an unusually high number of common citizens speaking on issues (44 on Vremya and 43 on Sevodnya over the coding period), typically in man-in-the-street interviews. A group of individuals, all closely allied with Putin and his government, had some voice on television, including Yuri Luzhkov (able to speak for himself nine times), Central Election Commission head Alexander Veshnyakov (eight times), and Prime Minister Mikhail Kasyanov (six times). Yabloko leader Yavlinsky was able to speak for himself (six times) but only on Vremya; while Union of Right Forces leader Anatoli Chubais had three opportunities to speak, but only on Sevodnya. Communist leader Zyuganov spoke for himself only on Vremya as well. This pattern of who was allowed sound bites again underlines the differences in approach to the news by the two programs – as well as the subjectivity of who is considered a newsmaker. The mention of political parties was skewed as well, although this quantitative analysis again fails to make clear that not all attention is good attention. United Russia dominated party coverage, although of its 19 mentions, 14 were on Vremya and only 5 on Sevodnya (see Table 9.4). Still, it was the most-often mentioned party on Sevodnya, which as in other elections devoted relatively little coverage to parties. The Communist Party received the second-highest amount of coverage, but as the discussion earlier and other qualitative reviews of the election coverage suggest, much of it was negative. In addition, Yabloko had a relatively

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Table 9.4 Mention of parties on Sevodnya and Vremya, 2003 Duma campaign Party

Total mentions

Vremya

Sevodnya

United Russia Communist Party Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia Union of Right Forces Yabloko Rodina

19 13 10 10 10 5

14 9 6 6 10 3

5 4 4 4 0 2

Source: As Table 9.1.

large amount of coverage, with 10 mentions on Vremya but coders found no mention of the party on Sevodnya. There were only a handful of mentions of smaller parties and most parties received not a single mention at all on the nightly news, not even those such as the Party of Russia’s Revival/Russian Party of Life, that campaigned heavily in paid advertising and won three single-member district races. That would suggest that news programs on both state-run and commercial television are uninterested in covering parties with little potential to come to power. While this is understandable, it also makes the barriers to getting attention even higher for political outsiders and further closes the circle of power. How do these findings compare with other studies?8 In looking at a broader group of media, the OSCE found significant bias across the media spectrum, including on five television channels.9 The OSCE analysts also identified a theme of rhetoric against the oligarchs, which was expressed by accusing groups such as the Communists of being funded by oligarchs. As it is clear that money flows from main state enterprises and budgets into parties of power such as United Russia, this was markedly unfair and a clear example of distorted reporting. In terms of time devoted to various parties and candidates, the OSCE/ODIHR report (which tracked the media for the month-long campaign commencing on November 7) found that the First Channel provided 19 percent of its political and election news coverage to United Russia, all of it either positive or neutral. While the Communists received a fairly large amount of coverage at 13 percent, it was mostly negative. The OSCE/ODIHR report found that NTV was more balanced in its coverage, while giving 13 percent of its news coverage to the Union of Right Forces, mainly positive or neutral in tone. The commercial station gave both United Russia and the Communists 6 percent of its coverage, but the Communists had more negative coverage. Other main broadcasting outlets were heavily slanted toward United Russia. Moscow-controlled TV-Center, for example – which showed overwhelming bias toward Luzhkov’s political party of Fatherland in 1999 – allocated 22 percent of its prime-time news coverage to United Russia with an “overwhelmingly positive slant” according to the OSCE/ODIHR report (p. 16). Meanwhile, the Communists received 14 percent of the coverage on TV-Center, most of it negative. On Russian State Television on Channel 2, United Russia received about an equal amount of news time

Consolidation in political communication 173 (16 percent) to the Communists, but the coverage was positive for the party of power and negative for the Communists. However, as the OSCE/ODIHR analysis makes it clear, it is not a discussion of the parties that is important in understanding the 2003 Duma campaign. Although it was a campaign for the parliament, the president dominated on all the channels and received far more coverage than any political party. For example, Putin received coverage in 36 percent of the news items on Vremya, compared with United Russia’s coverage of 18 percent. On NTV’s Sevodnya, the figures were almost identical for the president at 35 percent of the coverage. However, the party coverage diverged sharply from state-run to commercial media, with the Union of Right Forces receiving 13 percent of the coverage on Sevodnya. United Russia had just 6 percent of the NTV news coverage, roughly equal to the coverage given to the Communists. The Communists, however, had far more negative treatment on the channel. Although the focus on Putin remained strong on both the prime state-run and commercial television channels, the difference in party coverage is more evidence that there are still diverse voices on the two channels. This remains true despite the change in NTV ownership in 2001. The difference in coverage on the First Channel’s Vremya and NTV’s Sevodnya was most apparent in both war and election coverage, according to the author’s qualitative research project. While Sevodnya still ran at least a handful of stories on the war in Chechnya, albeit with rather unexciting footage and little dramatic information, at least the war had a presence on the channel. For example, on November 24, Sevodnya led with a three-minute piece on a military operation in a Chechen hamlet in which 17 Chechen soldiers were captured.10 The report also featured civilians in Chechnya talking about how difficult it was to live in the war-torn area. The Sevodnya report went on to say that four Russian soldiers were wounded in the operation and that the region was the most troublesome in Chechnya. There was no mention of either this operation or the Chechen war in general on the 9 p.m. Vremya show on the First Channel on the same night. The war was rarely mentioned at all on Vremya. When there was mention of Chechnya and Southern Russia on Vremya, it was either an “inspirational” story such as a report on a Russian soldier badly wounded in Chechnya who had recovered to attend a prestigious criminal academy in Moscow or grateful residents of Southern Russia who were pleased at their Russian liberators. It should be said that there is evidence from recent Russian focus groups and interviews with journalists themselves that it is less of a conspiracy that keeps Chechnya out of the news than weariness with the story. For journalists, it is a double-edged sword: not only do they perceive the audience as uninterested in seeing more violence in Chechnya and particularly unconcerned about the Chechen point of view, stories on the Chechen war are politically sensitive as well as hard to report. Although NTV has a Chechen war correspondent that appeared live on air during the coding period for the 2003 elections, the physical risks for the reporters covering the war are quite high. Several journalists had died covering the current war and the lack of a cohesive Chechen opposition that can offer safe passage or protection has made it much more dangerous for journalists since

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the first war that ended in 1996.11 In addition, there would appear to be little interest in debate about the issue in society. In focus groups held in Moscow and Ulyanovsk in 2004, most participants were not interested in extensive coverage of the war and generally dismayed by its drawn-out nature. This lack of interest in coverage, however, does not mirror complete support for the Russian forces in Chechnya. Opinions on the Chechen war remain quite polarized among Russians, according to a survey completed in January 2004.12 While 19 percent “strongly support” the actions of the Russian government in Chechnya, 15 percent strongly disapprove of these actions. Overall, 47 percent are at least somewhat supportive of the Russian government’s actions in Chechnya and 40 percent disapprove at least somewhat. While this is more supportive than the public was of the Russian invasion by the end of the first Chechen War, it still shows a large degree of disagreement within society about the issue. Not only are these differences over the war not discussed on the central news program, it is almost as though no war exists. This is in marked contrast to the election news during the 1995 Duma campaign, in which NTV challenged Vremya’s attempts to favorably spin the war as Sevodnya reported on the harrowing events from the battlefield. In 1995, the Chechen war was the central issue in NTV’s election coverage; the lens through which the election and politics in general were viewed. While NTV at least covered the war eight years later during the 2003 election campaign, it was not a dominant theme of the coverage. Rather, it seemed more of a shadow of the coverage from the 1995 elections, with a lack of dramatic footage and little engagement with the broader issues surrounding the war. The difference in story choice – especially about the Chechen war – aside, there was significant variation in style and coverage in other areas between Vremya and Sevodnya. Vremya remains slightly more formal. There are more “talking heads” on Vremya and more official shots, particularly those of people meeting with Putin in his office. On Vremya, the news during the 2003 Duma campaign was organized around newsmakers, mostly Putin, with a small cast of other officials. During the campaign, these officials included Luzhkov, Gryzlov, Shoigu and a handful of others. The coverage often simply followed these individuals around the country, particularly Luzhkov in Moscow and Gryzlov in the provinces. On the other hand, NTV story items were generally more fast-paced and more oriented to events rather than individuals. NTV often used an ironic or even flippant tone in the news; this was rare on the First Channel and was perhaps unintended when it did occur. As suggested by earlier chapters, examining the content of television news is only part of the evidence in understanding the media landscape. In the media model, it holds a place between the news production – notably how editors and producers select and formulate the news – and the television audience. This study does not examine how news is selected in the programs, although evidence from a range of journalists, editors and analysts suggests that self-censorship continues to play a key role in the production of Russian news.13 Some would argue that the line between “self-censorship” and “news style” is quite thin. Vremya remains

Consolidation in political communication 175 the flagship news program in the country. Apart from its formal links to the government through its ownership, Channel 1 could also be considered to have a responsibility to report on state interests in a more detailed, in-depth way than its commercial rival NTV. As a result, the Vremya news team would put more emphasis on Russia’s role in foreign affairs, national security, matters of state, the parliament and particularly the president. This can explain part of the way in which Vremya covers the news, particularly its emphasis on different countries than NTV’s Sevodnya. This can only be an element, however, of the explanation. Vremya has an increasing focus on the president and a selected few officials who openly support the Kremlin. While a few oppositional voices are tolerated, no viable opponents to Putin’s regime are given positive or even neutral coverage on Vremya. In some case, such as Khodorkovsky, they are virtually not covered at all. Others, such as liberal leaders Chubais and Yavlinsky, are given a very small amount of coverage and not presented as powerful or central political figures. Rather, even during the campaign, their sound bites are generally fairly trivial. In the case of the Communists, there was a slightly different approach. First, there was very little information about the Communist Party on Vremya during the elections, despite the fact it was the winner in the 1999 party-list contest and represented a significant segment of the population. While Vremya continually covered United Russia leaders, there was virtually no mention of the Communists although undoubtedly they also were campaigning hard around the country. Moreover, when the Communist Party was mentioned on Vremya, it was often in the context of people complaining about the party. For example, the coverage of the Communists on Vremya on December 5 showed a rally of Communist supporters complaining about the inclusion of oligarchs on the party list.14 The report claimed that this was alienating people from the Communist Party. This item followed sycophantic coverage of Luzhkov opening a new light-rail station (that actually did not start operation until after the elections), an election commission update on voting preparations, Yavlinsky thanking his supporters and Zhirinovsky calling for nationalization of heavy industries at a rally in Moscow. The complaining Communist supporters were followed by a report on the tiny Rus’ party, a speech by Gryzlov, an endorsement of United Russia by Afghanistan veterans, more election commission information and a rerun of a news clip of Putin praising United Russia on a previous Vremya show. Thus, the Communists were the only party to get direct criticism on the eve of the December 7 elections and had no opportunity to make a meaningful reply to the accusations. Meanwhile, the news program was saturated with pro-United Russia propaganda. If Vremya was criticizing the Communists, at least there was some coverage of the elections. While Sevodnya did offer viewers some additional information on subjects that did not appear on Vremya, in keeping with NTV tradition there was little routine election coverage. As a commercial broadcaster, NTV has no obligation to provide election coverage. The coverage it did provide was remarkably tame and uninteresting. There was no strong link made between the elections and NTV’s obvious greater interest and coverage of both the Yukos trial and the war

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in Chechnya. The commercial news program did not discuss the difference among various party platforms, or even whether particular parties supported the war or the government’s case against Yukos. Previously, however, Sevodnya’s campaign coverage was more even-handed. The news program avoided sycophantic coverage of United Russia and, to a degree, of Putin. However, the lack of criticism or analysis would have made it difficult for viewers to engage with the broader issues in the campaign. The 2003 Duma campaign was relatively free of the mud slinging or kompromat found in the 1999 and 2000 elections. It would not appear that the reason for this was a change in the approach to news coverage, that is a realization that it was inappropriate and unfair to use rumor and innuendo to slander some candidates. Rather, it would appear that as a majority of the political forces consolidated around the Kremlin and the president, there was less need to vilify opponents because they presented much less of a real threat. The liberals, split mostly between Yabloko and Union of Right Forces, had only a small constituency. While the Liberal Democrats had maintained a presence in Russian politics from 1991 and rhetoric against national policies, in reality the Liberal Democrats function as a Kremlin ally. The remaining viable political force in opposition was the Communist Party. As a result, the party and its leaders were given the largest amount of negative or unfair coverage on Vremya. Meanwhile, NTV’s Sevodnya did give more coverage to the liberals, but little to the Communists. The Communists thus lost out under both state-run and commercial television news – on the first due to bias and on the second due to disinterest. On a more positive note, there were television debates among the parties, although the fact that United Russia declined to take part limited their impact (OSCE/ODIHR, 2004, p. 16).

Political advertising As discussed in earlier chapters of the book, the Russian electoral system allows for a generous amount of campaign advertising. Not only does the law offer all political parties, no matter how small, equal free time and space in state-run media, but all political parties and candidates can buy paid advertising.15 Only a handful of the parties in the 2003 Duma race used a significant amount of paid advertising. This follows the trend over several elections, as paid campaign advertising has been dominated by three types of parties: the parties in power, the Liberal Democrats and a selection of well-financed, but generally unpopular parties that have little aside from a paid television presence. As with other factors in the campaign, it is difficult to isolate how much effect paid advertisements have had on vote choice and party success in Russian elections. In addition, paid advertising is only an element in the creation of a broadcast party and the ability to garner coverage on the nightly news is more important. Nonetheless, paid advertising often provides important information about both the campaign and the broader trend of political imaging in Russia. The four dominant political advertisers in the 2003 elections were United Russia, the Liberal Democrats, Motherland and the Union of Right Forces.

