Communication and Peace: Mapping an emerging field (Routledge Studies in Peace and Conflict Resolution) [1 ed.] 113801804X, 9781138018044

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Communication and Peace

This book analyzes the role of communication in conflicts, with a focus on de-­escalation and processes of peacebuilding and peace formation. From the employment of hate radio in the Rwanda genocide, to the current conflict between Russia and the Ukraine following events in Crimea, communication and the media are widely recognized as powerful tools in conflicts and war. Although there has been significant academic attention on the relationship between the media, conflict and war, academic efforts to understand this relationship have tended to focus primarily on the links between communication and conflict, rather than on communication and peace. In order to make sense of peace it is essential to look at communication in its many facets, mediated or not. This is true within many of the diverse strands that make up the emerging field of communication and peace, but it is also true in the sense that a holistic and interdisciplinary approach is missing from the literature. This book addresses this widely acknowledged lacuna by providing an interdisciplinary perspective on the field, bringing together relevant, but so far largely isolated, streams of research. In doing so, it aims to provide a platform for further reflection of the meaning of, and requirements for, peace in our contemporary world with a focus on de-­escalation, conflict transformation, reconciliation and processes of peacebuilding – as opposed to conflict escalation or crisis intervention. This volume will be of much interest to students of peace and conflict studies, peacebuilding, media and communication studies, security studies and IR in general. Julia Hoffmann is Senior Advisor, ICT and Media at Hivos, The Netherlands, and former Assistant Professor of Human Rights, Media and Conflict at the UN University for Peace in Costa Rica. She is co-­editor (with André Nollkaemper) of The Responsibility to Protect: From Principle to Practice (2012). Virgil Hawkins is Associate Professor at the Osaka School of International Public Policy (OSIPP) at Osaka University, Japan and research associate at the University of the Free State, South Africa. He is author of Stealth Conflicts: How the World’s Worst Violence Is Ignored (2010).

Routledge Studies in Peace and Conflict Resolution Series Editors: Tom Woodhouse and Oliver Ramsbotham University of Bradford

Peace and Security in the Postmodern World The OSCE and conflict resolution Dennis J.D. Sandole Truth Recovery and Justice after Conflict Managing violent pasts Marie Breen Smyth Peace in International Relations Oliver P. Richmond Social Capital and Peace-­Building Creating and resolving conflict with trust and social networks Edited by Michaelene Cox Business, Conflict Resolution and Peacebuilding Contributions from the private sector to address violent conflict Derek Sweetman Creativity and Conflict Resolution Alternative pathways to peace Tatsushi Arai Climate Change and Armed Conflict Hot and Cold Wars James R. Lee Transforming Violent Conflict Radical disagreement, dialogue and survival Oliver Ramsbotham Governing Ethnic Conflict Consociation, identity and the price of peace Andrew Finlay

Political Discourse and Conflict Resolution Debating peace in Northern Ireland Edited by Katy Hayward and Catherine O’Donnell Economic Assistance and Conflict Transformation Peacebuilding in Northern Ireland Sean Byrne Liberal Peacebuilding and Global Governance Beyond the metropolis David Roberts A Post-­Liberal Peace Oliver P. Richmond Peace Research Theory and practice Peter Wallensteen Reconciliation after Terrorism Strategy, possibility or absurdity? Judith Renner and Alexander Spencer Post-­War Security Transitions Participatory peacebuilding after asymmetric conflicts Edited by Veronique Dudouet, Hans Giessman and Katrin Planta Rethinking Peacebuilding The quest for just peace in the Middle East and the Western Balkans Edited by Karin Aggestam and Annika Björkdahl Violent Conflict and Peacebuilding The continuing crisis in Darfur Johan Brosché and Daniel Rothbart Peacebuilding and NGOs State–civil society interactions Ryerson Christie Peace Negotiations and Time Deadline diplomacy in territorial disputes Marco Pinfari History Education and Post-­Conflict Reconciliation Reconsidering joint textbook projects Edited by Karina V. Korostelina and Simone Lässig

Conflict Resolution and Human Needs Linking theory and practice Edited by Kevin Avruch and Christopher Mitchell Human Rights Education and Peacebuilding A comparative study Tracey Holland and J. Paul Martin Post-­Conflict Studies An interdisciplinary approach Edited by Chip Gagnon and Keith Brown Arab Approaches to Conflict Resolution Mediation, negotiation and settlement of political disputes Nahla Hamdan and Frederic S. Pearson UN Peace Operations and International Policing Negotiating complexity, assessing impact and learning to learn Charles T. Hunt Nonviolent Resistance and Conflict Transformation Dynamics and factors of conflict demilitarisation Edited by Véronique Dudouet Communication and Peace Mapping an emerging field Edited by Julia Hoffmann and Virgil Hawkins

The evidence is growing that media and communication in the twenty-first century really matter in shaping how and whether humans get on with each other or end up attacking and killing each other. We need really strong multi-disciplinary research, reflecting diverse approaches and perspectives, to better understand what we can do to support media that reduces or mitigates conflict and increases the chances of people getting on with each other. We don’t have anything like enough of it and this looks like a very promising and timely contribution. James Deane, BBC Media Action, UK An excellent book revealing both how media contribute to violence and how they could contribute to peace; like asking “Mr President, what is the conflict underlying the violence? Mr President, what are you going to do to solve that conflict?” Johan Galtung, TRANSCEND International To remain relevant, peacebuilding must prove itself to be media-savvy. Yet for too long the discussion on the contribution of media to peacebuilding has remained within the ranks of the converted, framed by high expectations of its positive impacts – expectations which, given that peacebuilding by its very nature permeates the whole of society, often seem exaggerated. Presenting a variety of experiences and lessons learned from the practice of peacebuilding, Hoffmann and Hawkins bring together important voices in this handbook, thus laying an essential – and a refreshingly critical – foundation for opening up this field to interdisciplinary reflection. Rousbeh Legatis, Peace and Conflict Researcher & U.N. Correspondent for Inter Press Service (IPS) News Agency The dynamics between peace and communication remains a hugely underresearched area of academic inquiry. This excellent collection of essays with some stellar contributors makes a timely and much-needed intervention in the field. Highly recommended. Daya Thussu, University of Westminster, UK

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Communication and Peace Mapping an emerging field

Edited by Julia Hoffmann and Virgil Hawkins

First published 2015 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2015 selection and editorial matter, Julia Hoffmann and Virgil Hawkins; individual chapters, the contributors The right of the editors to be identified as the authors of the editorial matter, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-­in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-Publication Data A Communication and peace : mapping an emerging field / edited by Julia Hoffmann and Virgil Hawkins.  pages cm. -- (Routledge studies in peace and conflict resolution) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Mass media and peace. 2. Mass media and international relations. 3. Peace-building. 4. Peaceful change (International relations) 5. Communication--Political aspects. I. Hoffmann, Julia, 1980- editor of compilation. II. Hawkins, Virgil, editor of compilation. P96.P33C66 2015 303.6'6014--dc23 2014030089 ISBN: 978-1-138-01804-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-77312-4 (ebk) Typeset in Baskerville by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear

Contents



List of figures List of tables Notes on contributors Foreword

xii xiii xiv xviii

O liver P . R ichmond



Acknowledgments



Introduction: communication and peace – mapping an emerging field J ulia

H offmann and V irgil

xxi

1

H aw k ins

  1 Media in peace and conflict studies

16

J a k e L ynch

  2 Media studies and the peace issue

34

C ees J . H amelin k

PART I

Reporting and representing peace

49

  3 Peace and the absence of journalism

51

V irgil H aw k ins

  4 Conflict-­Sensitive Journalism: (r)evolution in media peacebuilding

62

R oss H oward

  5 The United Nations’ “Responsibility to Protect” and the world’s press: establishing a new humanitarian norm? S imon

C ottle and C harles

M artin

H ughes

76

x   Contents   6 Media and war propaganda: the value of exposure

92

O liver B oyd - ­B arrett

  7 Imagined violence: representations of masculinity and a culture of peace

107

L ara M a z urs k i

  8 The media and deconstruction of the enemy image

120

B aba k B ahador

PART II

Intervening for peace

133

  9 Still caught in the crossfire? UN peace operations and their information capacities

135

I ngrid A . L ehmann

10 Beyond journalism: expanding the use of media in peacebuilding

148

V ladimir B ratic´

11 UN peacekeeping radio: the way forward M ichelle

  B et z

and H elene

  P apper

12 Reflections on using monitoring and evaluation to enhance information interventions for peace

163

179

M aureen T aylor

13 Digital technology and peace

192

S teven L ivingston

14 Strategic communications and the avoidance of violent conflict M onroe

  E .   P rice

and N icole

  S tremla U

15 Capacity-­building, institutional change and theories of change: creating an enabling environment for journalists in post-­conflict environments

204

219

M ichelle B et z

16 Confronting the conundrum of hate speech J ulia H offmann

233

Contents   xi 17 Media as watchdogs and election monitors in fragile states

247

M arie - ­S oleil F r è re

PART III

Enacting and communicating peace

263

18 The role of the media in transitional justice

265

L isa J . L aplante

19 Communication for memory and peace: articulating violence in post-­repressive contexts

277

Kristin S orensen

20 Community media as performers of peace

289

C lemencia R odr í gue z

21 Communication toward a negotiated peace: conflict, contestation and the media

303

P radip T homas



Index

316

Figures

  5.1   5.2   5.3   5.4   5.5 13.1

R2P press coverage 2002–2013 R2P press coverage around the world R2P press coverage of the three pillars Press support and criticism of R2P Press frames and R2P reporting Global distribution of conflicts

81 82 83 84 86 193

Tables

  5.1   8.1   8.2 11.1

Press formats and R2P reporting Characterization category findings: positive vs. negative Our future actions category findings UN peacekeeping missions that included setting up radio stations

87 128 129 166

Contributors

Babak Bahador is a Senior Lecturer at the University of Canterbury in New Zealand, where he teaches in both the Media and Communication and Political Science departments. He holds a PhD in International Rela­ tions from the London School of Economics and Political Science. Michelle Betz is a former network journalist and university lecturer now working as a Senior Media Development Consultant. Her areas of expertise include media in conflict and post-­conflict, military–media relations and election reporting. She has over ten years of international experience mostly in sub-­Saharan Africa and the Middle East. Oliver Boyd-­Barrett is Professor Emeritus of Bowling Green State University (OH) and of California State Polytechnic University, Pomona (CA) and was Visiting Professor at the Chinese University of Hong Kong in 2014. His most recent book is Media Imperialism (Sage, 2014). Vladimir Bratic´ is an Associate Professor of Communications at Hollins University. He teaches and lectures about the media’s capacity to promote the peaceful transformation of violent conflict across the world. Dr. Bratic´ has a master’s degree in International Relations and a PhD in Mass Communication from Ohio University. Simon Cottle is Professor of Media and Communications and Head of the School of Journalism, Media and Cultural Studies (JOMEC) at Cardiff University. He is the author of many books including, Humanitarianism, Communications and Change (2015) (co-edited with Glenda Cooper), and Global Crisis Reporting: Journalism in the Global Age (2009). Marie-­Soleil Frère is Senior Researcher at the National Fund for Scientific Research in Belgium and Professor at the Department of Information and Communication Sciences at the University of Brussels (ULB). Her most recent books include Elections and the Media in Post-­conflict Africa (2011) and The Media and Conflicts in Central Africa (2007).

Contributors   xv Cees J. Hamelink is Emeritus Professor of International Communication at the University of Amsterdam, currently Professor for Information Management at the University of Aruba, and Professor of Human Rights and Public Health at the Vrije Universiteit of Amsterdam. Virgil Hawkins is an Associate Professor at the Osaka School of International Public Policy (OSIPP), Osaka University, and Research Associate at the University of the Free State, South Africa. He is the author of Stealth Conflicts: How the World’s Worst Violence Is Ignored (2008). Julia Hoffmann is the Senior Advisor, ICT and Media at Hivos, The Netherlands. As Assistant Professor Human Rights, Media and Conflict at the UN University for Peace in Costa Rica her research interests lie at the intersection of human rights, communication and conflict. Ross Howard is a Canadian journalist, educator and specialist in media development in conflict-­stressed states. Author of Conflict Sensitive Journalism: a Handbook (IMPACS/International Media Support) and Conflict Sensitive Reporting: State of the Art and Model Curriculum (UNESCO) and other publications, he has presented media development initiatives in a number of countries. Charles Martin Hughes achieved his MA in Political Communication from the School of Journalism, Media and Cultural Studies (JOMEC) at Cardiff University in 2013. In the summer of 2012 he worked with Professor Simon Cottle as part of Cardiff University’s CUROP research scheme, carrying out a systematic analysis of international news coverage of the UN’s Responsibility to Protect doctrine. Lisa J. Laplante is an Associate Professor at New England Law/Boston where she also directs the Center for International Law and Policy. She spent almost six years as a human rights lawyer and researcher in Peru, bringing complaints to the Inter-­American Human Rights System. She was also a researcher with the Peruvian Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Ingrid A. Lehmann worked in the United Nations Secretariat for 28 years. She served as Director of the UN offices in Washington, Athens and Vienna and in two peacekeeping missions in Cyprus and Namibia. She has taught international political communication at the University of Salzburg and the University for Peace. Steven Livingston is Professor of Media and Public Affairs and International Affairs at The George Washington University in Washington, DC. Most recently, he has edited with Gregor Walter-­Drop, Bits and Atoms: Information and Communication Technology in Areas of Limited Statehood (OUP, 2014).

xvi   Contributors Jake Lynch is Director of the Centre for Peace and Conflict Studies of the University of Sydney and a Senior Research Fellow of the School of Communication at the University of Johannesburg. Before taking up an academic post, Jake enjoyed a 20-year career in professional journalism. Lara Mazurski is a doctoral candidate in the Literary Studies department at the University of Amsterdam, Netherlands and an affiliate of the Amsterdam School for Cultural Analysis. Lara’s research and teaching interests include queer and gender theory, critical race theory, post-colonial studies, critical linguistics, Islamic feminism, and Muslim women’s studies. Helene Papper is Chief of Radio for the UN’s peacekeeping mission in Mali. A Rotary International Scholar and Peace Ambassador, she has worked as an international affairs journalist in conflict zones, as a communications expert for the African Development Bank, and managed UN radios in Haiti and South Sudan. Monroe E. Price is on the faculty at the University of Pennsylvania’s Annenberg School for Communication, and Director of its Center for Global Communication Studies. His book, Freedom of Expression, Globali­ zation and the New Strategic Communication, is published by Cambridge University Press. Oliver P. Richmond is a Research Professor in IR, Peace and Conflict Studies in the Humanitarian and Conflict Response Institute at the University of Manchester, UK. He is also International Professor, College of International Studies, Kyung Hee University, Korea and a Visiting Professor at the University of Tromso. Clemencia Rodríguez is a Professor at the University of Oklahoma and Professor at the Universidad Autónoma del Caribe. She has published extensively in the areas of citizens’ media, including Fissures in the Mediascape: An International Study of Citizens’ Media (2001) and Citizens’ Media Against Armed Conflict: Disrupting Violence in Colombia (2011). Kristin Sorensen is an Associate Professor of Global Studies at Bentley University. She teaches Cross Cultural Understanding, Human Rights in Global Media, and Latin American Cinema. Her research investigates the manner in which cultural identities, historical memories, and their associated traumas circulate through the media and public culture. Nicole Stremlau heads the Programme in Comparative Media Law and Policy, Centre for Socio-­Legal Studies at Oxford University. She is also the Socio-­Legal Fellow at Wolfson College. Her research focuses on media and governance, particularly in areas of conflict and insecurity in Africa.

Contributors   xvii Maureen Taylor is the Gaylord Family Chair of Strategic Communication, University of Oklahoma. Taylor’s research focuses on communication and relationship building in civil society. She has authored over 100 publications and has participated in dozens of development projects across the world as a media monitoring and evaluation (M&E) specialist. Pradip Thomas is the Head of School, Journalism and Communication, University of Queensland. He has written extensively on issues related to communication rights and communication for social change – most recently “The ‘Red’ Surge: Reporting Maoist Struggles in India,” International Communication Gazette, 76 (6), 2014.

Foreword Oliver P. Richmond

“Peace talks . . .”

The communication, dissemination and perpetuation of peace and war are intimately linked. In the recent past in the West, political communication took place in the stylized language of elite diplomacy and officialdom, which evolved in the context of political authority not conditioned by citizen demands but by elite interests and forms of autocracy or oligarchy. Peace talks, conferences and treaties, and their military and political offshoots, represented peace – often in negative form. While this continues in parts of the world, and especially those affected by war and structural forms of violence, the corraling of discourse/power into one small vanguardist sector of “leaders,” generals, modernizers, and other experts, has been challenged, becoming increasingly difficult to maintain. Negative forms of peace, harboring structural and therefore discursive violence, have lost their political legitimacy. If discourse is power/knowledge, then it is also peace and war, whatever its mode of communication, medium, or institutional/legal framing. Forms of communication, the media they adopt, and their political roles, inevitably throw light on the abuses of power or the limitations of existing institutions, values, norms, or laws; and ultimately thus are integral to the evolution of more accountable, transparent and progressive political communities which reshape institutions, laws, rights, and systems of redistribution (i.e., social justice) whether at the state or international levels, based on rights, redistribution, equality and justice. Just how far discourse, violence and peace are related is increasingly becoming clear, especially in the context of the various attempts modernity has seen to build a broadly legitimate political and international order, necessarily resting on the resolution of discursive and structural violence and hybrid, positive, forms of peace. Of course some scholars, intellectuals, philosophers and literary figures, from Erasmus to Orwell, have always been intensely aware of the discursive connection between peace and war and its negative or positive possibilities: “Peace talks, but who will listen” to quote one contemporary scholar, drawing on Erasmus.1

Foreword   xix To counter-­paraphrase, war and violence talk and everyone hears, whether they want to or not. War and conflict have long been seen to be the terrain of leaders, politicians, the military, the state, and some incorrigible non-­ state militants. On the other hand, critical scholars have long pointed to the complex networks of interest that support violence and its extractive or predatory logics of profit, status or exclusion. The unraveling of these networks have begun to make clear the social depth of the roots of violence, and the need to address concrete issues of education and communication – along with political, social and economic rights – through mediums which display, disseminate and translate their political meanings for all, and especially the subjects of power. As the editors of this volume point out in their introduction, violence is communicated in embedded structures such that many feel it to be a natural part of political systems; whereas peace and communication is a much more marginal and apparently less common concern of scholars and policy-­makers. Yet peace is actually similarly embedded, but less vocal, representing an imbalance this book begins to redress. Modes of human interaction – discourses and their related power – are interrogated for their role in reproducing conflict, and in the interventions necessary to produce more progressive forms of peace. The rich collection of essays gathered together in this book explore, in one of the most comprehensive contributions so far, what this means for peace and its essence: the discursive, communicational basis for law, institutions, leadership, society, rights, peace and order. It does so by looking at representational and material questions of inequality, gender, and the perpetuation of dehumanizing stereotypes: the areas of Peace Journalism; the contribution of media studies; the role of new forms of diplomacy; various mediums of communication including radio stations; emerging new technologies for communication; the problem of communicational inequalities, and their implications for human rights, discrimination, peacekeeping, peacebuilding and conflict resolution; hate speech, injustice and remembering; and many other areas. It illustrates how popular, local and international agency marshals itself for peace in various – and often increasingly sophisticated – ways. It also points, by implication, to the problem of how power, war and violence, may in future respond to such accountability and constraints (i.e., what would a counter-­ communicational framework for violence and war look like in response to the improvements this book recommends?). Whether it is Peace Journalism, or the use of new technology, this study’s endeavor is all the more necessary in a global, post-­colonial, “networked society,” where freedom of movement for information and capital (but not yet people) is ubiquitous. Social justice and emancipation cannot be achieved without open channels of communication, precisely translated, in which various forms of media are able to expose and reconfigure the inequalities and tensions which feed conflict. Without this capacity,

xx   O.P. Richmond mediation, cooperation and compromise cannot be embedded in contemporary transnational and transversal political structures or political leadership. The role of communication in embedding peace in local political frameworks and all the way up the political scale to the international architecture itself, needs to be more clearly understood. This collection of essays represents an innovative and important next step in understanding how communication may establish accountable fact and engender change, whether for rights, development, or other aspects of peace in international or more contextual forms. It points to the limitations of current and hegemonic political formulations of communication in association with existing political, economic and social power – and the many silences they appear to create or tolerate. It forms part of an emerging and far more comprehensive, legible and accountable interdisciplinary architecture of thought and practice, which is aimed at building a contextual and empathetic peace fit for the life of a twenty-­first century citizen, one who listens and communicates.

Note 1 Fred Dallmayr, Peace Talks – Who Will Listen?, University of Notre Dame Press, 2004.

Acknowledgments

Compiling a volume with such a diverse array of subject material and perspectives was a wonderful challenge. Thanks to the commitment and enthusiasm of all our contributing authors it has been a true pleasure to work on. The editors were especially grateful for the opportunity to bring together many of the contributors to this book for three days of exchange and discussion at Osaka University in December 2013. The ensuing conversation ultimately served to enhance not only the chapters, but also the cohesion of the book as a whole. For generously hosting and funding this event, the editors would like to express their gratitude to Osaka University’s Doctoral Program for Multicultural Innovation (otherwise known as the RESPECT Program). Furthermore, the editors would like to especially thank Carl Lawson for his tireless work as the editorial assistant for this volume. We would also like to acknowledge the input of Saumava Mitra, whose insights greatly benefited the conceptual overview of the book. We would furthermore like to thank Tom Woodhouse and Oliver Ramsbotham, the series editors for Routledge Studies in Peace and Conflict Resolution, as well as Andrew Humphrys and Hannah Ferguson at Routledge, for their professionalism and dedicated work on this volume. Julia Hoffmann would like to thank Virgil Hawkins for insisting this project be undertaken – even if it meant joining it! – and Rob for his untiring support from the outset of this project and his many timely and invaluable incisions during its maturation. Virgil Hawkins would also like to express his appreciation to Julia Hoffmann for the journey that was this book; as well as to Maximilian Mainza for his additional editorial work; and to Kaoru, for her support throughout the process. Julia Hoffmann (Amsterdam) Virgil Hawkins (Osaka)

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Introduction Communication and peace – mapping an emerging field Julia Hoffmann and Virgil Hawkins

The complex and dynamic relationship between communication, in its many forms, and peace, in its many interpretations, is as relevant and as demanding of our attention as ever before. At the time of writing the relations between Russia and Ukraine in the aftermath of events in Crimea are being covered by the international news media largely in terms of a zero-­ sum game – co-­creating a winner-­versus-loser scenario framed in Cold War rhetoric. In South Sudan, hate radio is being blamed for its role in inciting massacres there, exactly 20 years after the issue of hate radio rose to unprecedented prominence during the genocide in Rwanda. At the same time, negotiations continue between the United Nations and the Swiss NGO Fondation Hirondelle regarding the future form of their cooperation in setting up radio stations in support of its peace operations in Africa, in which broadcasts use the dissemination and sharing of information as well as drama to help consolidate peace. Meanwhile, satellites are recording photographic evidence of breaches of the peace; the UN predicts that by the end of 2014 the number of in-­use mobile phones will exceed the world’s population; while the same year saw the first edition of Build Peace, which brought together activists, researchers and practitioners at MIT to share ideas about how to understand and make use of the potential of information and communication technology for peacebuilding and conflict transformation. The recognition of links between communication, conflict and peace are nothing new, but academic efforts to understand them have tended to focus primarily on the links between communication and conflict, rather than on peace. Furthermore, work on links between communication and peace has tended to explore specific aspects of the issue – largely in isolation. Just as importantly, great changes have been witnessed in the nature of conflict since the end of the Cold War and beyond, and the responses to conflict – from peacemaking to peacekeeping to peacebuilding – have also evolved considerably in terms of their ideological framework, perception, actors, scope and practice. Developments in information and communication technology, and its utilization, have also been continuing at a blinding pace, and the ingenuity exercised in this regard by belligerents,

2   J. Hoffmann and V. Hawkins observers and those who attempt to intervene in some form has been remarkable. In a world with ubiquitous, 24/7, and increasingly global media, (partially and selectively) interconnected into what may be called a “network society” (Castells 2010), we argue here that in order to make sense of peace it is essential to look at communication in its many facets, mediated or not. But as is often the case, reality and practice continue to run far ahead of theorization, in-­depth analysis of the situation, and even the evaluation of the effectiveness of the many interventions already being undertaken in the field that concern the links between communication and peace. This is true within many of the diverse strands that make up the field of communication and peace, but it is also true in the sense that a holistic and interdisciplinary approach is missing from the literature. It is in this context, and with these concerns in mind, that this book was conceived and developed.

The issue of “peace” in communication literature Plenty of substantial research has been conducted shedding light on the relationship between the media and conflict and war. Communication and media scholars have analyzed and chronicled the intricate tricks and rhetoric tools of indoctrination and propaganda and the sanitization of war in the information age; deconstructed the sometimes ominous nexus between government and other “official”/“expert” sources and journalists; and explored the possibility that saturated media coverage can influence intervention decisions – the so-­called “CNN effect.” They have also critiqued biases in the representation of others and the discursive construction of enemy images; described the framing of world events that result from the dominant production processes of a news industry fascinated by sensationalist visuals of violence; and dissected the underlying political economy of the international media landscape as an integral part of the military–industrial complex, to explain its ideological functions in favor of war. There is, in other words, a large and solid body of knowledge about the pivotal role the media has played (and continues to play) in the construction of perceived reality, and, consequently, the conduct of international relations. One may conclude that the topic of peace has been covered, largely implicitly, as the flip side of war and conflict. Indeed, the interest of scholars in the mechanics of escalation and the entrenchment of animosities between adversaries is arguably driven by the desire to amend and thus break such destructive cycles of human aggression and violence. And it is also true that some scholars have looked at the role of the media in aiding or hindering specific peace processes (Wolfsfeld 2004; McLaughlin and Baker 2010). However, as scholars of peace and conflict have long pointed out, peace itself is ill understood if defined solely through the absence of violence. Beyond Johan Galtung’s (1964) now classic distinction between positive

Introduction   3 and negative peace, more recent writings – inspired by the increasing preoccupation with peacebuilding as a core activity of the international community in its many incarnations – have introduced yet more nuanced analytical concepts that take into account different forms of power at play in efforts to “build” peace, distinguishing inter alia oppressive forms of victor’s peace and seeking to formulate conditions that would be more conducive to a more emancipatory peace based on the everyday needs and rights of its constituents (see, e.g., MacGinty and Richmond 2013; Richmond forthcoming). In this regard however, exchange between the disciplines of communication and peace and conflict scholarship has been notably limited. This is not to say that there is no history of literature that focuses specifically on communication and peace. One of the rare books that has sought to foster reflection on this topic specifically is the book edited by Tapio Varis, then-­ rector of the UN-­mandated University for Peace in Costa Rica, published in 1986. In line with its times, its focus is mainly on international peace – understood as (nuclear) disarmament and the prevention of interstate war – and the nature of news coverage of this issue; as well as the international “communication structure” and directionality of information flows, echoing the preoccupations of a world engaged in a Cold War and debates on the need for a New World Information and Communication Order during the preceding years. The brisk end of those debates within UNESCO also ushered in a period of disillusionment and caution, and a notably less “critical” body of literature on development communication that retreated from systemic critiques to a more pragmatic and less controversial interest in technical assistance; and then, in the 1990s, to a widespread optimism about the potentials of “leapfrogging” with the emergence of “new” media for development – and peace. In 1990 another edited volume focusing specifically on peace, Communicating for Peace, fed tangentially into the debate by drawing attention to the themes of intercultural communication, mostly concerned with the formats of negotiation and diplomatic communication, mediated as well as interpersonal (Korzenny and Ting-­Toomey). The significance of these volumes for our argument here is that, to our knowledge, they are the only two preceding attempts that have sought to pull together different voices reflecting on the issue of communication and peace. The limitation and specialization of those existing volumes has provided a welcome space to focus on a specific aspect of the intersection between communication and peace, as well as to provide a broader interpretive framework within which such work could be situated academically, making explicit the underlying notions of “peace” and “communication” that each of those works silently takes for granted. Equally importantly, both volumes are clearly situated in a particular moment in history and thus echo a particular understanding of peace – as

4   J. Hoffmann and V. Hawkins will, inevitably, the present volume. Since 1990, when the second of these volumes was published, monumental changes have been witnessed in an array of issues associated with conflict, peace and communication. The end of the Cold War saw an end to the so-­called proxy superpower conflicts, but it was also accompanied by a rise in new armed conflicts and the resurgence of warlordism. Peace operations mushroomed in number, and evolved from primarily small-­scale observer missions in response to ceasefires; to responses to complex humanitarian emergencies that were vast in scale and in scope. At the time of writing there are almost 100,000 peacekeepers stationed in the field in 16 peacekeeping operations – and one political mission. But their mandate extends far beyond simple peacekeeping – these missions are also tasked with a host of peacebuilding duties. Yet beyond the fast growing and still evolving literature on Peace Journalism (see also Jake Lynch’s contribution in this volume) – which is mainly dedicated to the nature of news reporting of conflict – precious little attention has been given to the interrelation between communication and peace by either community. As Hamelink (also in this volume) points out, with rare exceptions like Jörg Becker – who in his 2005 book Communication and Conflict did include a short chapter explicitly addressing the issue of communication in relation to peace – recent developments within peace studies are still scarcely reflected within studies of communications. Thus, existing scholarship is very limited, often dated and, we argue here, presently insufficient to address the growing needs and complexity of current efforts within the field of activities referred to as peacebuilding – which itself has come under severe analytical criticism (e.g., MacGinty and Richmond 2013). Communication and media activities on the ground then continue to be plagued by a “lack of conceptual clarity . . . stemming from the fact that there is no natural scholarly silo in which to develop research of this type” (Kalathil et al. 2008: 9, emphasis added).

The issue of “communication” in peace literature In terms of changes in communication in conflict and peace, while the tools of propaganda have been used since ancient times, technological advances relating to communication have dramatically altered the practices of warfare (arguably even bringing about a revolution in military affairs) and its very experience (Der Derian, 2000). Subsequently, military campaigns today are increasingly concerned with “information warfare,” perception management, psychological operations (PSYOPS) and public diplomacy before, during and after violent conflict. Since the second half of the 1990s the infamous role of radio and other media in the preparation and execution of genocidal violence in Rwanda, as well as in the former Yugoslavia and other conflicts, helped to firmly re-­establish the issue of conflict escalation, at least on the communications research agenda.

Introduction   5 But with very few exceptions (a notable one being Nos Aldás et al. 2008), even in those few contributions that do seek to incorporate communication issues in peace and conflict studies (see, e.g., Zelizer, 2013), the central focus mostly remains the contribution of the media to processes of conflict escalation. They also remain concerned mainly, or exclusively, with the absence of war or direct violence, without explicitly or thoroughly conceptualizing their place in processes of peace in a broader sense. Exemplifying this are most of the writings concerned with the use of ICT for peace that mostly concern early warning mechanisms, including crisis mapping and violence prevention (see Mancini 2013). On the other hand, for example, the potential role of ICT in supplementing existing “infrastructures for peace” (van Tongeren 2011), has, surprisingly, received attention only from practitioners, and not from peace scholars (see, e.g., UNDP 2012). There have, indeed, been major developments on the part of practitioners. The tremendous power often ascribed to the media has nurtured the conviction, notably among donors, that if the media can unleash destructive forces and fan outbursts of violence, then it must also be possible to harness its assumed power for good. This has led to calls for the international community to address the issue of the media in conflicts, famously summed up by Jamie Metzl’s (1997) call to establish an “information intervention unit” within the UN. In addition, beyond such envisaged forms of crisis intervention by the UN, there is another set of activities that has informed post-­conflict media interventions by a variety of actors (for an informative overview see Howard 2002), and that could be considered part of the larger state-­ building and peacebuilding “toolbox.” The promotion of democratization, for example – by means of creating “independent” and “pluralistic” media – has become more pronounced. At the same time the restructuring of the media system to “secure freedom of expression” has also often gone hand-­in-hand with wide discretionary powers to discipline it. In the case of Bosnia the result was “one of the most comprehensive possible catalogues of the exercise of authority” on a sometimes dubious legal basis (Price 2002: 102). But the notable absence of the issue of communication from the vast majority of literature covering the field of peacebuilding (see, e.g., Call and Wyeth 2008; Roeder and Rothschild 2005; Paris 2004; Otunnu and Doyle 1998), and limited attention to the role of media in the state-­ building, governance and democratization literature (see, e.g., Norris 2010, 2008; Kumar 2006; Kalathil et al. 2008), reflects a lack of cross-­ pollination between these disciplines. The field of peace and conflict studies itself has been, over the past three decades, largely consolidated; by the mid-­1980s it was beginning to evolve into what Ramsbotham et al. (2011) called the fourth generation of research; and yet the 2011 edition of their seminal textbook was the first to include a chapter concerning the

6   J. Hoffmann and V. Hawkins media at all.1 More recent works that do include chapters on the role of the media confine the issue to the effects of journalistic coverage of conflicts or concentrate on the use of “new” technologies for conflict resolution or peace education, and isolate them from rather than integrate them into the “mainstream” topics on the peace and conflict research agenda – such as the importance of discourse, (group) identity formation, and radical disagreement. So, whereas in a “world [in which] the imperative to report atrocities and collective human rights abuses around the world finds normative support” (Cottle 2009: 500), the crucial function of the mass media for positive change, social cohesion, the development of democratic politics, and even reconciliation and peace, is increasingly being recognized. It remains, however, lamentably under-­theorized. Popular culture; new technologies that enable and conduct data flows that increasingly connect (parts of ) us; legacy news media formats; radio soap operas; public information and social marketing campaigns; SMS; satellite imaging – all of these dynamics are relevant for the study of peace, yet they have largely been left out of the mainstream peace and conflict studies literature. And despite the intensification of (overt) donor involvement in local media projects, reliable evaluation methodologies that could shed more light on their effectiveness have been slow to emerge (see, e.g., Curtis 2000; Bratic´ 2008; Betz 2011). In its 1996 Inventory of Post-­Conflict Peace-­Building Activities, the UN classified “local media as a cross-­cutting peace building issue, transcending all categories of activities” (Curtis 2000: 147). In 2008 Kalathil et al. still find that “one area of post-­conflict reconstruction and development remains relatively under-­examined: media and communication,” which, “both in research and in the field . . . remains an afterthought.”2 Hence, despite a surge in donor activities involving communication projects related to peace, a consensus concerning the aims, methods and purposes – and when and how to “use” communication as a part of engagements in post-­conflict environments – has yet to emerge. Accordingly, such projects still entail a plethora of activities3 that are executed without much coordination, long-­term orientation or eye for potential synergies, and within a fragmented theoretical framework with “very few institutionalized guiding norms and principles” (ibid.: 15). So whereas the recognition that communication and media are a “cross-­cutting issue” in peacebuilding is shared by most actors in the field today, this seems as of yet not to have brought forth deep and self-­reflective engagement. At the same time, the increasingly professionalizing practice that considers the “use” of communication in peace operations may have been unduly limited to the purely strategic aims of specific missions – informed by a small and specialized body of research on behavior change and public relations rather than on a study of the phenomenon in more breadth. In a notable chapter in his 1990 book Communicating for Peace, Majid Tehranian provides a rare perspective, drawing attention to the meaning

Introduction   7 of distinct notions of development – and the resulting conceptualization of communication for development – to reflect on our assumptions underlying communication and peacebuilding. His call for considering a “communitarian strategy” in efforts of peacebuilding foreshadowed current critiques of the so-­called liberal peace that have come to signify international strategies. This call has found limited resonance since. While there have long been scholars engaged in “critical” studies of “alternative” media – often advocating a rights-­based approach to communication as a public good (e.g., Carpentier and Cammaerts 2007, Thomas 2011) or seeking to elucidate the relationship between participatory communication and democracy (Carpentier 2009; Hoffmann 2009) – to date these research traditions do not explicitly consider peace and, once again, remain isolated from parallel debates within peace and conflict studies. In this sense the conclusion Varis drew in 1986, still holds: “[M]ost traditions of communication research are rather war-­oriented than peace-­ motivated. Consequently, there are no adequate theoretical tools and understanding to analyze what kind of communication structures and practices would be particularly helpful for the strengthening of peace” (p. 246). Even now, with the renewed interest in the media post-­Arab Spring, the “focus of analyses in the initial stages of the ‘Arab Spring’, for example, was more on social media and regime change than on implications for post-­conflict healing environments” (Price and Stremlau 2012: 1095). The interest in ICT for peace more broadly is still in its infancy, and is based on superficial and limited understanding of the full potential of “new” media technologies for peace processes, especially at the local level.

