By Yuriy Bogomolov, "Back and Forth: Television Before and After Perestroyka" [Moscow, Literaturnaya Gazeta in Russian, No. 9, 6 Mar 91, p. 14].

It was noticed a long time ago that the mass media is the first one to wake up from the lethargic sleep at the beginning of the society's upturn, and it is the first one to be attacked by the putschists.

The attack may be conducted directly, with weapons, shots and blood (as in Vilnius), or it may be a peaceful, gradual process that utilizes routine bureaucratic actions (as in Ostankino, when the Gosteleradio [State Committee on Radio and Television] leadership was changed--from Nenashev to Kravchenko).

With the shuffling of the components in the equation, the process of shrinking the democratic space in the airwaves has become noticeable. News programs ("Vremya" to a larger degree, Television News programs to a lesser) not so much broadcast the information they receive as filter and distribute it. "ATV" ["Author's Television"]--a series of programs that earned a certain authority among the viewers in the [sic] 1990--has been moved to the second channel. "Vzglyad" is being urged to bring its political outlook closer to the government officials' views. Reports from the parliamentary forum are becoming increasingly terse. There are increasingly fewer live programs. The circle of independently thinking anchors has shrunk.

We are moving down the up staircase. Let us recall, though, how we went up the down staircase.

We were not going up--we were flying up as if he had wings, jumping several steps at a time. Somehow, all of a sudden, the broadcasting network dropped the program "With All Our Heart"--a perfection of its kind, an ideal sample of social narcissism. Yuriy Zhukov, with his crushing rebukes of Ronald Reagan, vanished into some netherworld. We were reminded less and less often of Genrikh Borovik's "Position." On the other hand, the "World and Youth" shows were becoming increasingly irreverent and dynamic. Like thunder from a clear sky came the "12th Floor" program--a prototype for the rally actions and parliamentary debates.

Political shows, later played out at the congresses and sessions in Moscow and then duplicated in all cities and republics, were being rehearsed at the "12th Floor." This is where they played out scenarios with the participation of those who came from the streets and from the stairs, those leaving the offices and those moving in. It was there that they defined the roles and images of heroes and antiheroes in the play with a working title of "Perestroyka."

All of that was touching and endearing because the script was being written (and the play was being staged) in front of our own eyes, with the participation of television viewers.

Real-life personae playing democratization had acquired even more verisimilitude with the beginning of preelection television debates. During the first congress, with its live gavel-to-gavel broadcasts, it also turned out to be extremely absorbing. It went so far as to be on the verge of becoming a real-life thing.

Life itself, something truly genuine started to emanate from the new invention of Central Television's Youth Programming Department--an information-and-music program called "Vzglyad."

In the beginning, "Vzglyad" did not make much claim to being a political opposition, it differed from other public affairs programs by its informality. Its anchors-informals were young people. But the most important achievement of this program was in something else--it acquired viewers-informals. The role functions of both sides in the communications chain has changed.

Totalitarian television had always rested on the following unshakable principle: He who is on the screen is the boss, and he who is in front of the screen is the subordinate. Therefore, information coming from the screen is not really information, not the news per se; it is a command camouflaged as information, and put together in such a way as it is with an order, it need not be discussed, or mulled over, but does need to be accepted for real or pretended execution.

"Vremya" had become, in essence, an all-Union instruction in how the whole working population should feel and think. Watching it by itself had become, over many years, a sort of ritual. For the television viewers it was a ritual of obedience.

For the power-holders it was a ritual of self-assertion.

Two examples that indirectly confirm this argument.

As is known, Brezhnev loved to watch "Vremya." Some say he loved it as much as he loved hunting. Maybe even more because, even when hunting he was always in a hurry to get back in time for the program. One would think: What news could Central Television's anchors present to their general secretary, when the most important information was delivered to him through much speedier and authoritative channels? But it looks like the general secretary wanted something from "Vremya" that was not the news. He was exorcising his subconscious complex of not being elected, and therefore, not being legitimate. "Vremya" testified not only to state and rank status of the First Person, but also to the unshakability and immovability of the entire hierarchical construction of the lawless state.