Consolidation in political communication 177 A small party called Party of Russia’s Revival/Russian Party of Life advertised relatively heavily as well. All four of these parties had distinct styles, although United Russia used a range of different approaches.16 United Russia’s most prominent advertisements employed a series of glowing images of Russian places and people, set to the music of the national anthem. The voice-over was the same for these ads (although sometimes it was dropped in favor of just the music): Each has his own Russia, that you see, that is right next to you, for some it is factories, for some it is fields, your corners, your school, your harvest, the light in the home opposite you . . . And if we put it all together, the picture becomes united and we see how great and rich Russia is. We will do everything to build a worthy life for all. The images varied somewhat in the advertisements, switching between sweeping landscapes and urban panoramas to more personal scenes of happiness or relaxation, such as children plunging into a river or a couple holding hands on a busy street. There was no discussion of policy, platform or even ideology – nationalist, socialist, communist, libertarian – in the United Russia advertisements. This parallels the general dearth of policy discussion throughout in terms of United Russia, in which the leaders stuck to the vaguest principles during speeches on the news. The slogan for United Russia was simply “Together with the President” and the ads showed party leaders meeting with Putin. Mayor Luzhkov was used extensively in the United Russia campaign ads as well, including a jingle with the phrase “1–2–3 – Moscow – Luzhkov – United Russia!” In addition, the party used “man-in-street” staged interviews, such as a couple secure enough to invest in new furniture and planning to buy a new home in the future. In contrast to United Russia, Liberal Democrat leader Zhirinovsky did not hesitate to make policy promises during his ads, but they were vague. There were a series of Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia ads that featured film effects in which the picture zoomed in and out. The ads would start with loud, punchy music that drew the attention of the viewer. For example, one ad showed shots of hooded security personnel making arrests, then Zhirinovsky announced in his hurried, intense phrasing that “we need to arrest all the bankers.” The ad ended with the slogan “For Honest Power.” The Liberal-Democrat ads featured a variety of issues, but no party leaders except for Zhirinovsky. He called for Russia to establish government monopolies, build a better army and to re-establish an empire. These were generally 20-second spots, ending with slogans such as “For Order in Russia,” “Make Them Respect Russia,” “LDPR for a Strong Economy,” and “LDPR For a Strong Army.”17 While Zhirinovsky did use tapes of himself in the Duma, he was not shown with the president in his political advertising. The new party Motherland (Rodina) perhaps had to rely on its paid advertising more than either United Russia or the Liberal Democrats. While Motherland was clearly tolerated by the government – there was no campaign to either blacken the party or exclude it from fair television coverage as with the Communists – it was not the central party of power. As such, it could not widely exploit use of

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the television news or formidable administrative resources to gain votes. The Motherland ads were an interesting blend of policy and personality, but they relied relatively little on image alone. The ads had a twin emphasis: a nationalistic, anti-oligarch message as well as the claim that the three party leaders offered important qualities. Glazyev was promoted as an important economist; Rogozin as a defender of the rights of Russians; and Varennikov as a war hero. In contrast to the somber ads of the leaders, the party also ran spots featuring an elderly war veteran displaying his medals. His wife mocks him a bit for putting them on to go vote, but he assures her that he must vote for his “Motherland” as he has shed blood for her. In one 30-second spot, the veteran assures his wife that he is “not for ideas, but for the Motherland.” The slogans for the party shown at the end of the ads included “Return the Riches of the Country to the People” and “For the Honor of Russia, for the Rights of the Common People.” It would seem the Union of Right Forces was somewhat out of touch with mainstream Russian political advertising. Unlike all the other parties, the Union of Right Forces did not use any of the more traditional Russian symbols. Rather, the ads were segments from a ride on a small jet with “Russia” painted on the side. The ads featured either Chubais, Irina Khakamada or Boris Nemtsov making short statements about their hopes for Russia as leaders of the Union of Right Forces. The shots were of the party leaders talking and planning on the plane, gathered around a laptop computer. Thus, the ad showed a group of relatively young, dynamic politicians on a spacious private jet, giving the impression of wealth and power. At the end of the Union of Right Forces spots, the slogan is “Pick the Future for Yourself.” It is difficult to tell whether these ads, which were distinctive from the advertising of other Russian parties, contributed to the failure of the party to earn more of the vote. It would suggest, however, that the strategy of showing overt wealth in a distinctly un-Russian setting is particularly risky. Another party to advertise relatively heavily, although rather unsuccessfully, was the Party of Russia’s Revival/Russian Party of Life. Almost all their advertisements featured one of the three main policies that the party was promoting: minimum pay levels for teachers and medical workers; better retirement pensions; and interest-free mortgages for young families. The ads showed small vignettes of people happy at receiving these benefits. Some spots featured a few words on the individual leaders. Party of Russia’s Revival/Russian Party of Life received just 1.9 percent of the party-list vote. Although it failed to win party-list seats, arguably it did succeed in making a contribution to the political agenda and did far better than most Russian parties (including winning three single-member district seats). The party did highlight issues for the electorate, issues to which the dominant parties might respond. The ads collected during the Duma period had only a handful from other parties. A Yabloko ad showcased Yavlinsky and highlighted the party’s activity in the Duma. The slogan of the ad was: “If Yabloko wins, Russia wins.” The Communists created an ad for something they rarely had in reality: positive news coverage. The 30-second spot showed a mock newscast “from the people’s information bureau” and the sober, Soviet-type male newscaster reported that the

Consolidation in political communication 179 Communist party would “return the resources of the country to the service of the people.” Free time is generally quite poorly watched and recalled by the Russian audience. This is not surprising, as the bulk of it is extraordinarily dull. Most of the free time has consisted of talking heads and often the candidates involved have little public speaking experience. In addition, the parties themselves are typically not well developed and failed to either create or communicate realistic policies, platforms or ideologies. As many parties do not last from one election to the next, it is particularly difficult to distinguish among them. As political power has consolidated around a group of parties – and particularly around the parties of power – the potential impact of these newer parties as well as the interest from the electorate is seriously diminished. In the 2003 Duma campaign, it was neither the free-time nor the paid advertising that seemed to spark the most recall among voters when discussing the campaign in the spring. Members of focus groups in Moscow and Ulyanovsk in the spring of 2004 tended to recall the Freedom of Speech (Svoboda Slova) program hosted by Savik Shuster on NTV more often than other election programming. Freedom of Speech featured political figures that were asked to step up to the microphone and debate various issues. Audience members were able to instantly rate how they felt about the discussions and the issues, with the percentages of approval and disapproval thrown up on the screen. It was a challenging setup for even the most experienced politician, but the live format and guests from a range of political persuasions – many of whom were not part of the regular faces on the news – allowed for a particularly broad range of viewpoints on Russian television. The program made the news during the 2003 Duma elections when Zhirinovsky attacked an opponent, leading to a scrum in the studio, all caught live on the cameras. While this is not perhaps the best example of developing democracy, it at least creates some interest and excitement in politics in an otherwise fairly marginalized campaign. In addition, the existence of Freedom of Speech showed the value of commercial television in terms of widening the availability of programming in a media system burdened by self-censorship and government control. The show, however, was cancelled by NTV in the summer of 2004.18

The 2004 presidential election What little interest might have been stirred by the 2004 presidential campaign effectively ended with the strong victory of Kremlin forces in the 2003 Duma campaign. None of the main three opponents to the president – Zyuganov, Yavlinsky or Zhirinovsky – contested the election. Putin won with an impressive 71.3 percent of the vote, while the Communist leader Nikolai Kharitonov was a very distant second with 13.7 percent. The other even remotely feasible candidates, notably Glazyev and liberal Irina Khakamada, won 4.1 percent and 3.8 percent respectively. Clearly, fewer people were willing to waste votes by following preferences and voting for outsiders. In addition, the winner-take-all nature of

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Table 9.5 News coverage themes in 2004 Russian presidential election (percentages) Theme

Overall

Vremya

Sevodnya

Campaign Economy Politics (non-campaign) Military (except Chechnya) Chechnya (military and civil) Crime, law, and terrorism Social issues Other (accidents, natural disasters, human interest, etc.)

16.6 3.6 13.4 7.7 10.6 17.5 2.5 28.1

18.3 2.4 14.9 7.3 10.7 12.5 2.8 31.1

14.8 4.8 11.9 8.2 10.4 23 2.2 24.8

Source: As Table 9.1. The coding is for 12 Vremya programs and 12 Sevodnya programs on February 16–20, March 2, March 4–5 and March 9–12.

the presidential contest makes the voting calculus quite different. Overall, the participation level was better in the presidential race, with a lower rate of voting against all (3.5 percent) than in the 2003 Duma elections (which was 4.7 percent) and a turnout of 64 percent.19 The role of political parties was further diminished in the 2004 presidential elections – as neither Khakamada nor Sergei Glazyev was able to secure the support of their parties from the recent Duma elections. In addition, neither Kharitonov nor Liberal-Democrat candidate Oleg Malyshkin was the leader from their respective parties. There was no realistic choice to Putin in the 2004 presidential elections, and so the editorial coverage, free time and paid political advertising became largely irrelevant. Arguably, the generous provision of free time to minor candidates did allow them to air alternative viewpoints. But as free-time broadcasts are unpopular even in relevant elections, they were marginalized particularly in the 2004 presidential campaign. This was underlined by the fact that Putin again declined to use his free time. Also, as in the 2000 presidential elections, much of the political posturing and discussion had taken place during the Duma campaign in the preceding December. Supporters of Khakamada complained to the Central Election Commission that the government’s “get out the vote” campaign closely resembled the United Russia campaign ads and thus favored Putin (the complaint was rejected) (OSCE, March 14, 2004, p. 19). An analysis of a dozen broadcasts each of Vremya and Sevodnya in the four weeks before the March 2004 presidential election shows that 16.6 percent of the news content on both channels was dedicated to election coverage (see Table 9.5). As usual, Vremya offered more election coverage, with 18.3 percent of its stories carrying election news compared with 14.8 percent of the Sevodnya stories. Vremya offered more political news, while Sevodnya focused far more heavily on issues involving crime, law and terrorism. There was little discussion on Putin as a candidate – in terms of campaign promises or ideology. Rather, Putin was shown doing his presidential duties on the news, including the dismissal of the prime minister and his cabinet. The only story of note involving the campaign

Consolidation in political communication 181 were complaints by both Khakamada and Kharitonov that a half-hour broadcast of Putin’s address to his campaign staff on February 12 on Channel 2 violated fair election coverage laws. The complaint was not upheld by the Central Election Commission. A rather strange election story was that of presidential candidate and former Duma speaker Ivan Rybkin. Backed by exiled oligarch Berezovsky, Rybkin had triggered a national manhunt when he went missing from his home on February 5. He resurfaced five days later with an unconvincing story that he had gone to visit a friend in Ukraine and later claimed he had been held against his will.20 Rybkin withdrew from the race on March 5. Putin was mentioned more than any other individual in news stories (34 times over the sample period) but mentions were almost evenly split between Vremya and Sevodnya. There were no newsmakers that came close to Putin: only three other individuals (Zhirinovsky, the minister of finance and the minister of agriculture) managed to get seven mentions each. All other newsmakers got less, including Kharitonov (five mentions) and Khakamada ( just three mentions). There were mentions (by name) of 18 heads of state, 16 entertainers, 14 foreigners and 10 businessmen on Vremya and Sevodnya during this period. In terms of speaking for themselves on the news, there was again a strong element of an alleged vox populi (as in the Duma campaign), with 47 statements by citizens voicing their opinion on the news. It is clear, however, that those who were chosen to speak fit within the framing of the news item. As an individual, Putin was given the maximum voice, speaking for himself in 20 items, compared with 13 items for Kharitonov and 11 for Khakamada. The news often allowed experts such as academics to speak for themselves (55 times) as well as policemen and other security officials (29 times). The OSCE found “clear bias in favour of the incumbent in news presentation and coverage of the campaign”(OSCE, March 14, 2004, p. 1). In measuring the editorial coverage on the major Russian television stations, the OSCE found that the state-run media “comprehensively failed to meet its legal obligation to provide equal treatment to all candidates, displaying clear favouritism towards Mr. Putin” (p. 15). While the OSCE did find that the other candidates had access to television, particularly through free-time broadcasts and televised debates, they had relatively little coverage on the news on state-run television. The OSCE analysis of the four weeks of campaign coverage just before the March 14 elections show that Putin received extensive and positive attention. During this time, the First Channel provided more than four hours of its political and election news coverage to Putin and all of it was “overwhelmingly positive” (p. 16). In contrast, Kharitonov received just 21 minutes of prime-time news coverage. During the same period, NTV gave more than 31 minutes to Putin (mainly positive or neutral). However, as the OSCE report points out, NTV did provide a particularly useful element in the campaign in analytical programs, including Svoboda Slova and Namedni, by giving more balanced information about key issues. As in the 2003 Duma elections, there were televised debates on state-run television, but as Putin declined to participate, they were of little relevance. In other issues, the OSCE was concerned about the integrity of the electoral system, particularly in

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terms of a lack of secrecy in voting as well as aggressive tactics to boost the turnout and support for the president. The OSCE listed several areas of concern, including constituencies that reported usually high turnouts with unusually high support for Putin (such as the Dagestan Republic, reporting turnout of 94.1 percent, of which 94.6 percent voted for Putin).