Issues of normativity The lack of integrated and holistic approaches in the literature is especially unfortunate since processes of “localization” of international norms – and the multiple interactions between the local and the international and related processes of negotiating the legitimacy of any such interventions – are quite clearly communication processes, processes which include threatening, persuasion, negotiation, dialogue and deliberation, but which also include more subtle processes such as discursive resistance and artistic expressions of dissent. Looking at a growing number of interventions targeting the media landscape within the remit of peacebuilding activities, what should be clear is that any such interventions are inherently normative and political – rather than merely technical – and should be discussed as such. In Price’s (2004: 195) words, “[M]edia reform is a mix of idealism and realpolitik, of advocacy of principle and extension of national interest.” While it is a crucial objective to rebuild media space in post-­conflict situations, it may also be a highly controversial and daunting task given

8   J. Hoffmann and V. Hawkins that there is hardly a one-­size-fits-­all solution. More often than not, efforts to induce media development include the training and protection of journalists, support of independent outlets, and commissions or licensing mechanisms; yet there is hardly consensus on what the best practices of such interventions would be, or clear distinctions between means and ends as “the bandwagon gets rolling” (Berger 2010). At the heart of most efforts remains the ideal of press freedom. However, there is also forceful criticism of an overly simplistic reliance on liberal media theories and the strength of a “marketplace of ideas,” – especially when it comes to fragile states emerging from crisis and conflict. In such situations, the assumption that the creation of a free and independent media automatically leads to the emergence of a strong and inclusive civil society; that it fosters a free and fair public discourse; and that it becomes a democratic tool for accountability, is naïve and potentially dangerous. As a recent research report put it: [O]n the ground there is a great deal of ‘hand-­to-mouth’ improvisation and often there are manifestly contradictory strategies. There is as much evidence that internationally supported initiatives have exacerbated local circumstances as that they have contributed to political stability. The record, in so far as one has been kept, is very mixed. (Putzel and van der Zwan, 2006: 31) Similarly, in terms of journalism training, there are critical voices opposed to the prevalent norms underlying many such activities in the framework of media development – voices that allege a continuing reproduction of interventions akin to a modernization paradigm of development (Lynch 2008), interventions that essentially represent ongoing forms of “cultural imperialism” (e.g., exporting concepts of what, exactly, constitutes professional journalism; as well as imposing desirable commercial media structures) by advocating systems that do not necessarily contribute to reduced violence in donor countries themselves. As Banda (2008: 50) puts it, One of the “instrumentalities” used by the imperial nations to “civilize” the natives was education. Its cultural foundations were those of the imperial nations, uprooting the natives from their own histories, epistemologies and ontologies. African journalism education reflects, in almost every conceivable way, Western forms of journalism training and education. In short, there are a number of unresolved tensions between dominant (if incoherently applied) “blueprints” for media development, freedom of speech, and local contexts, that defy simple answers in many post-­conflict societies. There are problems of media policy and law that may, in fact,

Introduction   9 serve to intensify sectarian divisions (as in Iraq); cause backlashes (as in Rwanda under the Arusha Accords of 1993); or undermine issues of local reform legitimacy, and thus of trust (as in Bosnia). This volume therefore addresses this widely acknowledged lacuna by providing an interdisciplinary perspective on the field – bringing together relevant, but so far largely isolated, streams of research to contribute to the emergence of a more integrated agenda and active epistemic community that can contribute to ongoing reflection of the meaning of, and requirements for, “peace” in our contemporary world. There will be a focus on de-­escalation, conflict transformation, reconciliation and processes of peacebuilding and peace formation – as opposed to conflict escalation or crisis intervention. To this end, the editors have asked a diverse range of authors to reflect on their respective research tradition’s perspectives, and to contribute to further developing this emerging field – inviting them to draw on recent thinking within peace and conflict studies, and specifically to make explicit their notions of the kinds of communication discussed, the nature of peace envisaged, and issues of power and legitimacy that are connected to them.

The structure of the book The book begins with two chapters providing an overview of the academic interaction (and its importance) between communication and peace studies. Jake Lynch begins by tracing the evolution of peace studies, situating within it the role of communication, and particularly the Peace Journalism movement. From the reverse direction, Cees J. Hamelink then critically examines the place of peace in communication studies, emphasizing the weaknesses of communication studies in this regard, and the need for media studies to do more when it comes to cross-­cultural and disciplinary boundaries. The rest of the book is divided into three parts, the first of which deals with the reporting and representing of peace from a variety of angles, including both news and entertainment media. In his chapter, Virgil Hawkins looks at the tendency of the news media to turn its attention away from conflict when the direct violence phase comes to an end, and at the yawning gap between the haves and have-­nots of the coverage of conflict and peace. Ross Howard tackles the issue of conflict-­sensitive journalism – including its evolution and implementation, with a case study of the election coverage in Kenya – and points to the potentials and limitations of this variety of journalism. The chapter by Simon Cottle and Charles Martin Hughes sets out to examine the patterns, practices and performance of the press in its coverage of the proposed norm of the Responsibility to Protect (R2P), based on a comprehensive study of English language newspapers across the period 2002–2013. Herman and Chomsky’s “Propaganda Model” is the focus of Oliver Boyd-­Barrett’s contribution, in which he

10   J. Hoffmann and V. Hawkins discusses the applicability of this model to media coverage of the exercise of superpower authority in the modern world. Lara Mazurski considers the inscription of hyper-­masculinity in Hollywood movies, and the problems associated with this glorification of conflict and imagined violence – including socialization that inhibits the development of cultures of peace. In the final chapter, Babak Bahador looks at the deconstruction of the “enemy” image through the news media, using comparative case studies from World War II, the Vietnam War and the 2003 Iraq War. An analysis is made of how the (former) “enemy” is framed in the conflict and the postconflict periods. Part II covers the issue of interventions, with a view to promoting peace. It begins with a chapter by Ingrid A. Lehmann that uses the cases of three UN peacekeeping operations – Kosovo, Haiti and the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) – to analyze the effectiveness of the new UN strategic communication policy in building public support and responding to criticism. Vladimir Bratic´’s chapter provides an overview and analysis of the performance to date of entertainment–education programs used for promoting peace: television soaps and radio dramas with subtle messages concerning how to overcome obstacles to peace. Michelle Betz and Helenne Papper provide an overview of UN peacekeeping radio, tracing its evolution and growth, as a tool for public diplomacy, public information and more – followed by an analysis of the challenges facing this form of media intervention tool and a vision of the way forward. Maureen Taylor’s chapter focuses on the issue of monitoring and evaluation (M&E) of media assistance programs, providing an overview of the background, the key concepts, methodology and lessons from the author’s field experience. Steven Livingston explores the potential for developments in digital technology to contribute to the creation and preservation of peace – through the enhancement of our ability to be aware of violence and human rights abuses, both past and present, and to hold accountable those responsible. Dealing with the topic of strategic communications and the avoidance of violent conflict, Monroe E. Price and Nicole Stremlau look at the importance of leadership, at both national and international levels, in managing expectations and in promoting unity and social cohesion in post-­conflict situations. Michelle Betz traces the evolution of media development in post-conflict environments, emphasizing the need for a holistic approach to media development that focuses not only on training journalists, but also on the creation of an enabling environment for journalism – including legal reform and access to information, sources and resources. Julia Hoffmann considers attempts to counter and prevent incendiary or “hate” speech through information interventions, with a particular focus on the potential and limitations of legislative strategies and their implementation. Finally, Marie-Soleil Frère critically examines the roles and shortcomings of foreign assistance to the media sector, using the case studies of Burundi and the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Introduction   11 Part III explores the enacting and communicating of peace. The role of the media in transitional justice is the focus of Lisa J. Laplante’s chapter, which examines not only this role but also the media as a subject of reform – with a view to bringing more coherence to policies regarding the media in countries undergoing such justice processes. Kristin Sorensen’s contribution deals with the role of forgetting and remembering in creating a path toward communicating peace in a post-­repressive society, with a focus on the case of Chile under and beyond the Pinochet regime. Clemencia Rodríguez, using the case of Colombia, explores how community communicators use citizens’ media to shield civilian communities from the negative impact of war, enhancing transparency and peacebuilding initiatives, and de-­escalating potentially violent conflicts, using audio-­visual, radio and performative forms of media. In the final chapter, Pradip Thomas considers the epistemic and ontological violence rooted in the caste system in India, and attempts to engender peace through communication in such contexts, here through the organized efforts by low caste women to make their voices heard and to access information to help them meet their needs.

Final remarks In a 1993 seminal article seeking to clarify the “fractured paradigm” that was (is) framing, a theory widely used in communications, Robert Entman formulated a challenge to scholars operating in a field plagued by recurring questions concerning whether its core knowledge was sufficient to warrant calling it a “discipline” in its own right at all. In a bid to turn a perceived weakness into a strength, he writes: We should identify our mission as bringing together insights and theories that would otherwise remain scattered in other disciplines. Because of the lack of interchange among the disciplines, hypotheses thoroughly discredited in one field may receive wide acceptance in another. Potential research paradigms remain fractured. . . . By bringing ideas together in one location, communication can aspire to become a master discipline that synthesizes related theories and concepts and exposes them to the most rigorous, comprehensive statement and exploration. Reaching this goal would require a more self-­conscious determination by communication scholars to plumb other fields and feed back their studies to outside researchers. At the same time, such an enterprise would enhance the theoretical rigor of communication scholarship proper. (Entman 1993: 51) It is this call we have taken up in the present volume, in the hope that this first step of assembling relevant existing streams of research may prepare the ground for a more integrated, vigorous, research paradigm to emerge.

12   J. Hoffmann and V. Hawkins The publication of this volume as part of a series edited by prominent scholars within peace and conflict research is one way for us to actively “feed back” studies within communications while at the same time making visible their relevance to peace and conflict studies in general, “plumbing” this latter discipline to frame our endeavor. “Communication and peace” is still very much a moving target with fuzzy boundaries and eclectic foundations, demanding greater conceptual and analytical clarity, a more explicit articulation of assumptions about the interconnection between communication and peace – and indeed the very definition of each concept – to make constructive contributions to peace in an ever more integrated and networked world. We hope in this volume to have contributed to the strengthening and further consolidation of these notions and their nexus.

Notes 1 Language and peace, as a more specified topic, more recently surfaced on the research agenda. However, as of yet, its study is predominantly confined to the disciplines of linguistics, cultural studies and peace education. A rare edited volume in 1995 contains critical discourse analysis of power markers and ideology also of mediated communication (Schäffner and Wenden). Since then, studies have looked into the potential of English as the emergent lingua franca of international communication and negotiation (Friedrich 2007); and the use of language and translation in early modern peace negotiations in Europe between 1450 and 1789 (Duchhardt and Espenhorst 2012). These have often focused on interpersonal communication (Rosenberg 2003), or contain prescriptive contributions informed by a peace education perspective (Oxford 2013). 2 While the latter report proposed a “new model” for communication in fragile states, and promised to launch a publication series that aimed at closing the knowledge gaps it had spotted, CommGAP (the program funding the series) was discontinued in October 2011. 3 For an attempt to visualize the large variety of tools and foci that can be found on the ground, see, for example, the report of an expert workshop convened in 2011 by USIP, available at: www.usip.org/sites/default/files/Grants-­Fellows/ GrantsDownloadsNotApps/Communication%20for%20Peacebuilding%20 Workshop%20Report.pdf.

References Banda, Fakson. 2008. “The Interpretation of Conflict. Can Journalists go further? The case for linking the Teaching and Training of Journalists to Constructing a Peace-­building Role in the World.” RJR, 28: 50–1. Becker, Jörg. 2005. Communication and Conflict. Studies in International Relations. New Delhi: Concept Publishing Company. Berger, Guy. 2010. “Problematizing ‘media development’ as a bandwagon gets rolling.” International Communication Gazette, 72 (7): 547–65. Betz, Michelle. 2011. “Conflict Sensitive Journalism: Moving Towards a Holistic Framework.” Background paper presented at the Conference on Conflict Sensitive Journalism in Nairobi, Kenya, February 3–4.

Introduction   13 Bratic´, Vladimir. 2008. “Examining Peace-­Oriented Media in Areas of Violent Conflict.” International Communication Gazette, 70 (6): 487–503. Call, Charles T. and Vanessa Wyeth (eds). 2008. Building States to Build Peace, London: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Carpentier, Nico. 2011. Media and Participation. A site of ideological-­democratic struggle. Bristol: Intellect. Carpentier, Nico and Bart Cammaerts. 2007. Reclaiming the Media. Communication Rights and Democratic Media Roles. Bristol: Intellect. Castells, Manuel. 2010. The Rise of The Network Society: The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture. Second edition. Malden, MA and Oxford, UK: Wiley-­ Blackwell. Cottle, Simon. 2009. “Global Crises in the News: Staging New Wars, Disasters, and Climate Change.” International Journal of Communication, 3: 494–516. Curtis, Devon E.A. 2000. “Broadcasting Peace: An Analysis of Local Media Post-­ Conflict Peacebuilding Projects in Rwanda and Bosnia.” Canadian Journal of Development Studies 21 (2): 141–66. Der Derian, James. 2000. “Virtuous War/Virual Theory.” International Affairs, 76 (4): 771–88. Duchhardt, Heinz and Martin Espenhorst (eds). 2012. Frieden übersetzen in der Vormoderne. Translationsleistungen in Diplomatie, Medien und Wissenschaft [Peace in the early modern era. Translations of diplomacy and media in early modern peace processes]. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Friedrich, Patricia. 2007. Language, Negotiation and Peace. The Use of English in Conflict Resolution. New York: Continuum. Entman, Robert. 1993. “Framing: Toward Clarification of a Fractured Paradigm.” Journal of Communication, 43 (4): 51–8. Galtung, Johan. 1964. “Editorial.” Journal of Peace Research, 1 (1): 1–4. Hoffmann, Julia. 2008. “Re-­conceptualizing Legitimacy: The Role of Communication Rights in the Democratization of the European Union” in Ib Bondebjerg and Peter Madsen (eds), Media, Democracy and European Culture: 341–60. Bristol: Intellect. Howard, Ross. 2002. An operational framework for Media and Peacebuilding. Vancouver: Institute for Media, Policy and Civil Society. Kalathil, Shanti, John Langlois and Adam Kaplan. 2008. Towards a New model. Media and Communication in Post-­Conflict and Fragile States. Communication for Governance and Accountability Program (CommGAP). Washington DC: The World Bank. Korzenny, Felipe, and Stella Ting-­Toomey. 1990. Communicating for Peace. Diplomacy and Negotiation. Newbury Park: Sage. Kumar, Krishna. 2006. Promoting Independent Media: Strategies for Democracy Assistance. Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Lynch, Jake. 2008. “Modernisation or participatory development: the emerging divide in journalist training for conflict-­affected societies.” Global Change, Peace & Security 20 (3): 291–304. MacGinty, Roger and Oliver P. Richmond. 2013. “The Local Turn in Peace Building: a critical agenda for peace.” Third World Quarterly, 34 (5): 763–83. Mancini, Francesco (ed.). 2013. New Technology and the Prevention of Violence and Conflict. New York: International Peace Institute. McLaughin, Greg and Baker, Stephen. 2010. The Propaganda of Peace. The Role of Media and Culture in the Northern Ireland Peace Process. Bristol: Intellect Books.

14   J. Hoffmann and V. Hawkins Metzl, Jamie F. 1997. “Information Intervention.” Foreign Affairs 76 (6): 15–20. Norris, Pippa, 2008. Driving Democracy: Do Power-­sharing Institutions Work? Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Norris, Pippa (ed.). 2010. Public Sentinel. News Media & Governance Reform. Washington, DC: The World Bank. Nos Aldás, Eloísa, José Ignacio Martín Galán and Fatuma Ahmed Ali (eds). 2008. Comunicación para la paz en acción: periodismos, confl ictos, alfabetización mediática y Alianza de Civilizaciones. Castello de la Plana: Publicacions de la Universitat Jaume I. Otunnu, Olara A. and Michael W. Doyle (eds). 1998. Peacemaking and Peacekeeping for the New Century. Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Oxford, Rebecca L. (ed.). 2013. The Language of Peace. Communicating to Create Harmony. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Paris, Roland. 2004. At War’s End. Building Peace After Civil Conflict. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Price, Monroe E. 2002. “Bosnia-­Hercegovina: Post-­conflict Restructuring” in Monroe E. Price, Beata Rozumilowicz and Stefaan G. Verhulst (eds), Media Reform: 89–106. London: Routledge. Price, Monroe. 2004. Media and Sovereignty: The Global Information Revolution and Its Challenge to State Power. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Price, Monroe E. and Nicole Stremlau. “Media and Transitional Justice: Toward a Systematic Approach.” International Journal of Communication, 6: 1077–99. Putzel, James and Joost van der Zwan. 2006. Why Templates for Media Development do not work in Crisis States. Defining and Understanding Media Development Strategies in Post-­ War and Crisis States. London: London School of Economics and Political Science. Ramsbotham, Oliver, Tom Woodhouse and Hugh Miall. 2011. Contemporary Conflict Resolution. The prevention, management and transformation of deadly conflicts. Third edition. Cambridge: Polity Press. Richmond, P. Oliver. “The Paradox of Power and Peace.” Forthcoming. Roeder, Philip G. and Donald Rothschild (eds). 2005. Sustainable Peace. Power and Democracy after Civil Wars. London: Cornell University Press. Rosenberg, B. Marshall. 2003. Nonviolent Communication. A Language of Life. Encinitas: PuddleDancer Press. Schäffner, Christina and Wenden, L. Anita. 1995. Language & Peace. Aldershot: Ashgate. Tehranian, Majid. 1990. “Communication, Peace and Development: A Communitarian Persepective” in Felipe Korzenny and Stella Ting-­Toomey (eds), Communicating for Peace. Diplomacy and Negotiation: 157–75. Newbury Park: Sage. Thomas, Pradip. 2011. Negotiating Communication Rights. Case Studies from India. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Tongeren van, Paul. 2011. “Increasing Interest in Infrastructures for Peace.” Journal of Conflictology, 2 (2): 45–55. UNDP. 2012. “Issue Brief: Using Technologies for Conflict Prevention.” Available online, accessed March 2, 2014: www.undp.org/content/dam/undp/library/ crisis%20prevention/Issue_brief_Conflict%20Prevention_digital_tools_ March2012.pdf. USIP. 2011. “Communication for Peacebuilding: Workshop Report.” Online, accessed October 14, 2014, available at: www.usip.org/sites/default/files/Grants­Fellows/GrantsDownloadsNotApps/Communication%20for%20Peacebuilding%20Workshop%20Report.pdf.

Introduction   15 Wolfsfeld, Gadi. 2004. Media and the Path to Peace. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Varis, Tapio. 1986. Peace and Communication. San José: Universidad para la Paz. Zelizer, Craig. 2013. Integrated Peacebuilding. Innovative Approaches to Transforming Conflict. Boulder: Westview Press.

1 Media in peace and conflict studies Jake Lynch

“The stretched twig of peace is at melting point here, Chris. This is very much a country that’s going to blow up in its own face.” So says Donald Bethlehem, our man on the ground in Eastmanstown in the Upper Cataracts region of the Australio-­Hong Kong border, in a classic television skit on war reporting, The Day Today (1994). The reporter, location and conflict portrayed are all fictitious, of course, but the breathless intonation, portentous diction and scarcely concealed excitement at the prospect of violence are all too reminiscent of countless real-­life news reports. The latter lend themselves to such satirical treatments because of certain prevalent conventions of journalism, which also counterpose its dominant representations of conflict against some of the precepts of scholarly research on the subject. These conventions were described in an influential essay by Johan Galtung and Mari Holmboe Ruge, which half a century ago brought the influence of journalism firmly into focus in discussions of conflict dynamics and the prospects for peace. Latterly, that influence has attained a higher profile within Peace and Conflict Studies with the emergence of Peace Journalism, as both a reform proposition within journalism and in civil society, and a field of scholarly research. Significant loci for the development and exchange of this research have included conferences organized and publications sponsored by the Toda Institute for Global Peace and Policy Research (Kempf and Shinar 2007; Dente Ross and Tehranian 2008); and the Peace Journalism Commission of the International Peace Research Association, established in 2008 (Seaga Shaw et al. 2011). So Peace Journalism (PJ) has emerged as the area of communication that has been most formally integrated with the structures established to define and promulgate Peace Research. It is, therefore, PJ that is the focus of the present chapter. “The Structure of Foreign News” (Galtung and Ruge 1965: 64) examined coverage in Norwegian newspapers of “crises” in Cyprus, Cuba and the Congo. “It is axiomatic,” the authors posit, “that action is based on the actor’s image of reality, [so] international action will be based on the image of international reality.” And, while the media are not the only

Media in peace and conflict studies   17 influence on this process, their “regularity, ubiquity and perseverance . . . make them first-­rate competitors for the number-­one position as international image-­former.” The image of reality in media reports is constructed by the operation of the conventions. The most important is “frequency.” Media deadlines mean journalists are forever looking to bracket developments in conflict according to the interval between editions: a soldier being shot, falling and dying on a battlefield, in the example given in the essay, which has an identifiable beginning, middle and end that all take place in a short time-­ frame. Another convention is “threshold,” which is relative and in the eye of the beholder. Hawkins (2008) has shown how a more recent Congolese crisis attracted relatively little attention in world media despite its colossal death toll, while other concurrent conflicts hogged the headlines. In terms of newsworthiness, in the international media “One life from Israel–Palestine could be calculated as being equivalent to more than 49,000 Congolese lives” (Hawkins 2008: 109). Yet another of the conventions identified by Galtung and Ruge is “negativity” – bad news is generally more likely to be reported than good. The intersection of these three conventions predicates journalistic attention on such events as the outbreak of war. The sudden burst of gunfire the viewer can see from behind the live position occupied by “Donald Bethlehem” in The Day Today signals that a significant threshold has been crossed (with the added benefit, for a media era which is now dominated by moving images, of taking obvious visual form). That it happens while the “program” is apparently live on air is the ultimate fulfilment of the frequency requirement, of course – and the intense journalistic energy apparently unleashed at the outbreak of hostilities (with lavishly prepared “war” graphics being suddenly unveiled) testifies to the salience of an old maxim of negative news: if it bleeds, it leads.

Peace, conflict and violence In light of the conceptual frameworks familiar to peace researchers, however, the image formed by such media treatments is both partial and misleading. If the situation immediately preceding the formally announced onset of a deliberate deployment of deadly weapons is to be regarded as “peace,” as the opposite of “war,” then – in the words of an equally influential article Galtung published some years later – “too little is rejected when peace is held up as an ideal” (Galtung 1969: 168). Hence, perhaps, the journalistic proclivity for rather tortured metaphors such as the “stretched twig . . . at melting point.” Peace is the absence of violence but, Galtung argued, that begs the question of what is meant by violence, in a line of inquiry that led to what is arguably his most influential – indeed signature – concept. Kodama (2004) attributes this focus in Galtung’s thought to a meeting of the

18   J. Lynch then-­fledgling International Peace Research Association at Tallberg, Sweden, in 1967, and a platform contribution by S. Dasgupta from the Gandhian Institute of Studies at Varanasi (Kodama, 2004: 5). People suffering from deprivation should, the Indian scholar argued, be regarded as enduring conditions of “peacelessness,” even if not formally at war. It was a theme Galtung picked up in his article “Violence, Peace and Peace Research,” published two years later. If a “narrow conception of violence” were to be accepted, one confined to “somatic incapacitation, or deprivation of health . . . at the hands of an actor who intends this to be the consequence” (1969: 168) then “highly unacceptable social orders would still be compatible with peace.” Instead, Galtung argued, violence should be recognized for the effect it brings about, irrespective of the form it takes. Violence is underway whenever “Human beings are being influenced so that their actual somatic and mental realizations are below their potential realizations (Galtung 1969: 168). Violence can also be understood, Galtung elsewhere declared, as “an insult to human needs” (1990: 9). Deprivation can be conceived as a form of violence when it is avoidable – due to the prevalence of preventable disease, or malnutrition occasioned, perhaps, by the adoption of political economic arrangements for cultivating, storing and distributing food that override hunger in favor of profit. “Studies of the hunger problem” commonly emphasize “deficits in land availability, water, seeds, knowledge, and trade opportunities,” Kent observes, in a summarizing overview of programmatic remedial efforts by international agencies (2014: 2), “but they do not see that the major problem might be a deficit in caring.” Evidence of successful sharing and subsistence in both traditional human communities, and schemes for the socialization of food in some cities of today, instead supports a view, he argues, “that hunger is at root a social problem, heavily influenced by human relationships of compassion, indifference, and exploitation” – and that only “caring communities” can solve it (Kent 2014: 2). Usually local [food] shortages due to the fact that local resources are used to provide goods and services other than basic nutrition. The problem has to do with priorities, not absolute resource levels. The earth’s resources could be used to feed billions more people, but could happen only if that was a high priority. To ensure the well-­being of those who are hungry, the rest of us might have to do without tobacco and chocolate. (Kent 2014: 8–9) Human needs were codified by Abraham Maslow (1943), who arranged them in a “hierarchy of pre-­potency,” represented by a pyramid. Toward the bottom are absolute needs, including nutrition: each of us needs food, regardless of what others have. Once those are met, Maslow contended,

Media in peace and conflict studies   19 we then naturally seek to satisfy our security needs – safety and shelter. But higher needs are, in their turn, equally pressing. Humans need to feel love and a sense of belonging, in family and community. And they need to feel esteemed, perhaps by achieving status and reputation. Ultimately, people need “self-­actualization”: to fulfil potential through personal growth. These needs are relative: I can only judge the esteem in which I am held, for example, by comparing the treatment I receive with that enjoyed by, or meted out to, others. Galtung’s signature concept of “structural” violence (Galtung 1969: 170) refers to a social order that freezes deprivation and inequalities, blocking the fulfilment of human needs and maintaining barriers to the actualization of human potential. Such a system is violent in itself, in a variety of ways. Some are obvious, a state of affairs perhaps exemplified by apartheid in South Africa, with its “whites-­only” buses and segregated residential areas. Others, while more diffuse and difficult to spot, may exert a similar effect. The teenager from a deprived London housing estate may miss out on post-­16 education because the household cannot get by without additional income. Instead of studying she has to go out to work in a dead-­end job, more especially so at the time of writing since a key state benefit – Educational Maintenance Allowance – had just been cut. As Wilkinson (2005) has shown, life-­long immersion in a society replete with markers of status linked to wealth and poverty, which govern access to everyday opportunities for esteem and fulfilment in rich countries as profoundly unequal as the UK, generates anxiety and stress among disadvantaged citizens such as the teenager and her parents. They consequently develop chronic hormonal imbalances, consigning them to premature morbidity and mortality. Structural violence, as well as being violent in itself, also leads to other forms of violence. Gurr developed the concept of “relative deprivation” – the difference, or distance, between what people think they deserve and their assessment of what they can realistically attain given the social realities in which they are stuck: a syndrome instantiated at the psychological level by comparing social differentials. This, he argued in a landmark text, is a prime cause of frustration and aggression: “The potential for collective violence varies strongly with the intensity and scope of relative deprivation among members of a collectivity” (Gurr 1970: 24). The Australian diplomat, conflict resolution practitioner and peace researcher, the late John W. Burton, emphasized that people cannot be expected to be quiescent in the face of injustice, since it amounts to a deprivation of human needs. Needs are not a bargaining chip to be taken into negotiations, but something we are made out of. “It follows,” he concluded, “that unless satisfied within the norms of society, [unfulfilled human needs] will lead to behavior that is outside the legal norms of the society” (Burton 1990: 36–7). This is why “unacceptable social orders” cannot be called peaceful, even if their inhabitants are superficially

20   J. Lynch pacified: such a situation can only be temporary, and can “explode” into violence at any time if other conditions are met. Social orders, and the power relations they both embody and sustain, can be discerned not only in institutional arrangements but also in characteristic patterns of representation, which can therefore be understood as cultural violence: forms of symbolic production that “make direct and structural violence look, even feel, right – or at least not wrong” (Galtung 1996: 196). Cultural violence includes conspicuous paradigmatic iterations such as the glorification of militarism on anniversaries – Australia’s “ANZAC Day” being a typical example – which may serve, and are sometimes (as in Australia) consciously exploited to mobilize publics for armed responses to conflict. But it may also take more dispersed and insidious forms, such as key statements whose pervasive syntagmatic repetition inures those same publics to overlook injustice or accept it as an unalterable fact of life. Today’s inequality in wealthy countries is habituated, Dorling argues, by the cultural ubiquity of five key messages: “elitism is efficient; exclusion is necessary; prejudice is natural; greed is good and despair is inevitable” (Dorling 2010: 1).

Power Galtung’s formulae belong to what Stephenson (1999) identifies as a “second wave” of Peace Studies, which drew inspiration from the 1960s activism movements in the United States and the developed world, with their challenges to multiple axes of domination; and from the liberation struggles in the colonized world. First Wave peace research had concentrated on the causes of war, with a mission to “promote a peaceful world” (Falk 1972: 560) by supplying information to correct misapprehensions of statecraft – with specific reference to the preventative powers of international law (Wright 1961). To assume, or behave as though the causes of war could be discerned in isolation – through the study of war itself – had begun to seem naïve, however. The roots and foundations of militarism extended into “every city, every State house, every office of the Federal government,” according to outgoing President and former general, Dwight D. Eisenhower, whose war role as the commander of Allied forces in Europe had cemented his place in history. In a valedictory address, recorded in the Oval Office in 1961, Eisenhower conveyed the extent of diffusion and entrenchment in the power of “the huge industrial and military machinery of defense” to push military responses up the agenda: “We must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military– industrial complex.” That phrase, “whether sought or unsought,” anticipated later scholarly accounts of political agency, which problematized notions of individuality and intentionality in attempts to “read back” the operation of power on social formation and exchange. Those accounts include Steven Lukes’

Media in peace and conflict studies   21 landmark essay, “Power: A Radical View” (1974/2005). In it, Lukes criticizes the “one-­dimensional view of power” as over-­reliant on a “behavioral” methodology to detect its workings and effects: concentrating on the overt words and deeds of decision-­makers. A “two-­dimensional view . . . [entails] attend[ing] to those aspects of power that are least accessible to observation . . . [recognizing] that, indeed, power is at its most effective when least observable” (Lukes 1974/2005: 1). Hidden interests may contrive to manipulate political agendas “in advance,” so to speak, ensuring that “decisions are prevented from being taken on potential issues over which there is an observable conflict of (subjective) interests” (ibid.: 24–5). The one-­dimensional view can be misleading: notably, Lukes argues, by making it appear that power is more widely distributed, and political structures more “pluralistic,” than they really are. Lukes’ third dimension allows that: “The bias of the system can be mobilized, recreated and reinforced in ways that are neither consciously chosen nor the intended result of particular individuals’ choices” (ibid.: 25). In the later edition he considers the ideas of Michel Foucault, whose work spans his own and was just beginning to make inroads into English language scholarship at the time of the earlier edition. “There is no power that is exercised without a series of aims and objectives,” we read in The History of Sexuality. “But this does not mean that it results from the choice or decision of an individual subject; let us not look for the headquarters that presides over its rationality” (Foucault 1978: 95). While, in a particular context, “the rationality of power is characterized by tactics that are often quite explicit at the restricted level where they are inscribed (the local cynicism of power),” Foucault tells us, this is far less significant than the existence of what Lukes calls “networked power,” which can be recognized precisely by its “context-­ transcending ability” (Lukes 1974/2005: 75). The word “network” inescapably invites consideration of the contribution of Manuel Castells, who argues for the emergence of a “network society” in which “the power of flows” around key networks “induces . . . a higher level of social determination” than discrete and delimited “flows of power” (Castells 1996: 500). Implicit in First Wave peace research was a notion that decision-­makers could be readily identified and – if properly briefed on the relative costs and benefits of militaristic versus legalistic or ameliorative responses, for instance – persuaded to see things differently, thus eventually bringing war to an end by pulling levers in opposite directions. Galtung’s conceptual innovations enabled Second Wave and later Peace Research to articulate with scholarly propositions concerning the nature of power, and the interplay of structure and agency in its incidence and effect, which mandated an attention to the systems in which it was reproduced and its biases mobilized. The scholarly interest – within Peace Research in Peace Journalism – can be seen as part of a “Third Wave” in which key concepts of peace can be used to delineate important operative distinctions across a vastly

22   J. Lynch diversified range of fields, in recognition of the diffuse and networked configurations of power conceptualized with reference to the aforementioned scholarship. Indeed, among the systems in which power is reproduced and mobilized, systems of communication have grown in significance with rapid technological changes. What appears in the Galtung–Ruge essay as a passing hypothesis – that actors act on an image of reality formed in the symbolic domains constructed by communication systems – was, at that time, emerging as the basis for a major shift in social science theoretical modeling and methodological approaches; namely social constructionism, sometimes referred to as “the discursive turn” (Phillips and Jorgensen 2002: 9). The conflict resolution researcher and practitioner, John Paul Lederach, is prominent among those to have explored its specific implications for discerning relations of cause and effect in responses to conflict: Social conflict emerges and develops on the basis of the meaning and interpretation people involved attach to actions and events. Social meaning is lodged in the accumulated knowledge . . . conflict is connected to meaning, meaning to knowledge, and knowledge is rooted in culture. (Lederach 1995: 8) In the groundbreaking work by Berger and Luckmann, which did more to establish social constructionism than any other, it is traditional domains of knowledge and culture – such as “religion, philosophy, art, and science” – that are regarded as the “historically most important symbol systems” (Berger and Luckmann 1966: 55) and therefore most influential upon image formation and the production of social meanings. However, de Botton (2014: 11) reminds us of Hegel’s observation that a hallmark of modernity is “when news replaces religion as our central source of guidance and our touchstone of authority.” Castells goes so far as to detect, in societies becoming ever more extensively mediatized, “an evolution: a historic shift of the public sphere from the institutional realm to [a] new communication space” – one in which “insurgent politics and social movements can intervene more decisively” (Castells 2007: 238) to challenge injustice and structural violence. Today’s “networked social movements” gather and spread through “autonomous communication networks,” Castells elsewhere argues (2012: 4), while “ignor[ing] political parties, distrust[ing] the media . . . not recogniz[ing] any leadership and reject[ing] all formal organization, relying on the Internet and local assemblies for collective debate and decision-­making.” How, then, will they transmit and exert political agency? “Ultimately,” he postulates, “if a majority of people think in ways that are contradictory to the values and norms institutionalized in the state and enshrined in the law and regulations, the system will change” (Castells 2007: 238–9).

