Virtually in exile
With such personal threats at home, it's not difficult to see why some
online journalists and activists chose to work in exile. There are problems
with this approach, obviously -- their online information might be blocked
at home, many potential readers will not be able to afford access to their
site and their critics will always accuse them of being stooges of foreign
governments - but for some the benefit of being able to tell the truth
outweighs these concerns.
The main problem of running a Web site in exile is maintaining local
relevance and authenticity when writing from abroad; specifically, the site
needs regular, up-to-date information from within the country. The only way
to do this is to develop a network of reliable correspondents on the ground
and to develop efficient channels for getting their information out of the
country.
In the worst cases this means either heavily working the phones to your
contacts on the ground, or, where phone-tapping is a concern, the smuggling
of documentation out of the country. On the face of it, that would seem to
be little advancement on the tedious and dangerous methods of the
Communist-era dissidents. Still, when it works, it can bring the only
non-regime-sponsored information to the outside world and offers a unique
eye on closed societies. The work of the Revolutionary Association of the
Women of Afghanistan in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan was certainly one of
the best examples of such activity the Internet has ever seen.
In less restrictive situations, the Internet itself is the networking tool,
and e-mail allows émigré publishing to be current from the ground in a way
that Iron Curtain dissidents never could be. Even then, however, expanding
a network of correspondents on the ground is not always straightforward,
and the specifics of the local culture and local regime need to be considered.
My own Institute for War and Peace Reporting is familiar with this problem.
The editors of our online publications covering post-Soviet Central Asia,
Afghanistan and the Balkans are all émigré journalists in London who
develop their networks on the ground according to the possibilities in
individual countries. In Uzbekistan, for example, the situation is relaxed
enough for us to have a physical office in Tashkent and a rather normal
network of correspondents radiating out from it. In Turkmenistan, however,
the situation is significantly more complicated for us. Forget a physical
office: all our reporters on the ground communicate directly via e-mail
with our central office in London. Trying to build a normal network there
would only attract informants who would turn in all our associates, so we
keep our correspondents on the ground isolated from one another. They
wouldn't recognize each other if they sat next to one another on a bus in
downtown Ashghabat.
But even if you have a developed network of correspondents on the ground,
that doesn't mean that people will feel comfortable talking to them. When
fear so thoroughly permeates society, mouths stay closed.
In some cases, however, the subject matter is so potentially damaging to
people's lives that they are able to overcome their fear of the
authorities. The work of the Three Gorges Probe, a Web-site in Canada
dedicated to discussing the controversial Three Gorges dam project in
China, provides an interesting example of this. Publisher Patricia Adams
was reluctant to discuss the details of her network on the ground, but she
told me that ordinary people in the region are very eager to talk to TGP
correspondents about the dam, as they genuinely hope their concerns will be
addressed. Their willingness to talk is understandable; after all, many of
them are the ones being resettled by the dam project.
The Three Gorges Probe Web site highlights another particular problem of
this genre: oftentimes, the line between journalism and activism becomes
fuzzy -- to the detriment of the reader seeking objective information.
Adams insists Three Gorges Probe is pure journalism, but it is pretty clear
that the site offers a mostly critical view of the project. While that may
be a justifiable editorial policy intended to counter all the official
information on the dam project, many émigré sites have very serious
problems with balance.
Amnesty International's Umit Ozturk sees this as unfortunate in the Turkish
case but admits, "It couldn't be any other way." Most Turkish and Kurdish
émigré sites are run by "activist reporters," people who care so
passionately about their cause that objectivity takes a back seat in their
online efforts.
Veronica Forwood of Reporters without Borders, however, says it depends on
the background of the editors. Those who come from a strong journalism
background usually try to maintain a sense of balance and concentrate on
on-the-ground reporting rather than commentary.
Interestingly, there is now serious talk in U.K. NGO circles of creating a
non-profit project specifically designed to help émigré journalists
establish Web sites with local correspondent networks for the people in
their repressive regimes back home. The idea is to provide start-up funds
as well as the technical expertise and journalism training needed to run an
émigré Web site with real impact on the ground.
Real change is not virtual
That impact is the heart of the problem for all Web sites working within
and around repressive regimes. For all the excited talk about the Internet
bringing freedom, actual examples of online publishing bringing about
change in these countries are few.
In many ways, the Internet seems to fulfill the same role as samizdat did
in Communist Czechoslovakia. Like that old dissident literature, the
Internet in authoritarian regimes offers the only place for critical
voices, but, sadly, it has little effect on the ground. Remember, despite
the international fame of writers like Vaclav Havel, outside of a small
circle of intellectuals in Prague, hardly anyone ever read samizdat within
Communist Czechoslovakia. The Velvet Revolution emerged from direct action
within a changed geo-political atmosphere; decades of dissident carping had
nothing to do with real change when the regime finally fell.
As it was with samizdat, most people in authoritarian regimes never get a
chance to see Internet publications, and the whole enterprise, both the
publishing of banned information and official attempts to stop it, is more
a game for elites: elite dissident intellectuals criticize elite rulers,
and they argue back and forth in a virtual space. The opponents can score a
few victories in that virtual space, but meanwhile, back in reality, little
changes for the people on the ground.
Some may find such a conclusion a bit pessimistic, especially coming from
someone who works in the field of online journalism in these countries. But
it is important to keep one's feet on the ground and neither underestimate
the scope of the problem nor overestimate the ability of the medium.
And there is some reason for cautious optimism. CPJ's A. Lin Neumann, for
example, reminded me that, "elites, generally, tend to lead the movement
toward change so the fact that the Internet is somewhat confined to elite
communication in some places does not disqualify it as a change agent."
Neumann points to China, saying that the Internet has had an effect on the
ground there, leading, for instance, to greater impact of stories on
corruption.
Neumann also told me that the nature of the Internet means, "It is simply
harder, even for the Burmese bad guys, to keep secrets from the world,
because once information gets out it circulates widely."
"Twenty years ago," he noted, "that information -- such as a secret arrest
that is revealed through an underground contact -- would have to circulate
by newsletters sent in the post; now it is on the desks of journalists and
others within minutes."