The media audience and the electorate How much did the campaign coverage on Vremya, Sevodnya and television in general matter by 2003 and 2004? How much was the audience paying attention to the news – and how much did it affect their vote choice? The evidence is mixed. There was little recall of the campaign news coverage from participants in 10 focus groups in Russia in the spring of 2004.21 It was not so much that the Duma elections were already one election back, but these parliamentary elections were not perceived as important in terms of issues, politics or power. Not only do most Russians have little trust in their parliament, they have even less trust in political parties. According to the 2003–4 survey cited earlier, 68 percent of the respondents said they had little or no confidence in the parliament and 67 percent said the same about parties. In fact, these were the least trusted institutions in a list that included the armed forces, private enterprises, the church, television, court, government, police, regional government, unions and the president. On the other hand, the president garnered a relatively large amount of trust. Only 17 percent of the respondents reported that they had little or no trust in the president and 65 percent claimed they had a great deal or total trust in him. Little had changed in terms of media consumption from the 1999 and 2000 campaign period, even though there had been significant changes in television station control. According to the 2003–4 survey,22 82 percent of Russians routinely watched national television, compared with 63 percent who watched local television, 31 percent who read local newspapers and 22 percent who read national newspapers. While the ownership of NTV had changed, it still could reach about 75 percent of the Russian population. Further evidence from the 2003–4 survey suggests that television, in addition to its widespread use, is the most likely conduit for political news and information. When asked how often they hear or read about politics in the mass media, 82 percent of the respondents said they heard about politics either daily or several times a week on television, compared with 46 percent for radio and 37 percent for newspapers. The 2003–4 survey, while not asking people which news program they preferred as in the 2001 survey, did ask whether people routinely watched the news on the First Channel, RTR, NTV or on another channel. Seventy-six percent of the respondents reported that they watched Vremya regularly, compared with 62 percent who watched RTR’s Vesti or News, 38 percent who watched Sevodnya, and 14 percent who watched news on other central channels (presumably TV-Center’s Sobytiya or Events). This is somewhat difficult to compare with the news preference data from 2001, in which the respondents were asked which news program they watched most often. However, it does appear that Sevodnya

Consolidation in political communication 183 has lost popularity, while RTR’s Vesti and possibly Vremya have gained viewers. In the 2001 survey, 69 percent of the respondents said that they watched Vremya most often, 33 percent said that they watched Vesti and 30 percent said they watched Sevodnya.23 It is also apparent from the 2003–4 survey that most Russians continue to avoid relying on a single news program.24 In an analysis of news viewing habits in the survey, 82 percent of those who were regular viewers of Sevodnya also watched Vremya. However, only 41 percent of those who watched Vremya regularly also watched Sevodnya. This is not surprising for two reasons. First, NTV is not available to roughly a quarter of the Russian homes. However, the availability alone does not account for the discrepancy. The figures make it clear that many people rely on Vremya for their television news. Sevodnya, in fact, remains the third choice of Vremya viewers – 69 percent of Vremya regular viewers also watch Vesti on Channel 2 regularly. How is viewership distributed among Vremya, Sevodnya and Vesti? Out of the 2,000 respondents, only 10 percent reported that they watched none of the news programs. Only 18 percent watched only Vremya – an additional 27 percent watched both Vremya and Vesti and 5 percent claimed to watch Vremya and Sevodnya. Twenty-six percent of the sample (530 respondents) claimed they watched all three programs regularly. What is clear from the survey is that very few people are willing to rely on Sevodnya exclusively for their news. Only 5 percent of the sample watched just Sevodnya and neither Vremya nor Vesti on a regular basis. This would amplify the influence of Channel 1 to set and pursue particular political agendas. How would these viewing patterns relate to political attitudes and, potentially, to grass-roots political action in Russia? Interestingly, Russians do perceive themselves as having a great deal of freedom to say what they think and even the freedom to join political movements. However, they do not see their words or actions as making much difference in their society. This is an interesting departure from the classic understanding of democracy in which freedom of speech and political association are linked to a broader sense of freedom. According to the 2003–4 survey, 78 percent of the respondents felt that freedom of speech had become at least somewhat better than in the past in Russia. Nor did the respondents feel constrained about participation in political life: 75 percent said it had become either much easier or somewhat easier to participate in political life than in the past. Yet, these words and activities might not lead to much in their view. Only 9 percent felt it had become a lot easier to influence politics and 16 percent felt it had become a bit easier. On the other hand, almost a quarter of the respondents felt it had become either somewhat or much harder to influence politics than in the past. What is the impact of television on this lack of a sense of political empowerment in Russia? It does not appear that elections are helping to get people politically engaged in Russia. Rather, there is evidence from political parties, television and the electorate themselves that elections are increasing the political alienation of the citizens. Many Russians see parties and elections as particularly

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ineffective and, in the case of parties, untrustworthy. In the 2003–4 survey, only about half the respondents felt that elections had any chance of changing the course of events in Russia. In fact, strong election optimists and pessimists were almost equally balanced, with 14 percent of the respondents believing that elections could definitely change the course of events and 15 percent responding that elections cannot change the course of events in Russia. In addition, the respondents clearly felt they would be better off with fewer parties, with 20 percent approving of a return to a one-party system and 43 percent opting for a multi-party system with fewer parties. Only 18 percent felt that the current multi-party system was the best choice and 7 percent felt that it would be best to do away with parties altogether. Nor do they see political parties as concerned about people’s problems. Only 5 percent felt they were very concerned, while 25 percent of the respondents felt that parties were not concerned at all about the common problems of people. Only a third of the respondents claimed to support any political party at all. About half of these could name the party that they supported – and the party they picked most often was United Russia. There was a relatively low response for those who mentioned the Communist Party or Yabloko. Thus name recognition was far easier for a broadcast party than for more traditional party organizations. There are rational reasons for a dislike or distrust of parties on the part of Russians. Most prominent is the fact the Russian parties, for the most part, have notably failed to promote the interests of the electorate. The large number of parties in elections – peaking at 43 in the 1995 campaign – has left voters understandably confused. Much of the political campaigning has been unprofessional, ranging from dull to extremely vituperative. While arguably parties do behave in a more rational manner once in power in the Duma, for the most part the factions that have formed and the legislation they have pursued has had little to do with their campaign messages. Only the Communist Party and Yabloko maintained a relatively stable set of policies that were linked to actions in the Duma from 1993 to 2003. It is interesting that while Russians seem to reject political parties by a large majority, they are relatively clear on their own broad party ideology. About 17 percent of the 2003–4 survey respondents said they would usually support a communist party, 8 percent a socialist party, 3 percent a nationalist party, and 2 percent a Green party. What is interesting is that the largest group – 24 percent – claimed they would support a market-economy party.25 Russians may not appear to like political parties, but they like and trust President Putin in overwhelming numbers. Almost 90 percent of the respondents claimed that they approved either entirely (48 percent) or somewhat (40 percent) of the president’s work. This glowing approval rating did not extend into the Putin administration. In his last weeks in office, Prime Minister Kasyanov only attained an approval rating of 57 percent, with 14 percent saying they approved entirely of his work.26 As Kasyanov did little more than carry out Putin’s policies, it is interesting to note that degree of difference in the approval. As noted earlier, Russians also trust the president more than any other political institution listed on the survey.

Consolidation in political communication 185 Television also appeared relatively close to the top of the list of trusted institutions, with 36 percent placing trust in state television and 29 percent in commercial television. Levels of trust in state and commercial television appear to have dropped somewhat, particularly for state television, since the last election cycle. In the 2001 survey, 57 percent of the respondents claimed they had full or considerable confidence in state television while 38 percent said the same of nonstate television. However, there was an overall drop in the reported levels of trust in various institutions between the two surveys.27 It is interesting to note that even with the obvious manipulation of the news on state television, which the focus groups show are quite clear to the Russian viewers, the institution itself retains a large degree of trust. However, even commercial television, which has relatively less trust, is still one of the more trusted institutions in the country. If they trust state television so much, what role did it play in vote choice in the Duma elections that took place just weeks before the survey? There is both indirect and direct evidence that the media, particularly television, mattered a great deal to a large number of voters. The indirect evidence is that many Russian voters still make up their minds at a relatively late point in the electoral process. According to the 2003–4 survey, only about 59 percent of voters had made up their minds by September 2003. About 21 percent settled on a choice in the following months, but 11 percent left the choice until the last week of the elections and 4 percent reported that they decided on the day of the election itself. It is unlikely that someone leaning toward the Communist party, for example, would be persuaded to change his or her mind completely and vote for the Union of Right Forces by clever campaigning. The high level of the swing in the vote suggests, however, that marketing forces are particularly important when there are relatively close choices among parties. If so many Russian voters are waiting that long to make up their minds are the media influencing them during that time? The evidence would suggest that the media, particularly state television, have quite a strong influence. Forty percent of the respondents claimed that national state television was the most important source for their vote choice in the 2003 Duma elections. On the other hand, commercial television was cited by just 1 percent of the respondents, which suggests that although it is still widely watched, it is not particularly influential with the electorate. In fact, more respondents (6 percent) relied on rumors or unofficial information than on commercial television. In addition, Russian voters claim a degree of independence from media sources – 32 percent said that they did not rely on anything but their “own thoughts” in making their vote choice in 2003. They also were the most likely to cite themselves as the most “helpful” factor in making their vote choice, 41 percent saying that their own experience helped them to a significant extent. This compares with 24 percent who relied on state television; 15 percent for conversations with friends and relations; and 8 percent for commercial television. All things being equal, do the 2003–4 survey results suggest that television was a significant factor in determining vote choice in 2003? Although a regression analysis using viewership as an independent variable when the dependent variable is

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vote choice is somewhat problematic, it can provide evidence of certain important linkages.28 However, a regression analysis shows no significant impact of watching Vremya on voting for United Russia in 2003 when used in a model that also measures the impact of gender, income, age and education. Being female is positively linked with support for United Russia, while older age is inversely linked with party support. One of the most telling findings of the 2003–4 survey is how reluctant the respondents were to say that television had changed their mind on how to vote. Only 5 percent claimed that the media had helped them to change their minds before the elections – rather less than the 8 percent of respondents who claimed the media merely confused them. A far larger number of the respondents (25 percent) claimed that the media had no effect on their vote. The respondents are quite right in not viewing the voting experience as a simple form of propaganda, such as in Soviet times. They were not marched to the ballot box to vote for a single party. Yet their choices have diminished considerably since the first post-Soviet elections in 1993. Parties no longer have the right to organize freely and spontaneously, for if they fail to adhere to a strict and sometimes capricious legal system they will be unable to contest elections. Parties themselves have made little progress in consolidating power for the electorate or, in most cases, even for themselves. Instead of presenting choices, the central state-run television station has been showcasing broadcast parties that are designed to elect a group of elites into office rather than aggregate the interests of the voters. Attempts to establish a professional, independent media that would serve as a watchdog for the public have failed. As a result, the choices that appear on both the television screens and in the ballot box are far more a reflection of oligarchic concerns than real politics at work. Hale, McFaul and Colton (2004) found “the strongest explanation for Putin’s enduring popularity, despite declining support for a number of his policies, to lie in the Russian government’s control over the mass media” (p. 286), which suggests that Putin and his administration will need to wield more control if their policies become less popular over time.

A final word from the focus groups The findings from 10 focus groups held in Moscow and Ulyanovsk just after the March 2004 presidential elections suggest that many Russians were pragmatic about the contest. By the spring of 2004, there was very little recall of the Duma elections of the past December. As for the recent presidential elections, Russians clearly knew that there was no feasible alternative to Putin. Although they could list some things they liked about Putin – most typically calling him young, sporty and even erudite – these were generally mentioned as asides. They voted for Putin because there was no realistic choice. In some cases, particularly in Ulyanovsk, they abstained, voted against all or occasionally even voted for another candidate mostly as a protest. Although the election campaign was essentially moot, the discussion about how they felt about their president revealed some interesting aspects of contemporary Russian political culture. Notably, many Russians

Consolidation in political communication 187 continue to have a great deal of anger at former President Boris Yeltsin, particularly in terms of the image he projected in the international sphere. It is not so much that they admire Putin for his particular personal qualities; rather they like the fact that he is so completely different from Yeltsin. Many of the respondents characterized Yeltsin as a drunken oaf who was much too friendly with the Americans. They often contrasted Yeltsin’s unhealthy, plain-talking populism with the quieter, trimmer and more athletic figure of Putin. They found Putin intelligent, athletic, erudite and firm. When they mentioned Putin’s policies in the focus groups, they generally approved of his more anti-Western stance.29 If elections do not offer real choices, do they contribute to society in any way? The focus-group respondents were hard-pressed to think of any particular benefits. Virtually none of them had any recall of the debates in the Duma campaign and only one respondent said that she had followed the presidential debates. As the respondents pointed out, Putin did not participate in the campaign and no other well-known political figures ran in the campaign. In other years, Zhirinovsky, Zyuganov and Yavlinsky might have made some impression, but none of them contested the presidency in 2004. Thus, Putin had an even greater advantage as the incumbent. Even without the bias and self-censorship prevalent in the media, there was little to cover from the field of relative non-entities. As one respondent noted, what was the point of even wasting the money on holding the elections if it was clear who was going to win? While these focus groups were not solely concentrated on discussing the elections and the mass media, it was clear how much of the political debate and interest had eroded since the focus-group discussions in 2000.30 Political choices had narrowed considerably. While television – particularly state-run broadcasting on Channel 1 – had failed to give fair coverage to contenders in 1999 and 2000, those contenders had in turn weakened considerably over the four-year period. In particular, the share of the vote for the Communist Party in the Duma and presidential elections had fallen by about half. This raises key questions about the role of television in the development of post-Soviet parties. It is difficult to ascertain whether many voters gave up on the Communists because they failed to deliver on policy or because they didn’t receive fair coverage on the news. Thus, it is hard to say whether parties failed to survive because they had weak leadership or poor ideas – or whether inspired leadership and good ideas failed to reach the public sphere due to biased or indifferent media coverage. This begs the question, of how much the lack of unbiased or professional television that served the public interest contributed to the decline and eventual disappearance of meaningful political choice in Russia. The Russians in the 2004 focus groups already perceived elections as offering limited choice and few alternatives. There was an undercurrent of anger about this, but at the same time many in the focus groups were far more interested in stability than choice. While they feel themselves relatively free to speak out and join political associations, they see little point. A narrow elite, those surrounding the president, controls the organs of real power. Elections have become more of a Soviet exercise, where a protest vote is abstention or voting against all. In the

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short term, this means that Russians found themselves with little choice in the 2003 and 2004 elections. In the longer term, it suggests that the 11 years of Russian elections have failed to establish a meaningful party system for Russians to aggregate and articulate their interests. The political landscape of the new millennium would seem to be closer to that of the Soviet era. On television screens, although there is some variation, there is little real challenge to the Putin regime. What political choices lie ahead for Russia will depend on where her leaders, rather than her people, choose to take her.