Media in peace and conflict studies   23 But that is to overlook, or perhaps minimize, the need to reckon with the “hierarchies of control and specialization” (Pedelty 1995: 6), which structure and discipline day-­to-day political discourse and exchange at multiple levels. Pedelty emphasizes their importance lest “poststructuralist” analyses, with their decentered concepts of power, lapse into “vulgar idealism” rather than paying due attention to the “differentiated arrangements” within any “social body” (ibid.). Goggin lauds the “democratic affordances” of social and online media, but is quick to emphasize that it is not merely “the qualities of digital technologies” themselves, but also “the media ecologies in which they take shape, that allow individuals and collectivities to pursue democracy, ethics, and justice” (Goggin 2013: 6). He cites WikiLeaks as a prime example of a project that exploited such affordances to speak truth to power and thereby shift the social meaning of US-­led wars, beginning with the so-­called Collateral Murder video, taken from the cockpit of an Apache helicopter as it fired on a group of civilian bystanders, together with a soundtrack in which the crew members further incriminated themselves. Weeks earlier, Bill Rammell, a Defence Minister in the UK’s outgoing Labour government, was complaining that publics had become impossible to mobilize for war because of [t]he 24/7 media and the new information age, which brings . . . the demand for a different kind of communication between the government and the public about military operations [and] a freedom-­ofinformation culture, which asserts that everything known to the state should be in the public domain. (Rammell, cited in Coghlan 2010) We may, with Castells (2007: 239), characterize the new media ecology as one of not merely “mass communication” but also “mass self-­ communication”; but its chief significance may lie in its impact on the existing hierarchies of control and specialization in public symbol systems, notably the news. WikiLeaks’ impact grew through its later releases of war logs and diplomatic cables, in partnership with leading newspapers around the world. To attain due prominence and salience for the disclosures glinting below the surface, in a daunting motherlode of raw material, formal arrangements with professional news organizations were required. The “catalyzing influence” on political processes ascribed to some of the WikiLeaks revelations, Lynch et al. speculate, may be attributable, in part, to the phenomenology of their appearance, not on a campaigning website or in other ‘alternative’ media but in a context where traditional safeguards – trained observers, edited copy – had built up reputational resources to support them. (Lynch et al. 2011: 26)

24   J. Lynch

Peace Journalism The conjunction sketched above, of theoretical debates over the role of communication systems in constructing societal responses to conflict; the affordances of rapidly expanding and developing media technologies; and a political milieu in which symbolic domains were increasingly becoming arenas of contestation over issues of justice in ambiguous causal scenarios; created a moment in which the now-­globally distributed “Peace Journalism movement” (Kempf 2008: 145; Youngblood 2011) was instantiated, and rapidly spread. In the context of the present volume it is of interest as an avowedly peace-­oriented initiative in the field of communication – one conceived and calibrated to articulate effectively with differentiated arrangements already in place that mark out professional journalism, within most mediascapes, as still the “most important story-­telling genre” (Hackett 2007: 47). As a branch of research, Peace Journalism has attracted most interest and participation from scholars of Journalism Studies and Communication who wish to inquire into the influence of journalism on the dynamics of conflict and peace. It has added a dimension to Peace Research, rather than spreading its influence through other branches of it – at least so far. The initiatives within IPRA and the Toda Institute, mentioned earlier, arguably represent the beginnings of a long process of cross-­fertilization, but the writers represented in the published PJ literature have tended to come from a background in some or other branch of communication. Peace Journalism is a programmatic response to “the policy implications of the study” (Lynch and Galtung 2010: xii) – the study in question being “The Structure of Foreign News.” It is “a deliberate remedial strategy [to] . . . counter the effects [of the] structuration [that] is always already underway in journalism” (Lynch 2014: 45) as a result of the operation of tuning factors, or conventions, which predicate a dominant diet of “war journalism.” Peace Journalism takes the form of a set of distinctions in the journalistic representation of conflicts. Where the dominant War Journalism form is orientated toward violence, propaganda, elites and victory, Peace Journalism (PJ) seeks creative ways to substitute orientations toward peace and conflict (restoring a sense that the conflict is about something); toward non-­elites as actors and sources, and toward solutions to conflict issues. The fourth domain is truth orientation, which has been reinterpreted by PJ scholars in light of debates over correspondence theories of representation (Lynch 2014: 159–60). An early overview of published research in the field found that scholars who operationalized the PJ model to derive evaluative criteria for exercises in content analysis were denoting, by “Peace Journalism,” a form of reporting which: 1 explores backgrounds and contexts of conflict formation, and presenting causes and options on every side so as to portray conflict in realistic terms, transparent to the audience;

Media in peace and conflict studies   25 2 gives voice to the views of all rival parties, not merely the leaders of two antagonistic “sides”; 3 airs creative ideas, from any source, for conflict resolution, development, peacemaking and peacekeeping; 4 exposes lies, cover-­up attempts and culprits on all sides, and reveals excesses committed by, and suffering inflicted upon, peoples of all parties; 5 pays attention to peace stories and post-­war developments. (Shinar 2007: 200) Content analysis research effectively settled one of three key questions posed at the outset of Peace Journalism’s emergence as a field of scholarly inquiry: can it be implemented by journalists in mainstream news organizations in their day-­to-day reporting of conflict? Such studies have invariably found that some elements of PJ, at least, are evident in the manifest content of newspaper articles (almost invariably used as sample material, for ease of access) – “albeit as a contingent byproduct . . . of routine news imperatives in specific situations” (Lynch et al. 2011: 11), rather than as the result of editors and reporters consciously adopting a peace journalistic approach.1 Contributors to a collection edited by Ross and Tehranian (2008) found a variable PJ “quotient” in the media of several countries “in times of war,” while later studies by Chow-­White and McMahon (2011) applied similar techniques and recorded similar findings in stories containing representations of race involving Canada’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Lynch and McGoldrick (2012 and 2013) used Shinar’s summarizing observations as a set of headings under which distinctions were particularized across a broad range of conflicts involving issues of structural and cultural violence, as well as visible, direct violence. The second key research question concerns audience responses. Early PJ scholarship was criticized for modeling news audiences as “a passive mass that needs to be enlightened by virtue of right and proper reporting” (Hanitzsch 2008: 77). What difference does Peace Journalism make to them? Schaefer (2006) and Kempf (2007) explored this question by gauging differential responses among newspaper readers. Kempf adjusted the content of three newspaper articles about episodes of conflict in the former Yugoslavia to exhibit characteristics of “escalation-­oriented framing”; “moderately de-­escalation oriented framing”; and “more strongly de-­escalation oriented framing” – thus producing four versions of each one (including the original, taken in each case from a German newspaper). A total of 128 subjects read different combinations of versions of the three articles, then answered a 16-item questionnaire, with patterns of response identified using Latent Class Analysis (LCA). The results “speak in favor” of Peace Journalism, since “the de-­ escalation oriented text versions were accepted to a greater degree and

26   J. Lynch resulted in less polarized mental models of the events” (Kempf 2007: 142) depicted in the stories. The most significant evaluation pattern revealed by LCA was of subjects expressing “strong interest in further information” (Kempf 2007: 144). This applied to 22.4 percent of readers of escalation-­ oriented versions, but also to 23.1 percent of readers of strongly de-­ escalation-oriented versions. “Escalation-­oriented coverage is not the only type that can arouse audience interest, de-­escalation-oriented coverage can also do so” (ibid.). Schaefer, who produced two versions of each text (escalation-­orientated and de-­escalation-orientated respectively) and asked 96 subjects to read them, recorded similar findings – with respondents preferring the Peace Journalism version: “De-­escalation-oriented texts were judged to be better than escalation-­orientated ones.” After reading war journalism, participants proved receptive to violent responses to conflict, with a “higher degree of acceptance of military measures than did [the readers of the] de-­escalation-oriented texts,” by a factor of about 3.0 to 2.5 (Schaefer 2006: 12). My own previous research examined the extent of influence of PJ media frames on audience frames in the medium of television news, with different versions of familiar stories covering a wide range of conflicts being played to viewers in four countries. Significant interactions in both emotional and cognitive responses were recorded: When audiences watch television news items created as war journalism and peace journalism respectively, their responses reflect a process of meaning-­making along neural pathways linking perceived causes and effects that predicate, respectively, a lesser or greater receptiveness to cooperative, nonviolent responses to conflict. Peace journalism advocates, who are aiming to expand opportunities for society at large to value and consider such responses, are on the right track. (Lynch and McGoldrick 2013: 1056) These two findings imbue the third, as yet largely unexplored, question with added potential significance. If PJ can be shown to be already underway, then it might be possible somehow to adjust the circumstances of news production to expand it: “there is some . . . so there could be more” (Lynch 2008a: 232). If it can be shown that PJ distinctions are indeed noticed and appreciated by audiences, and that an altered discursive context for the framing of contested social issues and the interpretation of ambiguous causal scenarios can result, then the claims made by its advocates acquire evidential backing. If there is, in addition, unexplored scope to spread its implementation by professional editors and reporters, then a significant reform agenda, capable of making an important contribution to prospects for peace, will have emerged.

Media in peace and conflict studies   27

Implementation problems Inscribed in this statement are overlapping assumptions about both journalism and peace, and both are potentially problematic. In evolving scholarly debates about the professional autonomy of journalists vis-­à-vis structural constraints and the societal role of journalism, the balance has shifted over time to emphasize organizational constraints and newsroom environments and role expectations as key determining factors of news content (Hanitzsch and Mellado 2011). For journalists to decide, on an individual basis, that Peace Journalism is an option they wish to explore in their reporting is, at best, only half the picture: the opportunities they can find or fashion to implement it may be constrained by influences from many different levels. PJ came to be a field of scholarly inquiry because it already existed as an object to be studied. It “made the leap from theory to practice, without the benefit of research,” according to one early academic study (Lee and Maslog 2005: 312) which set out to make good the deficit even as the “practice” was continuing to grow and spread around it. Its mode of implementation to that point had come chiefly in exhortatory and pedagogical initiatives. The balance of structure and agency bearing upon the everyday working life of the journalist should be taken into account in such activities, if only out of consideration for the participants. Peace Journalism training courses are implicitly at risk of setting up “cycles of empowerment and disempowerment” (Lloyd 2003: 118) as trainees, fired with enthusiasm, return to the cold realities of the office. Then, journalist training is an activity often targeted at developing countries and paid for by Western governments and funding agencies, thus potentially implicating it in a techno-­centric developmental agenda which may inadvertently commit PJ advocates to concepts of peace that are at odds with some of its founding insights. This agenda has acquired fresh impetus as the technological changes – in which Castells, Goggin and others detect potential for democratic affordances – gather pace. Mansell quotes a boosterish report from the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development, which noted that: “Information and communication technologies (ICTs) have proven to be a tremendous accelerator of economic and social progress” (UNCTAD 2009, xi; in Mansell 2014: 109). However, claims that “the transformative potential of these technologies” are “necessarily consistent with human development aspirations are symptomatic of a Western-­centric and universalist model of economic growth and development” (Mansell 2014: 110, emphasis in the original). Reference to a “Western-­centric model” indicates not merely the direction of flow of initiatives to promote growth and development, but also the desired outcome, in that recipient countries are supposed to be improved by being brought increasingly to resemble their benefactors. The application of this approach, also known as “modernization,” has a particular and

28   J. Lynch long-­established salience in the field of communication. Long before anyone went “online,” new media technologies were identified, by Daniel Lerner, as having “transformed social organization . . . by ‘mobilizing the periphery’ of previously inert populations for relatively vigorous participation in the policy process” (Lerner 1974: 543). This process had fostered a “demand for ‘open societies’. The historical Western pattern whereby cash customers became media consumers and then political participants (voters) is being re-­enacted on a world scale” (ibid.: 544). The spread of information and communication technologies has increasingly been driven via commercial marketing, and their adoption in societies affected by conflict risks further entrenching any inequalities that already exist, as well as establishing new ones. Hamelink (1998) issued an early warning about the emergence of a new “digital divide,” in which the wired world forged ahead with access to an ever-­more dazzling array of information and entertainment available via personal computer screens, while the majority of people on the planet had “never made a phone call.” Such reservations are often overlooked in modernization, which – in some of its key assumptions – overlaps to a large extent with what is sometimes called, in the specific context of conflict, the “liberal peace” model. Hoffmann (2014) remarks on the “steady increase in ‘media mandates’ contained in UN Peacekeeping Missions” as evidence to connect modernizing communication agendas with the “Responsibility to Protect” doctrine for so-­called humanitarian military intervention. The implantation of free-­ market economic policies has featured largely in the aims and objectives for such interventions – both UN-­sanctioned and otherwise. The Rambouillet Accord, drawn up by the US State Department for the autonomy of Kosovo, was to be “taken fully into account” in UN efforts to stabilize the province, according to Security Council Resolution 1064 – a Resolution which followed 78 days of NATO bombing of the regime of President Slobodan Milosevic. Chapter 4a of the Accord, concerning “economic issues,” begins with the statement: “The economy of Kosovo shall function in accordance with free market principles” (Rambouillet Accord 1999). And, as Klein (2008) has noted, the Coalition Provisional Authority in Iraq imposed a low-­tax regime, lowering or removing barriers to accumulation in key markets, in an example of “disaster capitalism” that delivered rich pickings to corporate backers of the US-­led invasion of 2003. Researchers and practitioners in the Peace Journalism movement have given some consideration to these problems of implementation, and the legitimacy questions they raise, which could therefore serve as pointers for a more broadly defined field of Communication for Peace. In the structure–agency debate, Hackett urges a reconceptualization, for PJ, of the balance and interplay of structure and agency. While most reporting of conflict issues, in most media most of the time, might prove notably receptive to explicit accounts from overt power centers – governments, corporations and the like – there is a risk, in applying

Media in peace and conflict studies   29 “functionalist models” to conceptualize the role of journalism in society, of “scanting tensions and contradictions” (Hackett 2007: 79), thereby missing the importance of occasional departures from the norm and understating the scope for agency and creativity. The development of communication resources for peace – including in such settings as peacebuilding after violent conflict – must attend equally to the culture and values of journalism, therefore, as to establishing viable structures within which it is to be produced. And I have characterized my own work in devising and delivering PJ training programs in countries affected by violent conflict including Indonesia and the Philippines, as influenced by critical pedagogy. Peace Journalism only took wing in the mid- to late 1990s, despite the Galtung-­Ruge essay having been published over 30 years earlier. Concerns over media roles in conflict had been highlighted by the genocide in Rwanda, during which newspaper and radio station executives were among those eventually convicted of war crimes at the Arusha Tribunal set up to try the most egregious of such cases. Of at least equal concern at the time, however, was the complicity of journalism in the US and other troop-­supplying countries in helping to mobilize publics to support violence in the 1991 Gulf War, described as “a breakthrough for modern propaganda techniques [which were] used by the Western powers and NATO in later conflicts” (Nohrstedt and Ottosen 2008: 2–3). Western trainers entering developing countries, to show how journalism could contribute to the reduction of violence, were under a special responsibility to show how they were also developing and promoting critiques of journalism in their own countries, therefore. Rather than bringing a modernizing agenda to bear, PJ therefore “construct[s] the journalistic representation of conflict as a shared problem – a problem of the trainers’ or donor country’s ‘own’ media as well as that of the trainee’s, or recipient country” (Lynch 2008b: 301). It therefore fulfils, at least to that extent, Paolo Freire’s call for critical pedagogy: “Education must begin with the solution of the teacher–student contradiction, by reconciling the poles of the contradiction so that both are simultaneously teachers and students” (Freire 2000: 143).

Conclusion Conflict is not a synonym of war, being defined instead as a relationship between two or more parties with incompatible goals; or goals that they have come to regard as incompatible. Peace, therefore, cannot be the absence of conflict, but the absence of violence. A society at peace is not one without conflict, but rather one with an abundance of resources for effective non-­violent responses to conflict. These resources must include the wherewithal for ongoing scrutiny of power – holding dominant discourses to account to deprive them of undeserved ascendancy.

30   J. Lynch Effective communication is therefore essential to deliver justice. Peace requires the fulfilment of human needs, which in turn requires social arrangements that freeze inequalities to be challenged and overcome. Peace is not an end-­state, a set of institutions or a kit that can be imposed like a template on any conflict situation. In the words of A.J. Muste, a Dutch-­born US cleric and activist: “There is no way to peace: peace is the way” (Muste 1967). One of the most enduringly important systems of public communication is news journalism. It has retained its salience as a means of story-­ telling and framing conflicts in the public sphere, even in this age of mass self-­communication that threatens some of its time-­honored economic underpinnings. As a privileged professional activity, it is conceived and practised within organizational and ideological structures that were built, and which evolve, according to the economic and political interests of media industries. But that does not altogether squeeze out the scope for editors and reporters to exert agency and creativity in their own work. It is this potential that the Peace Journalism movement is intended to liberate. Its practitioners have opened a global dialogue which, to some extent, avoids the teacher–student dynamic inscribed in many development interventions and in modernizing constructions of information and communication technologies and their supposed influence for development and progress. Researchers have gone some way to address the salient questions posed at the outset of a project, now ten years old, that has been marked by a large degree of collaborative working. There is some Peace Journalism; it does make a difference to the emotional and cognitive responses of readers and audiences, and it does render them more receptive to treatment recommendations based on cooperative, non-­violent conflict responses. In that respect it may serve as a paradigmatic sub-­field within a more broadly encompassing field of Communication for Peace.

Note 1 Though with some important exceptions – as, for example, the large number of journalists in the southern Philippines who have undergone training in, and/or taken part in discussions about how to implement PJ.

References Berger, Peter L. and Thomas Luckmann. 1966. The Social Construction of Reality. London: Allen Lane. Burton, John W. 1990. “Human Needs Theory” in John W. Burton (ed.), Conflict: resolution and prevention: 36–48. London: Macmillan. Castells, Manuel. 2007. “Communication, power and counter-­power in the network society.” International Journal of Communication, 1: 238–66. Castells, Manuel. 2012. Networks of Outrage and Hope: Social Movements in the Internet Age. Cambridge: Polity Press. de Botton, Alain. 2014. The News: a User’s Manual. London: Hamish Hamilton.

Media in peace and conflict studies   31 Dente Ross, Susan and Majid Tehranian. 2008. Peace Journalism in Times of War – Peace and Policy, Volume 13. Tokyo: Toda Institute for Peace and Policy Research. Dorling, Daniel. 2010. Injustice: why social inequality persists. Bristol: Policy Press. Eisenhower, Dwight D. 1961. “Public Papers of the Presidents, Dwight D. Eisenhower, 1960, p.  1035–1040.” Online, accessed February 10, 2014, available at: http://coursesa.matrix.msu.edu/~hst306/documents/indust.html. Falk, Richard A. 1972. “Quincy Wright: On Legal Tests of Aggressive War.” The American Journal of International Law, 66 (3): 560–71. Foucault, Michel. 1978. The History of Sexuality. Translated by Robert Hurley. London: Penguin. Freire, Paolo. 2000. “The Pedagogy of the Oppressed” in David P. Barash (ed.), Approaches to Peace: 138–46. New York: OUP. Galtung, Johan. 1969. “Violence, peace and peace research.” Journal of Peace Research, 6 (3): 167–91. Galtung, Johan. 1990. “Violence and peace” in Paul Smoker, Ruth Davies and Barbara Munske (eds), A Reader in Peace Studies: 9–14. London: Pergamon Press. Galtung, Johan and Mari Holmboe Ruge. 1965. “The Structure of Foreign News: the presentation of the Congo, Cuba and Cyprus crises in four Norwegian newspapers.” Journal of Peace Research, 2 (1): 64–91. Goggin, Gerard. 2013. “Democratic affordances: Politics, media, and digital technology after WikiLeaks.” Ethical Space: The International Journal of Communication Ethics, 10 (2–3): 6–14. Gurr, Edward Robert. 1970. Why Men Rebel. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Hackett, Robert A. 2007. “Is peace journalism possible? Three frameworks for assessing structure and agency in news media” in Wilhelm Kempf and Dov Shinar (eds), Peace Journalism: the state of the art: 75–94. Berlin: Regener. Hamelink, Cees. 1998. “The digital advance: more than half the world’s population have never made a phone call. Will ICTs assure us change?” in Viewpoint, United Nations Research Institute for Social Development, June 1. Online, accessed February 17, 2014, available at: www.unrisd.org/unrisd/website/newsview.nsf/0/34329FCA3B21925D80256B7B003DCF2A?OpenDocument. Hanitzsch, Thomas. 2008. “Situating Peace Journalism in Journalism Studies: a critical appraisal” in Wilhelm Kempf (ed.), The Peace Journalism Controversy: 69–82, Berlin: Regener. Hanitzsch, Thomas and C. Mellado. 2011. “What Shapes the News around the World? How journalists in 18 countries perceive influences on their work.” International Journal of Press/Politics, 16: 404–26. Hawkins, Virgil. 2008. Stealth Conflicts: how the world’s worst violence is ignored. Aldershot: Ashgate. Hoffmann, Julia. 2014. “Conceptualising ‘communication for peace’.” Peacebuilding, 2 (1): 100–17. Kempf, Wilhelm. 2007. “Two experiments focusing on de-­escalation orientated coverage of post-­war conflicts” in Wilhelm Kempf and Dov Shinar (eds), Peace Journalism: the state of the art: 136–60, Berlin: Regener. Kempf, Wilhelm. 2008. “Peace Journalism: a tightrope walk between advocacy journalism and constructive conflict coverage” in Wilhelm Kempf and Dov Shinar The Peace Journalism Controversy: 145–56. Berlin: Regener. Kempf, Wilhelm and Dov Shinar (eds). 2007. Peace Journalism: the state of the art. Berlin: Regener.

32   J. Lynch Kent, George. 2014. “Ending Hunger in Caring Communities.” University of Hawaii working paper. March 30. Online, accessed May 2, 2014, available at: www2.hawaii.edu/~kent/EndingHungerinCaringCommunities.docx. Klein, Naomi. 2008. The Shock Doctrine: the rise of disaster capitalism. London: Picador. Kodama, Katsuya. 2004. History of International Peace Research Association: celebrating its 40th anniversary. Tsu, Japan: International Peace Research Association. Lederach, John Paul. 1995. Preparing for Peace: Conflict Transformation Across Cultures. New York: Syracuse University Press. Lee, Seow Ting, and Crispin C. Maslog. 2005. “War or peace journalism in Asian newspapers.” Journal of Communication, 55 (2): 311–29. Lerner, Daniel. 1974. “Notes on Communication and the Nation State.” The Public Opinion Quarterly, 37(4): 541–50. Lloyd, Fiona. 2003. “Indonesia: Reporting for Peace Training” in Ross Howard, Francis Rolt, Hans van de Veen and Juliette Verhoeven (eds), The Power of the Media – A Handbook for Peacebuilders: 118–27. Utrecht: ECCP/ECCG/IMPACS. Lukes, Steven. 1974/2005. Power: A radical view. 2nd edition. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Lynch, Jake. 2008a. Debates in Peace Journalism. Sydney: Sydney University Press. Lynch, Jake. 2008b. “Modernisation or participatory development: the emerging divide in journalist training for conflict-­affected societies.” Global Change, Peace and Security, 20 (3): 237–42. Lynch, Jake. 2013. A Global Standard for Reporting Conflict. New York: Routledge. Lynch, Jake and Annabel McGoldrick. 2005. Peace Journalism. Stroud: Hawthorn Press. Lynch, Jake and Annabel McGoldrick. 2012. “Reframing South African TV news as Peace Journalism: interim findings from a field experiment.” Communicare: Journal for Communication Sciences in Southern Africa, 31 (2): 78–98. Lynch, Jake and Annabel McGoldrick. 2013. “Responses to Peace Journalism.” Journalism: theory, practice and criticism, 14 (8): 1041–58. Lynch, Jake, Ibrahim Seaga Shaw and Robert A. Hackett. 2011. “Introduction” in Ibrahim Seaga Shaw, Jake Lynch and Robert A. Hackett (eds), Expanding Peace Journalism: comparative and critical approaches: 7–31. Sydney: Sydney University Press. Mansell, Robin. 2014. “Power and interests in information and communication technologies: exogenous and endogenous discourses in contention.” Journal of International Development, (26) 1: 109–27. Maslow, Abraham. 1943. “A theory of human motivation.” Psychological Review, 50: 370–96. Muste, A.J. 1967. “Debating Dissent.” New York Times, 16 November. Nohrstedt, Stig A. and Rune Ottosen. 2008. “War journalism in the threat society: Peace Journalism as a strategy for challenging the mediated culture of fear?” Culture and Communication Online, 7 (2): 1–17. Rambouillet Accord. 1999. “Interim Agreement for Peace and Self-­Government In Kosovo.” Rambouillet, France. February 23. Online, accessed February 17, 2014, available at: http://jurist.law.pitt.edu/ramb.htm. Schaefer, Christoph D. 2006. “The effects of escalation- vs. de-­escalation-orientated conflict coverage on the evaluation of military measures.” Conflict & Communication Online, 5 (1): 1–17.

Media in peace and conflict studies   33 Seaga Shaw, Ibrahim, Jake Lynch and Robert A. Hackett (eds). 2011. Expanding Peace Journalism: comparative and critical approaches. Sydney: Sydney University Press. Stephenson, Caroline M. 1999. “Peace Studies, Overview” in Lester R. Kurtz and Jennifer E. Turpin (eds), The Encyclopedia of Violence, Peace and Conflict: 809–20. San Diego: Academic Press. The Day Today. “It’s War!” January 1994. BBC. Wilkinson, Richard G. 2005. The Impact of Inequality: How to Make Sick Societies Healthier. New York: Routledge. Wright, Quincy. 1961. The Role of International Law in the Elimination of War. New York: Oceana Publications. Youngblood, Steven. 2011. “Controversy may distract from peace message.” The Stephen Youngblood Blog, 28 October. Online, accessed February 17, 2014, available at: http://stevenyoungblood.blogspot.com.au/2011_10_01_archive.html.

2 Media studies and the peace issue Cees J. Hamelink

“The issues of peace, war, armament and disarmament have not been widely analyzed in the scientific literature in relation to the mass media, communication or cultural consciousness.” Heinz Fabris and Tapio Varis wrote this in 1986 (Varis 1986). Their statement could also in 2014 be the first sentence of this chapter. Media studies have focused on a multitude of societal issues such as health, development, youth, discrimination, racism and violence. Media studies have also demonstrated an interest in the issue of war and when they did they usually addressed the effects of media propaganda for war, the contribution of the media to the prevention and solution of lethal conflict, and the ways in which news media cover war, conflict and violence. To a limited extent only have media studies taken up the peace issue. This is somewhat surprising since the fields of media studies (with research on mass media, news, entertainment, advertising, journalism and social media) and peace studies would seem to have a logical connection. One might have thought that media studies could have been inspired by the reflections UNESCO offered in its Mass Media Declaration of 1978 (UNESCO 1978). According to the Declaration it is the purpose of UNESCO to contribute to peace and security through promoting the free flow of ideas by words and images. The supporting argument is that the distribution of information counters prejudice and ignorance and that greater freedom of communications promotes understanding and confidence and gives expression to the desire of all peoples for peace. Admittedly, this is a rather narrow view on a one dimensional relationship between the free flow of information and the peace issue, but even so it might provide an interesting starting point for academic research. There are many media studies where one might have expected contributions on the media relationship with peace, but where no references to the peace issue can be found. What follows is a (non-­comprehensive) listing of such media studies:

Media studies and the peace issue   35 Schramm, W. (ed.) 1954. The Process and Effects of Mass Communication. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Thayer, L. (ed.) 1967. Communication. Concepts and perspectives. London: Macmillan Books. Thayer, L. 1968. Communication and Communication Systems. Homewood: Richard D. Irwin. Tunstall, J. (ed.) 1970. Media Sociology. London: Constable. Pross, H. 1972. Medien Forschung. Darmstadt: Carl Habel. Prokop, D. 1972. Massenkommunikationsforschung, Part 1 and Part 2. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag. Merritt, R.L. (ed.) 1972. Communication in International Politics. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Dervin, B. and Voigt M.J. (ed.) 1980. Progress in Communication Sciences Volume 1. Norwood: Ablex. McAnany, E., Schnitmann, J. and Janus. N. (eds). 1981. Communication and Social Structure. Critical Studies in Mass Media Research. New York: Praeger. Mosco, V. and Wasko, J. (eds) 1983. The Critical Communications Review. Norwood: Ablex Publishing. Downing, J., Mohammadi, A. and Sreverby, A. (eds). 1990. Questioning the Media. A Critical Introduction. London: Sage. Korzennny, F. and Ting-­Toomey, S. (eds) 1992. Mass media Effects Across Cultures. London: Sage. Mattelart, A. 1994. Mapping World Communication. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Sreberny, A., Winseck, D., McKenna, J. and Boyd-Barrett, O. (eds) 1997. Media in Global Context. London: Arnold. Taylor, P.M. 1997. Global Communications, International Affairs and the Media since 1945. London: Routledge. Boyd-­Barrett, O. and Rantanen, T. (eds) 1998. The Globalization of News. London: Sage. D. McQuail (2000). Mass Communication Theory 4th edition. London: Sage. Merrill, J.C. (ed.) 1995. Global Journalism 3rd Edition. New York: Longman. Rosengren, K.E. 2000. Communication. An Introduction. London: Sage. Lievrouw, L. and Livingstone, S. (eds). 2002. The Handbook of New Media. London: Sage. McPhail, T.L. 2002. Global Communication. Theories, Stakeholders, and Trends. Boston: Allyn & Bacon. Thussu, D.K. and Freedman, D. (eds) 2003. War and Media. London: Sage. Lilleker, D.G. 2006. Key Concepts in Political Communication. London: Sage. Thussy, D.K. (ed.) 2007. Media on the Move. Global flow and contra-­flow. London: Routledge. Artz, L. and Kamalipour, Y.R. (eds) 2007. The Media Globe. Trends in International Mass Media. Boulder: Rowman and Littlefield. Kamalipour, Y.R. (ed.) 2007. Global Communication. Belmont: Wadsworth. Straubhaar, J.D. 2007. World Television. From global to local. London: Sage. Christians, C.G., Glasser, T.L., McQuail, D., Nordenstreng, K. and White, R. 2009. Normative Theories of the Media. Journalism in Democratic Societies. Urbana: University of Illinois Press.

36   C.J. Hamelink Golan, G.J., Johnson, T.J., Wanta. W. (eds) 2010. International Media Communication in a Global Age. London: Routledge. Fortner, R.S. and Fackler, P.M. (eds) 2011. The Handbook of Global Communication and Media Ethics. Oxford: Wiley-­Blackwell. Mansell, R. and Raboy, M. (eds) 2011. The Handbook of Global Media and Communication Policies. Oxford: Wiley-­Blackwell. Wasko, J., Murdock, G. and Siusa, H. (eds) 2011. The Handbook of Political Economy of Communication. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Volkmer, I. (ed.) 2012. The Handbook of Global Media Research. Oxford: Wiley-­ Blackwell.

In some media studies there are references to the peace issue but usually in passing only. Examples include the following books: Schramm, W. (ed.) 1960. Mass Communications. Urbana: University of Illinois. Taylor, P.M. 1992. War and the Media. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Mowlana, H. 1997. Global Information and World Communication. London: Sage. Nordenstreng, K. and Griffin, M. (eds) 1999. International Media Monitoring. Cresskill: Hampton Press. Thussu, D.K. (ed.) 2010. International Communication. A Reader. London: Routledge.

Among the important exceptions in the academic media literature where the peace issue is explicitly addressed are: MacBride, S. et al. 1980. Many Voices, One World. New York: Kogan Page. Nordenstreng, K. 1984. The Mass Media Declaration of UNESCO. Norwood: Ablex Publishing. Tapio Varis (ed.) 1986. Peace and Communication. San Jose: Universidad para la Paz. Korzenny, F. and Ting-­Toomey, S. (eds) 1990. Communicating for Peace. Diplomacy and Negotiation. London: Sage. Galtung, J. and Vincent, R.C. 1992. Global Glasnost. Cresskill: Hampton Press. Becker, J. 2005. Communication and Conflict. New Delhi: Concept Publishing.

In spite of the references to peace these publications do not provide clear descriptions of what constitutes peace. The authors seem to assume that their readers know what it is. In the book edited by Varis it is mentioned that the 1985 UN regional seminars that were held during the International Year of Peace emphasized “that peace must not be narrowly conceived to mean only the absence of war but that it should be defined in terms of social, economic and political elements which influence it” (Varis

Media studies and the peace issue   37 1986: 26). Galtung and Vincent (1992: 126) write “Peace is a highly desirable value – interpreted not only as survival, but as peace with economic justice, political freedom, and cultural meaning.” There are a growing number of studies on Peace Journalism available and there will be references to this literature throughout the present book. Among the prominent authors that regularly publish on this topic are: J. Galtung, R. Howard, A. McGoldrick, J. Lynch, N. Roberts and M. Tehranian. At the beginning of media studies, war rather than peace was the key notion. The main research preoccupation (after World War II) was focused on the prevention of yet another devastating war and on the social responsibility of the media in this effort. As a result there was an interest in analyses of war coverage by news media and in studies of the effectiveness of propaganda for war efforts. In his study on war Quincy Wright (1965) addressed the question of why peace propaganda is more difficult than war propaganda and concluded that peace is less interesting to human beings than war (1965: 31). In any case, from a news perspective it is easier to find cases of war propaganda, the effects of which can be studied, than cases of peace propaganda. And, for early media studies, the effects of the media were high on the academic agenda. Therefore, the emphasis in media studies tend to be on the analysis of (war) propagandistic contents and their effects.1

Covering peace Over the years the media have covered peace activities only in minimal ways. There are several reasons for this. Journalists and their editors generally assume that the public interest prefers warlike activities over peace (military forces over peace movements unless a peace march ends in street violence). Also, the interests behind the justification of warfare have always been more powerful than those backing up peace, and the fact that media ownership was and is usually in the hands of combined media and military interests promotes more attention for armament than for disarmament.2 It should also be noted that war represents a real-­life phenomenon that provides content for media. War consists of events (often very dramatic) that can be observed and covered. Therefore, media studies have media content they can analyze. This is important since a key aspect of the media studies agenda is to raise research questions related to media content. Covering peace is problematic. Does peace exist as a real set of events? Is peace not an aspiration in people’s minds rather than a real-­life process with newsworthy human interest and political features? Peace is not a clear-­cut process or state about which reporters can write. To a large extent peace is, for journalists, a non-­event. War matches the media logic better than peace. The acts that constitute war are more limited and relatively easy to comprehend. The peace effort is multi-­interpretable, highly complex and multi-­layered.

38   C.J. Hamelink Where would you go, as a researcher, if you wanted to investigate the representation of peace in the media? Finding evidence of this is much harder to find than media representations of different modalities of violence among individuals and groups. The dominance of war coverage is arguably related to a worldwide preference for bad news among media professionals and their audiences.3 Across the world news media tend to report bad news: floods, earthquakes, wars, crimes, terrorist attacks. Many studies have been dedicated to this. In research by Davis and McLeod (2003), 736 international newspaper front page stories that appeared between 1700 and 2001 were analyzed. The results demonstrate a uniformity of sensationalist topics that refer to fear, survival and reproduction. Among the prominent ones are death, robbery, assault, injury and rape. Much analytical work on news focuses on what journalists do, and a rapidly expanding volume of studies tells us that they use framing and priming mechanisms in their reporting of the world. Framing puts events in a framework for their interpretation and understanding, while priming selects certain events for attention at the expense of others. Less research has been dedicated to the question of why journalists do what they do. Most explanations of “bad news” focus on the analysis of so-­called news values. Such analysis does enlighten us about how news gets to be constructed once the values that determine selection are in place. However, they do not help us to understand where those values come from. We find references to professional socialization, internal and external political and economic pressures, ideological biases, mechanisms of human perception and automatic categorization. Those explanations that tell us that the owners of news media prefer bad news because it sells best may have a point; but they fail to address the question of why large media audiences accept this diet of bad news without making demands for news that concerns other dimensions of reality. Attempts to answer the question of why audiences are drawn to sensationalist forms of reporting point to socialization, lack of empathy, compassion fatigue, stereotyping or taking malicious delight in other people’s suffering. But what draws people, in large numbers, to the reporting of misery and abuse? As an eighteenth century editorial once put it: “let a Gazette inform us in detail of a plague, civil war or dreadful famine and this paper would deeply engage the attention, be read over and over again and pronounced a valuable paper” (Independent Ledger, 1784, from Davis and McLeod 2009: 208). There are explanations from sociological and social-­ psychological perspectives, but it would seem that an evolutionary perspective holds the most solid answers. A Darwinian explanation would offer a reasoning which argues that the most preferred news topics are related to the human capacity to adapt to their environment. Among the successful and effective adaptive mechanisms are the detection of cheaters and free-­riders, the fear of violence

Media studies and the peace issue   39 and assault, and the readiness to fight or flee. For millions of years our predecessors lived on African savannahs. They were not the eminent sovereigns of their habitat. At a height of just 1.2 m, other animals – like hyenas or sabre-­toothed tigers (twice as large as modern-­day lions) – must have looked intimidatingly big to our early ancestors. They must have lived in constant fear and must have acted with utmost prudence in order to survive. They could only hunt for their food when the real hunters, like the lions, were resting. Under these circumstances it seems realistic to assume that our ancestors’ communications consisted primarily of warnings of imminent danger. We know from evolutionary studies on culture that when certain mental patterns have been imprinted on minds they will stay there for a very long time indeed and will change only very slowly (Kendal 2011; Richerson and Boyd 2005). From this perspective, today’s “bad news” is a relic of a Stone Age adaptive function that was once essential for survival on the savannah. Bad news appeals to audiences because it helps humans to pay attention to information that is essential for their survival and their reproductive fitness. This does not mean that today warnings would no longer have a function. But in a modern environment an adequate adaptation to reality requires also that “good news” stories be taken seriously. Survival of the human animal in the twenty-­first century is probably best secured if an alertness to risk is combined with an openness to challenges. The problem with permanent warnings of impending danger is that such alerts become a self-­fulfilling prophecy. People may begin to meet others with such preconceived ideas about their hostility that those others begin to behave in accordance with the expectation. This is a very common occurrence, as we know from social-­ psychological studies about stereotyping (Kunda 1999; Tajfel et al. 1971). Obviously, in modern societies there can be solid grounds for fear: we live in what Ulrich Beck has labelled a global “risk society” (1992). We can now blow up the planet several times over. But fear can be exaggerated, manipulated and exploited for political reasons (e.g., the terrorism threat that is manipulated for the erosion of basic civil rights and freedoms) or for commercial reasons (e.g., the fear that is generated by new viruses, which is used to help sell vaccines). Often, as the case of terrorism phobia demonstrates, the actual occurrence of terrorist acts and the probability of becoming a victim of a terrorist act bear little relation to the exaggerated alarm bells that governments and the media ring. A culture of fear creates serious obstacles to social cohesion and to living in peaceful co-­existence. Most people do not seem to realize that daily life in modern Amsterdam is much safer than it was in the medieval city. In the twenty-­first century we need, for our survival as species, hope more than we need fear. More “good news” in daily newscasts and news reporting would serve as a more adequate adaptation to the modern environment than that relic of the Stone Age: “bad news.”