Thus, an information program had entirely lost its original function and had acquired the one of an emblem, a state symbol.

This is the first example. The second was provided by Polish history. One of the Polish people's actions in protest against the introduction of martial law in 1981 was the television viewers' demonstrative refusal to watch a Polish equivalent of "Vremya." It is possible that this kind of boycott is in the cards for us in the future. But let us not deceive ourselves from the every beginning: the crux of the matter is not the mistrust in the official source of information, but the lack of trust in the government itself.

This kind of viewer rebellion means the most radical rejection by the viewer of the subordinate role imposed on him by the totalitarian communications system.

From the very beginning, "Vzglyad" offered the viewer a different role--that of an interlocutor, a friend in the same social circle. The program itself had nothing antigovernment or even antiparty in mind. Its entire role as an opposition to orthodox broadcasting was the democratic form of communication.

It is a different matter that this personal, informal communication started to gradually define the democratic contents of this communication. It was the independent viewer that had brought to life the image of an independent anchor.

"Vzglyad" anchors, being led by their audience, could not help but arrive at a very definite political choice. And, just like the informal movement gradually acquired the role of a democratic alternative to the totalitarian regime, informal programs "Vzglyad" and "The Fifth Wheel" came to be accepted as an alternative to state broadcasting.

The paradox--or, to be precise, the abnormality of the situation--was that at some moment television air waves became far more democratic than the structure of television. The latter was of a command administrative type under Lapin, and remained the same under Nenashev.

Along with the perestroyka, this even increasing gap between what was on the screens and what was in the functionaries' offices could only remain unnoticed as long as the temperature of democratic changes kept a stable trend towards the increase. As soon as the stagnation and the decrease in this temperature started to register, it became obvious that all democratic gains rested on a rather shaky ground.

The ground was permission--not law.

The movement down the up staircase started before yesterday, before Kravchenko came to Ostankino. It started when it was decided to broadcast the second congress in recorded form at a more convenient time for the television viewers--from 2200 to 0200.

The then television brass, and their bosses, became hopelessly tangled in the reasons they gave for dropping live broadcasts. They said first, that the broadcasts distracted working people from productive labor, and second, that they (the people) had gotten bored with them.

They also said that live broadcast is too expensive for the treasury, forgetting to mention that recording is much more expensive. But the power holders were ready to pay any money because they were paying for the opportunity to "clean up" the up-to-the-minute history. In this respect, control over live broadcasts is just as important as control over the archives, since both put the administration at command heights without any particular democratic troubles.

The command administrative principle of relationship with the viewer that appeared to have been chased out of the door in plain view of everybody had returned through the window.

There was one more moment in the life of broadcasting that not too many people noticed. When the Law on the Press was passed, television and radio were excluded from its jurisdiction as the media that deserves a special legislative act.

This act had been devised, but nobody wanted to take the risk of presenting it to the public because of its numerous shortcomings.

The absence of legal norms created an ambiguous situation not only for the producers on duty, but also for their immediate supervisors--something that became clear during the very first tension in relations between the two sides.

The first action was not squeezing "Vzglyad" out--it was moving "ATV" to the second channel. This happened in a relatively painless way fot the Gosteleradio leadership. The real scandal broke out when "Vzglyad" was canceled. The scale of this scandal was predetermined by the fact that Kravchenko and his team started a conflict not only with the "Vzglyad" journalistic team, but also with the multimillion audience. This is the substance of this conflict--the one the chairman prefers to overlook. It is much more convenient for him to interpret the ruckus that started in the press as his political struggle against ambitious politicians. This stance of a fearless and uncompromising fighter for the idea against--in one case--the shadow economy dealers, in another--nationalists, in the third--fascist-minded democrats, and in the fourth--the politico-journalists, has become quite widely used. It was used, in turns, by Polozkov, Alksnis, Nevzorov, and now Kravchenko.

It seems that "ours" tend to seriously delude themselves by the world public attention towards their own personae. In reality, the attention is riveted on the not-too-attractive phenomena to which "ours" kindly lent their names.

