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."