40   C.J. Hamelink Dominique Moïse has proposed a division of the cultures of fear, hope and humiliation. He concludes his study on the geopolitics of emotion by stating: “To respond to the challenges we face, the world needs hope” (Moïse 2009: 159). On the basis of these considerations it could be suggested that permanent warnings of danger and risk hamper an adequate twenty-­first century adaptation to modern realities. It could even be argued that more news attention for the peace issue would be of benefit in the evolutionary sense and it would obviously facilitate more media studies on the peace issue. What, however, would happen if media studies aspired to study the peace issue more extensively?4 The first problem to deal with is that the interpretations and definitions of peace follow many different directions. There is no easy political or academic consensus on what “peace” is or should be. We live among a multitude of relations between individuals, groups and institutions. These relations move constantly between killing fields, armistices, negotiations, reconciliation, consolation, threats, stereotypes and peaceful co-­existence. This is difficult to quantify, and thus measure, and there is increasing pressure on media studies to focus – as “real” science – on quantification. As a result, what cannot be “objectively” measured does not seem worth studying. If peace is defined as “negative” peace – in the sense of the absence of war (as is the case in many peace studies) – then the logical assumption that if we could do away with war there would be peace naturally leads to a concentration on the study of war. The second problem is that the field of media studies is not adequately equipped to engage with the complexities of studying peace. If we tentatively defined peace as a complete state of physical, mental and social well-­ being (like the World Health Organization did in its 1945 definition of health), and if we could identify the conditionalities that such a state would require, would media studies then have the tools to research how the media (conventional and new) might contribute to creating such conditionalities? This question calls for critical reflection on the causality obsession that dominates communication studies, the theoretical weakness of the field, the disciplinary problem, and the lack of a society-­critical approach to media studies.

Causality An obstacle to the understanding of the complexity of public communication is the obsession with causality. The obsessive drive to find causal connections is so strong that scientists often forget that correlations are not proof of causal connections. That A and B occur together does not prove that A causes B or vice versa. The discovery of causality has a great

Media studies and the peace issue   41 attraction. It brings academics political popularity, better fundraising chances, and media attention. The media are most interested in science when causal connections are made: between media violence and aggressive behavior, between smoking and cancer, between flying and destruction of the environment, between food and health. Causality assumes a simple world of one-­to-one linear relations. However, more often than not, scientists can only demonstrate (with grave reservations) a correlation or an association, and then speculate, hypothesize and guess. The “causality obsession” is fatal for a realistic understanding of the world in which we live. We live in a reality of multiple causalities and it is likely impossible to single out one specific causal factor. There is no one single grand theory to comprehend global communication. The phenomenon “global communication” is extensive, complex and fast-­moving. Its study needs all the help it can get from ethnography, content and discourse analysis, audience studies, economic analysis, political science, (social) psychology, sociology, anthropology and cultural studies. We have to rely on multiple sources of understanding and use them in eclectic ways.

Theoretical weakness McQuail’s very useful overview convincingly demonstrates that the mass media are a valid object of scientific theorizing. However, as he notes, media theorizing is still very fragmentary and also variable in quality. It often amounts to little more than a posing of many questions plus some empirical generalizations based on a disparate set of observations that are not fully representative of the enormous range of situations where the media are at work. (McQuail 2000: 479) In his book In de schaduw van God [In God’s Shadow] van den Bouwhuijsen (2010) argues that theory in human and social sciences is, in fact, secular theology. The portrayal of the human being on which these sciences are based is derived from a tradition of monotheistic Christian thinking. Theological fictions not only determine the view of the “self ” but also of the “other.” The self is largely viewed as an individual with free will and with the capacity to account for his/her actions and to explain them. Western social science searches for the motivations and intentions of human behavior by assuming that human beings can actually know themselves. This assumption is not universally shared. In the Indian image of self (for example, in the Mahabharata epos) the question of why are you doing something makes no sense. You act in way X because you are X and there are no other motives. The Navaho Indians

42   C.J. Hamelink believe that “why” questions are foolish. The Mexican Zapotec say that we look at the face, we do not know what is in the heart. In Papua New Guinea and among the Himalayan Sherpas there is no interest in the intention behind actions – understanding the other means accepting what he does. In the Christian tradition the other is seen, ultimately, as the same as the self. There is a strong drive toward discarding difference, creating unity and universality, and converting those who are different. We are all descendents of Abraham, and our differences are only temporal – eventually they will disappear. St. Paul declares (in his letters to the Colossians (3:11), and to the Galatians (3:28)) that there are no fundamental differences between us: we are all one. This secular theology – that is also dominant in communication studies – hampers a real understanding of communicating with “others” across the world. In studies on intercultural communication – for example – there is a general tendency to propose models (“tricks”) that enable “us” to communicate with “them.” “They” are, in principle, like us – only a bit different – and we need to learn how to deal with their deviance from us. The concept of the other as an exotic or deviant variant of the self poses a deep obstacle to understanding communication processes between different cultures. Most studies in this field are based upon Western social science concepts that are taken to be universal, even though they may not exist somewhere else. The dominant Euro-­American centrism in media studies is not conducive to the study of such an international issue as world peace. Across the world there has been a Euro-­American dominance in media and communication research. In a rather uncritical way models and theories with a British/American origin have been accepted by students of communication in other parts of the world. However, “(i)n recent years the growing recognition of Eurocentrism in communication theories has fuelled discontent among some Asian researchers” (Wang 2011: 2). This growing discontent and critical self-­examination has led to the emergence of an Asian communication paradigm and to a discussion about the need to “de-­Westernize” (Park and Curran 2000). The critique of Western theories addresses such issues as the tendency to dichotomize (creating either/or divisions, e.g., individualism versus collectivism in cultures), and to conceive communication largely as a linear, rational, process of persuasion. According to Asante (2011: 21) the Western paradigmatic approach has distorted human reality by suggesting that the forces that drove European development during the Renaissance and the Enlightenment – such as material conquest and man’s domination of nature – were universal forces. “The ultimate objective is not simply a critique of the West, but a suggestion of a way forward in our thinking and relating by detaching ourselves from a colonizing ideology” (Asante 2011: 21). Asante does not want to replace the West with the East, or the South, but wants to eliminate the

Media studies and the peace issue   43 hierarchical system in which Western philosophy claims its knowledge to be universal. What is needed is a “commensurable universality” in which diversity is recognized and in which there is engagement in the sort of global intellectual dialogue that enables comparison and evaluation. For the study of communication and peace to become truly global this would require that theories and experiences from outside the Western world be integrated in the global production of knowledge. It means that the prevalence of Euro-­American ideas and methods surrounding communication need to be broken apart in order to move beyond the Western paradigmatic constructs of modernization, dependency, imperialism and globalization. Genuine global media studies would free the local from its eternal subordination to the global (Kraidy 2011: 51). Its observations and analyzes would – for example – conclude that there are modernities and traditionalities across the West/Rest divide, and propose the notion of “multiple modernities” (Kraidy 2011: 54–6). This approach necessarily implies the need for dialogue in which the disappearance of a dominant paradigm challenges researchers to produce new creative theories and methodologies. This dialogue can prevent epistemological fundamentalisms simply being swapped. It would not seem very helpful if a Western centrism were to be exchanged for a non-­Western centrism.

The disciplinary problem To study the peace issue a trans-­disciplinary approach is needed. In recent years the discovery was made in different research fields that it was necessary to move away from mono-­disciplinarity toward the engagement of various disciplinary experiences in research. Thus emerged multi-­ disciplinarity, in which research questions are studied with the help of more than one discipline; the different disciplines may cooperate, but stay within their own domain. In the inter-­disciplinary approach research questions are treated through an exchange between different disciplines. For complex questions this is helpful but still not satisfactory. One more move is necessary for a trans-­disciplinary approach. In trans-­disciplinarity scientific disciplines have to engage with multiple knowledges. This means that in addition to scientific knowledge, experiential and tacit knowledge from non-­scientific sources has to be taken seriously. This approach requires an acceptance that there is solid and relevant knowledge within the non-­ scientific community. Trans-­disciplinarity means that learning becomes interactive co-­ learning. The creation of knowledge is, in fact, a communication process that involves both scientific and societal experience. The complexity of social problems demands cooperation between a multitude of stakeholders who are guided by the insight that singular knowledge cannot solve complex social problems. As Klein (2001: 7) observes “transdisciplinarity is a new form of learning and problem solving involving cooperation

44   C.J. Hamelink between different parts of society and academia in order to meet the complex challenge of society.” Co-­learning means that we are all specialists in multiple forms of knowledge about ourselves and about the world in which we live. Some of us are specialists with a diploma, others are non-­licensed specialists. In order to further multiple knowledges about ourselves and about our world both types of specialists need to cooperate. An obvious obstacle to co-­learning is the organization of universities as disciplinary institutions that have no space for trans-­disciplinary research. Additionally, most scientific journals and academic book series are categorized in mono-­disciplines. It has to be realistically observed that trans-­ disciplinary publishing is not particularly helpful for one’s academic career. In recent years the discovery has been made across different research fields that it is necessary to move away from mono-­disciplinarity toward the engagement of various disciplinary experiences in research (multi-­disciplinarity), toward the exchange of these different experiences in a common dialogue (inter-­disciplinarity), and even toward the extension of this dialogue to multiple stakeholders in society (trans-­ disciplinarity). Trans-­disciplinarity emerged with the discovery that knowledge as a singular entity is not particularly helpful in the multi-­dimensional, multi-­ polar, complex and chaotic world we live in. To understand the non-­linear structure of our realities – which resemble the complexity of a tropical rain forest – we need multiple knowledges that include scientific knowledge, narrative knowledge, intuitive knowledge, experiential knowledge, common sense and indigenous knowledge. Moreover, we need to develop a democratic, interactive, co-­learning process between science and society that is steered by multi-­dimensional interests and values. It is important to recognize that the disciplines – as we know them today – are in fact organizational principles for the management of universities, scientific publications and for the distribution of research funds. They did not come about as the result of intellectual considerations. They are the result of specific historical developments and responses to societal challenges such as the French Revolution (the mother of sociology), capitalism and Marxism (the fathers of economics), colonialism (the daughter of imperialism, and, according to Levi Strauss, anthropology), and the Hobbesian challenge of solving the problem of war (which inspired political science). Media studies emerged from a variety of disciplinary backgrounds and then developed into a discipline of its own. This discipline “has lost touch with these other disciplines, which, in turn, have now largely eliminated media from their research agendas and curricula” (Ekecranz 2009: 76). Communication science became a mono-­discipline at the same time that multi-­disciplinarity, inter-­disciplinarity and even trans-­disciplinarity were becoming more important as a result of the difficulty in understanding the

Media studies and the peace issue   45 complexity of communication in a globalizing world. Communication students became specialists precisely at the moment that communication was becoming more and more integrated into social, economic and political systems.

Complexity To deal with the linkage between the media and peace, media studies have to accept a complexity perspective. Media flows are equivalent in complexity to a tropical rainforest, a place where everything is related to everything else (interdependence), where small events may have large and unpredictable effects elsewhere (non-­linearity), and where one cannot make reliable forecasts since flows of ideas and opinion may unexpectedly and rapidly change (uncertainty). A complex system is a collection (universe) of interacting agents that compete for a scarcity of essential resources. Characteristic of such systems is a mixture of order and disorder. Without a central controller the emerging disorder (e.g., a traffic jam) may result without external interference. The same traffic jam that appears for no apparent reason can then simply disappear again, for no apparent reason (Johnson 2009: 19). Media communication is, likewise, both orderly and chaotic. The conduct of its agents is dynamic. To understand this complexity the prevailing scientific preference for determinism and reductionism are not helpful for the understanding of non-­linear processes in which unpredictable and surprising phenomena emerge without a central controller. The media is an element in a complex system, and studying it demands that one accept that complex systems can never provide comprehensive information about all their states. Reductionism proposes that by analyzing and understanding parts of a system (such as the parts that together make up a clock) we can understand the whole system. This does not work, however, with complex systems – we have to accept that a greater part of our reality is fundamentally unpredictable. Determinism proposes that it is possible to establish linear causal relations between phenomena in our physical and non-­physical environments. Both reductionism and determinism offer an attractive simplicity that suggests we are in control of the phenomena we investigate. This may be psychologically comforting but it does not provide us with reliable knowledge. The acquisition of knowledge requires time; science needs patience.

Critical approach A socio-­critical activist school was never prominent, let alone dominant, in media studies. There has always been a strong tendency to worry about activist, participatory and normative research. In communication research

46   C.J. Hamelink – generally – there seem to be few, if any, younger generation scholars who are successors to the critical political economy approach of such academics as Graham Murdock, Peter Golding, Vincent Mosco, the late Dallas Smythe or the late Herbert Schiller. Critical media studies should be raising questions like “how can one expect the media to contribute to global solidarity in an economic system that promotes inequality and competitive strife?” But this is difficult, since, increasingly, academics are integrated into the dominant political-­economic system and have discovered that not rocking the neo-­liberal boat leads to better career prospects than does raising too much critical inquiry.

In conclusion Peace is not a media issue; peace is not “media stuff.” As a result there is little to nothing to study in terms of contents or effects. Media studies could address the question of how the media (conventional and new) might promote the conditionalities for a complete (global and inclusive) state of well-­being. One should realize, however, that even if media students were sufficiently inquisitive, courageous and critical to engage with this question, they will likely realize that media practitioners and media politicians will only be mildly – if at all – interested. Where I see promising possibilities for media studies and the peace issue is in the observation that in the study of peacemaking the field of diplomatic communication has been largely underexposed. Since news media have always played an important role in world diplomacy, and since diplomatic communication is essential for the promotion of peace, there is enough solid material for media students to investigate new avenues for diplomatic communication in the twenty-­first century.

Notes 1 See Berelson, B., Lazarsfeld, P.F. and McPhee, W.N. 1954. Voting: A study of opinion formation in a presidential campaign. Chicago: University Chicago of Press; Bogart, L. 1956. The Age of Television. New York: Frederick Ungar Publ.  Co; Hovland, C.I. 1954. “Effects of the Mass Media of Communication” in G. Lindzey (ed.), Handbook of Social Psychology: 1062–103. Cambridge: Addison Wesley; Klapper, J.T. 1960. The Effects of Mass Communication. New York: Free Press; Lazarsfeld, P.F., Berelson, B. and Gaudet, H. 1944. The People’s Choice: How the voter makes up his mind in a Presidential Campaign. New York: Duell, Sloan & Oearce; Merton, R.K., Fiske, M. and Curtis, A. 1946. Mass Persuasion. New York: Harper & Bros. 2 See, among others, Der Derian, J. 2001. Virtuous War: Mapping the Military-­ industrial-media-­entertainment Network. New York: Basic Books. 3 This topic was also addressed in Cees J. Hamelink, 2010. “Stone Age Minds and Internet Galaxies.” In The Nordic Countries and the World. Göteborgs Universitet. 4 More detail on these critical observations can be found in Cees J. Hamelink (forthcoming), Global Communication: Perspectives and Challenges. London: Sage.

Media studies and the peace issue   47

References Asante, Molefi Kete. 2011. “De-­Westernizing Communication: Strategies for Neutralizing Cultural Myths” in Georgette Wang (ed.), De-­Westernizing Communication Research: Altering Questions and Changing Frameworks: 21–7. London: Routledge. Beck, Ulrich. 1992. Risk Society. London: Sage. Bouwhuijsen, Henry van den. 2010. In de schaduw van God. Kampen: Klement. Davis, Hank and S. Lyndsay McLeod. 2003. “Why humans value sensational news: An evolutionary perspective.” Evolution and Human Behavior, 24 (3): 208–16. Ekecranz, Jan. 2009. “Media studies going global” in Daya Kishan Thussu (ed.), Internationalizing Media Studies: 75–89. London: Routledge. Johnson, Neil F. 2009. Simply Complexity: A Clear Guide to Complexity Theory. London: Oneworld Publications. Kendal, Jeremy R. 2011. “Interactions between cognition and culture” in Viren Swami (ed.), Evolutionary Psychology: 311–66. Chicester: Wiley and Sons. Klein, Julie Thompson, W. Grossenbacher-­Mansuy, R. Häberli, A. Bill, R.W. Scholz, and M. Welti (eds) 2001. Transdisciplinary Joint Problem Solving among Science, Technology and Society. Basel: Birkhäuser Verlag. Kraidy, Marwan M. 2011. “Globalizing media and communication studies” in Georgette Wang (ed.), De-­Westernizing Communication Research: Altering Questions and Changing Frameworks: 50–7. London: Routledge. Kunda, Ziva. 1999. Social Cognition. Making Sense of People. Cambridge: MIT Press. McQuail, Denis. 2000. McQuail’s Mass Communication Theory. London: Sage. Moïse, Dominique. 2009. The Geopolitics of Emotion. London: The Bodley Head. Park, Myung-­Jin and James Curran. 2000. De-­Westernizing Media Studies. London: Routledge. Richerson, Peter J. and Robert Boyd. 2005. Not be genes alone. How culture transformed human evolution. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Tajfel, Henri, M.G. Billig, R.E. Bundy and C. Flament. 1971. “Social categorization and intergroup behaviour.” European Journal of Social Psychology, 1: 149–77. UNESCO. 1978. The Mass Media Declaration. Paris: UNESCO. Varis, Tapio (ed.) 1986. Peace and Communication. San Jose: Universidad para la Paz. Wang, Georgette (ed.) 2011. De-­Westernizing Communication Research – Altering Questions and Changing Frameworks. London: Routledge. Wright, Quincy. 1965. A Study of War. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

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Part I

Reporting and representing peace

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3 Peace and the absence of journalism Virgil Hawkins

Introduction: the selectivity problem Studies of media coverage typically focus on examining and/or assessing the issues that the media has chosen to cover. We can see this in research that has been conducted to date on the relationship between the media, conflict and peace. Does heavy and emotive coverage of a violent conflict and the associated humanitarian suffering lead to the initiation of policy responses? This question has sparked a plethora of studies on the so-­called “CNN effect” (Gilboa 2005; Robinson 2011). When a conflict is chosen for coverage, what is the nature of that coverage? Does it portray the conflict as a violent struggle for victory, or does it portray conflict as a problem that can be solved through peaceful means? These questions have given rise to both research and practice on what is known as Peace Journalism (Lynch 2008; Shaw et al. 2012). Media research rarely ventures, however, into an examination of the coverage (or more accurately, the absence of coverage) of issues that do not manage to capture the media spotlight. On first glance, this may seem logical – it could perhaps be argued that journalism should be assessed primarily according to what it does (or attempts to do), not on what it does not. Methodologically speaking, it is no easy task to assess something that does not exist. But the importance of taking a critical look at what the media chooses not to cover should be apparent when we consider that the potentially newsworthy events occurring in, and issues facing, the world that do not garner substantive media coverage outnumber those that do many times over. This is an inevitable reality – the number of potential news stories on any given day is virtually limitless, and even the largest news organizations can barely keep abreast of a small fraction of them. Selectivity is tightened further by the limited time/space within the news that is allocated for foreign stories. Notwithstanding the advent of a number of ostensibly global news media, such as BBC and Al Jazeera, media globalization remains in many ways something of a myth (Hafez 2007), with local/national events and issues typically dominating the news agenda and serving as the frame for much of the “foreign” news that is

52   V. Hawkins provided (Rolston and McLaughlin 2004). Despite enhanced information technologies, and the march of globalization, foreign news in the US has declined since the end of the Cold War (Moisy 1996; Hamilton and Jenner 2004). According to statistics compiled by the Tyndall Report (2013), which monitors the weekday nightly television newscasts for the three US broadcast networks, for the first decade of the 2000s roughly 15 percent of coverage dealt with US foreign policy (much of which was dominated by the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan), compared to 17 percent that was devoted to “purely” international news (that which is not focused around US foreign policy). Despite criticism of the decline in foreign news in the US, however, the news media in that country is not necessarily at the lowest end of the spectrum in this sense. In studies conducted of the news media in Japan (print, television and online), for example, the percentage of foreign stories did not exceed 10 percent of the total time/space devoted to the news (Hawkins 2012b: 318). Considering that international news contains both conflict and non-­ conflict related stories, news about conflict and peace in the world that actually makes it to the eyes and ears of consumers is a select batch of stories indeed. The advent of 24-hour news channels and, more importantly, online news, has potentially allowed for a vast increase in the provision and consumption of news about foreign conflicts and other distant events. But so far it appears to be a potential that is largely unrealized (Himelboim et al. 2010). Given these realities, the importance of the process by which the stories that will become news are separated from those that will not – gatekeeping – cannot be underestimated. This highly selective nature of news production raises several important questions pertaining to conflict and peace in the world. To what extent is coverage of the violence phase of conflict selected over the non-­violence phase? And when peace is covered, which regions are being covered and which are being marginalized by the media? What are the gatekeepers letting slip and why? This chapter attempts to address these questions.

Peace (as opposed to war) coverage In times of armed conflict, the journalist is the one running toward the explosions and gunfire, when others are fleeing in the opposite direction. Such is the picture our minds typically conjure up with regard to this profession. But what this picture does not tell us is that it may also apply in the opposite direction. When the violence subsides and the people who at first fled are cautiously returning to what is left of their homes and their livelihoods, it is now the journalists who are heading in the opposite direction – with no dramatic or action-­packed story left to tell as the smoke clears, they leave in search of the next war zone, and the cycle continues. Similarly, we might question why the journalist was found running to the scene of the violence as it began. Shouldn’t (s)he have already been on

Peace and the absence of journalism   53 the scene before the actual violence broke out, to bear witness and alert the outside world to the deterioration and eventual collapse of peace? The adage “no news is good news” certainly has some truth to it – if there is nothing to report, then it means that there has been no major divergence from the status quo, and we tend to take this to mean that nothing negative has occurred. In the case of reporting armed conflict this is particularly pertinent given the potential explosiveness (in literal terms) of bad news, and the tendency to equate peace with the limited negative peace notion – the mere absence of violence (Galtung 1985). If peace is taken to be little more than the absence of violence, then it is indeed uneventful, and in a world in which news is largely event-­based, this robs it of any perceived newsworthiness it may have. Peace is inevitably a long and drawn out process involving very gradual progress in areas such as reconciliation and reconstruction (physical, political, legal and social), which is neither sudden, unexpected, nor event-­ oriented. And it is also true that, for similar reasons, “structural violence,” and other long-­term phenomena that characterize pre- and/or post-­ violence phases of conflict, can prove somewhat difficult for event-­based journalism to work with. Parallels can be found at a more micro-­level – the sudden deaths of people in car accidents, for example, will inevitably garner more attention than the death of the same number of cancer patients. But the notion that “peace” is uneventful is exceptionally misleading. There are a host of “events” in peace processes that can potentially serve as markers of a process of peace for the media. Conflict/peace-­related action does not end with the signing of a peace agreement. Its implementation undoubtedly carries with it a number of potentially newsworthy events, namely the achievement of commitments contained therein, which may include the withdrawal and/or disarmament of troops, and the establishment of new military, political and/or legal arrangements. If peacekeepers or peace enforcers are part of the deal their initial deployment or force expansion are also events. Developments in terms of post-­conflict interim administrations, and the organization and holding of elections, are also important, as are developments in terms of justice – the establishment and work of tribunals, and/or truth and reconciliation commissions. And while post-­conflict reconstruction in the physical sense is a slow and ongoing process, pledges of aid money, and initiation/completion of the reconstruction projects for major structures, particularly those with symbolic value, can also serve as markers along the road to peace. The reconstruction in 2004 of the Stari Most (Old Bridge) in Mostar, Herzegovina, which had stood for more than 400 years before being destroyed during the Croat–Bosniak conflict, is one such example. The problem is not necessarily that “peace” is uneventful, it may simply be that the media does not appear to be particularly interested in it. Considering the highly limited number of stories that make it to the news, the

54   V. Hawkins reporting of peace in a post-­violence environment will inevitably be in competition for air time or space with explosive armed conflicts (the new one to which the journalist has now moved on), and we may expect that this is a battle that it is likely to lose. Graham Spencer (2005: 1) tells us that “news media is not well disposed to peace,” and Gadi Wolsfeld (2004: 15–23) offers a detailed explanation of why this is so, from the perspective of coverage of peace processes. He contrasts the media’s need for immediacy, drama and simplicity, and its tendency of ethno-­centrism, with the long-­term process involved in negotiating a crisis-­free peace agreement that is multi-­faceted and which takes into account both sides of the story. The media wants action (and often confrontation) here and now, and peace does not seem to fit the bill. Intuitively, the newsroom formula “if it bleeds, it leads” makes sense, but surprisingly little research has been done that actually demonstrates the gap between coverage of the violent and non-­violent phases of conflict. Scholar Peter Viggo Jakobsen (2000: 131) and journalist Nik Gowing (1997: 20) have described media coverage of the pre-­violence and post-­ violence phases of conflict as “negligible” and “very little,” respectively, but they do not follow up with any quantitative evidence on just how negligible, or just how little there is. In his 2004 book, Media and the Path to Peace, Gadi Wolfsfeld claims that, up to that point, there was “not a single major study that has looked at the role of the news media in an ongoing peace process” (p. 8). He notes that “conflict and violence are the mainstays of the news industry, whereas stories about peace are few and far between” (p.  9); but the case studies do not include comparison of the coverage of the violent and non-­violent phases of the conflict. This is a lacuna in media research related to conflict and peace that needs addressing. With a view to triggering further quantitative study on this issue, the author here offers a very cursory examination of select conflicts in their violence and post-­violence phases. The examination looked at coverage in the New York Times of armed conflicts and their aftermath in Liberia, Israel–Lebanon (Hezbollah) and Sri Lanka. The New York Times was selected because of the magnitude of its influence in inter-­media agenda-­setting (Golan 2006), and the cases were chosen because intense hostilities came to a relatively abrupt halt in each case, allowing for a clear distinction between the violence and post-­violence phases of conflict. Coverage was examined using a Lexis-­Nexis search of articles in the New York Times with the country name in the title or lead paragraphs. For Liberia, the search was conducted for a period of six months before and after the signing of the Accra Comprehensive Peace Agreement of August 2003, while for Sri Lanka it was for the six months before and after the surrender of the rebel Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) in May 2009. The Israel–Hezbollah conflict of 2006 lasted for 34 days, and so coverage of these 34 days was compared with the that for 34 days following the formal cessation of hostilities. The results were manually filtered to

Peace and the absence of journalism   55 remove articles that were not primarily focused on the situation in the country in question, and a count of the number of words in the remaining articles was conducted. For Liberia, the final six months of the violence phase were covered in 59,764 words, while the first six months of the post-­violence phase were covered in 18,501 words, with much of the focus of the latter being on the peacekeeping activities, the possibility of justice for the former president, Charles Taylor, and rebuilding efforts. The final six months of the armed conflict in Sri Lanka, in which the LTTE were cornered and destroyed, garnered 32,934 words, while the six months post-­surrender garnered 11,492 words, much of which discusses the fate of refugees and the possibility of an inquiry into the conduct of the conflict. The violence phase of the conflict between Israel and Hezbollah was the subject of 164,037 words, compared to 47,889 words following the ceasefire, the latter covering, among other issues, the peacekeeping operations, border control and the conduct of the conflict. Thus, in each case, the coverage of the post-­ violence phase of the conflict was equivalent to approximately one-­third of the quantity of coverage of the violence phase of the conflict. Although the proportion of violence to non-­violence phase coverage turned out to be roughly the same in each case examined, these results should by no means be seen in definitive terms, or as being representative of the news media in general. The two conflict phases were divided at the point at which a conclusive ceasefire or peace agreement was reached, but there were, of course, articles in the violence phase that dealt with issues of peace, and articles in the post-­violence phase covering violent incidents. Furthermore, there were many case specific variables at play in determining coverage in the cases examined. Much of the coverage of the violence phase of conflict in Liberia, for example, dealt with the possibility of US military intervention (which did not eventuate), rather than the actual hostilities on the ground, meaning that in the absence of US interest, the coverage of the violence phase could have been less than it was. At the same time, this phase of the conflict had to compete for coverage with the invasion of Iraq, a media event of massive proportions, which meant that potential coverage of the violence phase in Liberia may have been displaced, and thus under other circumstances, could have been greater. Furthermore, the results may simply suggest that the New York Times is a publication that does, unlike others news corporations, attach some importance to covering the post-­violence phase of certain conflicts. We can almost certainly expect a considerable difference between print and broadcast media as well as between traditional and online news media (Wu 2007). It is far less costly, for example, to produce a follow-­up newspaper article in the post-­violence phase of a conflict than it is to produce a television news item – which would entail sending a television crew. All things considered, while each case did convincingly confirm that the violence phase of the conflict attracted considerably more coverage than

56   V. Hawkins the post-­violence phase, the drop to a third of the quantity of coverage of the hostilities could still be considered a substantial amount of coverage. In the case of Liberia, for example, coverage of the post-­violence phase was comprised of 36 articles, averaging six articles per month (although there was, to some degree, a concentration of articles in the immediate aftermath of hostilities), and half of these articles were longer than 500 words each. Words such as “negligible” or even “very little” may not be appropriate to describe the coverage of the post-­violence phase in such cases. More research on this aspect of the relationship between peace and journalism is certainly needed. The comparison between the violence and non-­violence phases of a particular conflict, however, disguises a potentially larger problem in terms of the absence of journalism – the gap between the haves and have-­ nots of conflict and peace coverage. It is to this issue that the chapter now turns its attention.

Which peace? All-­or-nothing coverage and regional differences The cases of Liberia, Israel–Hezbollah and Sri Lanka, examined above, serve not only to demonstrate that the violence phase of each conflict was given far greater coverage than was the post-­violence phase. They also reveal a large discrepancy in the total amount of coverage given to conflicts, both in terms of the violence and the peace that follows. Just 34 days of coverage by the New York Times of the post-­violence phase of conflict between Israel and Hezbollah was equivalent to 2.6 times the amount of coverage of six months of the post-­violence phase in Liberia, and 4.2 times that of six months of coverage of Sri Lanka. Among the three cases examined Sri Lanka was easily the least covered conflict. The lack of direct US involvement, and the absence of a peacekeeping mission, certainly had something to do with the relatively low levels of post-­hostility coverage for Sri Lanka, as did the repressive control of the press and the flow of information in that country. But the problem is much larger than what can be seen from the above discrepancies in coverage of select distant conflicts. There are 20–30 armed conflicts going on in the world at any given time, most with some form of peace process in motion; plus many additional ongoing peace processes in post-­violence stage situations. Looking at the big picture of coverage of conflict and peace on a global scale, we see a yawning gap between the haves and have-­nots of coverage, with very little ground in between. Conflicts and peace processes tend to be either heavily covered, or virtually ignored. In a study conducted by the author of US media for the year 2009, for example, the four most-covered conflicts – Afghanistan, Iraq, Israel–Palestine and Pakistan – dominated the coverage for that year, accounting for 97 percent of the total coverage of conflicts throughout

Peace and the absence of journalism   57 the world on the major television networks, and 82 percent of the total coverage of conflicts in the New York Times (Hawkins 2011). That these conflicts were selected for such heavy coverage should come as no surprise – the US government was either directly involved as a belligerent, or, in the case of Israel–Palestine, had an exceptionally strong political interest in the conflict. But the extent to which the coverage of these conflicts dominated the time/space used for reporting conflicts and peace processes throughout the world should give cause for concern considering the number of large-­scale conflicts that were, to all intents and purposes, left out. Looking at peace processes in isolation, we see a similar all-­or-nothing approach. A search in the New York Times over the course of the first decade of the 2000s revealed that 63 percent of all articles using the term “peace process” were those dealing with Israel-­Palestine; and a further 13 percent of references were found in articles dealing with Northern Ireland. The term “peace process” thus seemed synonymous with these two conflicts, and peace processes elsewhere were either not given coverage, or were not treated as a “process” (Hawkins 2012a). This tendency also appears to be mirrored in the academic literature – almost all of the in-­depth studies of media coverage of peace processes focus on conflicts involving Israel and Northern Ireland (see, for example, Wolfsfeld 2004; Spencer 2000; Shinar 2000). Peace processes here are not to be confused with the post-­violence phase of a conflict, which simply refers to the period in time after the formal end of armed hostilities. A peace process includes negotiations and mediation and other measures that are also conducted during the violence phase of a conflict. One continent in particular stands out in terms of the absence of coverage of peace (both in terms of peace processes and post-­violence phases) – Africa. Africa is one of the most neglected regions of the world in terms of coverage in general (Golan 2008), and also in terms of coverage of conflict and peace, which is particularly concerning given that the continent has witnessed the vast majority of conflict-­related deaths since the end of the Cold War (Hawkins 2011). Journalists themselves lament, in their memoirs, that for Africa, substantive Western media interest in armed conflicts will only be sparked if they are accompanied by a particularly high body count (Harden 1990: 14–15; Keane 1995: 7). Violent conflict, much less peace processes associated with those conflicts, will not be covered unless they are particularly brutal. Many in Africa are well aware of how the country or continent in which they live is covered (or not covered) by the outside world. As Kenyans went to the polls for presidential elections in 2013, for example, many had a sense that foreign journalists were interested in bearing witness to bloodshed and not a peaceful election process; that they had come to cover the elections because they were expecting violence to break out, as it had in the wake of the 2007 elections. With no incidences of violence occurring during the voting,

58   V. Hawkins many began poking fun at foreign correspondents on Twitter under hashtags such as #TweetLikeaForeignJournalist, and #SomeoneTellCNN. One tweet, for example, “reported” that foreign journalists were “stranded in their hotels as peace makes it hard for them to do their job” (Mwaniki 2013). Although so far limited in scope, research also lends support to the notion that peace in Africa is less likely to be covered than it is elsewhere. A study of a year of coverage by the Los Angeles Times (1997–1998), for example, found that among all the articles that focused on conflict resolution, 28 percent were stories focused on the Middle East and 25 percent on Asia, while just 4 percent was focused on Africa. Seen from a different angle, “of the stories focusing on the Middle East, 60 percent referred to conflict resolution, while the figure for Africa was just 16 percent” (Beaudoin and Thorson 2002: 57). Similarly, a study comparing coverage in the New York Times of Israel–Palestine with that of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) found that, on top of the fact that coverage of the former was many times greater than that of the latter, there was proportionately more coverage of the peace process in the former than there was in the latter. It would appear that “peace” in Africa is considered less newsworthy than it is elsewhere (Hawkins 2012a: 272–3). In explaining the all-­or-nothing approach to conflict and peace coverage, practicality certainly features prominently. With limited time/ space available for coverage (and a limit in the capacity of the audience to absorb the content), attempting to cover too many situations would result in an unacceptable lack of in-­depth coverage – the culling of the conflicts and peace processes by gatekeepers is thus a kind of journalistic triage. At the same time, however, there are also major commercial concerns at play. In an age of stiff media competition – in which the breadth and depth of the gathering of news appears to be declining – greater importance is placed on the packaging and presentation of news (Hamilton and Jenner 2000); the costs involved in trying to keep the world within easy reach are seen as outweighing the benefits. Furthermore, limiting the number of situations covered and accentuating their magnitude helps to cultivate a familiarity with the story, and invites a level of curiosity that will have readers/viewings “tuning in again tomorrow.” Explaining how media gatekeepers determine which conflicts and peace processes are covered is somewhat more complex. As noted at the outset, domestic factors are probably the prime determinants of foreign news, and as such any conflict in which the “home” country is a belligerent is guaranteed of garnering saturation coverage. For situations in which the home country is not directly involved, several other factors have been observed. In a general sense, factors such as volume of trade and gross domestic product (Golan 2008; Wu 2003), as well as ancestral, cultural and linguistic ties (Tai 2000), have been seen as key determinants of coverage of a foreign country. From the perspective of the media in the USA, such determinants clearly give situations of conflict and peace in

Peace and the absence of journalism   59 Europe and the Middle East a distinct advantage over those in Africa – where such factors do not apply as well. The same can be said for other factors that have been identified as bearing an influence on coverage, such as elite interest, perceived relevance and continuity (see Harcup and O’Neill 2001) – a known conflict is more likely than a previously unknown one to attract coverage, and thus the cycle of covered and marginalized conflicts is perpetuated. Nor can cost considerations be ignored. This factor is of critical importance in the gatekeeping process for the post-­violence phase of a conflict – there are heavy expenses to be incurred by returning periodically to gather information once journalists are no longer stationed permanently on the ground. Many Western news corporations choose to maintain a bureau in Jerusalem, making any amount of follow-­up coverage of the peace process in Israel-­Palestine possible at marginal additional expense; but few choose to maintain a bureau in Kinshasa, Goma or Kigali, making coverage of the peace process in the DRC (via parachute journalism) a costly, and thus rare, occurrence.