Operation on preparing all-Union broadcasting to work under the martial law regime already has its code name--"Kravchenko."

This operation is not going smoothly.

But then, what goes smoothly these days?

Those who had banned "Vzglyad" could not--for quite a while--explain coherently what they wanted from the anchors...

To leave Shevardnadze's resignation alone?

To soften the political appraisal of the previous year?

To drop the domestic political topics altogether?

It seems like it was the first, the second, the third, and...the tenth. But, at the same time, they also left the impression that "something else" was implied. This "something else" remained unspoken until Leonid Petrovich finally put himself through the exertion of expressing it, at one of the news conferences, in a sufficiently frank way: "Vzglyad" had made its podium available mostly to political activists from Democratic Russia and the Interregional Group, and paid little attention to supporters of other political groups. He apparently meant that Communists in Russia, Lithuania, Latvia and other republics find themselves in a less favorable position information-wise, since they do not have their own "Vzglyad" on the air waves.

Thus, A. Lyubimov and his team were given a message to free some space for the Communists in their program.

All of this resembles a well-known folklore tale about a fox who asked a hare to let her into his bast hut after her own ice had melted in the spring.

The popularity of Valentina Leontyeva of "With All Our Heart" has melted away; Genrikh Borovik's "Position" is no longer in demand; whose fault is it? "Vzglyad" popularity is the result of popularity of ideas and programs produced by the democratic movement and of its polemics with the communist ideology. And now "Vzglyad" is being straightforwardly asked to sponsor the ideological bankrupts and popularize them.

Had "Vzglyad" agreed to that, it would have committed a noble, but risky act. It is well known how these stories end. Take the same folk tale: First you let them step over the threshold, then they sneak into the kitchen, then they occupy the living room, then, before you know it, they evict the owner...

This article was about finished when the presidential decree, changing the state committee into a state company was published. It does not seem to amount to much--just change the sign on the door. Well, it depends...By one stroke of a pen, many thousands of Ostankino staff employees found themselves outside of the door. Only one person stayed inside--the state company chairman.

Then, the tale about the bast and the ice huts became a reality, the main meaning is in taking the television from under the control of the Cabinet of Ministers and the Supreme Soviet. And, as we recall, it had been taken from under the Law on the Press' jurisdiction even earlier.

The position of the new company chairman is much better than that of a governor. He does not have to ask his employees--as Gradoboyev did--whether they want to be judged by the law or "as the heart tells him." He is permitted, by decree, to do the latter.

As I see it, this action created a precedent of diminishing the entire branch through the institute of governor-generals.

Whatever it is, we have descended, in one jump, to the bottom of the up staircase--down to the reinforced command administrative foundation.

It is clear that the television and radio company chairman will be in a hurry to hire a new company of employees. The latter may turn out to be the old one--only the collars and leashes will be changed. Television journalists will now sign informal contracts instead of formal labor agreements.

The problem, however, is not the company of television's staff employees, but the company of its free-lance viewers. Will Kravchenko be able to hire them?

Cinematographers have already announced their civil disobedience to the lawless television and radio. Among some people this action only brought out an ironic smile. What is the sense of it? We are not punishing Kravchenko: we are punishing television viewers...

Of course, a boycott is a double-edged sword. But in some instances it is an unavoidable option and the only one open to those who try to preserve their dignity.

In my opinion, the main meaning of a boycott is to deprive Kravchenko, and those under him, of moral support. I have heard that they do not need it (the moral support).

This is not true. They do need it, although they need it not for support, but for cover. They do not particularly need Culture; they need its Authority.

That is why the chairman, answering journalists' questions, could not hide irritation behind his condescending smile.

People of culture have their own interest in this forced action. It is not a practical one, either--they need to improve the quality of morality. And, if possible, increase its quantity.

What meaning--except for the moral and symbolic one--had Sakharov's protest in the 1970s? But today we could not do without the Sakharov that existed then. If we remain sufficiently firm today in our moral resistance, perhaps it will make it easier for the generation that will start a new perestroyka.

After all, the debate today is not about the interests of alternative broadcasting, but about the interests of alternative people.