|
|
|
|
 |
||
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
||
|
|
Wednesday, January 17, 2001
News analysis
|
With Hodac out, protesters make gains, but fight still looms over how to keep state TV free of political influence By Christopher P. Winner On the muted screen, deputies milled around like milquetoast figures. Some gestured, others idly patrolled the fringes of the ornate hall, still others aped commands into tiny mobile phones. It was a haplessly surreal moment in a melodrama that, over a month, has sometimes mimicked theater of the absurd. That the debate was broadcast by so-called "rebel" state television employees, working in makeshift conditions while rallying noisy support for their insurrection against unwanted state TV chiefs, made the soundless moments even more bizarre. Nearly a month after journalists began their Christmas challenge to new general director Jiri Hodac and the politically conservative forces they claimed contrived his Dec. 20 appointment, the employees finally seemed able to claim partial triumph -- even if proposed amendments to the state media structure left protesters dissatisfied. An exhausted Hodac resigned, citing ill health but admitting he could not control the mutiny. The Czech Television Council that had named him was dissolved, a blow to conservative former Prime Minister Vaclav Klaus and his Civic Democratic Party (ODS), whose members dominated the body. Lawmakers said they would move conditionally to create a new and larger television council appointed by apolitical figures. They also dismissed concerns that the state's two networks -- supported by government funding -- would be sold to private interests. Yet as the Czech Republic reckoned with the tortured winding down of a crisis that had galvanized international attention, several vital questions remained unanswered. If the opponents of political meddling in state television prevailed after representing their romantic fight as the first substantive post-1989 democratic crusade, what exactly were the fruits of the victory? Much suggests it had less to do with upholding free speech than with what the West calls empowerment. For writer Karel Hvizdala, for example, the protest against Hodac and the council was necessary to "prevent a misuse of the media by political parties, as performed by [Hitler propaganda chief Josef] Goebbels and the communists." Antonin Dekoj, who is among the rebel broadcasters, insisted the revolt was not even about Hodac. "It did not start with the naming of a director and it will not end with it," he said. "A council should be accountable to its staff for its decisions. That was the main point of our protest ... the naming of the director was the last straw." And the most compelling. By showing themselves able to slay institutional dragons -- in this case humbling democratically elected chiefs and forcing them to change course -- protesters and journalists alike appeared to take another step in the slow detoxification from totalitarianism and the forced political sleepwalking it demanded of those it ruled. Moreover, that the challenge concerned television, a now-lucrative medium which was manipulated and debilitated by communism, made the struggle that much more Western, and stylish -- a conscious reaching out toward the kind of public deliberation that has long characterized non-communist societies. Finally, in a country that aspires to European Union membership while often unsure of its own self-worth, the television dispute helped exalt a new phase of political discourse independent of such former dissidents as President Vaclav Havel, who had fathered much Czech opposition. The ability to bring the system to heel, said Freedom Union deputy Hana Marvanova, "is very important here where people feel it is impossible to change anything, and that they don't have any power." But can a burst of "people power" alter years of insider trading in a state where traditions of collectivist bureaucracy endure? Sociologist Marcela Linkova fears the spirit of the television debate, like the "Thank you, now leave" movement of 1999 -- a fleeting, crowd-pleasing effort to challenge major-party rule -- may lose its appeal as the issue fades from the headlines, or drags on. "[As a result of the debate], people started to feel again that is was possible to change the system," she said. "But I don't think it will have any long-term effect as people here have a tendency to shift back into old thinking. I'm afraid that as soon as Czech TV broadcasts [normally] again, people will lose their interest in what's going on in politics." The country's disingenuous politicians seem acutely aware of this tendency. Proposed changes to the structure of the Television Council, approved by the Chamber of Deputies, are filled with caveats. Scholars, educators, intellectuals and other various groups will nominate members of the new council, expanded