10 Conclusions Tuning out democracy

What has the experience of Russia taught us about the relationship among elections, television and voters? It suggests that it is important to think about several different aspects of the relationship that are not always as clear in Western democracies as they can become in regimes that are less attuned to the habits of elective democracy. Notably, although television is broadly perceived as a broadcaster of information, it also is a political institution that shapes and refines political power. In a situation such as in Russia, in which democratic institutions including social movements and political parties are quite weak, television can become more a tool for suppressing democracy than a force for empowering the public. In the long run, that will short-circuit the development of democracy, even if democratic institutions such as elections are established. Elections, without a free media dedicated to the notion of serving the public, will merely become tools for the consolidation of the power of political elites. In Russia, this happened in a way in which it is now possible to trace after eight parliamentary and presidential election rounds. Although the 1993 Russian Constitution technically provided open media access for all parties – with these tenets reinforced with a new law in 1995 – information access has been remarkably unequal. It has been unequal in part because of the scramble of people to learn how to form organizations and communicate effectively with potential publics in the post-Communist sphere. More particularly, it has been deformed by the lack of will on the part of leaders and journalists to enable all groups to engage in a dialogue and debate about society. Rather, journalists have repeatedly taken sides. Nor did the advent of a powerful commercial television station fundamentally change this equation. Although NTV’s coverage of the first Chechen war provided an unusual burst of media freedom, it was more about power politics than freedom of speech. Instead of capitalizing on its newfound authority with its war coverage, NTV leaders chose to exploit their power by suppressing facts and misleading the public about Boris Yeltsin’s poor health in the 1996 presidential elections. While many would argue that it was nobler to fight against a return to communist rule than provide unbiased information to the electorate, it is clear this was an abuse of journalistic privilege and the public’s right to know. The study of the Russian audience presented in this book merely makes the dilemma more difficult. It is quite clear that the audience is not crying out for a

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broader range of commercial channels or more challenging insights into their society from state-run television. Rather, the Russian audience often prefers a return to order over chaos and finds commercial media suspect. Although it is clear that they know they are not receiving the full story on state-run media, the alternative of a return to the worries and fears of the mid-1990s is not appealing. Many viewers are content with less information if it means more control. This attitude, however, is extremely worrying, particularly as the spectrum of meaningful information continues to shrink. As the barriers narrow, so do the options for change and the resistance to authoritarianism. For example, have Russian citizens ever heard the full story of the causes of the Kursk submarine disaster and debated what this means for the safety of the fleet? Even more worrying, has there been a real public discussion of how tragedies such as the hundreds who died in the Beslan school attack by terrorists in 2004 could have been avoided? Meaningful discussions about sensitive political subjects – abuse of power at high levels, terrorism and the war in Chechnya – are simply no longer part of the broad journalistic sphere in Russia. Rather, the First Channel is dominated by obedience to Putin and coverage of the president as a ruler, rather than a leader accountable to an electorate. Meanwhile, there would appear to be no normal existence of an opposition. Any group or party that is perceived as a threat to the Kremlin’s hegemony is either ignored, trivialized or vilified on Vremya during election campaigns. Nor has commercial television, which has tended to pursue its own political agenda, provided fair or complete election coverage. The problems that point to a lack of fundamental fairness and freedom in Russia, notably the uneven application of law, widespread inequities, the conduct of the war in Chechnya and appalling human rights abuses in prisons and elsewhere, are not a part of the news formula. This begs the question of if an atrocity is not covered, indeed does it exist? Certainly, it would be unfair to blame television for the collapse of political choices in Russia. Numerous studies have looked at a broad range of problems with the implementation of party-based democracy in Russia. At the mass level, there is widespread distrust and dislike of parties and even parliament, which consistently attracts very low levels of trust in public-opinion surveys. Institutionally, the parliament is relatively weak with respect to the president. As such, the rational voter knows that the Duma will be unlikely to effect meaningful change on Russian society. The notion of democracy itself is not universally popular in Russia, particularly when it is linked to capitalism. Public opinion aside, the Russian parties themselves have not always presented reasonably attractive and coherent choices to the voters. While the Communist Party has been perhaps the most consistent choice, it seemed to suffer from the paradoxical task of adapting to the post-Soviet world without alienating its core constituency. Nor could the Communist Party ever attract a majority of the voters, shutting it out from the powerful office of the presidency or a critical mass in the Duma. Other parties have been dominated by personalities, making it difficult for them to grow beyond personal followings. Vladimir Zhirinovsky markets his nationalist party as an anti-state movement, but in fact the Liberal Democrats tend to support the

Conclusions 191 Kremlin in the Duma. Liberal parties have been plagued with leadership problems and disagreements. Finally, the party landscape has come to be dominated by the broadcast parties, little more than reflections of the policy needs of the current Kremlin apparatus. If public distrust of a multi-party system as well as poor party organization are important elements of the failure of party-based democracy in Russia, then the mass media must be held up as the third major failure. The mass media play a different role in various democratic political systems, but they remain the main conduits between leadership and the electorate. Without the amplifying and authorizing effect of television, voters would be left bewildered about both their political systems and the choices they are asked to make at the ballot box. That does not mean that there are not distortions or problems in all media systems, often linked to the conflict between commercial and political interests. However, even a flawed system with a plethora of paid advertisements or free-time slots scheduled at unpopular times will deliver the information to the voters. In Russia, there has been an active process on the part of the political elites and journalists to deform party-based democracy. The political elite have perceived of parties as vehicles that aggregate their own interests, as opposed to serving the interest of the electorate. Journalists, rather than challenging this idea, pick sides in the oligarchic battles and typically support a party or group of parties at the expense of informing the electorate. As such, parties have been created not to reflect policies, platforms or even ideologies, but merely to get a group of people elected who can pursue their own interests. Sometimes these interests appear to intersect with the concerns of many Russians. At other times, there is little relationship to the party during elections and the party in power. Yet, because of the nature of broadcast parties and the factors that allow them to flourish in Russia, the political elite is able to hold power and even consolidate it as broadcast parties have come to dominate over other party types. It would be tempting to view Russia as sui generis, a case of a national culture, politicians and journalists that are particularly resistant to democratic institutions. Hence, there is no problem with the institutions themselves – such as elections and the media – but it is merely that Russian culture and a Soviet past distorts them to authoritarian means. It is tempting to blame the culture, as this does not challenge our understanding and acceptance of institutions such as elections and media as the best ways to formulate a civil society. This reduction of the explanation for the failure of elections to generate an electoral democracy in Russia is too simplistic, however. Other post-Soviet countries that share a similar past and many cultural attributes have developed in different ways. In the case that showed the capacity for popular resistance to an entrenched elite, the “Orange Revolution” in Ukraine succeeded in challenging an unfair election and electing an opposition president in 2004. However, despite high levels of control in the Ukrainian media, there were significant windows of media freedom – particularly on the Internet – that do not appear to exist in Russia. Other former Soviet states, notably Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan, have become much more repressive than Russia, without even the variation of voices that Russia has in its print journalism.

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It can be argued that Russia had a particular combination of factors that led to the failure of elections to consolidate democracy. The two key factors are the journalistic profession itself and the audience. Although there was a diversity of views published in the late Soviet and early Russian periods, there was little commitment to the notion of the media in the service of the public. Rather, it would appear that various media outlets were deployed by journalists in the service of a range of political masters. While during the Soviet Union that master tended to speak with a unified voice, those voices became quite varied by the late 1980s. However, if the fundamental relationship doesn’t change, then the media can never empower the masses. If the media are more concerned with serving the needs of political masters rather than informing the public, inevitably the public will lose out. What of the public itself ? Russians are quick to describe themselves in focus groups as canny and observant consumers of their mass media. Indeed, they show themselves to be particularly aware of media ownership patterns and trends. They know and follow the differences in coverage on state and commercial television. However, most do not support the notion of an “independent” media and, in fact, believe it cannot exist. They see the media as part of the power structure. While they can benefit from a diversification of information if there are fissures in this power structure that are reflected in media outlets, they themselves are not a part of the equation. They see themselves as media subjects, without the rights of either media citizens or media consumers. As a result, they find a plethora of voices in the media an ominous sign of dissent and weakness among the elite. It is not political choice, but political chaos, that they perceive and fear. They prefer the façade to the messy reality of political divisiveness. This is a dangerous bargain. In exchange for their compliance, the audience receives very little in return. When unpopular measures are passed – such as the recent decision by the Putin administration to reduce universal social benefits – they are left without regular channels to protest. There is an old Soviet joke about the low level of salaries that describes this bargain well: “They are only pretending to pay us, but we are only pretending to work.” In today’s Russia, the media are only pretending to inform the people and they are only pretending to listen. This means that any real attempt to communicate with the masses is quite difficult. This was certainly seen by political parties as they attempted to formulate platforms, gain news coverage or put across ideas via paid or free time. To be fair, there was failure in this for most parties before they even got near a microphone or a reporter. The bulk of Russian political parties were poorly formulated, under funded, badly organized and often split by factions. However, even those with widespread or even reasonable support such as the Communist Party of the Russian Federation or Yabloko were not given the appropriate opportunity to spread their message through a dispassionate mass media. Rather, the mass media championed “broadcast” parties, unaccountable image-driven electoral vehicles that managed to take over and subvert the party system. Meanwhile, the Russian Federation new law on parties passed in 2001 made it significantly harder for people to organize political parties. In 2005, Russia passed a law that changed the

Conclusions 193 way Duma members are elected, eliminating the single-member district races and distributing all seats via the party-list race. Minority voices in opposition to the Kremlin will find it difficult indeed to gain a seat in the Duma in the elections slated for 2007. What does the Russian experience suggest about the relationship among political parties, television and voters in other countries? What it does tell us is that television can, in certain cases, get in the way of democracy. It does this in part because television tends to favor those already in power. While this can take the mild form of providing a great deal of coverage of incumbent presidents and prime ministers, in a broader sense television is supporting the status quo. Groups or parties that are outside of the mainstream, even if they have broad support, are unlikely to be framed seriously or garner much television time. Do we indeed have broadcast parties in the West, parties that are only screen-deep, in which promises made during election broadcasts never come to fruition? It would be difficult to find a system in which the distortion was so strong as it is in the Russian Federation. However, there is evidence that election campaigns tend to get in the way of meaningful discussions of policy. In the 2004 US presidential campaign, the election agenda focused on international security while there were key points to debate about the American economy. In the 2005 British parliamentary elections, the campaign often was skewed more toward concerns about asylum seekers and immigration rather than a core discussion of social policies. While it is important to consider how television can subvert the democratic nature of elections in the West, the question is more urgent for post-authoritarian regimes. In countries in which institutions such as political parties, social groups, rule of law and a tradition of democracy are weak, television becomes particularly important. A well-trusted and respected television system has the power to have far-reaching and long-lasting influences on the ability of elections to foster democracy. If the television news gives fair coverage, without fear of alienating particular leaders, than the public is empowered to make election choices that reflect the will of the people. Sometimes the will of the people itself can be somewhat repressive, but it is not the task of the mass media to serve as a barrier. It is the task of the mass media to serve as a source of critical information, for the journalistic profession to put the truth before the need to support particular leaders. This can be enormously difficult, not only to overcome the habits of the past but also for individual journalists because it can mean violence or even death in places such as Russia. There have been some very brave journalists in Russia and it is no surprise that it has earned the ranking as one of the deadliest places to work in the profession. Russian journalism is threatened on all sides. Journalists are constrained by the financial problems at their media outlets, which not only limit money for in-depth stories but also discourage any negative material that would annoy any advertiser or sponsor. In addition to this significant financial pressure, there is overt political pressure as well. The spheres of government and economy remain welded in Russia, as there is no real rule of law or independent financial code. As a result, the government has an array of weapons, from tax police to fraud investigations,

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to wield against media outlets that annoy local, regional or national leaders. These weapons have been openly deployed against commercial journalists, notably those at NTV. Perhaps most pervasive and most destructive to the journalistic profession, however, is the attitude of the journalists themselves. Rather than developing as an independent pillar of civil society, they have chosen to follow the route of self-censorship in the service of political masters. The research presented in this book suggests that a key factor in assuring the development of an electoral democracy is the presence of a strong Fourth Estate. While US groups tend to emphasize the importance of commercial media, a nonstate media is not necessarily a voice for the public citizen. In post-authoritarian regimes, the commercial and government sectors often remain quite closely linked. In the end, a sense of professionalism outweighs the mode of media ownership. What remains vitally important is a true diversity of voices and sense of service to a cause greater than a single politician, party or faction in society. While democracy can embrace a broad range of media traditions, it cannot exist without media that provide voices for a significant part of the political spectrum. The experience of Russia highlights the fact the mass media are critical factors in halting the slide into authoritarianism.

Appendix to Chapters 5–7 and 9 Television coding notes and coding subjects

For the 1995 parliamentary elections, this analysis of ORT’s Vremya covers all but three of the weekday nightly news programs from November 15 through December 16, 1995. The programs from November 17, November 22 and December 1 are missing due to technical problems. The NTV coverage coded was from November 15 through December 15 for the parliamentary elections. For the 1996 presidential elections, coverage was divided into two parts, corresponding to the two rounds of the election (May 13 through June 15 and June 17 through July 3). Vremya programs from June 10, June 26, July 1 and July 2 were excluded due to technical difficulties. All taping was carried out in Moscow. The overall length of each Vremya and Sevodnya broadcast (exclusive of sports coverage) was noted, as the news segment differs slightly in length from day to day. The author, Prof Laura Roselle at Elon College and a research assistant then coded the material by listening to the news and identifying which segments dealt with election coverage. The length of each election news segment was noted, as well as its position within the news program. At times, it was difficult to know when one segment started and another began, but intercoder reliability was fairly high (about 90 percent in a sample coding of seven days of Vremya from 1995 by Oates and Roselle and 88 percent in a sample coding of seven days of Sevodnya from 1996 by Roselle and research assistant Olga Vysotskaya). An effort was made to identify the affect of each item in the parliamentary campaign coverage, that is whether it could be considered pro-government, anti-communist and so on. There was, however, little intercoder reliability for this coding, so it was not used in this analysis or subsequent coding projects. In addition, coders noted the type of visuals and the type of news presenter and provided a short description of each news item. The author would like to thank David Cross and Gavin Helf for their assistance in taping the news. Funding for the 1995–6 taping was provided by a Fulbright dissertation grant, the International Research and Exchanges Board, The Joan Shorenstein Center on the Press, Politics and Public Policy at Harvard University and Elon College. For subsequent Russian elections (1999 parliamentary, 2000 presidential, 2003 parliamentary, 2004 presidential), funding for taping and coding was provided via two grants from the Economic and Social Research Council of the United Kingdom. Dates coded are noted in the text. Coding was completed by the author,

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Appendix

Katia Rogatchevskaia, Andrei Rogatchevsky, Boris Rogatchevsky and Laura Roselle. Intercoder reliability tests were repeated in each election via a blind double-coding of a week of news. Intercoder reliability among the coders remained high. In each case, approximately a month of news was taped and coded. The time periods that were coded are noted in the text. Below is the most recent version of the coding scheme. Subject codes have been added since 1995, but none have been deleted.

