MOSCOW, July 14, 2005 -- Just had another e-mail from my IB student Dasha. She is working as a journalist for a newspaper in Samara.
If this were from a guy, I would be fantasizing out of my gourd. If Jack would-be-Kerouac, for instance, or sexy Fyodor, were keeping the e-mail circuits hot this summer and signing their notes “love,” I would be two feet off the ground.
But getting this from Dasha makes me a little worried that she may have a student-teacher crush on me, though logic would say that’s nonsense. I am, after all, four times her age (but I have romances and fantasies about boys one-fourth my age). I hope she’s just saying that she likes and respects me as a teacher (she did tell me I was the best she’d ever had).
But it is a bit curious; and if it should be true, how would I handle it? Ignore it, I think. And if it were Fyodor or Jack would-be, what then?
I don’t want to think about it. Sadly, I think I’m safe in predicting it will remain only a dream.
In any case, I am having a special class with Dasha and Yana this fall, and I will use it to find out all I can about journalistic ethics and practices in Russia.
My assessment of Russian journalism so far is a pretty dim one. From students in the past I have learned that part of the journalistic code of ethics in Russia is that it is generally accepted without question that government should have control over what is reported in the press. At least a veto.
Thus, accepting constraints on reporting of terrorist activities or of Russian federal atrocities in Chechnya is an easy step. Before the Kremlin took it over, Oligarch Guzinski’s NTV was widely criticized, for instance, for airing an interview with one of the terrorists in the Nord-Ost theater crisis, which ended when storming federal SWAT teams killed not only all the terrorists, but hundreds of Moscow hostages as well.
The government does not give human life a high priority here. The well-being of the state is always the first consideration.
You also have to keep in mind the diametrically opposite rationales for the birth of the press in the two countries. Russia’s very first newspaper was launched by Peter the Great in the early 1700s as an organ of the government!
So whereas the primary purpose of the “fourth estate” in America is – or used to be before the muzzling of press freedom by its mega-corporation owners over the last decade (I’m living in your future) – to investigate, criticize, and expose the government, its purpose here has been to support and underpin the governmental masters.
So a free press has never been a tradition in Russia. And its fledgling steps toward this ideal in the first post-collapse years are quickly being reversed by the Putin regime.
But there’s another overriding problem with Russian “journalism.” Because newspapers here are never money-makers and must always be subsidized by someone – oligarchs, governments, etc. – it is standard practice here to “sell” newspaper space to someone who wants a story printed.
Thus most Russians simply don’t believe most of what they read in the newspaper, which is why TV remains for them the “truth box.” Of course, the only difference – which the boob tubers, particularly in the provinces, haven’t caught onto – is that the only difference between newspapers and TV is that the lies on TV are spread by the government.
The Russian attitude toward newspapers was rather starkly and amusingly laid out in my lesson night before last with Darya, who is a lawyer for an advertising company.
The theme of our lesson was America’s litigious society, what the British textbook term our “compensation culture.” It cited the example of the woman in New Mexico who was awarded 0,000 in actual damages and .7 million in punitive damages when she spilled scalding coffee over her lap at a fast food drive-in.
The textbook then outlined various other instances of lawsuits – in America and England – that had been brought to recover financial losses caused by another party.
For instance, a fading American actor moved to England and became a screen play writer and director. When one of his plays opened, a newspaper reviewer panned it unmercifully, asserting it was “without doubt the worst thing I have ever seen on the London stage.” When the show folded soon after, the writer/director sued the newspaper for damages.
During the trial the reviewer admitted he hadn’t even seen the play, but had relied on the opinion of a fellow journalist. He had also reported the performance had been “poorly attended,” when “in fact it was half full.” A judge found for the plaintiff and awarded damages.
“If you had been the judge,” I asked lawyer Darya, “how much money would you have given the writer/director?”
“I wouldn’t have given him anything.”
“Why not?” I asked, trying not to show my incredulity.
“This is all very strange to us,” she replied. “You’d never get anything in Russia. And nobody ever sues. And the play would probably have folded anyway.”
[And it’s not just Darya. My IB students essentially echoed the same thing. In Russia, an injured individual has no recourse, and expects none. It’s simply another bitter twist of fate. The only ones who successfully sue for damages are government bureaucrats “libeled” by journalists. They always win.]