from nine to 15 members. But Parliament alone will have the right to approve or reject those nominations, compromising demands by the dissenting journalists that any new council must be made up of "publicly recognized people," as rebel journalist Dekoj said. Under the changes, the new TV director will require the council's approval in naming his deputies, a highly restrictive provision that is likely to cause problems for any future director. Disagreement over these points in the Senate, which must ratify the new plan, seemed likely to prolong the argument on both sides. A spokesman for the strikers, Martin Schmarcz, said the crisis was not over, insisting that the proposed changes only strengthened party control and "could hardly be called an improvement." Even before the Hodac fiasco, state television had gone through two directors and numerous senior officials in the year 2000. Opposition endurance
So is pre-electoral jockeying in a country that will stage a national parliamentary vote next year, only the fifth in its post-communist history. While analysts question the future of the "opposition agreement," the unusual power-sharing pact that keeps the ruling Social Democrats (CSSD) in power with Klaus' ODS, the television crisis did not seem enough -- on its own -- to subvert that oft-reviled alliance. "The civil initiative side of society raised its voice, but there did not appear to be any definitely formed association," said Linkova, "and I think any hope of breaking the opposition agreement will slip away as in the 'Thank you, now leave' effort." This fascination with the opposition agreement may have helped fuel the television crisis more than was widely thought. Opponents of the pact, members of the center-right "Quad" coalition (who would stand to gain if the agreement collapsed) cheered on the TV rebels. So did Havel, who has understandably little patience for Prime Minister Milos Zeman and Klaus, two men who have actively worked to erode his powers. For some, the two-year-old agreement represents what the late U.S. Senator William Fulbright once labeled, in another context, "an arrogance of power," artificially uniting the ODS' avowed Thatcherites and the CSSD's hybrid socialists in a contrived arrangement that seemed estranged from the national will. But recent polls suggest that the two opposition parties, despite their complex and controversial intrigues, still maintain a significant voter base -- more than 40 percent. Those who hoped the television melodrama would provoke, or at least hasten, a government crisis may be disappointed. Nor is it clear whether chastened state TV, despite its more independent supervisory body, will effectively escape political clutches. Some party officials remain angry that the TV revolt successfully upset what Klaus has repeatedly referred to as the rule of law. Since it is the government that allocates television cash, one form of long-term reprisal, should the ODS choose to counterattack, is economic. It could try to block or condition financing. Not surprisingly, the dissenting journalists are seeking assurances that they will not be punished for their revolt, lose their jobs or be held liable for any lost advertising revenue -- so far estimated at more than 50 million Kc ($1.4 million). "Czech society is divided," said Miloslav Kucera of the CSSD. "The crisis has a political touch; unfortunately, it grew into a political dispute that has less to do with Czech television than with how to practice politics ... and the legitimacy of our system of law." But that system of law, even with the divisive protests, may finally reveal itself more vibrant than anyone expected. In Poland, state television is rife with political connections, as it is in most once-communist nations where concern over conflict of interest still has little or no meaning. Cults of personality and self-aggrandizement are common. Debates about television tend to focus more on issues of content -- on sexual sensationalism, for example -- than on who is writing and producing the news. "Citizens acted, or reacted, to what they believed was a blatant effort by the government to limit free speech -- spontaneously," said Jiri Pehe, a former Havel adviser. What he did not say was that the real civic triumph may have rested in their choosing to act at all. -- Yekaterina Zapletnyuka and Petr Kaspar contributed to this report. Christopher P. Winner's e-mail address is cpwinner@praguepost.cz |
|
For strikers, fight continues Broadcast love, Czech style TV couple supports each other to get through winter revolt A matter of principle? By James Pitkin Ralston pushes for jet buy NATO commander says Czech Air Force 'badly needs' a more modern arsenal Uranium tests are planned Czechs join screening for depleted uranium Cancer therapy stirs lively controversy 'Tumor-tying' likely to be tested despite death of pioneering researcher |