Russian television news/coding sheet Coder Date of coding Date of program Day of week of program Announcer Total time (excluding sports, in seconds) Tape number Location on tape Promos For each segment 1 Segment Number 2 Segment length (seconds) 3 Visuals a b c d

None Map/diagram Still photo Film

4 Presenters a b c d

Reader Correspondent Commentary Other, please list

5 Subject Code 10: Campaign 11 12 13 14 15 16

Campaign characteristics Party characteristics Horse race/polling data on candidates Horse race/polling data on parties Media role in campaign Rules of the campaign game

Appendix 197 17 18 19 19a 19b

Expected participation/actual participation Other polling data (e.g. re: issues/themes) Criminal campaign acts Kompromat Other

Code 20: Economic issues 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

Inflation Privatization Taxation IMF/Western aid Agriculture Corruption Strike Economic crimes Other

Code 30: Political issues 31 32 33 34 35 36 39

Constitutional reform Role of President Role of Legislature Russian federalism/central–regional issues Human rights Glasnost Other

Code 40: Military issues (not Chechnya) 41 42 43 44 45 49

Budget/spending Strengthening Personnel/staffing Conscription Hazing Other

Code 40a: Chechnya 41a 42a 42b 43a 44a 49a

Chechnya/voting Inhabitants/non-combatants Racist comments Russian soldiers in Chechnya Chechen soldiers in Chechnya Other

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Code 50: Foreign policy 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 59

Former Soviet Union NATO EU West in general United States China Iraq Other

Code 60: Crime/law and order 61 62 63 64 65a 65b 65c 69

Crime Internal security Corruption Mafia Terrorism in general Terrorism related to Chechnya Terrorism related to other groups (list) Other

Code 70: Social issues 71 72 73 79

Unemployment Social services/safety net Pensions Other

Code 80: Other issues 81 82 82a 83 84 85 86 87 89

Environment Ethnicity/nationality Pro-Russian nationalist statements Education Health care Culture Family Women Other

Code 90: Media 91 Mention of own TV station (list) 92 Mention of other TV station (list)

Appendix 199 92a Mention of TV program (list) 93 Mention of TV personality (list) 94 Other Parties/Blocs mentioned (list) Actors – referred to Actors – speak for themselves Location of story Comment on affect of story Qualitative analysis/summary of story ⫹ comments Can story by scored as “pro” or “con” in relation to any political figure, candidate or party? If so, list against/for whom or what.

Notes

1 Introduction 1 Dissertation written for master’s degree at the University of Glasgow, Anna Ritchie, 2002. 2 Many of the participants in focus groups for this study recalled these programs with affection. 3 The figures on availability of telephones and running water are from the State Committee of the Russian Federation on Statistics, 1996, Uroven’ Zhizni Naseleniya Rossii, Moscow, Goskomstat, p. 165. 4 Television stations in Russia, even state-funded ones, accept paid advertising – with the exception of the state-funded Culture station broadcast on Channel 5. 5 Yeltsin commented at a press conference in June 1990 that the news blackout he suffered after he became a Communist Party black sheep and political challenger to Gorbachev was the hardest part of his political exile when “I could not get a single minute of television airtime or a single line in a newspaper and my name did not figure anywhere for a year and a half.” (Soviet television 14:30 GMT June 26, 1990, reported by the BBC.) 6 Although it has often been assumed that NTV stands for Nezavisimoye Televidenie or Independent Television, in fact NTV does not stand for anything. According to Hoffman (p. 173), the original founders could not agree on either novoe (new) or nezavisimoye as part of the name, so they merely left it as initials. 7 Today, the central television complex in Moscow still has large, anti-tank barricades as well as a formidable security process to gain access to the building (author’s observation and experience in visits in 1995, 1996, 1999 and 2003). 8 According to the author’s interview with NTV Deputy Editor-in-Chief Vladimir Kulistikov in December 1999. 9 The name of the broadcasting organization on Channel 1 has been changed twice since 1993. Previously known as Ostankino, 49 percent of the station was privatized in 1995 and it became ORT (Obshchestvennoe Rossiiskoe Televidenie or Public Russian Television). It has since been renamed the First Channel. It will be referred to in this book as ORT during the period when it was known by that name. 10 For a discussion of NTV and the Chechen war, see Mickiewicz (1999, pp. 244–63). These comments also are based on the author’s analysis of how the Chechen war was portrayed during campaign coverage during the 1995 Duma elections. 11 This research was funded to a large degree by the British Economic and Social Research Council Grant R000223133, “Building a New Democracy?: Television, Citizens and Voting in Russia.” 2 From Soviet to post-Soviet media 1 See Journalists Killed in the Line of Duty in the Last 10 Years, a report from the Committee to Project Journalists. Online. Available at http://www.cpj.org/killed/

Notes 201

2

3

4 5

6 7

8

9

10 11

12 13

Ten_Year_Killed/Intro.html. The figures only include those for which there is evidence to suggest that a journalist was likely killed in direct reprisal for his or her work or in cross fire while carrying out a dangerous assignment. The figure does not include journalists who are killed in accidents – such as car or plane crashes – unless the crash was caused by hostile action (e.g. if a plane were shot down or a car crashed trying to avoid gunfire). See http://www.cpj.org/enemies/enemies_01.html (accessed June 16, 2005). The Committee to Project Journalists says that Putin has “presided over an alarming assault on press freedom” in Russia, including censorship in Chechnya, orchestrated legal harassment against commercial media outlets and giving sweeping powers of surveillance to the security services. In addition, the committee cites the takeover of the television channel NTV by a Kremlin-controlled corporation and says that violence against journalists is “carried out with impunity.” Law of the Russian Federation No. 2124–1, On Mass Media, December 27, 1991 (Zakon Rossiiskoi Federatsii, “O sredstvakh massovoi informatsii,” Vedomosti S”ezda narodnik deputatov Rossiiskoi Federatsii i Verkhonovo Soveta Rossiiskoi Federatsii, No. 7, 1992, Item 300). For a full text of the law (in the original Russian and translated into English), consult http://www.internews.ru/law (accessed June 16, 2005). See www.internews.ru for discussions of current and past media legislation in Russia and other post-Soviet countries. For a summary of the law, see the section on regulatory framework in the March 2000 European Institute for the Media report or visit the web site of the Moscow Media Law and Policy Center at http://www.medialaw.ru. For a review of media law under Yeltsin, see Price et al. (2002). I make this observation based on viewing and studying Russian paid and free-time political advertising over the course of eight elections. For example, officials at RTR complained in December 1999 that parties would not cooperate in the production of joint free-time political advertising (information from interviews by the author with RTR First Deputy Editor-in-Chief for the Main Newsroom for the Electronic Mass Media Galina Ivkina and RTR Vesti Company Head of the Department of Special Projects Sergei Kostornou, December 16, 1999, as part of monitoring mission with the European Institute for the Media). For example, an official at TV-6 told me during the 1999 Duma election campaign that shareholder Boris Berezovsky had “recommendations” for the editorial staff. This comment was made during an interview for a media monitoring analysis of the 1999 Duma elections for the European Institute for the Media (see European Institute for the Media, 2000a). Savik Shuster, who produced and hosted NTV’s Freedom of Speech (Svoboda Slova) news analysis program, told the author in an interview in March 2004 that he was under considerable pressure from within the station to avoid controversial topics or guests. Nonetheless, his program was at that time continually discussing difficult or unpopular topics, including the war in Chechnya. The show was cancelled in July 2004 (Petrovskaya, 2004). For example, officials at TV-6 and NTV complained that narrow interpretations of the election coverage rules could be a threat to their stations. They made these comments during interviews conducted by the author. Television and electoral officials noted this during interviews for the European Institute for the Media monitoring mission with the author in December 1999. In addition, according to an article in Izvestiya (April 20, 2001, p. 3) 16 parties still had failed to pay back money for their “free” advertising. According to its masthead. Most state-run media still accept advertising in Russia, the only exception on television being the national cultural channel broadcast on Channel 5.

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14 These figures are from the survey cited throughout this book (2000 adults across Russia interviewed face-to-face from April 10 to April 26, 2001 by Russian Research Ltd). 15 Figures from the April 2001 survey. It should be noted that the exchange rate at the time was approximately 29 rubles to the dollar, thus 1000 rubles would be about $34. 16 From the December 2003 to January 2004 survey cited above. 17 The 2004 survey, which had far fewer questions on the media, did not ask about favorite channels, thus it is not possible to make direct comparisons with channel preferences in 2001. 18 This brief overview of content and trends will be augmented by in-depth studies of content of television news during election periods in Chapters 5, 6 and 9. 19 This analysis of Russian television’s diversity in the summer of 2005 is based on information from the Russian office of Internews, a nongovernmental organization supporting information access. 20 Based on the author’s review and comparison of Chechen war coverage on ORT’s Vremya and NTV’s Sevodnya during the December 1995 Duma election campaign. 21 The author’s analysis of ORT coverage of the Chechen conflict during election campaigns in 1995 and 1999 showed that an important component of Russian government “spin” was that the vast majority of Chechen citizens wanted the Russians to re-impose order on the area and re-establish Russian authority. This was clearly unlikely, although it would have been impossible to hold reliable opinion polls in the area at the time. 22 Floriana Fossato and Anna Kachkaeva. 20 October 1998. Russian Media Empires IV. Prague: Radio Liberty/Radio Free Europe. Online. Available at //www.rferl.org/specials/ russia/media4/ (accessed June 16, 2005). 23 Central Election Commission report, Rossiiskaya Gazeta, June 22, 1996, p. 1. In Russian presidential elections, held every four years, the winner must earn at least 50 percent of the vote in order to win on the first round. Otherwise, a second round is held. 24 Central Election Commission report, Rossiskaya Gazeta, July 10, 1996, p. 1. About 5 percent voted against all and almost 1 percent of the ballots were spoiled, which is why the votes for the candidates do not add up to 100 percent. 25 In a CNN interview in 2002, Berezovsky expressed surprise and dismay that Putin “had opposed him so hard” after he told the president he planned to set up an oppositional political movement (broadcast on CNN International in the United Kingdom, January 19, 2002, on the International Correspondents program). 26 According to the Russian Media Bulletin, May 2002 edition, published by the European Institute for the Media. 27 For a well-informed and in-depth look at the construction of “media empires” in Russia, see Fossato and Kachaeva (1998). 28 See reports in particular from the European Institute for the Media, the Committee to Project Journalists and the Center for Journalists in Extreme Situations. 29 Center for Journalists in Extreme Situations and the Russian Union of Journalists, 2001. 30 This information is from a report by the International Federation of Journalists, IFJ Condemns “Brutal Killing” of Journalist in Russia, July 23, 2003. Online. Available at http://www.ifj.org/default.asp?index⫽1804&Language⫽EN (accessed June 16, 2005). 31 This was apparent in interviews the author held with journalists, television producers and analysts in December 1999. 32 These interests dovetailed by the 2003 Duma campaign, as Putin and Luzhkov had merged their political interests and agreed to cooperate. 33 Mud slinging and kompromat will be discussed in more detail in Chapters 4 and 6. 34 According to Internews in Russia. 35 KVN (the abbreviation for Happy and Resourceful Club in Russian) features teams who compete against each other in light-hearted theatrical competition, including musical numbers, telling jokes and improvisation. 36 For the Russian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, the prize money is in rubles, about $35,000 in exchange rates at the time of the survey.

Notes 203 3 “You watch in pain”: focus-group findings about television viewing 1 The hamlet near Voronezh was Novaya Usman’, a primarily agricultural area of 48,000 people located 32 kilometers from Voronezh. About 30 percent of the population commutes to Voronezh for work, according to Russian Research Ltd. 2 The author took part in this media-monitoring mission. 3 The idea of using focus groups to elucidate broad trends and concepts in public opinion that can then be quantified in questions on large-N public opinion surveys is a particularly useful two-step research method. The design of this project was modeled in particular after a project by Glasgow colleague Professor William L. Miller, who used focus groups and eventually public opinion surveys to better understand the nature of corruption in Eastern Europe. 4 The focus groups were moderated by Igor Galin of Russian Research Ltd. The translations of the comments from the proceedings are by the author. 5 This was a particular problem, identified during a pilot group held in Moscow in March 2000. On a stylistic note, younger respondents typically are referred to by their first name; older respondents typically by their first name and patronymic (as is traditional in Russian society). 6 According to the State Committee of the Russian Federation on Statistics, there were a total of 143,954,500 people living in Russia on January 1, 2002. There were 8.3 million inhabitants of Moscow. See http://www.gks.ru/scripts/free/1c.exe?XXXX09R.1 (accessed June 21, 2005). 7 Voronezh was used in work by Dr Gillian McCormack (European Institute for the Media) on the development of post-Soviet journalism (McCormack, 1999b); Dr Derek Hutcheson (University of Glasgow) used Ulyanovsk as one of the centers for his study of Russian political parties, including election campaigns (Hutcheson, 2001). 8 Sergei Dorenko hosted a political analysis chat show on Sunday nights on ORT in which he often made outrageous accusations and insinuations against major political figures who were challenging the presidential administration. 9 The format and content of the main nightly news on Channel 1 and NTV, particularly during election campaigns, will be discussed in Chapters 6, 7 and 9. 10 For example, the study in W. Miller (1991) found pro-government bias in BBC reporting in the 1987 General Election in the United Kingdom. 11 It should be noted that the focus-group moderator was careful not to challenge ideas or to discourage genuine opinions. 12 It was at first pressured to limit its questioning of the Communist regime and finally forced off the air for a time. 13 Vladimir Listyev, a popular talk-show host and ORT executive, was shot and killed in the doorway to his apartment house in 1995. 4 The rise of the broadcast party in Russia 1 The option of running as “self-nominated” [samovydvizhenie] or without the backing of a political party made the link between parties and the eventual composition of the Duma somewhat unclear. A number of candidates were members of political parties, but not formally nominated by them for a specific election. Other individuals were elected as independents and then joined a faction in the Duma. The fate of the independent candidates in the 225 single-member districts varied widely from election to election. According to calculations from Central Election Commission documents by Dr Derek Hutcheson at the University of Glasgow, 141 independents were elected in 1993, 77 in 1995, 105 in 1999 and 68 in 2003. 2 The law is called the Federal Law of the Russian Federation of 18 May 2005, No. 51-FZ, on the Election of Deputies to the State Duma of the Federative Assembly of the Russian Federation. It will come into force on December 7, 2006 – approximately a year before the next scheduled Duma election.