Conclusions The media’s failure (both quantitatively and qualitatively) to cover peace is taken as a given. Yet very little research has been conducted on the subject. A number of in-­depth studies on the content of coverage of certain peace processes have been conducted, but these are limited to those associated with select high-­profile conflicts. And while there exists a widely held assumption that there is a sharp decline (almost to the point of insignificance) in coverage of conflicts in their post-­violence phase, very few studies have attempted to quantify this. Some cursory examinations offered in this chapter suggest that in some cases the decline may not be as pronounced as is often thought. Perhaps more importantly, little attention has been paid to the fact that in both conflict and in peace, there is a yawning gap between the haves and have-­nots of coverage, in which a handful of conflicts and associated peace processes garner heavy coverage, while the others (the vast majority) are marginalized. While it is tempting to focus academic attention primarily on assessing what the media does cover, when we consider that it fails to substantively deal with the majority of peace processes and/or post-­violence phases of conflict, surely we should also take a hard look at what the media does not attempt to cover.

References Beaudoin, Christopher and Esther Thorson. 2002. “Spiral of Violence? Conflict and Conflict Resolution in International News” in Eytan Gilboa (ed.), Media and Conflict: Framing Issues, Making Policy, Shaping Opinions: 45–64. Ardsley: Transnational Publishers.

60   V. Hawkins Galtung, Johan. 1985. “Twenty-­Five Years of Peace Research: Ten Challenges and Some Responses.” Journal of Peace Research, 22 (2): 141–58. Gilboa, Eytan. 2005. “The CNN Effect: The Search for a Communication Theory of International Relations.” Political Communication, 22 (1): 27–44. Golan, Guy. 2006. “Inter-­Media Agenda Setting and Global News Coverage.” Journalism Studies, 7 (2): 323–33. Golan, Guy. 2008. “Where in the World Is Africa? Predicting Coverage of Africa by US Television Networks.” International Communication Gazette, 70 (1): 41–57. Gowing, Nik. 1997. Media Coverage: Help or Hindrance in Conflict Prevention? Washington DC: Carnegie Commission on Preventing Deadly Conflict. Hafez, Kai. 2007. The Myth of Media Globalization. Cambridge: Polity Press. Hamilton, John Maxwell and Eric Jenner. 2004. “Redefining Foreign Correspondence.” Journalism, 5 (3): 310–21. Harcup, Tony and Deirdre O’Neill. 2001. “What is News? Galtung and Ruge Revisited.” Journalism Studies, 2 (2): 261–80. Harden, Blaine. 1990. Africa: Dispatches from a Fragile Continent. New York: W.W. Norton & Company. Hawkins, Virgil. 2011. “Media Selectivity and the Other Side of the CNN Effect: The Consequences of not Paying Attention.” Media, War & Conflict, 4 (1): 55–68. Hawkins, Virgil. 2012a. “Peace Process or Just Peace Deal? The Media’s Failure to Cover Peace” in Ibrahim Seaga Shaw, Jake Lynch and Robert A. Hackett (eds), Expanding Peace Journalism: Comparative and Critical Approaches: 263–86. Sydney: Sydney University Press. Hawkins, Virgil. 2012b. “A Missing Continent: Africa (Not) in the News in Japan.” International Journal of Media & Cultural Politics, 8 (2–3): 317–22. Himelboim, Itai, Tsan-­Kuo Chang and Stephen McCreery. 2010. “International Network of Foreign News Coverage: Old Global Hierarchies in a New Online World.” Journalism & Mass Communication Quarterly, 87 (2): 297–314. Jakobsen, Peter Viggo. 2000. “Focus on the CNN Effect Misses the Point: Media Impact on Conflict Management is Invisible and Indirect.” Journal of Peace Research, 37 (2): 131–43. Keane, Fergal. 1995. Seasons of Blood: A Rwandan Journey. London: Viking. Lynch, Jake. 2008. Debates in Peace Journalism. Sydney: Sydney University Press. Moisy, Claude. 1996. “The Foreign News Flow in the Information Age.” Discussion Paper D-­23. The Joan Shorenstein Center on the Press, Politics and Public Policy, Harvard University. Mwaniki, Philip. 2013. Twitter address @Mwanikih, hashtag TweetLikeaForeignJournalist, 4 March, 23:17. Robinson, Piers (ed.) 2011. “Special Issue: The CNN Effect Reconsidered: Mapping a Research Agenda for the Future.” Media, War & Conflict, 4 (1): 1–104. Rolston, Bill and Greg McLaughlin. 2004. “All News Is Local: Covering the War in Iraq in Northern Ireland’s Daily Newspapers.” Journalism Studies, 5 (2): 191–202. Shaw, Ibrahim Seaga, Jake Lynch and Robert A. Hackett (eds) 2012. Expanding Peace Journalism: Comparative and Critical Approaches. Sydney: Sydney University Press. Shinar, Dov. 2000. “Media Diplomacy and ‘Peace Talk’.” International Communication Gazette, 62 (2): 83–97. Spencer, Graham. 2000. Disturbing the Peace? Politics, Television News and the Northern Ireland Peace Process. Aldershot: Ashgate.

Peace and the absence of journalism   61 Spencer, Graham. 2005. The Media and Peace: From Vietnam to the “War on Terror.” Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Tai, Zixue. 2000. “Media of the World and World of the Media: A Cross-­National Study of the Rankings of the ‘Top 10 World Events’ from 1998 to 1998.” Gazette, 62 (5): 331–53. Tyndall Report. 2013. “Tyndall Decade in Review: 2000s.” Online, accessed July 30, available at: http://tyndallreport.com/decadeinreview/. Wolfsfeld, Gadi. 2004. Media and the Path to Peace. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wu, H. Denis. 2003. “Homogeneity Around the World? Comparing the Systemic Determinants of International News Flow Between Developed and Developing Countries.” Gazette, 65 (1): 9–24. Wu, H. Denis. 2007. “A Brave New World for International News? Exploring the Determinants of the Coverage of Foreign News on US Websites.” International Communication Gazette, 69 (6): 539–51.

4 Conflict-­Sensitive Journalism (R)evolution in media peacebuilding Ross Howard

At the International Criminal Court proceedings in Arusha, Tanzania, in 2004, it was concluded that the 1994 Rwanda genocide “was not the result of an uncontrollable outburst of rage by a people consumed by ancient tribal hatreds. Nor was it the predictable result of impersonal forces of poverty and over-­population” (Human Rights Watch 2009). The killing of 800,000 citizens resulted from the deliberate choice by a modern elite to foster hatred and fear to keep itself in power. This privileged group set the majority against the minority, using implicit messaging and misinformation and propaganda through the mainstream media to manipulate the population into believing or pretending that genocide was a necessary self­defense. The court ruled that the upstart but powerful Rwandan radio station Radio Milles Collines had contributed directly to the mass murder. Three managers of Radio Milles Collines were found guilty of genocide and sentenced to lengthy imprisonment. Radio Mille Colline’s role in Rwanda’s genocide was a pivotal point for the field of media development and peacebuilding. It brutally demonstrated that the media is a double-­edged tool, more easily wielded as a weapon of conflict than an instrument of peacebuilding and democratization. It challenged the previous decade of funders’ benign assumptions about traditional media capacity-­building with little consideration of turning such a powerful instrument to conflict de-­escalation (Kumar 2006). Radio Milles Collines’ criminality intensified the call from some media practitioners and conflict resolution specialists for a conscious use of media development initiatives to mitigate conflict and promote reconciliation. But the idea greatly offended other traditional notions of the news media’s so-­called neutral or objective role. The Radio Milles Collines tragedy fuelled an already-­simmering debate. Most of the previous decade’s extensive efforts to build media capacity reflected the Western libertarian view (Hume 2004) of the news media as a non-­partisan and independent institution. The news media enabled well-­ informed citizen decision-­making, served as a forum for free expression, and kept government accountable. A reliable news media – meaning

Conflict-Sensitive Journalism   63 accurate, impartial and self-­disciplined to serve the public interest – would contribute to achieving good governance and be an indirect support for human development according to the traditional argument for funding traditional media development. As part of their objectivity, media workers were considered professionally disengaged from the outcome of their work. The words “conflict resolution” rarely entered descriptions of these early media development initiatives. Accelerated democratization was the only commonly stated objective. What emerged among some media practitioners and peacebuilders after Rwanda was a realization that capacity-­building along libertarian lines was wholly inadequate to overcome a globally proliferated media inherently vulnerable to abuse, and itself addicted to conflict as a focal point with disregard for conflict resolution. The ensuing decade saw intense exploration of necessary and possible responses to the reality of the media role in conflict-­stressed and undemocratic states. As one participant in the exploration put it, the perspectives ranged “from a total commitment to detachment and objectivity, through a point informed by deliberate commitment to promoting peace, and ending with a journalism of attachment that promotes a particular solution for a particular party.” This debate was fraught with “fractiousness” (du Toit 2010). Fortunately, the debate proved to be healthy, and the abuses of Radio Milles Collines and, shortly afterwards, of the Serbian media in former Yugoslavia, did not dissuade all funders from exploring media development tailored to conflict-­stressed environments. Unfortunately, documentation, evaluation and coordination of those peacebuilding efforts has lagged (Puddephatt 2006). In 2010 more than half a billion dollars was spent worldwide on media assistance, at least 50 percent coming from the United States (CIMA 2012); the second largest funder of media development was the European Community and some its member states – notably Great Britain – and Sweden (European Commission 2011). The overwhelming majority of that funding is called media for development, or developing communication that informs and educates in support of initiatives to strengthen communities’ health, education, agriculture and other sectorial development. Initiatives focused on news media capacity-­building make up a lamentably small percentage of that total. “Most stakeholders in international development have never even heard of media development,” analyst Tara Susman-­Pena noted recently (Susman-­Pena 2012) – notwithstanding the fact that a great deal of evidence exists that free speech and media capacity are essential to strengthening governance, economic development and enhanced social welfare (CIMA 2012; Norris 2007). Initiatives linking media and conflict de-­ escalation are even more modestly funded, and even less well-­documented. Measurements of funders’ overall commitment to media development that is specific to conflict-­stressed environments are unavailable. There are few agreed-­upon definitions, and only preliminary categorizations of initiatives

64   R. Howard related to the media and peacebuilding. This book is a welcome commitment to pull together critical thinking, insights and pivotal examples, and to chart an overlooked field. However, one approach, known as Conflict-­Sensitive Journalism (CSJ) or Conflict-­Sensitive Reporting, has received substantial attention and has witnessed marked growth within the media and peacebuilding community. Today, announcements of new CSJ-­related training of journalists appear often on NGO and media practitioners’ websites around the globe.1 CSJ’s rapid adoption likely stems from its central positioning within the debate spectrum over necessary and possible roles for the media in conflict resolution. It reflects principles and practices of conventional libertarian media development, but also embraces insight from advocates of news media practice who are overtly committed to conflict resolution – often called “Peace Journalism.” CSJ commits to expanding news media practitioners’ conflict consciousness without overt peace advocacy. The implications of that qualified commitment can nonetheless be far-­reaching for conflict de-­escalation. Various versions of CSJ principles and training material have been widely distributed, such as a reporter’s handbook (Howard 2004) by International Media Support of Denmark; and a curriculum (Howard 2009) by UNESCO’s Communications and Information Division. Innovative trainers such as Peter du Toit at the Conflict-­Sensitive Journalism Project at Rhodes University in South Africa, and the international NGO media developer Internews Network, as well as Deutsche Welle’s DW Akademie, and others, continuously refine and expand their concepts and materials. Today the words “conflict-­sensitive” almost inevitably appear in media developers’ proposals for any journalism training within conflict-­stressed states. Understanding the evolution of CSJ may offer insight into why the field of media and conflict remains very much a work in progress. Particularly for those interested in media development for peacebuilding, an understanding of CSJ and its potential also requires recognition of the larger spectrum of media and peacebuilding opportunities. All media capacity-­ building should ultimately be determined by local conditions and partners. It should be noted that this author has been engaged in the development, application and evaluation of CSJ initiatives for multiple media developers and organizations since 2002.

The search for alternative approaches In 1999 the reality of media abuse in support of conflict escalation emerged once again, this time in the former Yugoslavia in the form of local media advocating ethnic cleansing (Thompson 2009). Radio-­ Television Serbska reconfirmed to peacebuilders just how destabilizing modern media can be – with hate speech slipping onto the airwaves

Conflict-Sensitive Journalism   65 unchallenged, and imagery manipulated to contradict reality and sustain people’s perception of conflict. Eventually the International Criminal Court indicted Serbian leader Slobodan Milosevic for allowing Serbian state media’s false reports of Bosnian Muslim and Catholic Croat attacks against Serbs, and for broadcasting calls for Serbs to wipe out such infiltrators – all of which matched the pattern of the Rwandan genocide. Unexpectedly, it was conventional Western media workers reporting from the former Yugoslavia who drew attention to the need to reconsider the role of the media in conflict zones. In response to the apparently endless atrocities they were reporting on in the traditionally objective manner, some Western journalists openly questioned the utility of their work. Their libertarian media norms about reliable reporting enabling well-­informed decision-­making at citizen level had obviously failed: their own Western governments had remained unmoved to intervene in the slaughter of citizens in the Balkans. In what he called a journalism of attachment, BBC reporter Martin Bell declared that professional reporter’s detachment did not serve humanity in general. It was irresponsible for journalists not to use whatever influence they possessed [through their reporting] to encourage a particular outcome for the conflict, Bell argued (Bell 1998). An American journalist, Todd Gjelten, added that the media needed to balance professionalism and humanity (Gjeltjen 2001). These professionals were grappling with the unspoken reality that conflict is a tremendous magnet for the conventional news media. A common explanation is that “if it bleeds it leads” the evening newscast. The media is attuned to the most dramatic – or extremist – message. Conventional reporting on conflict leads audiences to believe the same thing: that they live in a threatening world of extremists and constantly occurring violent events. This representation encourages potential players in the struggle to express themselves in similarly violent ways in order to be heard (Gilboa 2002). As a result, argued Norwegian social scientist and peace researcher John Galtung, most news media coverage of conflict ultimately amounts to a form of “war journalism.” The media inherently or intentionally emphasizes and encourages violent conflict through its treatment of the issues. Journalists rely heavily on elites’ one-­sided explanations for conflicts and responses, and make minimal reference to root causes and to alternative possible solutions (Lynch 1997). Galtung, and others, advocated a new approach to reporting within the mainstream media that placed peacebuilding as an essential value and as the lens through which to see and report events and frame information. In fairly short order, Galtung’s (2000) late 1990s articulation of an alternative to the status quo developed into a movement united under the slogan “Peace Journalism.” Early leaders of the movement included British journalists Jake Lynch and Annabel McGoldrick, who put Galtung’s analysis into applicable

66   R. Howard practices for professional reporters and editors (Lynch and McGoldrick 2005), demonstrating how the Western media tended to cover the Balkan conflicts and the Iraq war in stereotypical ways that reinforced the public perception of conflict as the right way to resolve disputes. The movement argued for Peace Journalism to become the new standard: “a normative mode of responsible and conscientious media coverage of conflict that aims at contributing to peacemaking . . . and changing the attitudes of media owners, advertisers, professionals and audiences toward war and peace” (Kempf 2007). Critics, particularly within Western media ranks, rejected any such redefinition of their norms. They argued that additional tasks in advocacy hinder quality journalism in practice, making it impossible for dispassionate observation and reporting. Some journalists called Peace Journalism a heretical abandonment of the integrity of journalism and its professional norms (Loyn 2003, 2007) By 2003, and with the Rwanda and former Yugoslavia experiences still raw, many perspectives pointed to the need for media frameworks and practice that could play a constructive rather than destructive role in conflict-­stressed states. But agreement on norms remained elusive (Hanitzch 2007; Bratic´ et al. 2008) and attention among some media developers shifted from debating a new standard to exploring a range of media-­based roles within conflict-­stressed environments (Howard 2002; Howard et al. 2003). As one analyst noted, “one size does not fit all” (Kumar 2009). Documentation of recurrent patterns within the range of opportunities began to emerge (Puddephatt 2007; Frohard and Temin 2007). An extensive Deutsche Welle 2007 examination considered 25 case studies of strategies adapted to five different conditions of conflict (Lowenberg and Bonde 2007). A 2008 World Bank paper included almost 20 evaluations of one country’s media development initiatives supportive of conflict resolution and peace continuity (Kalathif 2008). In 2008 the United States Institute of Peace mapped a spectrum of potential media and communications usage likely to deliver constructive rather than destructive effects in conflict-­stressed communities. The spectrum ranged from conventional media capacity-­building, to CSJ’s sensitizing journalists to conflict dynamics and the media’s mediating role, to using media platforms and techniques beyond journalism to move warring audiences’ attitudes and behavior toward toward reconciliation (Himelfarb and Chablowski 2008).

Beyond convention but short of advocacy: Conflict-­Sensitive Journalism Understanding CSJ helps better appreciate both conventional and Peace Journalism. Fundamentally, CSJ reiterates traditional journalism norms and skills, as well as providing media workers with insight into conflict as a

Conflict-Sensitive Journalism   67 social process, and establishes a new perspective on the media’s influence on conflict. To explain: First, despite it being the obsessive focus of their work, most conventional journalists know surprisingly little about conflict. Almost no journalism curriculum includes the study of violent conflict as a social process. CSJ includes a rudimentary introduction to conflict-­instigating concepts such as resource inequity, unresolved grievances and ignorance of shared interests or common ground. Reflecting the work of Galtung and others, it points out culturally or structurally perpetuated forms of violence such as hate speech, gender discrimination and corruption. It explores the recurrent patterns of conflict resolution – such as one-­party dominance, compromise or shared solution-­seeking involving expanded interests, and alternatives including conflict transformation. This rudimentary conflict analysis capacity broadens journalists’ perspectives on their local conflict, which in turn enables them to produce more diverse stories including reports of potential conflict resolution opportunities. It also encourages journalists to more rigorously scrutinize their own words and images to avoid manipulation by agenda-­driven sources. As researcher Jake Lynch summarizes, Conflict-­Sensitive Journalism tends to: • • • •

take an analytical approach to conflict, seeking opportunities to identify parties, goals, needs and interests project a multi-­party conflict model rather than a Manichean “tug-­ofwar” find room for perspectives from beyond the usual official sources seek out peace initiatives as well as opportunities to report on them. (Lynch 2007)

Second, conflict sensitivity encourages journalists’ recognition of the underlying positive implications of conventional reliable reporting. As noted by researchers Robert Manoff (1998) and Johannes Botes (Rubenstein 1994) there is a strong similarity between the work of journalists and professional conflict negotiators. The news media tends to establish communication between disputants, dispels myths and corrects misperceptions, de-­objectifies “the other,” and makes combatants seem human – the same processes that mediators, counsellors and conflict resolution experts establish as steps toward de-­escalating conflict. The media does this unintentionally, and in most cases without awareness that it is doing so. Paraphrasing South African researchers Melissa Baumann and Hannes Siebert, reliable journalism mediates conflict whether it intends to or not (Baumann and Siebert 1993). Undeniably, conflict resolution takes on new prominence in conflict-­ sensitive journalists’ minds, and in their work. It becomes an equally

68   R. Howard legitimate subject of inquiry and description, along with the conventional reporting of conflict symptoms such as body counts, victimized citizens and elites’ responses. Occasionally, reflecting some developers’ philosophies or local participants’ hopes, CSJ is also called Peace Journalism training – but the distinctions are important. Within the “limited effects of media” paradigm, CSJ can be said to provide information which can enable knowledge change. But it is not within its purposes or expressed intentions to achieve attitudinal or behavioral change (Bratic´ and Schirch 2007).

Beyond journalism: media for change Taking that next step – intentionally seeking behavioral change through media usage – moves into a realm variously called intended outcome programming or social change media, and it encompasses more of the intentions of Peace Journalism. A significant difference, however, is that it goes beyond Peace Journalism’s interest in rewriting the norms of news reporting. Developed by strategists schooled in conflict analysis and behavioral change who also understand entertainment television and advertising and social marketing, it has wide-­ranging potential. It involves crafting information and other content on a range of media platforms and channels to shift disputants’ attitudes and behavior away from adversarial approaches and toward cooperative solutions. One illuminating example of intended outcome programming is the work of an American organization called Search for Common Ground. Founded in 1982, Search is not in the media development business, per se. It is a conflict resolution organization that uses the media to achieve its aims. It looks for ways to make common ground evident to people caught in conflict and to suggest ways to deal with conflicts constructively. Search employs material and messages created for radio, TV, film and print, and other platforms such as wall posters and travelling theatre troupes. Its radio and television soap operas are particularly effective in pursuing behavioral change within conflict-­stressed communities. Intended outcome programming can enjoy exceptionally popular uptake and influence among conflict-­weary populations who distrust their conventional media’s incessant diet of frightening news and are hungry for alternative perspectives that are entertainingly told. And finally, beyond intended outcome programming, new technology and social media may be opening up yet another position in the media development spectrum. There is a possibility that the commonly cited concept of citizen journalism, and social media like Facebook and Twitter, may open a new avenue for media and peacebuilding. It is early days. Media which can specifically contribute to conflict resolution deserves greater attention from peacebuilders, funders and policy-­makers. The nascent literature includes descriptions of media interventions at all stages of conflict in widely varying environments (Loewenberg and Bonde 2007;

Conflict-Sensitive Journalism   69 Deane 2013). For example, in 2002 the Danish-­funded International Media Support led various donors in prolonged support for fundamental and specialist media skills’ development like Conflict-­Sensitive Reporting, election reporting and gender reporting in war-­torn Nepal. Despite conflict, poverty and an authoritarian government, media development contributed to an upsurge for free speech and a popular overthrow of the royal elites’ government, as well as a legitimization of the Maoist rebel army as a party for democratic government. Nepal still struggles, but with much less bloodshed today. On the African continent, radio is overwhelmingly the predominant media source. Volatile hosts and inflammatory phone-­in shows attract enormous audiences, and can incite insecurity. At a 2004 multinational workshop in Burundi reporters and talk show hosts were instructed in using conflict analysis while hosting guests, coaxing out common ground among angry callers and responding to overt and coded hate speech on air. The conflict-­sensitive training was later packaged as a handbook (Howard and Rolt 2006) and CD supported by a website called Radio for Peacebuilding Africa. It was subsequently used by more than 1,000 African broadcasters. Everywhere, however, local conditions – especially the presence of a media-­supportive infrastructure – ultimately determine the success of media development initiatives. In Kyrgyzstan, a previous decade of fundamental media capacity-­building failed to deter violent eruptions in 2010 between majority and minority ethnic communities, causing several hundred deaths and the displacement of 100,000 people. A Conflict-­ Sensitive Journalism training program (Galina 2012) funded by two UN agencies in 2012 found that the Kyrgyz media remained full of grievances, stereotypes and coded hate speech in its news stories and commentaries. The indigenous media played almost no role as a balanced educator and information source relevant to the public’s welfare over issues such as poverty alleviation and improvement of health, education or gender rights. The ensuing UN agencies’ CSJ training may reduce the ease with which various elites use the Kyrgyz media to whip up ethnic emotions for political advantage. But conflict sensitivity among journalists is not a panacea. Kyrgyzstan requires substantial media law reform – enabling an independent press – before local journalists safely play a more constructive role. More sophisticated evaluations of CSJ initiatives, and most other types of peacebuilding media development, are still relatively rare. Most project developers and funders tend not to share their evaluations and research widely. Publicized assessments and testimonials often only offer quantified outcomes – i.e., how many journalists are trained, how many stories are judged to be objective, etc. Measuring media-­induced social change is undeniably difficult and costly given the multitude of variables that influence behavior. But more extensive proof than just numbers, anecdotes

70   R. Howard and assumptions are critical for ensuring the effectiveness and future funding of various initiatives. That said, one large CSJ initiative recently completed in Kenya included very intensive monitoring and evaluation which this author is familiar with, not least because he conducted some of the evaluation personally.

A CSJ case study: Kenya The highly contested results of the 2008 national elections in Kenya ignited long-­standing frustration and distrust among many citizens. More than 1,200 persons were killed and 600,000 were displaced. Property damage exceeded millions of dollars during three months of violence. At its worst, the ghost of Rwanda’s Radio Milles Collines stalked Kenya’s media landscape in 2008. The ethno-­centrism of alarmist news reports and inflammatory talk show commentaries on vernacular or tribal language radio stations was unprecedented. Many local language journalists knew of no response other than to report their first emotion-­laden impressions of the violent acts that were unfolding before them; and to open their microphones to hateful callers who alluded to killing their ethnically different neighbours (International Media Support 2008; BBC World Service 2008; Lafarge 2007). Vernacular broadcasting fills 60 percent of radio airtime in Kenya. Even after public order was forcibly restored many of the vernacular outlets continued their focus on the violent surface symptoms of Kenya’s deeper problems of colonial displacement from traditional lands, and political corruption. USAID-­funded Internews Network, the world’s largest media developer NGO, initiated a very large media peacebuilding initiative for Kenya after the 2008 violence. Its objectives were to train vernacular language journalists to raise their conflict sensitivity; and to make their media outlets positive contributors to community reconciliation and peacebuilding. In the eyes of this author – who was working as the Independent Evaluator reporting to Internews and USAID – the initiative succeeded. Beyond basic media skills strengthening, and conflict sensitivity training, inductees were introduced to conflict issues in various forums and roundtables, mentored in their reporting, and funded to explore conflict issues elsewhere in the country. The Internews media strengthening and conflict sensitization program was eventually expanded to a 39-month $2.3 million initiative (Internews 2013). It trained more than 500 journalists who produced 3,300 stories directly related to conflict issues and reconciliation, and inspired countless others. Their work explored the deepest resentment in Kenya: individual and tribal access to and ownership of land. The Internews program was also expanded to target national media journalists working on all platforms including state media, radio talk show hosts, and newsroom managers. Training was also offered to civil society more generally about access to the media.

Conflict-Sensitive Journalism   71 Internews monitored the progress and outcome of the program with unusual sophistication – analyzing the content of journalists’ work for choice of story subject, diversity of voice, and inclusion of conflict resolution as subject matter, as well as the extent to which ordinary citizens (rather than established elites) became the focus of stories. Focus group testing and community leader interviews showed that audiences captured by Internews-­trained media providers obtained an increased understanding of conflict-­igniting issues and a greater receptivity toward conciliation and resolution. The critical evaluation came in March 2013, in the month of the Kenyan national election. The event went exceptionally calmly, with media coverage being some of the most restrained in Kenyan history – despite the political parties’ attempts to appeal to tribalism during their campaigns. The election results were again controversial because of one party’s tiny margin of victory, but although media coverage was intense it was at the same time restrained – virtually no election-­related violence occurred. The behavior of the Kenyan media and the public was “a remarkable achievement that gives hope to others engaged in media development in conflict-­prone states,” concluded the final Independent Evaluator, Gordon Adam of iMedia Associates.2 The objective of strengthening journalists’ capacity “to view their work through a conflict-­sensitive lens and regularly put this learning into practice” was embraced by journalists across the country, as confirmed by monitoring and evaluation of their reportage and other media content. Proving the CSJ-­trained media’s impact on Kenyan citizens before and during the election – in other words, demonstrating a causal link between media performance and behavioral change – was not possible with available monitoring resources. But despite external influences – which included politicians’ behavior falling under closer media scrutiny – it is reasonable to deduce, if not conclude, that Conflict-­ Sensitive Journalism contributed significantly to conflict de-­escalation in Kenya by early 2013.

Conclusion CSJ appears likely to remain a primary opportunity to unite the media and peacebuilding efforts by using established traditional mechanisms that are strengthened through exposure to issues relating to conflict sensitivity. Clearly, many developers (and some policy-­makers and funders) recognize that the news media can specifically contribute to conflict resolution within the bounds of conventional, libertarian and professional journalism. As noted above, however, there are far too few published evaluations of CSJ training. Monitoring and evaluation of journalism’s influence on peacebuilding deserves dedicated exploration, which in turn depends upon commitment by funders and initiative by researchers.

72   R. Howard The limits to all forms of journalism capacity-­building must also be recognized. A review of Conflict-­Sensitive Journalism in 2011 emphasized the importance of local context as the determinant of successful outcomes, as did a more recent World Bank commentary (International Media Support 2011; World Bank 2014). Media regulation and legislation, commercial viability and regulated corporate imperatives, political respect for media independence (including public broadcasters), and essential physical infrastructure, must all be aligned (and most likely first reformed) to create breathing space for a reliable media in conflict-­ stressed environments. Introducing CSJ initiatives into a wholly media-­ hostile environment risks repeating the naïve assumptions of three decades ago about the ability of traditional libertarian journalism to strengthen the delivery of early democratization. The failure of media development in the former Soviet Union is a case in point. Funders and policy-­makers need to address the hard work required to foster a local, media-­supportive, infrastructure, if CSJ is to flourish and ultimately nourish peacebuilding and democratization.

Notes 1 For example, see Insecurity: Why Nigerian Journalists should become Conflict Sensitive, at www.tribune.com.ng/news2013/index.php/en/features2/item/23385insecurity-­why-nigerian-­journalists-should-­be-conflict-­sensitive.html; Conflict Sensitive Reporting Nepal, at: www.international-­alert.org/resources/publications/conflict-­ sensitive-media-­reporting; Conflict Sensitive Journalism (Philippines) Magazine Workshop, at http://issuu.com/dwakademie/docs/workshop_conflict_sensitive_ journal_16d803d572acff. 2 Personal communication with the author.

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5 The United Nations’ “Responsibility to Protect” and the world’s press Establishing a new humanitarian norm? Simon Cottle and Charles Martin Hughes The somewhat belated academic interest in communication and peace in recent years can only be welcomed. A growing body of work now variously advocates for a distinctive “Peace Journalism,” and sets about analyzing the news media’s different roles in unfolding peace processes, exploring the progressive potential of media and communication (including new communication technologies) in pre-­conflict avoidance, post-­conflict reconciliation and processes of civil society reconstruction – the latter in traumatized societies and failed states, or in contexts of development more widely (Price and Thompson 2002; Wolfsfeld 2004; Spencer 2005; Lynch and McGoldrick 2005; Cottle 2006; Goodman 2006; Thompson 2007; Keeble et al. 2010; Deane 2013; Hoffmann 2014). In their different ways such studies have all helped to move the critical academic focus beyond news agendas traditionally fixated on war, conflict, violence and deviancy. As Hoffmann (2014) rightly observes, we are witnessing the emergence of a field of “communication and peace.” This chapter seeks to contribute to this wider effort by examining how the world’s press has variously recognized and represented the United Nations’ proposed new world norm of the Responsibility to Protect (R2P). With its injunction to all nation states to concertedly work together to seek to bring to an end the four atrocity crimes of genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing and crimes against humanity, the R2P doctrine is fundamentally about securing the prerequisite conditions for the establishment of human security and peace. Of course there is more to “peace” than the absence of atrocious violence. With its emphasis on processes of atrocity prevention, human protection and civil society rebuilding, R2P is also, necessarily, about constructing the longer term possibilities for peaceful co-­existence and, ultimately, the deep embedding of “peace” in and through the democratization of civil societies. Since the 2005 UN World Summit, when the majority of the world’s nations signed up to its Outcome Document (UN 2005), the United Nations has officially endorsed, though not always managed to enact, its

R2P and the world’s press   77 commitment to the Responsibility to Protect. In the aftermath of the Holocaust, genocides in Cambodia and Rwanda and crimes against humanity in the former Yugoslavia, East Timor and Darfur, the doctrine of R2P was explicitly formulated to empower the international community’s expressed commitment to “never again.” Based on three fundamental pillars R2P stipulates that: Pillar one is the enduring responsibility of the State to protect its populations, whether nationals or not, from genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing and crimes against humanity, and from their incitement. Pillar two is the commitment of the international community to assist States in meeting these obligations. It seeks to draw on the cooperation of (UN) Member States, regional and sub-­regional arrangements, civil society and the private sector. Pillar three is the responsibility of Member States to respond collectively in a timely and decisive manner when a State is manifestly failing to provide such protection. (UN 2009, 8–9) R2P, unsurprisingly perhaps, has given rise to heated debates and controversies both in respect of its presumed philosophical idealism and its political implementation. Given the way that it has been rhetorically deployed and militarily implemented in some circumstances (for example, Libya 2011), but not in others (for example, Syria 2012–2014), detractors and critics are apt to challenge R2P in practice, if not its original design, for serving contemporary geopolitical interests and expressing inequalities of state power (Chomsky 2012). R2P also appears to strike at the heart of traditional (Westphalian) notions of state sovereignty (also enshrined in the UN Charter). This is because it deliberately seeks to rebalance traditional ideas of state sovereignty as state rights based on territorial inviolability alongside the state’s protective responsibilities toward its own sovereign populations, as well as toward those of other nations who are confronting impending atrocity (ICISS 2001). Such arguments have given rise to vociferous criticisms of R2P and these have also featured within the world’s press.

Liberal imperialism by any other name “Responsibility to protect” strikes me as a slogan of liberal imperialism; the battle cry of post-­modern civilization’s missionaries, the casus belli of self-­appointed knights errant with an unquenchable thirst for running the world. . . . Not even the Grand Master of the Order of Kofi Anan has the authority to deputize the armed forces of sovereign nations to intervene into civil or religious wars. (Jonas 2012, National Post (Canada))

78   S. Cottle and C.M. Hughes For its adherents and advocates it is generally conceded that R2P in practice remains highly dependent on the UN’s own dependence on world states, with all their power plays, alliances and rivalries and political-­ economic vested interests. This can, and has, undoubtedly distorted the deployment of R2P (or the deliberate failure to do so) in some cases. For all that, it remains, they argue, the world’s best chance to halt the worst crimes that humanity has proved itself historically and currently capable of (Evans 2008). Moreover, in an increasingly interconnected and globalized world – a world which has witnessed the institutionalization of the United Nations post-­1945, and judicial recognition of human rights and international prosecution of crimes against humanity (Robertson 2012), as well as the proliferation of civil society actors prepared to mobilize transnationally for social justice and humanitarian causes (Cottle and Lester 2011) – R2P can be seen as an emergent but nonetheless historically deepening trend (Evans 2008; Bellamy 2009). Images of atrocity, now more readily available than ever, often summon forth calls for something to be done, sometimes under the mantle of R2P, and these too also feature in the world’s press. Responsibility to Protect; The Assad regime believes that it can murder with impunity. The time has now come to act and show that it is wrong. Much of the photographic evidence of what took place is too harrowing to publish. It shows the bodies of young children, some of who would never have known what it was to speak or walk, lying in rows on the floor of a makeshift morgue. The vast majority of these pictures – photographs of toddlers who have suffered gunshots to the head – this newspaper has chosen not to print, out of concern for its readers. But equally out of a duty to inform its readers it has taken the decision that some, at least, of these pictures must be seen. (The Times, London, 2012) Here we do not seek to directly take up a position or arbitrate between the detractors and advocates of R2P, but to begin to address exactly how the world’s media has recognized and represented the doctrine since its inception. It is surprising, we think, just how little attention has been devoted to R2P by researchers variously interested in communications for peace (Sidahmed et al. 2012). Our study sets out then to examine the patterns, practices and overall performance of the press in publicizing, promulgating or challenging R2P. Based on the first comprehensive study of the world’s English language newspapers and their reporting of R2P across the period 2002–2013, and following the publication of the Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (2001) that first launched the R2P idea, the following provides an overview of some of the principal findings (and failings) associated with this general reporting. We

R2P and the world’s press   79 do so by addressing five principal questions: (1) to what extent has R2P featured in the word’s press over time, regions and countries?; (2) to what extent have the important three pillars of R2P and their interrelated injunctions to prevent, react and rebuild, informed press reporting?; (3) to what extent and how has the world’s press variously supported or criticized the R2P doctrine and its implementation?; (4) how has the press variously framed R2P in its reporting? And finally, by way of a conclusion, we briefly pose a fifth question that asks: (5) how has the world’s press communicatively sought to “bring home” the human reality of atrocity situations and what journalistic precedents of value exist that could (and indeed should) be extended and deepened in the future? But first a few words on methodology.

