Case Study : Sensationalism Stirs Up Backlash Among Czechs

In the heady days of the 1989 “Velvet Revolution,” freedom of the press was hailed by the citizens of what was then Czechoslovakia as the most important pillar of democracy.

But few expected free speech to mean nonstop headline-grabbing scandals that destroy careers and reputations, sometimes with little more than gossip and innuendo.

Neither did anyone reckon with cheap sensation and tabloid gimmicks replacing daily offerings of more tasteful writing and poetry.

And if the revolutionaries of four Novembers ago had a vision of media freedom for the future, it is doubtful that it included so much violence, gore and intimacy as bombards them round-the-clock on their television screens and on the newspaper pages they were used to scanning over morning coffee.

There has so far been no public or government outcry for press restrictions here, but in the confusing throes of transition from state to private control of the media, nations like the Czech Republic that are still recovering from communism may prove more vulnerable to calls for regulation than the developed countries of Western Europe that have more of a tradition of self-restraint.

Czech politicians repeatedly accuse the media of inaccuracy in quoting them and claim that the press unnecessarily fans controversies or ignores important government work.

Prime Minister Vaclav Klaus, who has shown a hypersensitivity to criticism carried or implied in the press, stunned journalists earlier this fall with what could only be called a government reprimand.

A letter addressed to the director of Czech TV and distributed at a government press conference claimed that the leadership was “indignant that the main Czech TV broadcast did not provide any information at all by either word or picture” about the opening of the Brno engineering fair at which Klaus spoke.

“We regard it as extremely grave . . . that the public was not acquainted with such a significant activity of the government. We therefore demand that those in positions of responsibility guarantee that a similar situation not be repeated,” railed the letter, which carried Klaus’ signature.

TV director Ivo Mathe took the matter calmly and lightly, but the prime minister’s presumption to dictate standards ruffled some journalists.

Although Czech journalism has improved steadily since the early post-revolution fever to throw out every vestige of the old system, a credibility gap has emerged due to the plethora of exposes and the sometimes shoddy documentation offered by journalists with more ambition than experience.

The criticism most frequently leveled is a lack of professionalism, with stories often printed without verification and laced with commentary.

The scandals both attract and repel Czech readers, who were so deprived of such stories under Communist rule that they have had to modify an English word to describe them-- affairi.

After four decades in the straitjacket of Communist censorship, reporters are now eager to uncover sensation and wrongdoing. But few have the training, commitment or patience to ensure that their stories are credible.

The public is simply presented sketchy and unattributed details about such incidents as “Wallis-gate,” involving a secret service officer and Viktor Kozeny, a brash wizard who has built a mammoth financial empire by trading privatization coupons--and, at least according to the Czech press--privileged information provided by the secret service officer known as Wallis.

Some of the scandals leave readers with a bad taste in their mouths as the accusations are sometimes petty or later disproved, while the reputation of the subject is irrevocably damaged.

President Vaclav Havel set a high moral tone after the ousting of the hard-line leadership by declaring that “love and truth will prevail over lies and hate.”

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Yet, four years later, the daily newspaper with the largest circulation is a Swiss-owned tabloid, Blesk (Lightning), better known for its nude photos and sexual advice than for any contribution to truth and justice.

With an average daily sale of 416,054 copies in a country of 10 million, Blesk has streaked past two more tame and respected papers, Mlada Fronta Dnes and Rude Pravo, as well as the smaller-circulation Lidove Noviny, read primarily by intellectuals.

The steady stream of sensations has had almost a numbing effect on Czech readers and viewers, leaving many with a sense of hopelessness or even cynicism about the corruption.

While most Czechs hold dear the fundamentals of a free press, many may be supportive of regulation in specific areas such as advertising, pornography and the air times allowed certain programming.

Some people here express shock and discomfort, for example, at such unfamiliar scenes as women talking in daytime television ads about feminine hygiene products. And like many of their American counterparts, Czech parents worry about violent or graphic depictions on television.

Any potential regulators, however, will have the high hurdle of Havel’s democratic commitments to clear first.

When Czech TV refused to play a video several months ago because its lyrics alluded to homosexuality, Havel took the unusual step of making an unexplained protest by including the offending words in a radio address.