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3 Much information in this chapter is drawn from the author’s interviews with party organizers at several Russian parties from 1995–6. This fieldwork was funded by a Fulbright dissertation grant, the International Research & Exchanges Board (IREX) as well as a grant from The Joan Shorenstein Center on the Press, Politics and Public Policy at Harvard University. 4 Interviews with author in Moscow, December 1995. 5 In the 1999 Duma elections, the Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia ran under the name Zhirinovsky Bloc due to a legal challenge that charged the party organizers with a failure to report all of their assets. The complaint was settled and withdrawn on the eve of the elections. As Zhirinovsky is widely recognized as the leader of the Liberal Democrats and the party was still referred to by its original name during the 1999 elections, it will be called the Liberal Democrats throughout this book. 6 A review of political party platforms, policy statements and political advertising by the author has identified these parties as the central “parties of power” created to reflect and carry out the will of the presidential administration. There have been other parties, however, that also have toed the Kremlin line identified in this research. I have identified these additional parties as the Party of Russian Unity and Accord in 1993, the Ivan Rybkin Bloc in 1995 and the Union of Right Forces in 1999. 7 Officials at RTR (Channel 2) confirmed during an interview with the author in December 1999 that viewership of the free-time advertising is very low. The statecontrolled channels are obligated to carry it. Across 34 focus groups in Russia in 2000 and 2004, this was little recall of, or interest in, free-time party broadcasts. 8 According to the CEC report on the Duma’s formation on February 4, 2004, Spisok zaregistrirovannykh deputatov Gosudarsvennoi Dumy Federal’novo Sobraniya Rossiiskoi Federatsii chetvertovo sozyva. Online (in Russian). Available at http://gd2003.cikrf.ru/etc/protokol2.doc/ (accessed 7 March 2006). 9 It should be pointed out that parties can win at the ballot battle, but lose the war in the parliament because parties have relatively little power to force candidates who ran with their party affiliation to join their party grouping in the Duma. Defection is not uncommon (see Remington, 2001). 10 Based on the author’s study of political platforms and political advertising in several Russian elections. 11 Certainly it was easier to find information on printed party programs and manifestoes from the Communist Party than any other Russian party. For example, in 1995 and 1999, the Communist Party disseminated their programs through cheaply printed newspapers, brochures and leaflets during elections. 12 A study of the content of political platforms of the main Russian parties can be found in Oates 1998. In addition, further research on platforms from 1999 by the author shows the same trend. 13 This rule is contained in the LDPR party constitution of April 25, 1998. See Ustav obshcherossiiskoi politicheskoi obshchestvennoi organizatsii “Liberal’no-Demokraticheskaya Partiya Rossii” (LDPR), Programma i ustav Liberal’ no-Demokraticheskoi Partii Rossii, Moscow: LDPR, 1999, pp. 69–79. Also, I visited the Chelyabinsk office of the Liberal Democrats in 1995 and was shown a membership card. 14 Based on the author’s review of free-time advertising in 1993. 15 Electoral law now forbids the use of free time for political parties to promote an individual candidate. However, particularly given that politics in Russia are often driven more by leaders than policies, it is impossible to separate the coverage of party leaders from the political party. 16 Lebed was persuaded by Yeltsin’s advisers to throw his support behind the incumbent president in the second round of the elections in exchange for an important post in the government, although his relationship with the Yeltsin administration soon soured (White, Rose and McAllister, 1997). The party ran again in 1999 (without Lebed), but received less than 1 percent of the party-list vote. Lebed later went on to be elected a regional governor, but was killed in a helicopter crash in Siberia in 2002.

Notes 205 17 The characterization of the party is from the author’s review of party policy statements during its free-time spots in 1993 elections. 18 It should be noted that there are some Russian political parties that have defied description. For example, the Party of Beer Lovers was started on a lark, but turned out to have a relatively large following. The party soon dropped its whimsical character (although did broadcast some tongue-in-check ads) and become a personality party centered on its young, charismatic leader. However, the party earned less than 1 percent of the party-list vote. 19 Interestingly, the law also allows the president to suspend his party membership while he is in office (Article 10, Section 4), although so far no serving Russian president has chosen to formally associate with a political party. 20 However, this was not effectively monitored until the 1999 elections, when parties were required to pay for political advertising only through special bank accounts monitored by the Central Election Commission. The amount of paid advertising was less in 1999, which may have been a factor of better oversight or may have related to a weaker economic climate after the ruble devaluation in August 1998. 21 Author’s interview with Vladimir Evstafiev, head of the Maxima Communication Group, Moscow, December 1999. 22 Figures from a March 2000 survey of 1,600 respondents in Russia, commissioned by Stephen White and Richard Rose. 23 According to the April 2001 survey. 24 Rykovtseva made this comment during an interview with the author in Moscow in December 1999. 25 Parties were sorted into different party groups by the author based on their platforms, policy statements, party literature and news coverage, where available. 26 According to the European Institute for the Media report (1994), Russia’s Choice bought 281 minutes of advertising in 1993, or about 30 percent of the total campaign advertising time, and received almost a third of all editorial coverage during the campaign. 27 From the author’s study of political advertising in the 1995 Duma elections. 28 The party’s full name of Interregional Movement of Unity or Mezhregional’noe Dvizhenie Yedinstvo (“bear” in Russian is medved’). 29 For results of Public Opinion Foundation surveys, see the archive on their web site at www.fom.ru 30 This conclusion is from regional results reported by the Central Elections Commission of the Russian Federation in Vybory Deputatov Gosudarstvennoi Dumy Federal’novo Sobraniya Rossiiskoi Federatsii 1999: Elektoral’naya Statistika. Moscow: Ves’ Mir. 2000. 31 Thus violating Russian law that Russian government officials cannot use their positions to campaign for political parties. 32 There is an in-depth discussion of the television coverage of the 2000 campaign in Chapter 6, as well as an analysis of the 2004 presidential campaign in Chapter 9. 5 The genesis of television control and content in Russian elections, 1993–6 1 The 1995 Duma election news was coded by the author, while the 1996 presidential news (for rounds one and two) were coded by Prof Laura Roselle of Elon College as part of an on-going research project between her and the author. The author and three researchers coded the 1999, 2000, 2003 and 2004 election news tapes. Funding for fieldwork and tape collection in 1995 was provided by a Fulbright grant, with additional support from the International Research and Exchanges Board and the Joan Shorenstein Center on the Press, Politics and Public Policy, Harvard University. Elon College (North Carolina) provided funding for the collection of tapes during the 1996 presidential campaigns. Funding for the 1999 and 2000 tape collection and coding was provided by a grant from the Economic and

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15

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Social Research Council in the United Kingdom (Grant R000223133/Building a New Democracy?: Television, Citizens, and Voting in Russia). Funding for the 2003 and 2004 tape collection and coding was provided by another grant from the British Economic and Social Research Council under its New Security Challenges Programme (Grant R223250028, The Framing of Terrorist Threat in US and Russian Elections). The European Institute for the Media conducted monitoring missions in all of the Russian federal elections from 1993 through 2000. In addition to sending monitoring teams to observe and interview politicians, journalists and analysts, the European Institute for the Media commissioned studies of the amount of time devoted to each party and presidential candidate. While the methodology of the European Institute for the Media missions differs from the methodology used the author and her associates, it serves as an informative view of the same phenomenon. This chapter uses the following editions of The Voter’s Hour for analysis: December 7 (Communists, Liberal Democrats) and December 8 (Russia’s Choice and Yabloko). The parties were granted time on the programs that aired from 7:45 p.m. to 8:45 p.m. Moscow time and were replayed the following mornings from 7:45 a.m. to 8:45 a.m. The programs were translated and coded by the author. These two promises were reported in Izvestiya, Nov. 26, 1993, p. 1. This is based on the study of free-time spots aired on Channel 1 (reviewed by the author) in the 1993 election campaign. Izvestiya, November 26, 1993, p. 1. For example, sometimes the link between the footage and the party in question was tenuous at best, such as the Future of New Names party showing a film of a popular singer in concert. For an interesting discussion of the nature of bias in campaign coverage in Russia, see Mickiewicz (1999). Vestnik, published by the Central Election Commission, No. 6, 1995, pp. 78–90. After being highly visible during the campaign, however, both Chernomyrdin and Mikhalkov declined take up their party-list seats in the Duma. This poster – and the gesture – was dropped after journalists mocked the party for not knowing that emerging Russian slang for mafia protection was “roof.” Our Home is Russia campaign organizer Sergei Popov reported that the individuals in this advertisement were actors in an interview with the author in March 1996 at the Our Home is Russia party campaign office in Moscow. ORT free-time political broadcasts from November 22, November 23, December 5 and December 6, 1995. President Yeltsin announced the creation of these two parties in the spring of 1995 in what the president called an attempt to strengthen the party system of Russia by having two main centrist parties. Our Home is Russia was supposed to represent the center-right (more market-oriented) while the Ivan Rybkin Bloc was designed to appeal to the center-left. Rybkin initially entered the 2004 presidential race (backed by exiled oligarch Boris Berezovsky) but pulled out of the race after a mysterious incident in which he disappeared and reappeared from a sudden trip to Ukraine with a strange story of kidnapping and coercion. V.V. Zhirinovsky with V.V. Aleksandrov, Moi garantii izbiratelyam [My Guarantees to Voters], pamphlet sold on streets in Moscow in autumn 1995 and bought by the author. ORT free-time segment, November 16, 1995 (evening); November 30 (morning); and December 6 (morning). ORT free-time segments, November 16, 1995 (morning). ORT free-time segments, November 16, 1995 (morning), also segments on the mornings of November 30 and December 6 on ORT. Zhirinovsky used the verb obmanyvat’ in Russian.

Notes 207 20 The slogan in Russian: “Za chest’ i dostoinstvo russkoi derzhavi.” 21 Democratic Choice of Russia was the successor party to Russia’s Choice. Pro-Kremlin Russia’s Choice broke with the presidential administration over the war in Chechnya and formed this newer party. 22 Survey of 1,601 people across Russia in early November 1995 by the All-Russian Center for the Study of Public Opinion in Moscow. Other survey reports consulted by the author put Democratic Choice of Russia at about the same level of popularity. 23 ORT free time for parties, December 5, 1995, evening segment. 24 For ORT, election coverage on Vremya (9 p.m. Moscow broadcast) was examined daily, except Sundays. The Sevodnya program was used to measure news coverage on NTV (the 10 p.m. edition Monday through Saturday and the 7 p.m. edition on Sundays). Roughly a month of election news was coded for each channel. For more details, please see the Appendix on television coding notes and subjects. 6 Consolidation of media control: the 1999 and 2000 elections 1 There are several useful, informative sources available on the web as well (including archives). In particular, see the Russian Media Bulletin from the Media and Democracy Program of the European Institute for the Media (available at http://www.eim.org/ MaDP.htm); The Post-Soviet Media Law and Policy Newsletter, now The Communications Law in Transition Newsletter at http://www.vii.org/monroe/webpolicy.htm; reports from the Internews office in Russia at http://www.internews.ru; and on-going coverage as well as archives from Radio Liberty/Radio Free Europe at http://www.rferl.org/mm/ 2 According to interviews conducted by the author with party and television officials in December 1999 in Moscow. 3 This analysis is based on the author’s review of political advertising in the 1999 elections. 4 This review of paid political advertising was made by Dr Katia Rogatshevskaia as part of the ESRC project on Russian elections and mass media directed by the author, Prof Stephen White and Dr John Dunn (all at the University of Glasgow). 5 The full name of this party was Congress of Russian Communities/Movement of Yuri Boldyrev. 6 According to the OMRI Daily Digest report by Laura Belin on September 1995, a fistfight broke out during the Duma debate on Bosnia in September 1995 when the leader of the right-wing National Republican Party Nikolai Lysenko tore a nineteenthcentury cross from around the neck of defrocked Russian Orthodox priest Gleb Yakunin. Zhirinovsky joined in the fray and grabbed the hair of deputy Yevgeniya Tishkovskaya when she tried to defend Yakunin (see the Omri Daily Digest Vol. 1, No. 176, September 11, 1995 at http://www.rferl.org/newsline/1995/09/110995.html, last accessed June 2005). 7 This party went on to win less than 1 percent of the party-list vote (0.61 percent). 8 The Central Election Commission claimed that the leaders of the Liberal Democrats had failed to report their financial assets and the party could not run. However, candidates (including Zhirinovsky) were able to re-register under the name Zhirinovsky Bloc. 9 Technically, Russian election law forbids government ministers and other state officials from campaigning. Realistically, the state bureaucracy functions as a campaign machine for pro-Kremlin political parties with state officials as the candidates. 10 In Russian, the party’s name is Soyuz pravykh sil, pravykh meaning both politically right wing as well as right in the sense of justice. I have chosen to translate the party name as “right” because I believe that is what most closely conveys the party title in English. It also should be noted that the party advertisement, rather unusually, employed the informal form of the second-person address, the “ty” form used generally for children, between close friends and family, or when youths address one another.

