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International Journalismgovernment bodies’ scandalous anddirty deals in trading highly sensitivetechnologies to Iran. I called it “OurMen in Teheran.” Three major newspapersrejected this story. Their argumentscan be characterized in this way:“This story is against Russian nationalinterests.” “Why?” I would ask. And theeditors would say, “Prime Minister VictorChernomyrdin, during his 1998visit to the United States, said publiclythat Russia was not and is not involvedin any illegal technology trading withIran and Iraq.” Yet my investigationpresented hard evidence that the PrimeMinister either didn’t have proper informationor just lied, I argued. “Nevermind, the story is damaging to theRussian interests.” “Whose interests doyou have in mind?” I would then ask, inwhat was becoming an obvious failureto get any newspaper to publish mystory. “Are they the interests of bureaucratswho are putting big bucks intotheir own pockets because of thesedeals? Or the interests of the Russianpeople who are about to lose $50 billionas a result of sanctions that mightbe imposed by international financialinstitutions because of those illegaltrades?” There was no response.September 1998. January 1999. April1999. I produced stories about differentinvestigations. I took them to thesame publications. I had many of thesame conversations, resulting in thesame outcomes.I tell these stories not to be pitied,but to offer specific examples of whatinvestigative journalists are up againstin Russia these days. But the sad fact isthat even exposure of this situationlikely does no good. My colleaguesrecognize that journalism is a highlycorporate industry that dislikes—if notto say, rejects—those who expose suchdetails of our profession. After my lawsuitagainst Izvestia was publicized,executives at other news outlets toldme the following: “You are dangerousto deal with. You write the story andyou want to publish it.” “Oh, really?” Iwould say. “What about other reporters?Don’t they want to publish theirstories?” Their answer: “Others knowthe rules of the game and obey them.”The price for such candidness iswell known: You become the onlyreader of your stories. As a popularsaying among Russian journalists goes,“He (she) is the author of unread andunseen (by anyone but the author)famous stories.”I have, however, made my choice: Ichoose to seek my freedom as an independentjournalist.To me, the continuing erosion ofindependent media outlets means Iam free to do my investigations and towrite stories but I am likely to becometheir one lonely reader.As much as it sounds paradoxical,the Russian media lost the freedomthey had long been seeking as a resultof the 1996 presidential elections. Thiswas the election when Boris Yeltsin,Russia’s first democratically electedPresident, beat his Communist opponentand communism, as the ideologyof the totalitarian state, was pronouncedforever dead in Russia.Officially censorship was abandonedin the Soviet Union as early as 1989,during Glasnost. However, in reality,the press remained under strict controlof the weakening totalitarian stateuntil late autumn of 1991, when theSoviet Union collapsed. The chaos ofthose first years of the reforms madejournalists poor but gave them unprecedentedfreedom. Both print and electronicmedia, while struggling for survival,were admired by the public, whichitself was seeking freedom from theconstraints of a totalitarian state. Reportersdid a decent job in exposingdirty deals of the collapsed Soviet stateand of the new/old Russian bureaucracythat inherited both the wealthand the troubles of the no longer existent“evil empire,” as President RonaldReagan once called the Soviet Union.By 1995, however, the first of Russia’snew rich had started to invest in media.It turns out that these new ownerswere looking to make both financialand political profits out of their investmentsin the Russian media. In 1996,the presidential campaign clearlyshowed that those who had dared toinvest in media were gaining powerand political influence. Thus, by late1996 and into 1997, Russia’s so-called“oligarchs”—a half dozen or so superwealthytycoons who, before last year’sfinancial collapse, dominated thecountry’s economy—went hunting fornewspapers, magazines, TV and radiostations to buy.By late 1998, independent nationalmedia accounted for 1.42 percent outof all national print and electronicmedia. Now, one year later (and a yearprior to the next presidential electionand six months before the parliamentaryelections), independent media(those media institutions owned bythe public, predominantly journalistswho work there) account for a very tiny0.7 percent.Since 1996, the Russian oligarchswho acquired the major national mediaand concentrated ownership in justin a few hands have learned how to usetheir newspapers, magazines, TV andradio stations to undercut competitorsand further their influence in the Kremlincircle, which is led by the sick andunpredictable Boris Yeltsin. Politicalinfluence in Russia leads to money: bigmoney, very big money. It allows thesepowerful people to acquire profitablecompanies, to receive low-interest creditsfrom government-owned banks, toget insider deals and commercialbreaks, i.e. privileges that others withoutaccess to the media do not get. Ingeneral, political influence that isgained because of media ownershipbrings millions, if not billions of dollars,that are often channeled into offshoreaccounts outside of Russia. Andmaintaining control of the media hasbecome a powerful instrument in obtainingsuch political influence.Meanwhile, the price journalists andtheir profession must pay is a clearone: Journalism, as it is known andrespected in democratic countries, isnow on death row in Russia.■Yevgenia Albats is an independentjournalist in Russia. She is the authorof four books, including “TheState Within a State: The KGB and ItsHold on Russia,” Farrar, Straus &Giroux, 1995. She is a 1993 NiemanFellow.26 Nieman Reports / Fall 1999