Methodology Using the search terms “Responsibility to Protect,” “R2P,” “RtoP,” and “United Nations” or “UN,” a search of all English language newspapers across the world’s press covering the period January 2002–December 2013 (inclusive) was conducted via LexisNexis. This produced a comprehensive sample of 3,599 separate news items that were principally about and/or made explicit reference to R2P and the UN. The search period beginning in January 2002 spanned 12 years and included institutional milestones such as the World Summit of 2005 as well as humanitarian crises and conflicts across the period. The overall volume and general contours of press reporting in the period 2002–2013 was mapped and a more detailed content analysis was conducted based on a ten-­year rolling sub-­sample (July 2002–July 2012) that comprised, in total, 1,047 items (110 items per year apart from 2002, which comprised only 41 items in total). The rolling sub-­sample was deployed to produce a representative sample. The first, then second, then third, and then fourth week of each subsequent month was selected, and following the selected week of the preceding month. A maximum of nine news items was selected from each month in each of the selected rolling weeks and these by rolling across the days of that week until the nine items had been found. An additional news item was then selected for each of the two largest months in that particular year in terms of total available “Responsibility to Protect” news items – to produce a total annual sample of 110 items per year. In this way the rolling sample sought to represent, but not be unduly skewed, by annual, seasonal and other possible monthly and weekly changes in world newspaper agendas across the ten-­year period, whilst also capturing for analysis possible peaks and troughs in R2P reporting by including contiguous reporting of the same events in the selected sample weeks. This sub-­sample represents 29.1 percent of the total available news coverage of 3,599 news items. The sub-­sample was analyzed according to a wide range of variables. Here we present findings that address our key questions above, and that

80   S. Cottle and C.M. Hughes include a frame analysis of the principal characteristics of R2P reporting, discussed later. Our sample, then, focuses on the world’s English language press. Of course it can be argued that this is less than representative of all the world’s newspapers, much less the media in general. However, the prevalence of English language media, including newspapers across the nations of the world, is now pronounced. WorldNewspapers.com, for example, documents multiple English language newspapers in virtually all countries in the world today, including those where the English language is not the first or even second language (World Newspapers 2014). In a multi-­lingual and increasingly globalized world, English language newspapers and online news sites proliferate, and these service indigenous as well as diasporic national identities and readerships. They cannot therefore be presumed to address Western expatriate communities only. Given their established national readerships, English national newspapers today are not so editorially distanced from national political debates and perspectives as they may once have been, and can register R2P events and issues. For our purposes, then, they offered the first practicable way of beginning to map press recognition and representation of R2P in and across different nations around the world. 1  To what extent has R2P featured in the world’s press over time, regions and countries? The contours of press R2P reporting have evolved across the years, in part following the institutional career of R2P from earlier-­mooted concept, to proclaimed principle, institutionalized UN doctrine and, as we shall see, still-­emergent and embattled “norm.” Patterns of press reporting around the world also follow different political crises and humanitarian catastrophes and atrocities, albeit through an established news prism of geopolitical interests and a nationally inflected journalists’ “calculus of death” (Cottle 2009, 2013). The total volume of press coverage referencing R2P across our 12-year period since January 2002 demonstrates a general upward trend in absolute volume notwithstanding some troughs across the years (see Figure 5.1). In the early period debates prompted by the Canadian-­sponsored Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (2001), the UN World Summit of 2005 (UN 2005) and pronouncements by UN Secretary-­General, Ban Ki-­moon all figured within this coverage, as did reporting spurred by particular crisis events. The latter included (after an initial press silence) the worsening situation in Darfur, Sudan (2004), inter-­communal violence following elections in Kenya (2008), government violence in Guinea (2009), the violent culmination of the civil war in Sri Lanka (2009), presidential election violence in Côte D’Ivoire (2010–2011), inter-­communal violence in Jongoli State, South Sudan

R2P and the world’s press   81 700

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Figure 5.1  R2P press coverage 2002–2013 (total number: 3,599 articles).

(2011), and the eruption of the Arab Spring (2011) leading to the UN-­ sanctioned military measures in Libya (2011) as well as the protracted and worsening conflict and atrocities in Syria (2012–2013). R2P is not only the preserve of Western newspapers and regions, as we can see from Figure 5.2. Drilling down by individual countries and their percentage of overall R2P press reports we find that Canada (29.3 percent) has been heavily involved in R2P reporting from its inception and has played a vigorous part in ongoing debates since (as we saw earlier in our first press extract). R2P press coverage has also been relatively extensive in the US (12.3 percent) and UK (11.8 percent) following, in part, their permanent UN Security Council membership and interventionist policies – policies often advocated under or challenged by R2P principles. Australia, and its former ambassador and R2P advocate, Gareth Evans, have also been vocal in debates about R2P and attracted a fair amount of Australian press coverage (6.8 percent). Many African countries are also well represented in the world’s press coverage of R2P and indeed the continent was instrumental in its original inception through the formation of the African Union (AU) in 2000 and its declared shift from “non-­interference” to “non-­indifference” enshrined in its Constitutive Act (African Union 2002). South Africa (4.1 percent), Nigeria (3.2 percent), Uganda (1.2 percent) and Ghana (1.1 percent) all feature alongside many other African countries. Asian countries too have variously supported the doctrine. A minority of countries, such as Zimbabwe (1.9 percent), Sudan (1.6 percent) and Sri Lanka (2.2 percent), when subject to world opprobrium for their actions in violation of R2P principles, have sought to counter such criticisms in their own national press, often vociferously challenging particular claims or condemning R2P entirely as an imposed Western doctrine underpinned by Western geopolitical interests – discussed further below.

Article frequency

82   S. Cottle and C.M. Hughes 500 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 0

Middle East

Australia

Asia

Europe

Africa

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US and Canada

Figure 5.2  R2P press coverage around the world.

Our findings indicate, then, that although “Western” countries, predominantly Canada, the US, the UK and Australia, have given more prominence to R2P in their multiple English language newspapers, R2P also figures in and across the less numerous, though now generally available English language press found in most other countries in the world today. 2  To what extent have the important three pillars of R2P and their interrelated injunctions to prevent, react and rebuild, informed press reporting? The R2P doctrine explicitly posits a dynamic understanding of R2P situations, as we have noted, and deliberately incorporates a plethora of non-­ military as well as military responses that can be applied separately, in combination, or cumulatively, as each R2P scenario unfolds over time and as events on the ground demand (UN 2009, 2010, 2011). To what extent have the R2P pillars concerned with the “enduring responsibility of the State to protect its populations” (pillar one), “the commitment of the international community to assist States in meeting these obligations” (pillar two), and “the responsibility of Member States to respond collectively in a timely and decisive manner when a State is manifestly failing to provide such protection” (pillar three) (UN 2009: 8–9) informed world press reporting? Pillar one reporting predominates across our sample (see Figure 5.3) with the majority of articles (65.8 percent) principally – that is unambiguously and in a concentrated way throughout the news item – focusing on a particular state that is failing to protect a significant segment of its own population or is engaging in or threatening acts of aggression and atrocity in contravention of R2P principles. Where the different aspects of the three pillars featured in a minor or subsidiary way within the principal news items, these have also been coded and signalled in Figure 5.3 as

R2P and the world’s press   83

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Figure 5.3  R2P press coverage of the three pillars.

references only. A minority of items only (12.9 percent), as we can see, are principally about pillar two “international assistance and capacity-­building,” while a fifth of all R2P-related press reports (20.8 percent) are principally about some forms of “timely and decisive response” (pillar three). As the International Coalition for R2P notes: Under the third pillar the international community can respond with a range of both coercive and peaceful measures. These include preventative diplomacy, fact-­finding missions, economic sanctions and embargoes, and military operations, such as no-­fly zones, monitoring and civilian defense missions. (ICRtoP, n.d.: 11) It is significant, we think, that of the 217 news items in our sample that are principally about some aspect of pillar three, 181 (83.4 percent) were focused on military forms of humanitarian intervention. Clearly this suggests that news reporting appears to be narrowing considerably the range of forms of response that have been identified by the UN and others in responding to R2P situations (UN 2009, Evans 2008). This effectively distances the full range of available options and thereby short-­circuits understanding of R2P responses to militarized intervention only – a course of action, that may not always be practicable or necessarily effective. Indeed, since the initial formulations of R2P by ICISS (2001), advocates of R2P have argued that any coercive action should only be contemplated when positive responses can be gauged in respect of four R2P precautionary principles based on (1) the right intention, (2) the last resort, (3) proportionate means, and (4) reasonable prospects of success (Evans 2008: 141).

84   S. Cottle and C.M. Hughes And yet these precautionary principles rarely figure within the generality of the world’s press reporting of R2P situations, despite the panoply of more nuanced and multiple forms of response available to the international community as well as neighbouring states and the immediate region. This represents a major silence, we suggest, and one that can only produce wider misconceptions about R2P and undermine its emergence as a shared world norm. 3  Has the world’s press variously supported or criticized the R2P doctrine?

R2P support and criticism

Support or criticism of R2P can generally assume five analytically distinct forms. It can be directed at (1) the overall R2P doctrine in principle; (2) the political implementation of specific R2P responses, short of militarized intervention; (3) the lack of political implementation in particular cases; (4) military intervention in particular cases; and (5) lack of military intervention in other particular cases. Nearly two-­thirds of all evaluative R2P press reporting (65.5 percent) and the vast majority of news reports principally and explicitly supporting R2P as a general doctrine (92 percent) characterize press reporting. A small minority only (8 percent) criticizes the general R2P doctrine. In part this correlates with the majority of world news reports focusing on pillar one situations where human lives have already been lost or are in dire jeopardy, and where calls for something to be done are likely to invoke R2P (as illustrated in our second opening press report). It is also noteworthy that our next largest evaluative category of R2P press reporting explicitly concerns lack of military intervention in particular cases (13.8 percent), with the overwhelming majority of these (98.4 percent) criticizing the failure to intervene militarily. Press reports commenting on

Supported

R2P lack of military intervention

Criticized R2P military intervention R2P lack of politicial implementation R2P political implementation R2P doctrine (as a whole) 0

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Figure 5.4  Press support and criticism of R2P.

1,000

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R2P and the world’s press   85 particular military R2P interventions (8.4 percent) are also, in the main, supportive in the majority of all cases (77.4 percent). A minority of all R2P press reports are only concerned with the wider panoply of forms of R2P response outside of military intervention, whether in respect of the implementation of such measures (3.8 percent) or their lack of implementation (2.8 percent). The main findings that come to the fore, therefore, are that R2P can be supported and criticized in a number of different ways across the world’s press but the majority of all evaluative cases are in fact seemingly supportive of R2P in principal, and critical of the lack of intervention in particular cases. While critics of R2P may want to question the motivations and possible geopolitical interests at play behind the scenes, our findings suggest that nonetheless there is considerable press support for recognizing the human plight of others in jeopardy and that this is something that those interested in peace communications could and perhaps should recognize and seek to build on. However, the press’s tendency to focus on pillar one situations, when populations are already in mortal danger, with the relative neglect of pillar two situations involving external states and associated regions as well as civil society actors, and pillar three situations confined to principally militarized conceptions of intervention, all contribute to a noticeably partial and truncated view of dynamic R2P situations. 4  How has the press variously framed R2P in its reporting? The term frame in the conventional academic usage refers to a cognitive structure that helps to apprehend and make sense of some aspect of perceived reality; a means of sense-­making and interpretation that grants salience to some features and not others (Entman 1993, Reese et al. 2003). Based on inductive immersion with our extensive sample of 1,047 news reports, four principal and recurring frames soon became apparent. These comprised: (1) an institutional frame that addressed R2P events or processes through the principal news focus in that item on a key institution and associated development, such as a debate or new policy initiative at the UN or a particular government statement, (2) a conflict frame that addressed R2P through a prism of conflict, typically focusing on an event or developmental process associated with a specific and unfolding conflict and defined by some as an R2P situation, (3) a humanitarian frame that addressed the human consequences of R2P events and unfolding processes, and which invariably did so by giving voice to witnesses and survivors and what this meant for the individuals and communities involved, and (4) a critical frame that sought to provide background and analysis of R2P either as a doctrine or as a particular circumstance and that critically engaged with the perceived failure of the international community or others to address the humanitarian needs involved. Each of these frames constitute the principal way in which a particular news item was framed in

86   S. Cottle and C.M. Hughes nearly two-­thirds (61.4 percent) of all sample news items, while in the remainder two or more frames were included with no single frame clearly predominating. Our analysis documents how the majority of R2P press reports that have a principal frame are framed in terms of institutional developments (76.7 percent) with newspapers reporting major institutional initiatives and events – whether this be a visit by a UN special envoy, a debate in the UN Security Council, or a specially convened conference of regional governments to consider responses to a R2P situation in a neighbouring state. News reports focusing principally on conflict situations (15.5 percent) also drive many reports, with the latest developments in an ongoing conflict being reported and updated over time. In a minority of cases only, some news reports principally framed their reporting in terms of a humanitarian focus – to the exclusion of other possible frames (4.5 percent), and with a predominant focus on the human consequences and suffering involved. Fewer still news reports, we found, are principally framed in terms of an in-­depth critical analysis of a specific R2P situation or the R2P doctrine in general (3.3 percent). Our findings, therefore, conform to established findings about the largely institutionally dependent, conflict-­oriented and event-­driven nature of news reporting (Cottle 2006). However, this is not the whole story with humanitarian frames and critical frames, as we can see in Figure 5.5, also included in a more subsidiary role in nearly half of all R2P press reporting. This suggests that elements of humanly empathetic and critically engaged reporting of R2P situations characterizes much of press reporting, though these, at present, remain secondary to the principal focus on institutional and conflict reporting frames. Principal

Criticial frame

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Figure 5.5  Press frames and R2P reporting.

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R2P and the world’s press   87 5  How have the world’s press communicatively sought to “bring home” the human reality of atrocity situations to their readerships and what journalistic precedents of value exist that could be extended and deepened in the future? We have documented how R2P, at most, has only found a tenuous foothold in the discourses and delivery of the world’s press since its inception, and how it remains to this day far from being a clearly understood and established world norm. Much of this reporting has provided a less-­thancomprehensive appreciation of its historically unparalleled attempt to protect, respond and rebuild through differing tiers of civil society and structures of regional and international governance. However this is not to say that the press, as well as other media, cannot or have not sometimes performed a necessary and sometimes powerful role in communicating R2P situations, whether prior to or during periods of atrocity. And here it is useful to delve a little into its “communicative architecture” (Cottle 2004) and how this can variously – analytically, affectively and performatively – communicate R2P situations. As in the world of broadcast television news (Cottle and Rai 2006), an established repertoire of newspaper communicative forms routinely shape, constrain and enable different views and voices to deliver and deliberate the issues involved, sometimes in affective and emotionally charged as well as critically informed ways (see Table 5.1). In the context of R2P reporting, relatively short news reports update breaking news events and developments (34.9 percent); comment/ opinion pieces (32.7 percent) and editorials (8.6 percent) deliver arguments and provocations about R2P situations, principles and responsibilities, as does rare use of staged debates (0.2 percent); while profiles and extended interviews can provide the means for personalized accounts and perspectives (2.2 percent). All of these established press forms, then, perform their part in providing information and ideas and circulating discourses and debate about R2P. Importantly, a further fifth of all R2P press coverage is also conducted in and through the more discursively open and sometimes affective communicative form of “features and analysis” Table 5.1  Press formats and R2P reporting Format News report Comment/opinion Feature/analysis Editorial Profile/interview Other Debate Total

Frequency 365 342 220 90 23 5 2 1,047

Percentage 34.9 32.7 21.0 8.6 2.2 0.5 0.2 100

88   S. Cottle and C.M. Hughes (21 percent) – a form that demonstrates how, on occasion, journalism can provide powerfully crafted R2P reporting, with narratives that incorporate not only empathetically charged eyewitness accounts and testimonies, but also context and critical analysis of the wider institutional and political field and the forces that are responsible. A final illustration helps to ground these claims and remind us all of the acute situations of atrocity identified under the R2P doctrine that persist in the world today and that demand world recognition and response. The news media can sometimes perform a powerful role in shining a spotlight on precisely those situations that must never be allowed to be rendered invisible – out of sight and out of mind – because of a failure of journalism to live up to its historically forged and normatively expected responsibility to report. The machetes flash again; The international community claimed to have learned the lessons of Rwanda yet 10 years on, the terrible cycle of ethnic violence has started again in neighboring Burundi. Large tents made of UNCHR (United Nations Commission on Human Rights) green plastic sheeting flapped in the wind. In some places the plastic was blackened by smoke, in others it was all but destroyed. Scattered on the ground were the white masks and gloves dropped by the charity staff who had gathered up the dead into body bags. The men worked in silence, and the smell of charred wood and dead bodies still lingered in the air. Just over two weeks have passed since 160 Burundi Banyamulenge refugees were killed in this desolate transit camp, which lies under the shadow of the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) Kivu mountains. They had come here to the Burundian border seeking respite from the war that continues to ravage the Congo, hoping if not for peace then at least for a temporary rest from the horrors that they have grown up with for most of their lives. They found instead that war cannot be outrun. . . “We were overwhelmed by victims when they arrived,” says the hospital director, Dr Nzotungwamayo. “Some had only small wounds, but others had been shot or injured by grenades, others cut with knives and machetes. Two pregnant women had been kicked in the stomach. Both miscarried.” In the crowded wards, women lie groaning, unable to suppress their pain. Others simply turn their backs, expressing their grief internally. Judith Nabeza, 23, is trying not to worry about her son, Prince. He is seven years old and he lost his leg to a grenade during the attack on the camp. That night, Judith says, she and Prince prepared to sleep as normal. They lay down in the small bed in the plastic shelter where

R2P and the world’s press   89 they had made their makeshift life with their families. Then the shooting began. “Prince was lying next to me and suddenly we heard all the noise and shooting,” she says. “I took Prince to try and leave but a grenade went off and got his leg . . . and I was injured in the stomach.” The story behind the massacre in Gatumba is one of responsibility and ethnic conflict. It is the story of a country attempting to make the transition from war to peace, and of the internal and external tensions that threaten that transition. But it is also the story of the international community, of how much – or how little – protection they owe to refugees and of how well equipped they are to deal with violence when it begins. . . (Holt and Hughes 2004, The Independent (UK)) This crafted piece of journalism, informed at its heart by an empathetic concern for the people and their experiences, deliberately moves to contextualize the massacre in Burundi within the country’s earlier political history as well as the shifting regional and wider interests that intervene from afar. It seeks to raise questions about those charged with the responsibility to protect at national, regional and international levels. The personal testimonies of victims, NGO workers, and government and UN officials, all populate the report – while the human consequences of failure to protect are graphically described and bodily invoked. This is an example, we think, of journalism taking its responsibility to report seriously. There is, of course, more to today’s media ecology than English speaking newspapers and this chapter and the study of R2P reporting on which it is based is only a preliminary investigation into how the world’s media could yet play a more significant and necessary role in the world’s monitoring and concerted responses to atrocity. New communication technologies – from satellites to social media, alongside 24/7 news formations, online news and global communication flows – can all play their part in ensuring that populations confronting atrocity from Darfur to Damascus, from Sri Lanka to Syria and South Sudan, are not invisible to the outside world (Cottle 2009). In a rapidly globalizing world many journalists increasingly recognize their professional and moral obligation to alert the world to human carnage – wherever it may occur – and some may even be supportive of those longer term processes of civil society regeneration and development aimed at securing responsible sovereignty and peaceful existence. Some journalists, as we have heard, already do so. Increasing numbers of them put themselves in harm’s ways and risk everything to report terrible events as they unfold (Cottle et al., forthcoming). Whether R2P manages to move forward and establish itself in the decades ahead as a new world norm, or whether its laudable humanitarian impetus succumbs entirely to the entrenched national and geopolitical interests that

90   S. Cottle and C.M. Hughes constrain its current implementation, will become apparent in the years ahead. What is clear, however, is that in today’s rapidly globalizing world, journalism’s responsibility to report, as a precursor in the possibilities of peace, must be granted increased recognition and serious study.

References African Union. 2002. The Constitutive Act of the African Union. Lome: African Union. Bellamy, Alex. 2009. Responsibility to Protect: The Global Effort to End Mass Atrocities. Cambridge: Polity. Chomsky, Noam. 2012. A New Generation Draws the Line. Boulder: Paradigm. Cottle, Simon. 2004. The Racist Murder of Stephen Lawrence: Media Performance and Public Transformation. Wesport: Praeger. Cottle, Simon. 2006. Mediatized Conflict: Developments in Media and Conflict Studies. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Cottle, Simon. 2009. Global Crisis Reporting. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Cottle, Simon. 2013. “Journalists Witnessing Disasters: From the Calculus of Death to the Injunction to Care.” Journalism Studies, 14 (2): 232–48. Cottle, Simon and Mugdha Rai. 2006. “Between Display and Deliberation: Analyzing TV News as Communicative Architecture.” Media, Culture & Society, 28 (2): 163–89. Cottle, Simon and Libby Lester (eds). 2011. Transnational Protests and the Media. New York: Peter Lang. Cottle, Simon, Nick Mosdell and Richard Sambrook. 2015. Reporting Dangerously: Journalist Killings, Intimidation and Security. Basingstoke: Palgrave. Deane, James. 2013. Fragile States: The Role of Media and Communication. BBC Media Action Policy Briefing, October 10. Entman, Robert M. 1993. “Framing: Toward Clarification of a Fractured Paradigm.” Journal of Communication, 43 (4): 51–8. Evans, Gavin. 2008. The Responsibility to Protect: Ending Mass Atrocity Crimes Once and For All. Washington DC: Brookings Institute Press. Goodman, Tanya. 2006. “Performing a ‘new nation’: The Role of the TRC in South Africa” in Jeffrey C. Alexander, Bernhard Giesen and Jason L. Mast (eds), Social Performance: Symbolic Action, Cultural Pragmatics and Ritual: 169–92. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hoffmann, Julia. 2014. “Conceptualizing ‘Communication for Peace’.” Peacebuilding, 2 (1): 100–17. Holt, Kate and Sarah Hughes. 2004. “Sex and death in the heart of Africa.” The Independent, April 28. Online, accessed May 1, 2014, available at: www.independent.co.uk/news/world/africa/sex-­and-death-­in-the-­heart-of-­africa-6169265. html. International Coalition for the Responsibility to Protect. A Toolkit on the Responsibility to Protect. Online, accessed December 7, 2013, available at: http://responsibilitytoprotect.org/ICRtoP%20Toolkit%20on%20the%20Responsibility%20 to%20Protect%20high%20res.pdf. International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS). 2001. The Responsibility to Protect: Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty. Ottawa: International Research Development Centre.

R2P and the world’s press   91 Jonas, George. 2012. “George Jonas on Syria: Liberal imperialism by any other name.” National Post, June 16. Online, accessed May 5, 2014, available at: http:// fullcomment.nationalpost.com/2012/06/16/george-­j onas-on-­s yria-liberal-­ imperalism-by-­any-other-­name/. Keeble, Richard, John Tulloch and Florian Zollmann (eds). 2010. Peace Journalism, War and Conflict Resolution. New York: Peter Lang. Lynch, Jake and Annabel McGoldrick. 2005. Peace Journalism. Stroud: Hawthorn Press. Price, Monroe and Mark Thompson (eds). 2002. Forging Peace: Intervention, Human Rights and the Management of Media Space. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Reese, Stephen, Oscar Gandy and August Grant (eds). 2003. Framing Public Life. London: Lawrence Erlbaum. Robertson, Jeffrey. 2012. Crimes Against Humanity: The Struggle for Global Justice. London: Penguin. Sidahmed, Abdel Salam, Walter C. Soderlund and E. Donald Briggs. 2010. The Responsibility to Protect in Darfur: The Role of Mass Media. New York: Lexington Books. Spencer, Graham. 2007. The Media and Peace: From Vietnam to the “War on Terror.” Basingstoke: Palgrave. The Times. 2012. “Responsibility to Protect,” May 30. Online, accessed April 5, 2014, available at: www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/opinion/leaders/article3430205.ece. Thompson. Allan (ed.). 2007. The Media and the Rwanda Genocide. London: Pluto Books. United Nations. 2009. Implementing the Responsibility to Protect. Report of the UN Secretary-­General. A/63/677. January 12. United Nations. 2010. Early Warning Assessment and the Responsibility to Protect. Report of the UN Secretary-­General. A/64/864. July 14. United Nations. 2011. The Role of Regional and Sub-­Regional Arrangements in Implementing the Responsibility to Protect. Report of the UN Secretary-­General. A/65/877. June 27. United Nations General Assembly. 2005. The 2005 World Summit Outcome Document: Resolution A/RES/60/1. October 24. Wolfsfeld, Gadi. 2004. Media and the Path to Peace. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. World Newspapers. 2014. “World Newspapers, Magazines and News Sites in English.” Online, accessed April 4, 2014, available at: www.world-­newspapers.com.

6 Media and war propaganda The value of exposure Oliver Boyd-­Barrett

Introductory premises I shall start from three premises. First is the critical position of what Hoffmann (2013) refers to as the post-­liberal peace agenda. This takes as given that participation in discourses about peace and conflict is far from even, whether we are talking about those most directly implicated in peace and conflict or those who present themselves as potential or actual interventionists of one description or another, for one agenda or another, whether for peace or for conflict. Some parties have a great deal more say than others as to what constitutes “peace” (contested or otherwise) and what constitutes “conflict” (legitimate or otherwise). To this premise I shall add another which is that neither peace nor conflict is ever a steady, secure condition but that the potential – and to some degree the actuality – of one is always present in the other. And finally, I will note that efforts to maintain peace and to mobilize for conflict are always heavily dependent on communication and, inevitably therefore, on the media of communications. I shall take as my starting point the New World Information and Communication Order (NWICO) debates of the 1970s. These introduced to a broader community beyond media studies what I believe to have been more diverse, sophisticated (if also conflicting) discourses about international communication than were prevalent at that time. I shall argue that in their strengths and weaknesses these debates reflected the era of “decolonization” in which they occurred, and were not particularly prescient as to the evolving superpower conflicts and their implications for US hegemony. Even more than the Pax Britannica that it superseded, maintenance of Pax Americana was dependent upon ideological hegemony within and beyond the imperial center and principally accomplished through mainstream media: both its own media and those of the rest of the world. While there are many, mainly complementary, analytical frameworks to explain how supposedly “free” media systems such as those of the USA or Western Europe may be coopted as hegemonic tools, I prefer Herman and Chomsky’s “Propaganda Model” (1988), and its methodology of comparative natural experiment, because it is specifically a political economy

Media and war propaganda   93 model embedded in historical context and one that factors into the equation the nature of media as powerful, corporate institutions with ties to other centers of power in society. I believe that this model, unlike some of its rivals, offers very little hope of meaningful change. Alternative media are promising, but they do not yet – nor are likely ever – to counter mainstream media on a level playing field of influence, given the respective political economies of both media systems. I propose that Herman and Chomsky, in stressing the systemic character of their model of press collusion with power, actually divert attention from their success in identifying specific agents and people – many of them senior – who work hard, often knowingly, to sustain this system. Exposure of their contributions, I argue, is not a liberal defect, but an educational and subversive tactic to liberate media consumers.

NWICO The NWICO debates of the 1970s, initiated by the Non Aligned Movement (NAM) and the United Nations Education and Science Organization (UNESCO) coincided with the ending of a major phase in a longer imperial narrative that goes by the title of “decolonization,” during which time the principal imperial powers of the twentieth century buckled under the cost and burden of empire and yielded to indigenous movements that had long struggled for national independence. The NWICO debates had developed out of demands in the developing world for a New World Economic Order (NWEO). They reminded the international community of continuing inequalities of economic wealth and power between and within nations, and called attention to how such inequalities were both mirrored in, and perpetuated by, media and communications inequalities. UNESCO’s ensuing 1980 publication of the McBride Report proposed copious remedies that could be achieved with a measure of goodwill on all sides (UNESCO 1980). UNESCO’s relevance was immediately undermined by the Reagan administration’s turn toward a “New World Order” of bilateral and regional agreements, the 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union, and adoption of the “capitalist road” by both China and India. If the “New World Order” was expected to be pacific, universal and visionary, such optimism was challenged by aggressive US interventions – first in the form of the Panama invasion of 1989, then in the Gulf of Arabia with the 1990 invasion of Iraq, and during the 1990s in the Balkans and Somalia, among others. The USA appeared to leverage the demise of its Cold War nemesis by accelerating a program of interventionism that had not been seen on such a significant scale since Korea (1950–1953) and Vietnam (1954–1975). Interventions had already included the invasion of Grenada (1983) and the string of covert destabilizations in favor of autocracy in Brazil (1964–1985), Greece (1967–1974), Indonesia

94   O. Boyd-Barrett (1967–1998), Chile (1973–1990), and El Salvador and Nicaragua in the 1980s, among others (Blum 2003). Even if the immediate US response to the 9/11 attacks on its soil appeared defensive, it turned increasingly aggressive with a 13-plus year invasion and occupation of Afghanistan, partial destabilization of Pakistan, and a ten-­year invasion and occupation of Iraq, all with very little obvious benefit to any legitimate cause. Other efforts at destabilization – whether direct, assisted or attempted – have occurred in Haiti, Honduras, Paraguay, Somalia, Venezuela, not to mention various “pro-­democracy” interventions based on the template of the “colour” revolutions of the 1990s in the former Soviet Union, and during the “Arab Spring” in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Syria in the period 2011–2013. All of this played out against a background of threats against Iran on the pretext that its civilian nuclear energy program might conceivably lead to a program of nuclear weapons production (Boyd-­Barrett 2015). Such “superpower” tactics call to mind the Pax Brittanica of yesteryear; an ideology of imperial righteousness functioning to reassure the world that actions supportive of a civilization as refined as that bestowed by the British Crown were, by simple definition, just. The USA’s presumption of global “leadership,” or imperial power, is equally deserving of the Pax Americana epithet, an ideology rooted in rationales for US intervention and acquisition in eighteenth and nineteenth century North and South America, and in Cuba, Hawaii, Puerto Rico and the Philippines from the nineteenth through to the twentieth centuries. A substitute or supplementary phrase is “American exceptionalism,” which signifies that the strongest bully on the block is subject only to rules of its own making. Pax Americana is not quite the same cloak for the land grabs that characterized the many European adventures of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries throughout the Middle East, Africa, the Indian sub-­continent and Indo-­China. Rather it is “free trade” imperialism of a kind that the US foisted on Mexico and Central and South America and which European and US power together exercised in nominally independent countries in South America and Asia in the nineteenth century. It involved coercive negotiation of privileged access to natural resources, trading rights and markets. Such trade was “free” only in so far as imperial powers grasped these advantages at relatively little cost. It was often coercively established on a bilateral, exclusive basis designed to shut out rivals. The neo-­ liberalism of the early twenty-­first century is a more sophisticated and inclusive version.

Propaganda for empire Pax Americana has potential rivals among the club of developed and BRIC economies, but continues to be supported from a foundation of military investment that no other nation comes close to rivalling. Additionally, imperial exceptionalism invests substantially in propaganda for ideological

Media and war propaganda   95 protection. The aim is to secure global consent to the policies of the USA and its leading allies and vassal states (mainly Western Europe and Japan) or, if not consent exactly, then at least sufficient confusion as to facilitate passage of the supreme ship of the superpower state. Principal sources of media support for Pax Americana are US newspapers and broadcasters and, except when the interests of their own domestic elites would otherwise be undermined, the mainstream media of allies and client states. Overwhelming research evidence confirms that on matters of foreign policy these media generally fall behind the official line, often going “beyond the call of duty” in what one researcher (Jaramillo 2009) has called “high concept” (i.e., simplistic Hollywood-­style) boosterism for foreign interventions and the usually misleading pretexts given for them. This media system, though operating in a legal context of free expression, manifests the constrained, polite and sometimes enthusiastic regard for officialdom, especially in matters of foreign policy and “national security,” once associated with media of communist, fascist, military or other authoritarian states. Theoretically informed research has helped reveal the mechanisms by which this outcome is achieved in a “free society,” among them theories of “framing” and “cascading activation” (Entman 2003), “indexing” (Bennett and Entman 2008), and “hierarchy of influences” (Shoemaker and Reese 1995). More dramatic evidence is supplied through many case study investigations of critical journalists and scholars, among whom the names John Pilger, Michael Parenti, Saul Landau, David Cromwell and David Edwards (of MediaLens) come to mind, their publications too numerous for citation. Few works have proven as widely applicable, durable, or as studiously marginalized as the 1988 work of Herman and Chomsky, Manufacturing Consent (revised 2002). Scholarship sometimes suggests this work has been surpassed in subsequent theoretical development. In partial company with Major (2006) I disagree, finding that later works often suffer from insufficient regard for the political economy of the media, which extends to the corporatization of political systems, media and journalism, and are inexplicably coy in acknowledging well over a century of US imperial and neo-­ imperial practice. While Herman and Chomsky’s formal “Propaganda Model” is frequently highlighted – specifying the five filters or hurdles that potential stories must jump if they are to be published – their later chapters arguably deserve more attention. Exemplifying the practice of natural experiment, the authors disclose significant differences in US mainstream media coverage between stories about countries whose regimes Washington supports, and stories about those that it does not. When regimes enjoy US patronage, for example, victims of state violence, even US citizens, attract little media attention or sympathy. Their motives are impugned. State violence is justified, minimized, or attributed to “rogue” elements. When regimes do not enjoy US patronage, on the other hand, victims attract media attention and sympathy, their motives

96   O. Boyd-Barrett are lauded, and the media endeavors to ferret out and hold accountable officials at the uppermost levels of state authority. Herman and Chomsky examine US media coverage of “Third World” elections and distinguish between “legitimizing” media coverage versus coverage that depicts elections as “meaningless.” They find that whenever the US favors a particular Third World regime, New York Times readers are encouraged to think that its elections, however flawed or farcical (recall the 2005 elections in Iraq), are promising evidence of democratization. But when the US opposes a regime, then its elections are treated as fake and meaningless, even when they are quite robust and undertaken in the face of staggering external aggression and attempts at internal destabilization (recall the 2009 elections in Iran). This scientific, natural or field experiment approach to understanding international news has received ample confirmation in later studies (not least, in DiMaggio 2009).