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11 Ivan Zassoursky (2004) relates several anecdotes about Dorenko, see pp. 85–6, 89–91, and 200–1. 12 Author’s interview with Vladimir Evstafiev, head of the Maxima Communication Group, Moscow, December 1999. 13 This statement was made to the author in an interview in Kulistikov’s office in December 1999 as part of the European Institute for the Media monitoring mission of the 1999 elections. It was reported in the institute’s March 2000 report (p. 38). 14 Author’s interview with Kulistikov, December 1999. 15 Neither the European Institute for the Media nor the author carried out a formal study of the Moscow city and district elections, which took place on the same day as the 1999 parliamentary elections. Although ORT did wage a heavy propaganda campaign against Luzhkov, it clearly was ineffective in terms of his city base of power. Luzhkov won re-election by a landslide with 70 percent of the vote (Borodin received 6 percent), according to the Central Election Commission publication Vybory v organe gosudarstvennoi vlasti sub”ektov Rossiiskoi Federatsii 1997–2000, Moscow: Ves’ Mir, 2001, p. 677. 7 “No better heroes”: focus-group findings about political images, parties and voting in Russia 1 In interviews with Russian political party organizers during the 1995 Duma campaign, for example, all of the organizers interviewed claimed that their parties (no matter how small) carried out this type of grass-roots campaigning. 2 Admittedly, the use of this question is flawed because the survey was held more than a year after the elections and vote recall would have been relatively poor or skewed. However, the distinct differences in reasons for vote choice between those who identified with various parties (by claiming to have voted for them in 1999) is quite compelling evidence to suggest some notion of party identification on the part of the Communist Party voters. In addition, this question – which the author originally saw in an AllRussian Center for the Study of Public Opinion (the original VTsIOM, now the Levada Center) survey in 1995 – has appeared on numerous surveys and the trends have held. 3 As noted in Chapter 3, the focus-group participants were pre-screened to make sure they paid at least some attention to the media. The screening was found to be necessary in order to generate a meaningful discussion about the media. 4 The focus groups were shown a segment on NTV’s Sevodnya from March 6, 2000, about Zhirinovsky being re-instated as a candidate in the presidential race after some technical difficulties. For the Vremya coverage, participants were shown clips of several presidential candidates (Konstantin Titov, Aman-Geldy Tuleev, Aleksei Podberezkin, Yavlinsky, Zyuganov, Yuri Skuratov, Ella Pamfilova and Umar Dzhabrailov). 5 She was referring to the right-wing Freedom Party, which won 27 percent of the vote in the October 1999 parliamentary elections in Austria. 6 She is referring to Unity’s nickname. 7 In fact, Putin is just six months younger than Yavlinsky. Putin was born October 7, 1952, while Yavlinsky was born on April 10 of the same year. 8 In a December 1999 interview by the author with Sergei Kostornou, head of the special projects department at RTR’s Vesti company, he said that showing Zhirinovsky increased ratings for political shows. Other television officials, who said that ratings for political shows were low during the Duma elections, echoed this sentiment. 8 Television viewing and public opinion across Russia 1 The April 2001 survey was carried out by Russian Research Ltd (London) under the direction of Igor Galin. The sample was designed using the multistage proportional representation method with random route as the method of selecting households and the “last birthday” approach as the method of selecting respondents within households.

Notes 209

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Full details of the survey, including the entire code book, are available for viewing and downloading at the Data Archive at Essex University in the United Kingdom at http://www.data-archive.ac.uk/search/searchStart.asp under Study Number 4464, “Building a New Democracy? Television, Citizens and Voting in Russia.” A test of the effect of these changes during the survey was made by splitting the respondents into those who answered before the ownership switch at NTV on April 14 and those after. There were no distinctive differences on critical points. The focus groups had discussions about specific titles of newspapers read, a discussion which was not included in the public-opinion survey. The notion of media loyalists, that is those who read and watch media output run by specific state or commercial media empires, cannot be analyzed from this survey. For example, for a while oligarch Boris Berezovsky had a significant stake in ORT and was said have an influence on the station. Certainly, he received a usually large amount of coverage in the 1995 Duma campaign for a single-member-district candidate in an obscure region. This begs the question of whether ORT was really a “state” channel at that time. From the news content and eventual fate of Berezovsky (now in exile) it is safe to assume that the interests of the Kremlin have remained paramount for the channel. For this reason, it is typically called a “state-run” channel in this book. Respondents were allowed to pick both answers, which was arguably a design flaw in the survey, but one that yielded interesting results. Respondents were allowed to pick more than one response. As noted in earlier chapters, it is not unusual for Russians to watch more than one news program regularly. As noted in Chapter 2, 51 percent of Channel 1 is owned by the state. The rest is held by a variety of investors, including state enterprises. It is technically a mixture of state and non-state owners, but as the major shareholders on the non-state side are actually hard to determine, it is not a straightforward situation. In the survey design, we deliberately avoided providing a neutral response for an answer. However, 6 percent of the respondents either found it hard to say or simply gave no answer at all. While 20 percent of the respondents recalled voting for Unity, only 15 percent remembered voting for the Communist Party – although both parties received about 24 percent of the party-list vote in 1999. In addition, although the Union of Right Forces won about 9 percent of the vote, only 3 percent of the respondents recalled voting for the party. The New Russia Barometer VIII was a project of the Centre for the Study of Pubic Policy (Aberdeen). The principal source of funding for this survey was the British Economic and Social Research Council Grant R000238107 for a project entitled “Consolidating Russian Democracy? The Third-Round Elections,” with Richard Rose as principal investigator and in collaboration with Stephen White. Details of this project and the data can be found via the UK Data Archive at www.data-archive.ac.uk/. For additional information and analysis on the New Russia Barometers, please see www.russiavotes.org In the April 2001 survey, 58 percent of the respondents said they voted for him and he actually received 53 percent of the vote. The recall on voting for the Communist leader is quite weak. Only 10 percent of the respondents claimed to have voted for Zyuganov, although he received 29 percent of the vote on election day in March 2000. Fatherland-All Russia had favorable coverage from NTV as well as TV-Center (funded by the Moscow administration and hence not strictly a commercial station).

9 Consolidation in Russian political communication: the 2003 Duma and 2004 presidential election 1 According to a survey of 1,496 people in Russia in April and May 2004. 2 Results from the Central Election Commission, see Vybory deputatov Gosudarstvennoi Dumy Federal’novo Sobraniya, Rossiiskoi Federatsii chetvertovo sozyva, 7 dekabrya 2003

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Notes

goda, Protokol, Tsentral’noi izbiratel’noi komissii Rossiiskoi Federatsii o resul’tatakh vyborov po federal’nomu izbiratel’nomu okrugu i o raspredelenii deputatskikh mandatov mezhdu politicheskimi partiyami, izbiratel’nymi blokami, accessed at http://gd2003.cikrf.ru on May 18, 2004. Please note that calculations of voting results in Russia may vary as some base it on the total number of ballots cast (as does the CEC and the results cited above) and others calculate it based on valid ballots only. According to calculations by Dr Derek Hutcheson at the University of Glasgow. For example, ORT’s Vremya consistently referred to United Russia as a “centrist” party during the 2003 campaign. Novye Izvestiya, August 8, 2003, “Pickled Apple: Liberals Blame Chubais and Kokh for Dirty Campaign Tactics,” Alexander Kolesnichenko, reported by the WPS Monitoring Agency, www.wps.ru The nightly news shows Vremya (the First Channel) at 9 p.m. and Sevodnya (NTV) at 7 p.m. were taped weekdays during the month-long campaign in Moscow. Due to technical problems, ORT’s Vremya for November 17, 2003, is missing from the analysis. For details on the coding, please see the Appendix. In coding over several elections, it became clear that it was impossible to get intercoder reliability with an attempt to quantify a report as positive or negative as this can be quite subjective. However, coders did report in the qualitative section of the coding sheet if they felt either negative or positive bias was present. Unfortunately, for the first time since Russian elections started in 1993, there was no media-monitoring mission from the European Institute for the Media due to a technical problem with funding from the European Union. The OSCE performed its own media monitoring, which is discussed above. The OSCE project monitored the First Channel, Russia State Television (Channel 2), TV-Center (Channel 3), NTV and Ren TV, a smaller commercial station. The project also monitored seven newspapers. The report did find significant levels of unfairness, black propaganda and kompromat at the local/regional level of the mass media. For the full report, please see OSCE/ODIHR January 27, 2004. The soldiers are referred to as “terrorists” in the report. From 1994 to 2003 at least 28 journalists, both Russian and foreign, were killed in Chechnya, and a few dozen have gone missing there, according to Boris Timoshenko, head of the monitoring service at Glasnost Defense Foundation, as reported in The St. Petersburg Times No. 1048 on May 1, 2005. From a survey of 2,000 respondents across Russia conducted by Russian Research Ltd from December 21, 2003, to January 16, 2004. The survey was funded by the Economic and Social Research Council. This observation is based in particular on the author’s interviews with Russian journalists and analysts in March 2004 in Moscow. Although the elections were not held until December 7, election news coverage must cease 24 hours before the election. Thus, December 5 was the last evening of news coverage of the 2003 Duma campaign. As noted in earlier chapters, however, parties must repay the government for the time if they fail to garner 2 percent of the national party-list vote. This analysis is based on a sample of 100 paid advertisements collected over the Duma campaign from a range of television channels. Despite the nationalist rhetoric, one slogan seemed to inadvertently suggest that all was not well in the country – “We’re for the Poor, We’re for Russians.” The show’s host was aware that he was pushing the boundaries on free speech in Russia. In an interview with the author in March 2004, he said that he fielded many phone calls with worried NTV executives over the content of his program. In addition, he said he had trouble persuading some individuals to appear on the program. It was clear, however, that Shuster was committed to covering topics that the Putin administration might find unpopular (including the Chechen war). For an article by a Russian media analyst on this topic, see Petrovskaya (2004).

Notes 211 19 Results from the Central Election Commission, see Vybory Presidenta Rossiiskoi Federatsii, 14 marta 2004 goda, Protokol, Tsentral’noi izbiratel’noi komissii Rossiiskoi Federatsii o resul’tatakh vyborov Presidenta Rossiiskoi Federatsii 20 Neither of these news events, however, fell within the coding period for this project as they were more than a month before the elections. 21 These groups were held in Moscow and Ulyanovsk in late March and early April. Each group had eight participants and the groups were divided by age. The groups were organized by Russia Research Ltd and moderated by Tatyana Burchakova. The Economic and Social Research Council of the United Kingdom funded the research. Focus-group participants were pre-screened to ascertain they paid at least some attention to the media. 22 This survey, as it was not designed as a survey about mass media use and attitudes, had fewer questions about the mass media so not all data are directly comparable to the 2001 survey mentioned in an earlier chapter. 23 It is clear from the numbers that many people picked more than one news program for “most often.” 24 This excludes those who also watch RTR’s Vesti or possibly TV-Center’s Sobytiya, but Vremya and Sevodnya are the focus of this report. For the record, 84 percent of the respondents who said they watched RTR’s Vesti regularly watched Vremya regularly as well. Far fewer of the Vesti fans, however, watched Sevodnya on a regular basis. According to the survey, only 45 percent of the Vesti regular viewers also watched Sevodnya. 25 These responses have remained relatively stable since the last election cycle, although support for market-economy parties has grown. In the 2001 survey, about 19 percent of the respondents reported that they would support a communist party, 17 percent a market-economy party, 6 percent a socialist party, 5 percent a Green party and 2 percent a nationalist party. 26 Putin dismissed Kasyanov just after the survey was conducted and just before the 2004 presidential elections. 27 The question of confidence in the president was not asked in the 2001 survey. 28 The paradox is the problem of media “effect” and self-selection of media options. People may choose to watch the First Channel, for example, because it best reflects their political viewpoint. Thus, the fact that they watch the channel and vote for pro-government parties and candidates does not mean they were necessarily persuaded by the broadcasting on the channel. 29 This generally positive view of Putin has been reported in many public opinion surveys. The survey of 1,496 people in Russia in Spring 2004 found that voters – even those who didn’t vote for Putin – held the president in very high esteem (Hale et al., p. 309). The survey found that 96 percent of the respondents found him intelligent; 92 percent found him strong; 87 percent found him honest and trustworthy; and 79 percent felt that he cared about ordinary people. 30 The focus groups also were designed to talk about views on terrorism and international security as part of the New Security Challenges Programme at the Economic and Social Research Council (UK).