“But the theater was half full on opening night,” I reminded her. “Why do you think it would have folded anyway?”
“Well, there’s always a lot of publicity and advertising before the opening of a new show,” which is true in Moscow. “Broadway” productions are so rare that they’re bally-hooed for months ahead of time and turned into gala social affairs. I thought back to Nord-Ost, the premiere of which I had attended, and to the more recent production of “Cats.”
And I also thought back to “The Subject was Roses,” an off-Broadway play I saw in the mid-’60s, which was probably about half full and which continued a several-month run.
But since the London production was only half full on opening night, it would have soon folded anyway, Darya reasoned.
Obviously, Moscow is not New York or London.
But most importantly, she argued, the review wouldn’t have had any significant effect on the show’s run.
“You never believe a newspaper review,” she explained. “You know that the reviewer was paid to write what he wrote. And maybe the director just didn’t pay the reviewer enough, so he gave it a bad review. But that wouldn’t cause it to close.
“People just don’t believe what they read in the newspapers.”
So American journalism still has a ways to fall before it sinks to the level of its Moscow counterpart. I’m more than ever looking forward to doing an autopsy on Russian journalism with Dasha.
Landlady Natasha’s son Dima will come by tomorrow to collect the 0 rent, leaving me about 0 in my pocket and about 00 on my AmeriCard, which I’ve given Nadya at EE to keep as collateral for the ,000 loan. Like most unemployed Russian housewives, Natasha is spending the summer at her dacha.
I talked briefly to Andrei today, but he was driving and didn’t have time to go into detail about the tobacco biz in Stavropol and the prospects for repaying the loan. But “everything’s okay,” he assured.
I called him again tonight and Zhorik answered! He expects to arrive Sunday. I asked to speak to Andrei. “Yes, he’s nearby.” And then, “He’s already left.”
I’m getting a little uncomfortable that he’s giving me the run-around. I hope not. It will cause very bad feelings between us. If he doesn’t come through with at least the ,000 for Rod and Nadya, it may be the end of our relationship, not because he will have failed me, but because he will have caused me to fail my friends.
“My word is my bond,” old Sheriff Dave Starr used to intone on his campaign tours back in Orange County, Florida, 50 years ago. Hokey as it sounds, that’s also my credo. If I make a promise, I keep it.
I am very excited today because of the reception my Red Queen website is getting. I sent the address to half a dozen of my friends in America last night for their reaction. From Sam, who gave me the idea for the name as well as the William S. Burroughs connection:
But I was particularly gratified by the response from Bruce, a literary gourmand and unpublished author who has a discerning eye for les affaires literaire and is always a little reserved in his critique of anything:
Oh yeah, below is the text of an email I sent to The Stranger here in town.
Congratulations Old Bean
The Stranger is a very popular, off-the-wall, gay newspaper in Seattle. Dan Savage is its nearly universally-read (by gays) columnist:
I happen to know the claims of truthfulness are solid because X is an old friend of mine. In fact years ago we shared a group house in DC and then here in Seattle. Check Red Queen out. I'd like to know what you think.
Bruce wouldn’t have lent the site his unqualified support if he didn’t think it merited it. And I respect his taste and judgment probably more than that of anybody else I know. Anyway, I’m pleased and happy.
But I can’t really share my elation with anybody but Basil, because none of my housemates – the cast of characters in my “gay, Dickensian novel” -- don’t even know I’m writing these columns. And I don’t think they’d be too pleased to know that their daily capers – even anonymously – are being spread across computer screens around the world.
For instance, Anton’s new boyfriend Mike (he prefers “Mike” to “Misha”) came (after arriving an hour earlier) again last night.
Among the friends I tried to send the address to were the Harveys, Jack and Jackie (#126, 127, 131). This morning a message appeared on my screen from the Mail Delivery System.
Jack is suffering from sugar diabetes and heart disease. I sent the message after hitting the “reply” buttom to his earlier message. “Permanent error?” What the hell does that mean? How permanent can an error be? Is that something like “terminal”?
So I wrote Crutchfield and Dick-and-June Anderson asking them to check out this “ominous” development if they could.
He is, after all, the same age as I. I guess I’m getting a little paranoid after my sister’s stroke.