Dissemination and resistance in global news The ways in which world events are framed by the US media have global consequences. Examining international media coverage of the US-­led invasion and occupation of Iraq from 2003, DiMaggio (2009) found that the media of those countries that were close allies of the US and that had also committed troops or support to the invasion, were broadly accepting of later official US war narratives. The media of those countries that were not allied to the US, or that had not been party to the invasion, were more critical – but note that few such countries had media with sufficient resources to compete with their Western counterparts and, therefore, Western-­mediated frames in the origination of news. Fundamental to the global media system are the Western-­based international news agencies. Of these, by far the largest and the most influential are those of Agence France Presse (AFP), Associated Press (AP), Bloomberg and Thomson Reuters; based respectively in Paris, New York and London. Not only is the global news infrastructure essentially operated out of the world’s current superpower and the capitals of two of the strongest ex-­imperial nations, two of these organizations also dominate the global gathering, editing and distribution of television news images (through Associated Press Television News [APTN] and Reuters Television), and two dominate the global gathering, editing and distribution of financial and business news (Bloomberg and Thomson Reuters) (Boyd-­Barrett 2013). Equivalents in the global diffusion of “retail” television news directly to consumers are the world market’s two largest players: BBC World Television and CNN, the most visible exponents of Western journalism practice, with worldviews routinely filtered through the lenses of the great powers or, more accurately, neo-­liberal imperialist interests. Outside of the US and the UK, only a handful of media outlets in a handful of countries have sufficient resources to deploy significant networks of full-­time

Media and war propaganda   97 correspondents with which to contest or to dissect the frames through which most of the news that they receive from external sources is filtered. State-­backed, Western, 24/7 international news operations such as those of Germany (DW) or France (France 24) rely significantly on Western news agencies. The mightiest of alternatives are also financed by states and are mouthpieces of state interest. They include Xinhua, and CCTV/CNTV – the leading state news agency and state broadcaster, respectively, of China. These present a broadly favorable image of China, as one might expect; one that is astonishingly bereft of detailed coverage of Chinese politics. Their overseas services are cosmetically Westernized, and cautious not to overstep China’s non-­interventionist stance on issues of international conflict that do not involve China, although Xinhua’s coverage of emerging economies in some cases rivals that of major international news agencies. From Russia, the international broadcaster RT is financed in part by the state and is a component of the state’s official propaganda machinery. RT has enhanced its foreign coverage considerably in recent years. While its coverage of Russia leaves much to be desired it has turned into a surprisingly comprehensive and frequently critical source of news of events in the US, routinely challenging official Washington frames that pervade US mainstream media. Both CCTV and RT in recent years have established “America” channels specifically targeted at US audiences, although neither, at the time of writing, had achieved ratings that seriously compete with the established US free-­to-air and cable news networks – even if RT could boast one billion YouTube viewers worldwide in 2013 (Xie and Boyd-­Barrett, forthcoming). Much-­celebrated by those who claim to see a wondrous diversity in global media is the case of Al Jazeera, founded in 1996 out of Qatar. It began as an Arabic-­speaking broadcast service about the Arab and Muslim peoples, directed to a global audience. Since 2005 it has run an English language service, and in 2013 bought out Al Gore’s Current TV as a basis for Al Jazeera America in the US. In the early years of the so-­called War on Terror, US officialdom regarded Al Jazeera with mighty suspicion, and even bombed its bureaus in Kabul and Baghdad. But since 2002 Qatar has hosted the US Central Command, whose regional headquarters were shifted to that country’s Al Udeid Air Base in 2009. Since the launch of its English language service in 2005 Al Jazeera has recruited many Western journalists who have reported for the BBC, ITN (UK) and CNN (notable among them was David Frost). However, few, if any, of these names are known for their capacity for critical thinking about the Western world, and Al Jazeera often looks and sounds like the stations they used to work for. Certainly it provides more coverage of Muslim and Middle Eastern affairs, and frequently demonstrates considerably more understanding than its competitors of local perspectives in such communities. On the other hand, observers note that Al Jazeera has “mainstreamed” its content. This can be explained in terms of its bid to gain

98   O. Boyd-Barrett acceptance among affluent Western news markets. Equally important is that the station is principally owned and financed by the government of Qatar, an institution barely distinguishable from the persona of its leader, the Emir of Qatar. A tiny but wealthy Gulf State, Qatar has identifiable policy interests in the region. That Al Jazeera’s coverage generally reflects these became increasingly clear in its sympathy for “rebels,” some of them associated with Al Qaeda, in Egypt, Libya and Syria (Boyd-­Barrett and Xie 2008; El-­Ibiary 2011; Figenschou 2012; Sakr 2010; Yu 2013; Xie and Boyd-­Barrett, forthcoming). Comparable to Al Jazeera in that it is identified with a region while seeking a broader international audience, is TeleSur – headquartered in Caracas. This was launched in 2005 by a consortium comprising ten Central and South American broadcasters, under Venezuelan leadership. Its primary broadcasting language is Spanish but since 2014 the channel has begun to broadcast in English, Portuguese and French. One study shows that Telesur constructs a news agenda quite distinct to that of two other channels with which it has been compared; namely, CNN and a regional Columbian broadcaster (Boyd-­Barrett and Boyd-­Barrett 2010). It tapped a broader range of sources in its coverage of controversial, breaking, South American news, while regional and global coverage reflected the priorities of the Venezuelan government.

Revisiting the Propaganda Model It is not only in news media that the perspectives and values of Pax Americana are enshrined. Despite the long-­declared decline of US media imperialism (see Tunstall 2007) – and the refinement (if not rejection) of that term in favor of globalization, network theory, post-­colonialism, “scapes,” hybridization, etc. – the US singly, or in combination with close Western allies and Japan, remains the world’s most powerful media nation when measured in terms of the overall dollar value of its advertising, film, television, recording, computer, internet and mobile telephony and publishing industries. I have argued this case elsewhere with reference to the leading corporations of the global ICT industries (Boyd-­Barrett 2006), the continuing global influence of Hollywood propaganda (Boyd-­Barrett et al. 2011) and in assessing the significance of the “Korean Wave” (Boyd-­ Barrett 2013). Certainly the media of countries like China is growing more international, but the end of this story is currently far from clear. In defending their Propaganda Model, Herman and Chomsky (1988) emphasize that it is systemic (and is applicable beyond the news media to media such as film [see Alford 2010]). Critics of media accounts that are overly dependent on an examination of the role of individuals are sometimes accused of a liberal “individualist” or agency bias. Systemic approaches, on the other hand, embrace contextual factors – current and historic. I argue here that while media research absolutely must incorporate systemic, political economy perspectives, an obsession with “system”

Media and war propaganda   99 as opposed to “individual agency” can also be conservative in its consequences since it appears to overlook the extent to which systems work not merely on the basis of involuntary compliance on the part of unaware innocents, but actually requires the knowing complicity of key players. If this were not the case it would be very difficult to explain many of the stories run by the New York Times (NYT) in 2002–2003 (Boyd-­Barrett 2004) in running stories based on highly dubious, now-­discredited, anonymous sources in support of administration fear-­mongering about Iraq’s alleged possession of weapons of mass destruction. It would also be difficult to explain how it was possible that the Times, still within recent memory of its mea culpa issued in apology for its “failures” with respect to pre-­war coverage, was quick to resume almost identical practices in support of the administration’s campaign of aggression against Iran (Boyd-­Barrett 2010, 2015). The causes of news distortion that are identified by the so-­called Propaganda Model are enshrined in five institutional, sociological or ideological filters that control the passage of news through to publication. These include the corporate ownership of the (news) media; heavy media dependence on advertising; standard features of journalistic practice that privilege “official” or “authoritative” sources; fear of “flak” – retaliation from powerful news sources; and ideological consensus around the “rightness” of the West and the evils of communism. This final dichotomy has today been replaced by the “Washington consensus” – neo-­liberalism is right, and anything that obstructs it is evil.

Agency and culpability Elsewhere I have criticized the Herman and Chomsky model for downplaying the importance of agency (Boyd-­Barrett 2004, 2010). I propose that identification of those who are most responsible for sustaining the system of propaganda can contribute to positive change and assist news consumers to navigate around the most obvious sources of media disinformation. Such information puts us on guard against specific stories, but also teaches us to treat with maximum scepticism all conflict-­related stories that are based mainly on anonymous administration sources. The lesson alerts us to previous manifestations of this phenomenon, and makes us more critically aware of the ways in which the mainstream media interconnects with other centers of power. While emphasizing the systemic character of their model, Herman and Chomsky identify specific institutional and individual culprits in Manufacturing Consent. Much of their chapter on the Vietnam War, for example, is dedicated to the dissection and refutation of the arguments of Washington Post reporter Peter Braestrup – who argued that the “adversarial stance” of mainstream media led to their misrepresentation of the 1968 Tet Offensive as a US defeat, when in fact he agreed with the official Pentagon view

100   O. Boyd-Barrett that it was really a victory. Herman and Chomsky also frequently cite the reporting of New York Times correspondent Stephen Kinzer and his colleagues for distortions of Central American election coverage. In strong contrast to the Times’ coverage of the killing of Polish priest Popieluszko in Poland, Kinzer’s reporting of the murders of GAM leaders in Guatemala did not focus on the murders but rather deflected attention from any state involvement in them, leading to the claim that the government had pledged to return to civilian rule. Many indications that the rule of law simply did not exist in Guatemala were passed over by Kinzer who, instead, supported the official spin that the Guatemalan military, after holding power for most of the preceding 31 years, had “honored its promise to permit the free election of a civilian president” (Herman and Chomsky 1988: 115).

The case of Iran The importance of agency is further manifested in mainstream US media coverage of Iran, and the question of whether or not Iran is – or could become – a “nuclear threat.” This coverage presents what is possibly one of the strongest manifestations of routine complicity by mainstream media, over several decades, in amplifying uncritically the deceptions of official Western propaganda with respect to a major foreign policy issue. There is much valuable writing on “Peace Journalism” (e.g., Lynch and McGoldrick 2005) that identifies ways of reframing conflict news so that coverage avoids incitement to further violence, enhances mutual understanding, and calls attention to possibilities of peaceful, negotiated outcomes. The Propaganda Model identifies impediments to the practice of Peace Journalism, including standard journalistic practices and several degrees of collusion between media owners and senior news executives on the one hand, and the interests and agendas of political and corporate elites and the military-­industrial-security complex on the other. A poll commissioned by The Israel Project, whose findings were released in August 2012, found that 80 percent of Americans thought that Iran had a nuclear weapons program and that it was a threat to the US and its NATO allies (Glaser 2012). What is involved in orchestrating a propaganda campaign that can convince the majority of citizens of a given country that another country is a reprobate, in some important way, when in fact it is not? Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence? Reports confirming the absence of evidence of Iranian nuclear weaponization appear at regular intervals from the US national intelligence community (NIE) and the UN’s International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) and in frequent public statements by IAEA, NIE and CIA directors up to

Media and war propaganda   101 and including August 2013. These assert that there is no evidence that Iran has nuclear weapons, no evidence that it is building such weapons, and no evidence that it even wants to build them. Iran has never been found in non-­compliance with the nuclear Non-­Proliferation Treaty (NPT) although there are (possibly) legitimate controversies as to whether it has been in full compliance with an additional and voluntary protocol of the Safeguards Agreement of the NPT, a protocol that was never ratified by the Iranian Parliament. I do not have space here to deal with certain controversies, either fabricated or wildly overblown, concerning what might have been some kind of weapons program that ended before 2003, a potential explosions testing site at Parchin, and an underground enrichment facility at Fodow. Western mainstream media consistently behave as though any dispute, regardless of substance, is direct or indirect “proof ” of malign intent on the part of Iran. They ignore the huge differential of power and resources between the US and Iran (Iran is entirely surrounded by US military bases), and the huge differential of power between Israel (in possession of 60–200 nuclear warheads) and Iran (which has no nuclear warhead and would be incapable of producing more than a single one before risking utter annihilation at the hands of the US and Israel). Its civilian energy program was initiated with enthusiastic US support when Iran was still under the authority of the US-­installed dictator, the Shah of Iran. Iran is fully entitled to nuclear energy as a sovereign nation under the terms of the NPT that it signed in 1968. Israel has never signed the NPT; the US is in violation of the NPT by continuing to enhance nuclear weapons and sharing nuclear resources and know-­how with countries like India. Enrichment to 85 percent or more would be required for the production of an effective nuclear weapon. Use of such a weapon would require an effective delivery system. Up to 2014 Iran did enrich a small amount of its uranium to under 20 percent, under close IAEA supervision, for the production of medical isotopes. It was obliged to do so because the US sanctions program had prevented other countries from supplying Iran. By August 2013, furthermore, it was clear that Iran was not even stockpiling its supplies of low-­enriched uranium since these were being consumed in civilian projects (Ditz 2013). Scapegoating Iran In Brazil the navy controls its own uranium enrichment program and has restricted IAEA access to uranium enrichment facilities in apparent violation of its NPT and Safeguards Agreement obligations. One must question whether Iran has been singled out for particular scrutiny, if not harassment, by the IAEA and by some members of the existing nuclear powers that sit on the United Nations Security Council and, of course, by Western media. Beyond Brazil there are questions surrounding India, which has

102   O. Boyd-Barrett nuclear weapons, and Japan and South Korea, whose elites harbor nuclear ambitions. A US–India nuclear deal, announced in 2005 and signed in 2010, provides US assistance to India’s civilian nuclear energy program and expands US–India cooperation in energy and satellite technology (Bajoria and Pan 2010). The prime minister of India has said that India accepts no restraint on future nuclear development, civilian or military, and that military facilities would be exempt from safeguards. Aggressor or victim? Any balanced perspective on Iran would pay close attention to the aggressions against it by British, Russian and American imperialism from the nineteenth century to the present. Recent Western attacks, illegal and unprovoked, include the US/UK 1953 coup against the democratic government at the behest of US and UK oil companies; support for the oppressive police state of the Shah of Iran from 1953 through to 1979; the instigation of a war between Iran and Iraq between 1980 and 1988; and the provision of military support to both sides during that conflict, but ultimately favoring Iraq. Continuing murderous attacks include the assassination at the hands of Mossad agents of at least three Iranian nuclear scientists from 2010 onwards, perhaps with the involvement of America’s CIA and the UK’s MI6 (Broad et al. 2011), the attempted assassination of a fourth, and possibly a further assassination in 2013. Of a different order of significance is the Western attempt to cripple the country’s civilian nuclear energy program through a computer “worm” – Stuxnet – widely believed to have been created by the US and/or Israel. The US continues to lobby within the UN for the application of more intense sanctions against Iran, while threatening that “all options are on the table,” including direct attacks that would not necessarily exclude nuclear weapons. A fragile deal with Iran to end sanctions looked a possibility in 2014. Iran, the autocratic state? Mainstream Western media continuously represent Iran as an autocratic state. From 1979 onwards Iran has been a functioning democracy, albeit one in which the religious system enjoys a privileged voice. Herman and Paterson (2009) point to the role in the US of an “unelected dictatorship of money” in vetting nominees of the Republican and Democratic parties – comparable to the influence in Iran exerted by the Islamic Council of Guardians – with the result that the options available to US citizens are two candidates “neither of whom can change the foreign or domestic priorities of the imperial US regime.” Al Jazeera (2009) has described Iran as a mixture of theocracy and democracy, a balance of appointed and directly elected institutions.

Media and war propaganda   103 In continuation of their meme of Iran as an autocracy, the elections of 2009 that resulted in the re-­election of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad amidst fierce street demonstrations stoked the Western media into a fury of indignation. The general Western presumption was that the outcome was the result of fraud. Herman and Peterson (2009) found that protests over the election results were not “home grown” but were directly linked to destabilization campaigns that had their provenance from outside Iran, including the role of US advocacy group the Campaign for Peace and Democracy (CPD) – who appeared to be solely preoccupied with elections in which the US-­favored candidate did not win. Herman and Peterson cite Mark Weisbrot (2009), who chronicled significant, misleading statements by the New York Times. Much had been made of a Times report that Iran’s Guardian Council declared that the number of votes recorded in 50 cities exceeded the number of eligible voters there by three million. The Council had said something quite different; that while opposing candidates’ campaigns had claimed that in 80–170 towns and cities more people had voted than there were eligible voters, the Council itself had found only 50 such places and that in these the total number of votes was close to three million. Therefore even if all these votes were ditched, the election results would stand. Elsewhere, I have coined the expression “gullibility-­as-media-­policy” to describe instances in which Western media appear to provide wilfully one-­ sided coverage of Iran. I have identified examples where triadic relationships between named correspondents, identifiable sources and complicit media institutions appear to have worked together for propaganda purposes (Boyd-­Barrett 2015).

Conclusion The world has changed since the 1970s, but the communications disparities remain. In place of two major superpowers we have one pre-­eminent power – the US – existing in a somewhat more pluralist world; and the media of that superpower continues to be extremely influential – even in a world that is more suffused with media of all descriptions, everywhere. That influence extends to the media of the allies and client states of the superpower, of which there are many. It is rarely exercised more powerfully than in the matter of proffering pretexts for imperial violence. The exercise of superpower in the modern world depends no less today than it did in the days of the British Empire, on propaganda. And the function of the propaganda remains the same – to maintain at least a grudging acceptance, worldwide, of the benign necessity of a Pax Americana as it once sought acceptance of a Pax Britannica. To open up the scope for changes in the existing balance of opportunities for peace and for conflict, it is as necessary as ever to understand and to keep up-­to-date with the ever-­evolving practices of propaganda. There are many scholarly concepts and theories that help us do this, but I have

104   O. Boyd-Barrett singled out the continuing applicability of the work of Edward Herman and Noam Chomsky, who first articulated their “Propaganda Model” in 1988. Despite these authors’ own insistence that their model was systemic, I show that their own powerful case studies provide copious evidence of specific agents of propaganda at work in and through the mainstream media. I follow this up with reference from my own ongoing research on media coverage of Iran and the issue of whether Iran is or could conceivably be a “nuclear threat.” In the course of this I have found evidence of specific, identifiable agents who perpetrate a campaign of propaganda, one designed to maintain an image of Iran as a threat. I advocate returning to this understated aspect, the aspect of agency, in Herman and Chomsky’s work, one that runs counter to their own formal model. I offer this strategy in the context of pessimism as to the likelihood that “alternative” media can overtake the hegemony of elite-­favored, abundantly resourced popular mainstream media. But I believe that in conjunction with other tactics, exposure of agency helps provide a channel for subverting mainstream media practices and assisting the public in its navigation of a complex informational environment that is always polluted by propaganda.

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106   O. Boyd-Barrett Sakr, Naomi. 2010. “Challenge or lackey: The politics of news on Al-­Jazeera” in D.K. Thussu (ed.), Media on the move: Global flow and contra-­flow: 116–32. London: Routledge. Shoemaker, Pamela and Stephen Reese. 1995. Mediating the Message: Theories of Influence on Mass Media Content, 2nd edition. New York: Longman Trade/Caroline House. Tunstall, Jeremy. 2007. The media were American: US mass media in decline. New York: Oxford University Press. UNESCO. 1980. Many Voices, One World. The McBride Report. Paris: UNESCO. Weisbot, Mark. 2009. “Was Iran’s Election Stolen?” Washington Post, June 26. Online, accessed January 24, 2014, available at: http://newsweek.washingtonpost.com/postglobal/needtoknow/2009/06/was_irans_election_stolen.html. Xie, Shuang and Oliver Boyd-­Barrett. Forthcoming. “External-­National TV News Networks’ Way to America: Is the USA Losing the Global ‘Information War’?” International Journal of Communication. Yu, Roger. 2013. “Al Jazeera America’s Launch Draws Tepid Ratings.” USA Today, August 28. Online, accessed January 11, 2014, available at: www.usatoday.com/ story/money/business/2013/08/28/al-­jazeera-america-­launch-ratings/2711871/.

7 Imagined violence Representations of masculinity and a culture of peace Lara Mazurski

In the film Rambo (the fourth film of the Rambo series), Sylvester Stallone dramatically declares, “what you’re trying to do is change what is . . . that we’re like animals, it’s in the blood, it’s natural, it’s peace that’s an accident. It’s what is, when you’re pushed, killing’s as easy as breathing” (Stallone 2008). In 3000 Miles to Graceland, Kurt Russell, while being surrounded by a SWAT team, proclaims to Kevin Costner, “Guys like me die caught. Guys like you die bloody” (Lichtenstein 2001). In Braddock: Missing in Action III, Jack Rader scolds Braddock, played by Chuck Norris: “Don’t step on any toes.” Braddock responds: “I don’t step on toes, I step on necks” (Norris 1988). Each of these excerpts highlights powerful expressions of imagined violence and hyper-­masculinity that are inscribed on male bodies in American blockbuster films. As an immensely popular genre, the action thriller – and its sub-­genres of science fiction, action and disaster films – employ hyper-­masculine depictions that establish male characters as tough, aggressive and distanced from others, functioning as mediated models for young males and older men alike to emulate (Boyer 1986). Examining codes of behavior, values and taboos taken from specific films, this chapter considers the ways in which representations of hyper-­ masculinity – particularly those that glorify violence – offer a specific vision of manhood. By equating aggression and conflict with rugged manhood such depictions problematize on-­screen and off-­screen performances of masculinity. In what follows, I analyze specific representations of hyper-­ masculinity taken from Hollywood films, exploring the ways in which they navigate struggle, power, violence and domination, relating it to the discursive construction of masculine identities. I use this as a point of departure to further explore how gender-­related imaginings of violence hinder socialization processes that move toward a culture of peace. Succinctly, the concept of a culture of peace can be defined as the attitudes, values and modes of behavior that are based on non-­violence and a respect for the fundamental rights and freedoms of all people (UNESCO 1989: 51). In building a culture of peace, principles of equality and inclusiveness (democracy, emotional response, caring and communication skills) need not only be cultivated but also affirmed within popular culture. This vision

108   L. Mazurski of a culture of peace, as explained by Joseph de Rivera (2004: 545) “requires a respect for the rights of others rather than a domination of the weak by the strong.” Despite UNESCO’s call for a multiplicity of gendered identities in a move toward a culture of peace, the characters that populate action films rarely, if ever, break with static and essentialized visions of embodied manhood. Instead aggression, toughness and force, as characteristics of masculinity, are continually constructed and reaffirmed in relation to the male subject (Savran 1998: 7). Hollywood’s deployment of these kinds of static imaginings is extremely problematic and a number of questions emerge from this train of inquiry such as: how do we understand depictions of men and a culture of war, especially when behaviors, values and taboos related to expressions of hyper-­masculinity are reinforced in the mass media and are all too prevalent in Hollywood blockbusters? Research has shown that particular patterns of aggression have been linked to dominant notions of masculinity, not as mechanical effects, but rather as causes, in the pursuit of hegemony (Connell and Messerschmidt 2005). In the realm of fantasy and imagination for example, the lines between illusion and reality can be crossed and such representations may exert influence on viewers (Earp and Katz 1999). A number of texts have been written on the repercussions such representations have on the socialization of youths and men. Yet the goal of this chapter is not to offer a framework for analyzing such films, but rather to reflect on articulations of hyper-­masculinity present in action thrillers to work through representations of violence and how these depictions are essential to understanding how masculinity and conflict are visually articulated as patterns of social conduct. Stepping away from film for a moment, within situations of armed conflict and violence, especially in situations of ethnic nationalism or in racist movements, polarized models of manhood and womanhood are typical. In these situations, men are encouraged to display hyper-­masculine behaviors marked by dominance and aggression – operating within narrow models of masculinity. This is prevalent in military training where manliness is equated with systematic aggression (Barrett 2001: 77). Rebecca Adelman (2009: 266) explains that in the American military, for example, ideology is concerned with cultural definitions of manhood and the male body is inscribed with discourses on militarization. Importantly, Barrett (2001: 77) points out that discourses accompanying representations of imagined violence, identity, aggression and power all have a significant link to militarized masculinity.

Mapping out masculinity Returning to the movies this chapter opened with – Rambo (Rambo IV), 3000 Miles to Graceland, and Missing in Action III – it is necessary to first point out that each of these characters (Sylvester Stallone as Rambo, Kurt

Violence and representations of masculinity   109 Russell as Michael Zane, and Chuck Norris as Braddock) are excessively gendered. What makes them significant beyond their pop culture appeal and box office prowess is the stereotypical portrayals of powerful men that characterize them. All of these characters are modeled as “aggressive, dominant, and engaged in exciting activities from which they receive rewards from others for their masculine accomplishments” (Doyle 1989: 111). Doyle’s assessment is still relevant today with blockbuster films disseminating images of masculine characters whose dominant and/or aggressive behaviors are rewarded. In agreement with this train of thought, Susan Jeffords in Hard Bodies: Hollywood Masculinity in the Reagan Era (1994) argues that the idealized vision of masculinity that dominated films in the 1980s and 1990s was based on a model that was intended to combat the perceived demasculinization of American culture. Jeffords contends that this was due in part to a backlash against feminism, as well as the perceived failure of the Vietnam War. The images that dominate the films mentioned earlier are indicative of what she deems a “revival of manhood.” In this genre, Vietnam veterans were framed as victims and became emblematic “of an unjustly discriminated masculinity” (Jeffords 1989: 173). The narratives that ran throughout blockbusters such as First Blood (the first Rambo film) and Missing in Action reinvigorated the politics of the time, reimagining American masculinity and endorsing hyper-­masculinity as the apex of the male role model. Yvonne Tasker (1993), in her study of American cinema, agreed with this idea that the values of toughness, muscularity, strength and emotional emptiness were instrumental in representations of masculinity that ran throughout Hollywood cinema, and which established both restrictive and limiting conceptions of what masculinity is. Despite opening this section with two prominent feminist scholars, men’s studies and masculinity studies have also had plenty to say about the way in which men and male bodies are represented within action thrillers. Pioneering work that has analyzed representations of men in the media has been carried out by Joseph H. Pleck and Jack Sawyer in Men and Masculinity (1974), and their work was soon followed by Andrew Tolson’s The Limits of Masculinity (1977). Shortly afterwards, masculinity studies exploded onto the academic scene with a considerable body of literature investigating the connections between mass culture, politics and gender. In addition to analyzing mediated depictions, such as those featured in action thrillers, they also considered spin-­off cultural products – such as television shows and video games – all of them important sources of information for looking at a “culture’s dominant definitions of themselves” (Gamman and Marshment 1988: 2). Through these depictions, hyper-­ masculinity serves as an important site for defining gendered cultural identities within a culture. What is masculinity? What is femininity? When reading these questions the answer may seem obvious – we know what it is when we see it:

110   L. Mazurski masculinity and femininity are overwhelmingly assumed to be commonsensical, and produced by nature (Resser 2010: 1). Early conceptions of gender suggest that masculinity was rooted in the body, produced by testosterone, and the result of nature – resonating with claims of biological essentialism. Often this conceptualization of masculinity is tied to a series of characteristics that are applied to men, describing them as “strong,” “hard,” “in control” or “aggressive.” Femininity, on the other hand, is framed as its binary opposite with adjectives used to describe women including “weak,” “soft,” or “passive.” Todd W. Reeser, in Masculinites in Theory (2010), explains that the visibility and invisibility of the cultural norms that are used to define gender are significant, and that we often take them for granted, assuming their place in our daily lives. Norms may only become evident when something is excessive, or goes wrong to such an extent that we notice it. For example, the figure of a crying man might seem to be such an oddity that we cannot help but think of his masculinity (or lack thereof ). Reeser (2010: 1) expands on this very point: When we see such men, masculinity becomes visible because of its perceived absence. On the other hand, we might become aware of masculinity when we see a very muscular bodybuilder or a man eager for a fight. The excess of masculinity in these kinds of cases makes us aware of it. Yet, even when we notice these types of masculinity, we may still perceive them as natural: the bodybuilder is taking the male body to its natural extreme and the effeminate man is naturally unmasculine. In this excerpt, what is highlighted is the importance of presence/absence within the performance of gender norms, highlighting their cultural intelligibility. More specifically, that certain behaviors attributed to masculinity are steeped in traits belonging to maleness, and that we become aware of their presence/absence when they are exaggerated or lacking. Assumptions about what constitutes masculinity and femininity are complicated when we start to think about the cultural inscription of masculinity (Reeser 2010). With increasing recognition that gender is affected and/or formed by institutions, gender then involves power structures and economic relationships. Following the legacy of Judith Butler’s work in Bodies That Matter (1993) cultural definitions of gender (what constitutes masculinity and/or femininity) do not remain static or fixed and differ according to time/space/culture. For example, a survey of historical representations of masculinity does not work in unison with contemporary notions of what masculinity is. George Lachmann Mosse (1996: 149) explains this point in reference to the spectre of the “unmanly man” – the effeminate “dandy” of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries (prominent in London and Paris) who at the time played an important role in contemporary articulations of masculinity.

Violence and representations of masculinity   111 In the present day the image of the “dandy” – with his refined physical appearance, use of language, leisurely hobbies, decadent lifestyle, and air of nonchalance – is associated with middle class figures desirous of an aristocratic lifestyle. Yet the ideals embodied by the “dandy” of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries would not necessarily be in sync with the normative masculine stereotype of today. Within discussions of hyper-­ masculinity, the “dandy” functions as a counter-­type to the rugged ideal of manhood epitomized in action thrillers; the figures, then, find themselves in direct opposition to each other (Mosse 1996: 12). Within these examples, stereotypes of masculinity find themselves problematized, countering notions that “maleness” is something that is “natural” or “essential.” With significant variations of masculinity present from culture to culture, dominant conceptions of what constitutes masculinity can be easily reframed as that which is produced by a symbolic system (Thomas 2009: 98). Grand variations in cultural norms of what constitutes masculinity and/or femininity can lead to the inevitable conclusion that masculinity is difficult to ascertain. R.W. Connell (1998) has written extensively about the accomplishment of masculinity as social – as something that comes into existence through performance, present in actions taken in everyday life. Masculinity, to paraphrase Butler, is therefore something that is brought into being through its cultural inscription, through iteration and reiteration. The following section will expand further on the power of cultural norms relating to masculinity by looking at popular representations of hyper-­masculinity within Hollywood blockbuster action films. This discussion is significant because such examples illustrate how masculinity is framed within the guise of American cinema and how such representations speak to depictions of manhood that are both limiting and problematic, especially for youths and men who look to such imagery for male role models.

Depictions of men in conflict: Rambo to Elysium Within Hollywood blockbuster films, especially those of the action thriller genre, hyper-­masculinity finds itself intertwined with discourses on war, militarism, violence and sexism. These themes and imagery most certainly culminated in the 1980s and early 1990s, Susan Jeffords explains, when American films were loosely based on men’s experiences of the Vietnam War. There were many successful film franchises of the 1980s that focused on militarism and imperialism in Southeast Asia and Central America, beginning with Uncommon Valor (1983), followed by the blockbuster Rambo saga (1982–2008) and Chuck Norris’s Missing in Action series (1984–1988). Of these franchises, the Rambo series epitomizes the plight of the tragic hero, the American solider John J. Rambo who suffers from post-­traumatic stress disorder as a result of the torture he experienced at the hands of

112   L. Mazurski North Vietnamese soldiers during the Vietnam War. First appearing in David Morrell’s novel First Blood (1972), the character of John Rambo was later popularized in the film adaption First Blood (1982), Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985), Rambo III (1988), and the recent revival, Rambo IV (2008). In the cycle of these films, the tragic hero, John Rambo, is followed in all his global exploits. Exemplifying the virtues of the warrior hero, he represents American militarism and imperialism (Kellner 1995). Rambo is a character who is plagued by shame, guilt and loss, yet at the same time he is strong, violent and unforgiving. Representative of American soldiers, Rambo is framed as a force of “good,” while his enemies, usually represented as communists, are framed as “evil” – an essential part of the ideological text of the film. As a caricature of the mythological hero, Rambo’s greatest abilities lie in his ability to destroy everything that crosses his path; against the forces of “evil” his violence is unrelenting. On the surface, Rambo tells a simple moral narrative, offering insight into the tragic hero underlined by principles of justice and democracy. In a powerful scene of imagined violence, Rambo and a group of mercenaries find themselves outnumbered 100 to 1 by their enemies. Despite the disparity in numbers, this is not sufficient reason to back out of a battle. Before entering the jungle to engage in this epic battle, Stallone confronts a reluctant mercenary and declares: “Any of you boys want to shoot, now’s the time. There isn’t one of us that doesn’t want to be someplace else. But this is what we do, who we are. Live for nothing, or die for something. Your call.” The self-­destructive characterization that runs throughout this passage is summed up by Leed (1989: 11), who explains that “Men become what they are, realizing a masculine character and a strength through what they lose rather than what they gain.” Susan Jeffords, in Can masculinity be terminated?, explains: The male body – principally the white male body – became increasingly a vehicle of display – of musculature, of beauty, of physical feats and of a gritty toughness. External spectacle weaponry, explosions, infernos, crashes, high-­speed chases, ostentatious luxuries – offered companion evidence of both the sufficiency and the volatility of this display. That externality itself confirmed that the outer parameters of the male body were to be the focus of audience attention, desire and politics. (Jeffords 1989: 344) The spectacle of the male body in the action genre has transformed the parameters of the male body for the audience’s gaze, as an object that is worthy of desire and politics (ibid.). This reading of the hyper-­masculine body is identified in terms of power. In the 1980s these depictions were tied to a sense of collaborative nationalism, a violent spectacle that insisted that the male body be read as a territory (ibid: 344–5). John J. Rambo’s

Violence and representations of masculinity   113 body is externalized, his body is not shown solely in relation to the outdoors as in previous incantations; rather, in the fourth instalment, his body merges with the jungle and water to defeat his enemies – guerilla soldiers and pirates. This representation of the male body has found itself revitalized in the contemporary period with the recent release of Act of Valor (2012), which follows a US Navy SEAL squad on its covert operation to rescue a kidnapped CIA officer. Using real-­life active SEALs, the film, which was produced over four years, also used live ammunition in the hope of making the film “authentic” for the viewer in recognition of its intention as a project to help the American Navy recruit new soldiers while still being a feature film (D’Addario 2012). Mike McCoy, one of the co-­directors, is quoted as saying: The film has no politics in it and it’s not a war movie. . . . It does not [depict] a conflict on foreign soil – or anything around a conflict on foreign soil. It’s just about protecting the homeland. Men risking their lives to protect the homeland. (McCoy, cited in D’Addario 2012) The male body becomes a vehicle for ideology, indicative of brotherhood and militarism, represented in ways that the institution can visually affirm itself. The images of “raw masculinism” that dominate Act of Valor (2012) work to reinforce among audiences social models that advocate for violence and aggressive self-­display for men. Yet these kinds of images are not limited to action thrillers, they also are deployed in science fiction thrillers. In the recently released $100 million remake of RoboCop (2014), the lines between imagined violence, conflict, aggression and hyper-­ masculinity are resurrected. More recent films still, such as the sci-­fi action thrillers Elysium and Pacific Rim, may have brought in disappointing earnings for studios, but they are marked by overtly simplistic characters based on stereotypical examples of hyper-­masculinity. The heroes the public encounters have not only become more accessible, they also have become a publicly approved model of male socialization (Donald and MacDonald 2011: 11). These kinds of imaginings construct masculinity solely in relation to violence, tied to ideologies and institutions (including the military and Hollywood films) that simplisticly construct and reinforce a limited notion of aggressive masculinity. Elysium (2013) imagines a world where the wealthy live on a man-­made habitat of the same name (Blomkamp 2013). The vast majority of people still live on Earth, which is marked by overpopulation, poverty, crime and environmental devastation. Policed by ruthless robots, Earth’s inhabitants are struggling for a daily existence, while their counterparts on Elysium live in safety, luxury and comfort using medical devices called Med-­Bays

114   L. Mazurski that can cure disease and injury. Max Da Costa, played by Matt Damon, is an ex-­convict who lives in the imagined overpopulated city of Los Angeles of 2154, working on an assembly line at a military contractor: Armadyne. Accidentally poisoned by high doses of radiation, Max has five days to live. Immediately he seeks the help of smugglers led by an old friend named Spider. Spider is a futuristic “coyote,” who for large sums of money trafficks immigrants across the border to the space station (Elysium) so they can gain access the Med-­Bays. Dying from radiation poisoning, Max has an exo-­skeleton implanted to give him superhuman strength. In order to secure a spot on the next run, he strikes a deal to steal financial information from Armadyne’s CEO, John Carlyle (who, incidentally, runs the same company that poisoned Max). When Spider receives the information he demanded as his part of the deal, he discovers that it can activate a computer program that will make all of Earth’s citizens, citizens of Elysium. An allegory for class war, Elysium is a political film that engages a number of different themes, from immigration to geopolitics. Riddled with tropes that engage greed, capitalism, authoritarianism and dystopia, the film contrasts social stratification by starkly illustrating the differences between upper and lower classes. But it also uses hyper-­masculinity as a template. In spite of its setting, the tension that exists between these environments – that the whole film’s narrative progressive rests on – is the hero’s desire to act as an agent of the people. Thus, Max successfully fights against all odds to make the paradisical habitat accessible to all. Max is a collective symbol, indicative of the “retributive man” – a working class figure, but also more importantly a victim of social change. To understand how his body functions within the film as a symbol, it is important to read it intertextually in terms of the dystopian urban environment in which he lives. The images of surveillance and control that regulate Max’s character and his body work like many of its contemporaries do by employing narratives of political and environmental crisis that can be freed by a lone subject who is willing to fight against the system. These kinds of depictions work to reinforce images that validate dominant forms of masculinity through depictions of the hardness of the body and of the mind. The male body becomes a familiar trope for audiences through which power is read. Characters such as Max in Elysium are often depicted as shirtless, with throbbing biceps, wide shoulders, and a chiseled chest enmeshed with metal and with technology. In the film, Max’s body can withstand beatings by the police, gunshot, explosions, falls, and crash-­ landings, and he endures lethal doses of radiation. Against all the odds he wins by defeating the bad guys and taking over the habitat – for the people. The strength of the male body in this film is symbolic; it represents what Max’s character has to endure through his life – growing up as an orphan,

Violence and representations of masculinity   115 transitioning to gang life as an adolescent, time in prison, and a life of poverty immersed by environmental devastation. Max’s hybrid body, which is only completed by the surgical implantation of an exo-­skeleton that turns him effectively into a cyborg, allows him to push his physical self to the limit, symbolically representing what needs to be overcome and suggestive not only of an individual trauma, but also a global one. Resonating with the tropes associated with the hero that this chapter opened with, Max’s character is marked by a desire to “do good” and to persevere at all costs. The hyper-­masculinity which is represented in the body of Max is necessary, not only to his character’s development but also as something for him to overcome: he must be strong, aggressive, dominant and violent in order to effect political change in the troubled world in which he lives.