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Index

Note: Page numbers in italics indicate information in tables, charts or figures. advertising see paid political advertising, free-time political advertising Agrarian Party 70, 74, 93, 94 August 1991 coup 2, 13, 23 Berezovsky, Boris 14–16, 25, 26, 50, 80, 169, 170 Borovik, Artem 37 British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) 5, 9, 52 broadcast parties 10, 18, 66–9, 72–89, 115–16, 126, 133, 161, 163, 165, 176, 184 Bryntsalov, Vladimir 71, 104, 105 censorship 10, 59; laws against 24; public opinion on 52, 54, 156; self-censorship 28, 39, 90, 174, 179, 187, 194; Soviet 22–3, 52, 54 Center for Journalists in Extreme Situations 37 Central Election Commission 27, 71–2, 77, 94, 100, 113, 123, 141, 180, 181 Channel 1 see First Channel, ORT, Ostankino Channel 2 see RTR or Russian Television and Radio Chechnya 34, 53, 190; campaign coverage in 87, 197, 120, 122; danger to journalists in 21, 37–8, 210 n.11; Democratic Choice of Russia stand on 100, 207 n.21, first war (1994–6) 15, 53, 83; NTV coverage of 15, 16, 50, 100–7, 110, 120, 121, 123, 126, 142, 168, 169, 173; ORT coverage of 100–7, 121, 122, 123, 169, 173; second war and campaign coverage of 114, 121, 122, 169, 173, 180, 188;

television coverage and public opinion of 59–60, 158, 174; Unity campaign involving 84, 114, 118; voting in 101; Yabloko stand on 165; Yavlinsky opinion on 75; Yeltsin role in 83 Chernomyrdin, Viktor 18, 83, 96, 98–9, 103, 105 Chubais, Anatoli 114, 170, 171, 175 church, trust in 149, 182 Committee to Protect Journalists 37 Communist Party of the Russian Federation (CPRF) 17–18, 46, 64, 70, 71, 72, 73, 96, 74–5, 82, 128–30, 165, 166, 184, 187, 190, 208 n.2; media coverage of 27, 42, 100–3, 104–11, 117–26, 161–2, 170–6, 185, 192; political advertising of 91, 93, 98–9, 113, 114, 133–4, 143, 144, 178–9, 204 n.11 Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) 23, 55; media role in 22, 29, 41, 66; rejection of 2 Constitution, 1993 Russian 1, 2, 23–4, 25, 30, 69, 78, 101, 189; attacks on by political parties 92; freedom of speech in 21; vote on 46, 69 Constitution, Soviet 22, 23 Constitutional Court 1, 166 coup, August 1991 see August 1991 coup CPRF see Communist Party of the Russian Federation CPSU see Communist Party of the Soviet Union Democratic Choice of Russia 82, 207 n.21; campaigning 99–100; news coverage of 100, 102

220

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Democratic Party of Russia 70, 82 Domnikov, Igor 37 Dorenko, Sergei 27, 121, 139; kompromat and 116–7; opinion on 48, 62, 119, 131, 133, The Sergei Dorenko Program 47 Dzhabrailov, Uman 71 Efremov, Alexander 37 European Institute for the Media 24, 25, 27, 29, 33, 34, 35, 38, 45, 49, 83, 84, 86, 90, 92, 93, 94, 95, 98, 100, 113, 116, 117, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 141 Fatherland-All Russia 69, 70, 72, 74, 122, 132, 164; media coverage of 81, 82, 84–5, 96, 177–21, 132–3, 135, 160–1, 172, 209 n.12; political advertising of 116 Federov, Svyatoslav 71, 104, 106 First Channel 30; campaign news coverage on 163, 167, 168, 172–4; coverage of Putin on 181, 189; name of 200 n.9; preference for 182; see also ORT, Ostankino five-percent threshold 72, 78, 99, 164, 165 free-time political advertising 29, 73, 74, 76, 77, 79, 84, 87, 89, 90, 91–2, 96–100, 109, 112, 113–16, 136, 144, 163, 180–1, 191, 192; lack of effective use of 26, 69, 73, 92, 179; reaction to 139; reimbursement for 29, 73; rules for 25, 91, 95, 113, 130, 175, 204 n.15; unfairness of 26 Gaidar, Yegor 83, 91, 92, 97, 100, 114 glasnost 2, 6, 12–13, 22, 23, 29, 30, 40, 54–6, 155 Glazyev, Sergei 72, 165, 178, 179, 180 Gorbachev, Mikhail 2, 6, 13, 22, 23, 54; coverage of as presidential candidate 71, 104, 105; image in free time 99; introduction of glasnost 12 Govorukhin, Stanislav 71, 77 Green party 29, 77, 109 Gryzlov, Boris 164, 167, 168, 170, 174, 175 Gurov, Alexandr 69, 77, 84 Gusinsky, Vladimir 14, 35, 36, 60, 80; NTV and 15–16 Hutton Report 5

Internet 7, 21, 64, 191 Ivanov, Sergei 168, 170, 171 Izvestiya (News) 11, 30, 39 journalism 4, 9, 28, legal protection for 24–5; norms of 7; print 191; threats to 193–4 journalists 19, 30, 35, 38, 40, 42, 52, 61, 90, 102–3, 110, 117, 189, 190–4; in 1991 coup 2, 13; Chechen war reporting and 15, 37, 173; ethics and 21, 59, 62, 86; glasnost and 12, 13, 23; legal problems of 24–6; links to Soviet past and 9; pressures and constraints against 28, 38, 41, 43, 60; public assessment of 138; self-censorship and 90, 174; Soviet culture of 10–12; violence and corruption involving 60–1, 21–2, 37–9, 43, 60–1, 167, 193 Karelin, Alexander 84 Kasyanov, Mikhail 170, 171, 186 Khakamada, Irina 72, 115, 178, 179, 180–1 Kharitonov, Nikolai 72, 179, 180, 181 Khodorkovsky, Vladimir 80, 166–7, 168, 170, 175 Kirienko, Sergei 85–6, 115, 117–8, 119, 120 Kiselyev, Evgeny 48, 50, 61, 62, 120 Klebnikov, Paul 37 Kommersant (Businessman) 36 kompromat 18, 28, 40, 49, 86, 87, 112, 116–17, 122, 132, 141, 144, 145, 163, 166, 169, 176 Kultura (Culture) TV channel 25, 30, 58 LDPR see Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia Leninism 2, 12 Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia (LDPR) 50, 69, 70–6, 82, 83, 86, 91–5, 97–8, 102, 104, 115, 118–19, 121, 130, 164, 170–2, 176–7, 180, 190 Listyev, Vlad 37, 57 Luzhkov, Yuri 48, 69, 78, 132, 164, 172; campaign coverage of 40, 42, 49, 85, 120–1, 125, 135, 142, 164, 170–5, 177; Fatherland-All Russia and 80, 81, 85, 116; kompromat and 116–8, 132, 133; United Russia and 164, 170, 171, 177

Index 221 Malashenko, Igor 15, 35, 103, 108 Malyshkin, Oleg 72, 180 media law 24, 25, 29, 30, 43; in Soviet Union 22 Media Most 35–6 Mikhalkov, Nikita 96 Mironov, Sergei 72 Moscow 45, 46 Moscow News 12 Moscow TV (TV-Center) 30, 81, 85, 124; audience for 32, 47; campaign coverage on 40, 49, 86, 95, 172; Fatherland-All Russia Party and 121; United Russia Party and 17, 82 Motherland (Rodina) 70, 82, 164, 165, 172, 176, 177–8 nationalism 4, 76, 81, 83, 100 Nemtsov, Boris 115, 178 newspapers 28, 33, 34, 36, 37, 40, 42, 53, 110, 134; bias in 110; financial problems of 30; glasnost and 12, 23; hidden political advertising in 38; influence of 160–1; Izvestiya editor firing 39; ownership 15, 31, 35, 36; readership and circulation of 11, 31–3, 45, 48, 147–50, 182; Soviet 29 Nezavisimaya Gazeta (Independent Newspaper) 36 Novaya Gazeta (The New Newspaper) 37 NTV 14–16, 17, 18, 30, 31, 43, 47, 49, 50, 73, 82; audience for and attitude toward 10, 31, 32, 33, 47–8, 51, 52, 59, 61–2, 65, 136–45, 146–62, 163–88; campaign coverage on 19, 25, 42, 65, 71, 76, 86, 90, 95–111, 118–26, 131, 136–45, 146–62, 163–88; Chechen war coverage by 15–16, 34, 189; financial battle for 34, 36, 194; ownership of 30, 34, 35, 50; Yeltsin re-election and 35, 63, 73, 189 October 1993 events 23 oligarchs 28, 35, 36, 43, 50, 55, 80, 112, 165, 166, 169, 170, 172, 175, 178, 181 Orange Revolution 191 Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE)/Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights (ODIHR) 166, 172–3, 176, 180, 181–2 ORT (Channel 1) 33–4, 49–60; advertising rates 79; audience for and

attitude toward 19, 30, 32, 47–8, 51, 61–2; campaign coverage on 35, 49–50, 84, 85, 90, 94, 95–111, 116–26, 131, 136–45, 146–62, 163–88; coverage of Chechnya on 15; ownership of 14, 30, 36, 50; see also First Channel Ostankino 14; see also First Channel, ORT Our Home is Russia 46, 72, 81, 82, 83–4, 97, 98, 99; media coverage of 96, 99, 102, 117–8; political advertising of 73, 83, 95, 96, 114 paid political advertising 26, 30, 73, 79, 83, 89, 92, 93, 94–99, 115–6, 122, 124, 130, 144, 163, 165, 172, 176–9, 191 Pamfilova, Ella 69, 71, 77, 123 party-list vote 18, 29, 46, 68, 69, 72–4, 75, 77, 78, 80, 82, 83, 85, 92–4, 97, 99, 100, 113, 130, 132, 164–5, 175, 178, 193 Party of Beer Lovers 73 Party of Ivan Rybkin 46, 82, 95, 97, 109 Party of Russian Unity and Accord 46, 70, 77, 82, 92, 93 Party of Youth-New Names 77, 109 party platforms 46, 66, 72, 75–85, 91–2, 97, 100–1, 102, 128, 129, 165, 166, 176, 177, 179, 191, 192 personality parties 72, 77 Podberezhkin, Aleksei 71 police 16, 35, 40, 133, 167, 181, 182, 193 political advertising, free see free-time political advertising political advertising, paid see paid political advertising political parties see individual party listings Popov, Gavriil 77 Pravda 11, 12, 14, 29 President see Putin, Vladmir and Yeltsin, Boris Primakov, Evgeny 34, 69, 85, 116, 199, 120, 122, 135, 132–3 print media see newspapers propaganda 3, 6, 8, 18, 22, 24, 31, 135, 142 Putin, Vladimir 3, 22, 33, 68, 73, 74, 84, 157–8, 160–1, 162, 163, 166, 167, 184, 186, 192; election results for 46, 71, 72;

222

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Putin, Vladimir (Continued) inauguration of 1–2; media coverage of 15–16, 19, 27–8, 35–6, 39, 50, 51, 57, 86, 87, 115, 117, 118–21, 121–6, 134–45, 167–71, 173–5, 179–82, 186–8, 190; opposition to 75; as prime minister 86; relationship with media 22, 25, 34; United Russia relationship and 164, 177 radio 15, 21, 22, 25, 31, 33, 35, 36, 37, 45, 48, 95, 149, 182 Radio Liberty 39, 60 Rodina see Motherland Rogozin, Dmitri 165, 175 RTR see Russian Television and Radio Russian Democratic Movement for Reform 77, 82, 93 Russian Television and Radio (RTR or Channel 2) 30, 31, 32–3, 47–8, 49, 62, 86, 95, 121–5, 139, 152–3, 182–3 Russia’s Choice 46, 69, 70, 72, 79, 81–2, 82–3, 84, 85, 86, 91, 92, 93, 95, 99 Rybkin, Ivan 97, 181 Sevodnya (Today) 15, 35, 48; campaign coverage on 100–26, 163–88; viewership of 33, 153–62 Shakkum, Martin 71, 104 Shevardnadze, Eduard 167, 170, 171 Shoigu, Sergei 84, 114, 117–8, 119, 120, 121, 127, 132, 133–4, 164, 170, 171, 174 Shuster, Savik 179, 201 n.9 single-member districts 74–5, 85; results in 70 Skuratov, Yuri 71 Sobchak, Anatoli 57 Sobytiya (Events) 182 Sovetskaya Rossiya 29 Stalinism 22, 77 Svanidze, Nikolai 48, 62, 121 Svoboda Slova (Freedom of Speech) 181, 201 n.9 terrorism 16, 39, 120, 122, 123, 167, 169, 180, 190 Titov, Konstantin 71, 123 Tuleev, Aman-Geldy 71, 104, 123 TV-6 15, 16, 25, 30, 32, 34, 36, 47, 49, 86, 95 Ulyanovsk 45, 46 Union of Right Forces 46, 71, 82, 116, 164, 165, 176; media coverage of 84,

117–21, 170, 171, 172–3; political advertising of 85–6, 115, 177, 178, 185 United Russia 80, 73–4, 80–1, 82, 164–6, 184, 210 n.4; media coverage of 167–76, 186; political advertising of 79, 177, 180 Varennikov, Valentin 165, 178 Veshnyakov, Alexandr 119, 170, 171 Vlasov, Yuri 71, 104 Voronezh 45, 46, 54, 108 Vremya (Time) 29, 48, 90; campaign coverage on 39, 100–26, 163–88, 189; viewership of 33, 153–62 Vzglyad 54 Women of Russia 70, 77, 91, 92, 95, 102 Working Russia for a Soviet Union 46, 78, 82, 100 Yabloko 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 82, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 98, 102, 104, 113, 114–5, 118, 120, 121, 122, 125–6, 128, 164, 165, 166, 170, 171, 172, 176, 178, 184, 191, 192 Yakovlev, Vladimir 85, 116 Yavlinsky, Grigory 136, 170, 171, 174, 179, 187; campaign coverage of 17, 18, 75, 86, 92, 98, 104, 105–6, 113, 114, 119, 122–6, 144, 168–75; public opinion of 61, 137, 138–9, 141–2 Yeltsin, Boris 2, 14, 23–4, 34, 46, 53, 68, 69, 71, 83–4, 96, 97, 98, 112; blame for Chechen war 158; media coverage of 15, 16, 34, 35, 61, 73, 91, 92, 100, 101, 103–11, 118, 119, 140–1, 170, 198; public opinion of 67, 155, 187; relationship to mass media 14, 35, 36, 121, 136 Yukos 166, 167, 168, 175, 176 Zhirinovsky, Vladimir 71, 75–6, 86, 87, 91, 93, 97–8, 104, 115, 177, 179, 187, 190–1; news coverage of 94, 113, 114, 117, 119, 123, 124, 125, 168, 171, 175, 179, 181, 196, 208 n.8; public opinion of 50, 130, 139, 142 Zhirinovsky Bloc see Liberal-Democratic Party of Russia Zyuganov, Gennady 35, 46, 71, 99, 114, 162, 179, 187; campaign coverage of 86, 103–10, 112, 119, 121–5, 168–9, 170, 171; public opinion about 15, 50, 122, 134, 136–40, 142–3, 144, 159, 161, 209 n.11

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