Connell’s problem of men and violence Problematically, representations of imagined violence and hyper-­ masculinity in Hollywood cinema have a number of implications for peace strategies. R.W. Connell (2000) in Arms and the Man highlighted a number of different points related to “the problem of men and violence” and its implications for peace strategies. Taking my cue from Connell’s article, I consider the ways in which mediated representations of hyper-­masculinity highlight extreme gender roles and inequality serving as barriers to the promotion of peace. When speaking of mediated representations of men and imagined violence, concerns of social masculinity and patterns of social conduct that respond to specific situations and differences of power – such as bodily difference – are significant (Connell 2000: 23). Within the dominant literature that comes from masculinity studies, men’s studies, or sociology, is research that considers patterns of gender and the conditions of possibility that make peace strategies possible. The first is concerned with the implications associated with masculinity in each of these specific films, and they are significant because they offer static representations of manhood that dominate a specific strain of American culture. Despite their link to Hollywood and their place in a globalized world, it is important to note that there are multiple articulations of masculinity that have yet to be considered. Problematically, the lack of representational variety that is offered in these particular kinds of films – such as those that belong to the action thriller and its sub-­genres of sci-­fi action and disaster films – can serve as a barrier for youths and men as role models. The tensions that result from a lack of diversity works to reinforce a system of gendered patterns that can only be countered through the articulation of other forms of masculinity that move beyond hyper-­ masculinity. With additional forms of representation, other depictions become viable options and they remain key incentives for mediated gender change (Connell 2000: 24). Instead of alternative representations

116   L. Mazurski being discredited, incentives for gender change can become motives for possibility (ibid.). Collective masculinities can be productive ways of countering dominant depictions of hyper-­masculinity, if they are seen as challenges that highlight the power of the individual, group, institution, or other cultural forms such as the mass media (ibid.). Institutionalization has been identified as a problem for peace strategies (Connell 2000: 24–5) with the workplace, voluntary organizations and corporations all functioning as important sites of action that need to be reformed. An additional point is found in the deployment of bodies as sites, as a space that is visually and conceptually “built up” and “torn down,” thereby fixing patterns of masculinity. Often they are essential to the expression of hyper-­masculinity, and involve bodily pleasure, vulnerability and pain (ibid.). Tied to other kinds of institutions – such as the diet and fitness industry, magazines and other forms of mass media – the images that emerge from dominant representations of hyper-­masculinity treat it as a spectacle. The framing of the male body as a spectacle on screen is significant because it highlights the normalization of a certain kind of masculinity that informs popular understanding of manhood. In this context the male body functions as an erotic fantasy which poses with guns, as if it were a trophy that is derived from combat (Whitehead and Barrett 2001). Imagined violence, completed with the body as a site of spectacle, becomes a way of performing masculinity. For Max, in Elysium, the body is contorted into a half man/half machine-­like figure; the exo-­skeleton completes him, restores his bodily power, and he is no longer unable to fight back against the system. He becomes re-­empowered, and uses the exo-­skeleton to push him through his physical crisis; he is dying but the metal “re-­masculizes” him. Max goes on to save Earth’s inhabitants and end the political crisis by opening up the man-­ made space station for all. His body becomes a site of spectacle and power, but also of powerful political ideologies. These points represent lessons that have been taken from different ways of thinking about patterns of gender – using masculinity as a site – for thinking about strategies for peace, practices that move toward equality, non-­violence, respect for other people’s sexualities, and gender. Building a culture of peace calls for a remaking of gendered practices, including educational strategies that respond to different cultural meanings of gender and the socio-­economic conditions in which it lives, as well as gender reform that adopts a move toward “the new man” (Connell 2000: 30–1). Here the principles of democracy, emotional response, caring and communication skills – that this article opened with (equality and inclusiveness) – need not only be affirmed within popular representations. Engagement with alternate models – ones that move beyond the violent character of the “hero” that dominates the sci-­fi and action genres – must move toward a more democratic direction that disconnects masculinity from violence, prejudice and exploitation (ibid.). That said, it is important to note that some prominent Hollywood films do offer other depictions of

Violence and representations of masculinity   117 masculinity, stepping away from the figure of the hyper-­masculine man. Even so, these forms of representation still need to work toward attitudes and modes of behavior that are based on non-­violence and respect for fundamental rights and freedoms. In order to implement gender-­ informed strategies for peace we must consider sophisticated gender patterns that look beyond traditional Western sex role models in film and television. For example, minority representations of masculinity can be used to intervene with hegemonic representations and can offer more sophisticated patterns that may in turn be beneficial in the reduction of violence, moving beyond the local in search of the global.

Conclusions The inscription of hyper-­masculinity in American blockbuster action films and its sub-­genres has produced mediated models for youths and men to emulate: these being the codes of behavior, values and taboos that are in the make-­up of heroic figures from Sylvester Stallone as the tragic American soldier, John J. Rambo, in Rambo, right through to Matt Damon’s superhuman portrayal of Max in Elysium. The representations of powerful manhood found in these films, and others besides, are connected to idealized representations of hyper-­masculinity characterized by imagined acts of aggression, violence and emotional emptiness. Research has illustrated that the construction of masculinized meanings and identities can be readily traced to culture, with film as an object of fantasy and imagination blurring the lines between illusion and reality. Having an effect on the socialization of young viewers, particularly young men, such imaginings of violence and conflict reinforce issues of dominance, aggression, violence and hierarchy. Glorifying conflict and imagined violence, the action thriller and its sub-­ genres associate masculinity with violence. It is here that the construction of a hyper-­masculine identity is predicated on a willingness to do violence – to take up arms – and it also hinges on the omission of problem-­solving or fostering understanding among people. Problematically, these representations contribute to the socialization of young men and women in ways that inhibit them from moving toward a culture of peace. When addressing questions about how we can understand depictions of men in the media, and violence tied to expressions of hyper-­masculinity, it seems that thinking about the relationship between hierarchical masculinities could be a part of the problem. Educational strategies must include other kinds of gender relations – breaking down dominant modes of representation, and challenging representations of violence, danger and militarism. Through such educational strategies, gender reform can help adopt new masculine characters that speak to the complexities of gender. A peace education strategy on hyper-­masculinity involves an approach that addresses the power of the media and masculinized violence, with positive portrayals for young men to emulate in the future.

118   L. Mazurski

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Violence and representations of masculinity   119 Lichtenstein, Demian. 2001. 3000 Miles to Graceland. DVD. Directed by Demian Lichtenstein. Burbank: Warner Brothers. Mosse, George Lachmann. 1996. The Image of Man: The Creation of Modern Masculinity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Norris, Aaron. 1988. Braddock: Missing in Action III. Motion picture. Directed by Aaron Norris. Los Angeles: Cannon. Pleck, Joseph H. 1996. The Myth of Masculinity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pleck, Joseph H. and Jack Sawyer. 1974. Men and Masculinity. New York: Prentice-­ Hall. Reeser, Todd W. 2010. Masculinities in Theory: An Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Ryan, Michael and Douglas Kellner. 1998. Camera Politica: the Politics and Ideology of Contemporary Hollywood Film. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Savran, David. 1998. Taking it Like A Man: White Masculinity, Masochism, and Contemporary American Culture. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Stallone, Sylvester. 2008. Rambo IV. DVD. Directed by Sylester Stallone. Los Angeles: Nu Image/Millennium Films. Thomas, Tanja. 2009. “Gender Management, Popular Culture, and the Military” in Rikke Schubart, Fabian Virchow, Debra White-­Stanley and Tanja Thomas (eds), War Isn’t Hell, It’s Entertainment: Essays on Visual Media and the Representation of Conflict: 97–114. Jefferson: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers. UNESCO. 1989. Yamoussoukro Declaration on Peace and the Minds of Men. General Conference of UNESCO, November 16, 1989, Paris. New York: United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. Whitehead, Stephen M. and Frank Barrett. 2001. The Masculinities Reader. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.

8 The media and deconstruction of the enemy image Babak Bahador

In the mobilization and fighting stages of war, modern states adopting a war policy have strong incentives to build public support. The often-­cited example of the Vietnam syndrome, in which declining public opinion allegedly led to political pressure to withdraw from the war (Hallin 1986), is still relatively fresh on American minds, as is the more recent example of public opinion turning against the 2003 Iraq War (Berinsky 2009; Baum and Groeling 2010; Bahador and Walker 2012). The need for public support during war can be traced back to at least the 1832 classic Vom Kriege [On War] by von Clausewitz. In this classic text, the Prussian military theorist argued that in the modern era, “the passions that be kindled in war must already be inherent in the people” (von Clausewitz 1989: 101). Without such support, it was argued, wars could not be sustained in the modern age, making defeat likely. One of the means used by states to build support for war involves the creation of enemy images. Enemy images involve negative portrayals of adversaries that make their destruction appear necessary and even beneficial (Bahador 2012). In a way, this can be compared to negative political advertising in domestic political campaigns, which motivates voters to support a candidate by disliking and voting against a rival. To sell a war, generating hate for the enemy can often generate much passion for one’s cause. The mass media, in this regard, can play a vital role by disseminating these images to the masses while simultaneously sensationalizing them for maximum audience receptivity. While there is much academic literature devoted to understanding the concept of enemy images and accompanying devices, such as dehumanization and demonization, there is far less research on what happens to them once wars end. This chapter begins by defining what enemy images are and explaining how they are constructed. It then considers how enemy images might be deconstructed after wars end by unpacking the components that went into their creation. Next, the chapter examines the media’s role in both promoting enemy images and challenging them during peace and reconciliation. Finally, the chapter empirically reviews three American conflicts to assess how the people on the other side were framed both

Deconstructing the enemy image   121 during the war and after fighting ended. This is done to determine if enemy images do change post-­war, and how the media might deconstruct them.

Construction of the enemy images Enemy images are of images, metaphors, frames, narratives, myths and ideas in general, that are used to delegitimize a particular group for a political purpose (Bahador 2012: 196). They can involve the association of a group deemed as the enemy, and its members, with qualities that are extremely negative, thus leading to suspicion, paranoia and hatred of the group (Merskin 2004; Keen 1986: 43–8). The formation of enemy images is based on a “them and us” dichotomy involving an out-­group (them), which is evil, and an in-­group (us), which is good (Fiebig-­Von Hase 1997: 11; Spillmann and Spillmann 1997: 51; Keen 1986: 19). More importantly, the out-­group is not only problematic because they are evil in themselves, but because such evil is directed at us as a threat (Keen 1986: 19–24). As a result, if nothing is done, it is expected that they will commit hostile acts against us in the future (Ottosen 1995: 101). If the out-­group can successfully be characterized as evil and a threat, then anger, resentment and hatred toward them by individuals in the in-­ group is usually created (Rodriguez 2000; Bonde 2006). According to Harold Lasswell (Merskin 2004: 162): “For mobilization of national hatred the enemy must be represented as a menacing, murderous aggressor, a satanic violator of the moral and conventional standards.” The acceptance of enemy images by a population is heightened during periods of perceived insecurity and crisis, when easy solutions are attractive and scapegoats for assigning blame are sought. Differences in looks, language and belief systems, which allow “them” to be distinguished from “us” more easily, further strengthens such claims. These differences also allow for easier manipulation, linking physical difference to alleged difference in character and behavior (Dower 1986: 147–80). When such depictions are commonly accepted, every word and act by the other side is interpreted in its worst-­case scenario and as some kind of threat (Mandelzis 2003: 2; Jervis 1976). Two devices that are commonly used in the creation of enemy images are dehumanization and demonization. Dehumanization is often used against the people of the other side and involves the use of sub-­human portrayals – such as animals – or equating the group to human groups considered inferior. Popular examples of animals used include snakes, rats, pigs and cockroaches – creatures despised by many societies for being dangerous, dirty or a general nuisance. Demonization is often used against the leader or fighting force of the other side and involves the use of superhuman qualities allegedly found in demons or monsters (Bar-­Tel 1990). Two headed creatures, robots and giants, often in the act of inflicting

122   B. Bahador harm, or portraits likening adversaries with past leaders responsible for atrocities, such as Hitler or Stalin, are commonly used demonizing devices. An important part of enemy image construction and dehumanization, in particular, is the conceptual elimination of the individual. Individuals are unique with their own personalities. Individuals are, essentially, human like us. To successfully create an enemy image, all traces of individuality must be removed and all people associated with the out-­group must only be seen as a category, manifesting the same negative collective attributes (Halpern and Weinstein 2004: 567). When societies adopt such framing of out-­groups, all positive actions by members are ignored or viewed as a plot. All negative actions, on the other hand, even if conducted by only a few, become the act and responsibility of the entire group. The selective and exclusive focus on negative threatening actions, therefore, becomes a reinforcing mechanism, providing evidence that the group is indeed as morally reprehensible and dangerous as depicted by their stereotype. Once a group is cast this way, history has generally recorded a preference for violence as a solution, turning the unnatural act of killing into an activity that is acceptable and normalized for a society, with the ends justifying the means. When such a psychological barrier is crossed, the actual killing itself – and the means used to do it – becomes secondary, and merely an instrumental task similar to rodent extermination (Dower 1986: 92). According to Sam Keen, “We think others to death and then invent the battle-­axe or the ballistic missiles with which to actually kill them. Propaganda precedes technology” (Keen 1986: 10). All this, of course, is often the intention of political leaders who help create the enemy image, concealing their own political ambitions (Bonde 2006; Alexander et al. 2005). If the out-­group, such as a despised minority, is within the control of a government, their members are often denied basic human rights and subjected to persecution and possibly genocide. Such governing fits within Johan Galtung’s framework of “cultural violence” (Ottosen 1995: 98). If the out-­group is outside a government’s control, then they can become the target of political violence and war if the political circumstances and relative power of the in-­group versus the out-­group allows for such an outcome. Within the competitive international sphere, which can be seen as an anarchical system of self-­help, systemic incentives can promote the creation of enemy images in other states in the struggle for international power (Holsti 1967; Waltz 1979).

Deconstructing the enemy image As mentioned earlier, there is little research on what happens to enemy images after wars end. This is not entirely surprising, of course, given the greater focus among academics on the media’s role in war over peace (Wolfsfeld 2004). Nonetheless, research findings on the broader process

Deconstructing the enemy image   123 of reconciliation after war can serve as a useful proxy for identifying components that might be found in a process of enemy image deconstruction. For societies to change their collective attitude toward an adversary, a cognitive unfreezing and realignment of collective attitudes is necessary (Gayer et al. 2009). This involves reconsidering the beliefs adopted when the society mobilized for war, and openness to alternative narratives. The key idea that appears to be essential for reconciliation is the rehumanization of the former enemy, manifested in their reframing. This means seeing human qualities within members of the other side that are familiar and widely accepted by the in-­group, making the former out-­group appear much more like the in-­group (Halpern and Weinstein 2004). Rehumanization, therefore, involves a process of individualization. This is a reversal of the dehumanization process, which required removing individuality and personality, turning all members of the enemy into a collective other with the same negative qualities. When individuality is highlighted, stories of individuals with unique personalities and personal problems reminiscent of people on our side emerge. Furthermore, delineation between the actions of the individual and the responsibility of the group occurs, meaning that negative individual actions are confined to that individual and not framed as representative and the responsibility of the entire group. Another component that appears essential for enemy image deconstruction is empathy with members of the out-­group, and an understanding of their perspective (Halpern and Weinstein 2000). Empathy with the other side suggests an emotional change in the nature of the relationship (Ross 2001); framing positive characterizations removes the bias that previously only sought to portray the group’s negative actions. Once members of the other side are individualized and treated with empathy, the other side and its point of view can start to be seen as legitimate (Janoff-­Bulman and Werther 2008), and even lead to a questioning of the rationale of our own side’s perspective in the conflict. A culture of reconciliation, according to Bar-­Tal (2000), should ultimately involve a reconsideration of the justness of one’s own side and the legitimacy of the other side’s perspective. Once the other side is viewed as legitimate, they will also tend to no longer be viewed as inherently evil and a threat to us. If they had a legitimate cause to fight, like us, then they can be viewed as reasonable, and, again, human like us. A core argument for sustaining the enemy image is based on the assumption that the other side is irrationally violent and a perpetual threat to us. If this argument is no longer valid, then the enemy image is further challenged and unpacked.

The role of the media If, as mentioned earlier, the public must share the passions of the soldier for a successful war effort in the modern era, then the mass media is critical because it is the means by which the experiences of the soldier is

124   B. Bahador mediated to the public. This section of the chapter looks at the media’s role in the construction of enemy images, and also at its role in possible deconstruction of such images during times of peace and reconciliation. To begin with it is important to point out that the media plays a vital role in the formation of enemy images because it informs the public about the world and its people. Through its agenda-­setting function, the media defines who matters in the world, and who does not. Through framing, the media defines which countries and peoples should be considered in a positive way and which ones should be viewed negatively (Brewer et al. 2003). If, according to the well-­known UNESCO Constitution Preamble, “wars begin in the minds of men” (UNESCO), then those minds are likely to be influenced by media frames that define just who should be subject to aggression. But it is also important to remember the rest of the same Preamble, which states that “it is in the minds of men that the defenses of peace must be constructed.” It follows, therefore, that peace must also begin in the minds of men and that media framing of others is again likely just as important for deconstructing enemy images. According to Wolfsfeld (2004), foreign news often highlights immediacy, drama, simplicity and ethno-­centrism to attract audiences (see also Bratic´ and Schirch 2007). Stories about enemy images work well in this context because they have a built in “us versus them” conflict frame that is dramatic, yet simple; mimicking a Hollywood-­style script of good (us) versus bad (them) is familiar, easy to digest, and is inherently ethno-­ centric in that it judges the world and the “others” who live in it through our own cultural prejudices and biases. While enemy images have existed for millennia, their proliferation has accelerated and spread in a more uniform fashion with the explosion in the mass media of the twentieth century. Since at least World War I, modern warfare has stood out from its former manifestations through the employment of industrial-­scale weaponry and killing. Likewise, mass media such as print, radio and film have delivered information to the public on an unprecedented scale. The masses have been overwhelmed with propaganda the depth and breadth of which has never seen before – much of it focused on creating passions against the enemy (Carruthers 2011). The mass media, while usually carrying the government’s foreign policy agenda and framing, can also play an independent role in enemy image promotion by helping to enhance such messages. By focusing on the most dramatic, sensational and entertaining elements of a story, the media offers a version that is largely spectacle – and very different from the reality (Baudrillard 2001). When it comes to the other side during conflict, this means that only the most vile and threatening elements are highlighted, with the wider political context ignored, reducing coverage to a series of irrational episodic attacks. Such a contribution goes beyond merely distributing government-­sourced messages and makes the media a catalyst and amplifier, a situation which, in turn, can intensify political

Deconstructing the enemy image   125 response and hostility. In this way the media fans the flames of hatred and helps intensify conflict (Wolfsfeld 1997, 2004). While the media is generally known for playing an important role in the advancement of enemy images, there is little research on its role in the deconstruction of these same images. Before examining this issue empirically, it is worth identifying what variables, from the literature, might point to the media’s role in this regard. For the purposes of this study three factors appear to stand out. First, and perhaps most obvious, media coverage that deconstructs enemy images would likely record a shift from negative to positive characterization of the other side in such coverage. As stories shift from seeing the adversary as less of a collective threat and more a set of individuals worthy of empathy, a more positive character should emerge. As part of this, media coverage is likely to highlight similarities over differences, as the rehumanized other begin to appear more like us. A second way in which the media is likely to reflect the deconstruction of enemy images is through the future actions proposed for our side against the adversary. When enemy images are constructed, future actions often advocate the use of violence, particularly in an environment of high insecurity. If the trend goes in the opposite direction, however, with an environment of peace and reconciliation, media coverage of the other side would likely feature understanding and cooperation as primary approaches to pursue. Finally, as mentioned earlier, deconstructing the enemy image requires recognition of the other side’s legitimacy, which might even involve questioning the validity of our own side’s assumptions and actions during the earlier phases of the conflict. If such an approach is to manifest itself in media framing, then one might see a shift from a position of our own actions always being justifiable to one where there is questioning, and even regret, of our past actions in relation to the other side.

Methodology To empirically test whether the media deconstructs enemy images after wars, this study employs a media content analysis comparing the framing of people on the other side during three American wars: 1 World War II (Americans and Japanese) 2 the Vietnam War (Americans and North Vietnamese) 3 the 2003 Iraq War (Americans and Iraqis) These cases were selected because they are relatively diverse in terms of their timeframes (spanning seven decades), nature (involved both total and limited war) and geopolitics (they covered periods of world war, Cold War and the Global War on Terror). The study draws on American cases

126   B. Bahador and the New York Times only, due to the ease of access to this newspaper’s archives and its traditional role as a foreign policy agenda-­setter in the United States. To be selected, articles had to specifically mention the people of the other side – either within the context of the war, or in the context of relations between the US and the people of the other side (“us” and “them”). These references became the units of analysis (UOA) for this study and were divided into two periods – “war” and “post-­war” – with 50 UOA for each period. The first period includes the period between the start and the end of fighting.1 The second period includes the period following the end of the fighting period. In total, 200 UOA were coded.2 For each UOA two categories were identified and coded, and these were derived by analyzing the literature and media content of the selected articles. To test for reliability, a second coder recoded 20 percent of the sample, and inter-­coder reliability tests using percentage agreement and Krippendorff ’s Alpha were carried out for each category.3 For Category 1, the percentage agreement was 87.8 percent and Krippendorff ’s Alpha recorded as 0.77. For Category 2, the percentage agreement was 86.7 percent and Krippendorff ’s Alpha recorded as 0.73. The coding categories, options within them, and hypotheses relating to the central questions of the chapter in relation to each category, are outlined below. Category 1: characterization The characterization of the adversary is perhaps the most important element of both the forming and the deconstruction of an enemy image. At one extreme, enemy images depict a dehumanized and demonized enemy who is a menacing threat. On the other hand, if an enemy image is rehumanized, a more positive characterization is likely. As the conflict shifts from war to peace, it can be hypothesized that deconstruction of enemy images through the media will be manifested in more positive and less negative framing. For this category, four options were identified: 1 non-­human characteristics (including dehumanization and demonization): animals, animal-­like traits, demons, monsters, machines and/or supra-­human traits 2 negative human characteristics: such as savage, evil, aggressive and irrational. This also includes reference to “shadowy” characteristics and labellings, and the use of loaded words like “communist” and “terrorist” 3 positive characteristics: the use of positive adjectives to describe the other side, such as “friends” 4 neutral.

Deconstructing the enemy image   127 Category 2: our future actions The next category relates to how “we” should respond to the other side in our future actions. At the one extreme is a call to violence as a solution for dealing with the threat. However, other options include the use of non-­ violent means such as providing help, joining them, stepping back/withdrawing, sympathizing and being cautious. As conflicts shift away from violence it is hypothesized that media framing will also move from advocating violence to advocating reconciliatory solutions to deconstruct the enemy image. Overall, the seven options identified were: 1 we must use violence as necessary to remove threat 2 we must stop them, but through non-­violent means: e.g., achieve our aim through an appeal to international tribunals, or to the people themselves 3 we must help them: provide aid/assistance, help with poverty, repression, etc. 4 we must join them: in the situation where cooperation with the people is needed, i.e., fight beside them, work with them, or cooperate with them as equals 5 we must step back/withdraw: stop intervening, allow the people to chose their own path, give sovereignty 6 we should sympathize with them: understand/listen to them, use tact, learn/respect their culture/customs 7 we must be cautious: consider our options and the consequences of using violence, e.g., think of civilian casualties.

Findings The first category assessed related to the character of the people on the other side. In all three cases, there was almost no framing in the most extreme way involving dehumanization and demonization, even in the case of Japan during World War  II, when such framing was assumed to exist. The next category, involving negative human characteristics, however, was much more prevalent and, as assumed, declined notably after the wars ended. Over the three conflicts, negative coverage of the other side declined in two and was flat in the third (due to its non-­ existence), showing a collective overall decline. Interestingly, positive characterization of the other side, which was expected to increase in the post-­war phase, only increased in the case of Japan. In both the Vietnam and Iraq Wars, positive coverage actually decreased. There are a number of potential reasons for this finding. First, both of these cases were limited wars that were fought far from the US. In the case of Japan, the war began after an attack on American soil and Japan’s rapid conquests in the Pacific made the likelihood of an attack on

128   B. Bahador the US mainland seem like a valid possibility at that time. The public passions for this war were clearly higher than the latter two examples. Second, over recent decades the US government has made greater efforts to differentiate the people of the other side from their government, often characterizing the people as victims themselves. This is due to the practical necessity of working with elements of the population after the war. Finally, it is also likely due to changes in American society itself, as collective prejudice and racism have declined since the 1940s with the civil rights movement and demographic shifts toward greater diversity. Table 8.1 compares the characterization of the people of the other side during and after the war over the three conflicts covered by this study. Our future actions The next category identifies the actions our side should take regarding the adversary’s people. The most aggressive option involved using violence, which was hypothesized to decrease as the wars ended and the enemy image dissipated. In all three of the cases this trend occurred. With Japan, violence was recommended in 29 percent of cases during the war, but zero percent during the post-­war phrase. In Vietnam this number decreased from 13 percent to 4 percent, whereas in Iraq, it declined from 12 percent to zero. Two categories that indicate a shift in the direction of deconstructing enemy images are references to “helping” and “sympathizing” with the other side’s people. Helping and sympathizing suggest empathy – a key component necessary for deconstructing the enemy image. Such calls would not be likely if the others were still perceived as enemies. In both of these categories the overall trends do suggest that the media engaged in a framing shift in relation to the other side. With Japan, these two categories increased from 6 percent to 12 percent (helping) and 24 percent to 63 percent (sympathizing) after the war. In the case of Vietnam the category options increased from 4 percent to 43 percent and 9 percent to 32 percent, respectively. With Iraq, however, the trend did not hold up with calls to help decreasing slightly from 62 percent to 46 percent, although sympathy did increase from 3 percent to 9 percent. This anomaly, which was based on a Table 8.1  Characterization category findings: positive vs. negative (%) War

Characterization

War

Post-war

World War II (Japan)

Negative Positive

38 23

8 63

Vietnam

Negative Positive

13 63

5 50

Iraq (2003)

Negative Positive

0 100

0 67

Deconstructing the enemy image   129 strong helping category of 62 percent during the actual war itself (compared to just 6 percent for Japan and 4 percent for Vietnam) can be explained by the unique circumstances of that conflict, which quickly shifted rhetorically from a war focused on weapons of mass destruction before its launch to one based on bringing “freedom and democracy” to the Iraqi people (Moses et al. 2012). Table 8.2 illustrates the different proposed actions regarding the people of the other side during and after each of the wars.

Conclusion This chapter aimed to assess whether enemy images are challenged and overcome in the mass media after wars. Through a media content analysis of three case studies and two categories, certain trends were indeed identifiable. In general, the findings show that there is a deconstruction of enemy images, based on the media framing of the other side’s people. Collectively, the case studies clearly demonstrated a shift from negative to positive characterization after the wars had been concluded. Growing positive coverage clearly challenges the notion of an enemy image as a collective category, and as threat to us. Next, the data showed a significant change in calls for violence as a solution and more calls for sympathy and understanding. This appears to reveal greater empathy in relation to the Table 8.2  Our future actions category findings (%) War

Our actions

War

Post-war

World War II (Japan)

Violence is necessary Stop through non-violent means Help them (relief/aid/assistance) Join them, fight together Step back, withdraw Sympathize with them Be cautious

29 12 6 6 6 24 18

0 0 13 8 13 63 4

Vietnam War

Violence is necessary Stop through non-violent means Help them (relief/aid/assistance) Join them, fight together Step back, withdraw Sympathize with them Be cautious

13 4 4 9 43 9 17

4 7 43 7 7 32 0

Iraq War

Violence is necessary Stop through non-violent means Help them (relief/aid/assistance) Join them, fight together Step back, withdraw Sympathize with them Be cautious

12 0 62 12 3 3 9

0 3 46 6 34 9 3

130   B. Bahador former enemy, which is a critical component for rehumanzing and reconciling with them. Another interesting finding was that there was almost no demonizing and dehumanizing coverage of the other side’s people, even during the wars. This, of course, might be explained to some degree by the choice of sample used – the elite New York Times. Had the sample included tabloid newspapers or other forms of media more in line with populist sentiment, such as film, it may have shown more evidence of such framing. Nonetheless, the findings of this study are illuminating. Even with the media source that was selected, notable changes were recorded both before and after the wars. Whether this was based on an active role in which the media independently pushed for this framing, or whether the result of a more passive one in which the media merely reflected a process that was already taking place within the host society and its elite discourses, is beyond the scope of this study. Future research might consider the issue of the effect of the media in this regard in more depth, perhaps incorporating a greater range of sources to determine whether an analysis of more broadly based coverage supports the findings of this chapter. Greater international research might also enhance such research – to see if the media in Japan, Vietnam and Iraq (from our example) also recorded similar shifts in their media framing of the American side.

Notes 1 For the war against Japan, the period begins December 1941 – when war is declared against Japan – and ends with the surrender of Japan in August 1945. The Vietnam War period covered in this study begins in August 1964 – following the Gulf of Tonkin Declaration – and ends with the fall of Saigon in April 1975. For the Iraq War, the period covered starts on March 21, 2003 – when the US attack on Iraq began – and ends at the end of April 2003, the day before US President Bush declared that major combat operations had ended. 2 Each UOA had to be at least one sentence long, in which the people were specifically mentioned or identified (e.g., Japanese people, people of Japan, etc.). Any reference to just the broader term, which could refer to other elements (e.g., Japanese Army, Japanese products, etc.) was excluded. If there was more than one reference to the people in a sentence, it was still counted as a single UOA. Only three UOA per article could be counted, and these were the first three, sequentially, if more than this were present. While the focus was on the specific reference to the people, other parts of the article, at times, needed to be read for an understanding of the context. Additionally, not all categories were referenced in each UOA (as each UOA was based on references to the people on the other side being mentioned, not the inclusion of all categories). Category 1 (character) was mentioned in 19 percent of the UOA during the war phase and 25 percent post-­war; Category 2 (our actions) was mentioned in 47 percent of cases during war and in 50 percent post-­war. 3 These inter-­coder reliability findings results are based on a larger study that looked at the pre-­war, war, and post-­war phases of each conflict. This particular chapter only examines the latter two categories. The reliability findings for the portion included in this study, however, are expected to be similar.

Deconstructing the enemy image   131

References Alexander, Michele G., Shana Levin and P.J. Henry. 2005. “Image Theory, Social Identity, and Social Dominance: Structural Characteristics and Individual Motives Underlying International Images.” Political Psychology, 26 (1): 27–45. Bahador, Babak. 2012. “Rehumanizing Enemy Images: Media Framing from War to Peace” in Karina Korostelina (ed.), Forming a Culture of Peace: Reframing Narratives of Intergroup Relations, Equity and Justice: 195–211. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Bahador, Babak and Scott Walker. 2012. “Did the Iraq war have a body bag effect?” American Review of Politics, 33 (Fall/Winter): 247–70. Bar-­Tel, Daniel. 1990. “Causes and Consequences of Delegitimization: Models of Conflict and Ethnocentrism.” Journal of Social Issues, 46 (1): 65–81. Bar-­Tel, Daniel. 2000. “From Intractable Conflict Through Conflict Resolution to Reconciliation: Psychological Analysis.” Political Psychology, 21(2): 351–65. Baudrillard, Jean. 2001. “The Gulf War Did Not Take Place” in Mark Poster (ed.), Jean Baudrillard: Selected Writings: 231–53. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Baum, Matthew A. and Tim J. Groeling. 2001. War Stories: The Causes and Consequences of Public Views of War. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Berinsky, Adam. 2009. In Time of War: Understanding American Public Opinion from World War II to Iraq. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Bonde, Brent Norby. 2006. Media and Communication in Conflict Prevention and Peace Building: Exploring Strategies for International and UN-­led Conflict Transformation. PhD dissertation, Department of Communication, Journalism and Computer Science, Roskilde University. Online, accessed April 22, 2014, available at: http://diggy.ruc.dk/bitstream/1800/1750/1/Media_and_communication.pdf. Bratic´, Vladimir and Lisa Schirch. 2007. “Why and When to Use the Media for Conflict Prevention and Peacebuilding.” Issue Paper 6, European Centre for Conflict Prevention, December. Online, accessed April 22, 2014, available at: www.sfcg.org/articles/media_for_conflict_prevention.pdf. Brewer, Paul R., Joseph Graf and Lars Willnat. “Priming or Framing: Media Influence on Attitudes Toward Foreign Countries.” International Communication Gazette, 65 (6): 493–508. Carruthers, Susan. 2011. The Media at War, 2nd edition, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Dower, John W. 1986. War Without Mercy: Race and Power in the Pacific War. New York: Pantheon Books. Fiebig-­Von Hase, Raghild. 1997. “Introduction” in Ragnhild Fiebig-­Von Hase and Ursula Lehmkul (eds), Enemy Images in American History: 1–42. Providence: Berghahm Books. Gayer, Carmen, Shiri Landman, Eran Halperin and Daniel Bar-­Tel. 2009. “Overcoming Psychological Barriers to Peaceful Conflict Resolution: The Role of Arguments about Losses.” Journal of Conflict Resolution, 53 (6): 951–75. Goldstein, Joshua S. and Jon C.W. Pevehouse. 2007. International Relations, 7th edition. USA: Pearson Longman. Hallin, Daniel C. 1986. The Uncensored War: the Media and Vietnam. New York: Oxford University Press. Halpern, Jodi and Harvey M. Weinstein. 2004. “Rehumanizing the Other: Empathy and Reconciliation.” Human Rights Quarterly, 26 (3): 561–83.

132   B. Bahador Holsti, Ole R. 1967. “The Belief System and National Images: A Case Study.” Journal of Conflict Resolution, 4 (1): 1–24. Janoff-­Bulman, Ronnie and Amelie Werther. 2008. “The Social Psychology of Respect: Implications for Delegitimization and Reconciliation” in Nadler, Arie, Malloy, Thomas and Jeffrey D. Fisher (eds), Social Psychology of Intergroup Reconciliation: From Violent Conflict to Peaceful Co-­Existence: 145–70. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jervis, Robert. 1976. Perceptions and Misperceptions in International Relations. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Keen, Sam. 1988. Faces of the Enemy: Reflections of the Hostile Imagination. San Francisco: Harper & Row. Mandelzis, Lea. 2003. “The changing image of the enemy in the news discourse of Israeli newspapers, 1993–1994.” Conflict and Communication Online, 2 (1): 1–12. Merskin, Debra. 2004. “The Construction of Arabs as Enemies: Post-­September 11 Discourse of George W. Bush.” Mass Communication and Society, 7 (2): 157–75. Moses, Jeremy, Babak Bahador and Tessa Wright. 2011. “The Iraq War and the Responsibility to Protect: Uses, Abuses and Consequences for the Future of Humanitarian Intervention.” Journal of Intervention and Statebuilding, 5 (4): 347–67. Ottosen, Rune. 1995. “Enemy Images and the Journalistic Process.” Journal of Peace Research, 32 (1): 97–112. Rodriguez, Roberto. 2000. “Forgiveness as Part of the Rehumanization Process.” Peace Review, 12 (2): 325–8. Ross, Mark H. 2004. “Ritual and the Politics of Reconciliation” in Yaacov Bar-­ Siman-Tov (ed.), From Conflict Resolution to Reconciliation: 197–223. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Spillman, Kurt R. and Kati Spillmann. 1997. “Some Sociobiological and Psychological Aspects of ‘Images of The Enemy’ ” in Fiebig-­Von Hase, Ragnhild and Ursula Lehmkul (eds), Enemy Images in American History: 43–64. Providence: Berghahm Books. UNESCO. 1945. “The UNESCO Constitution.” UNESCO, November 16. Online, accessed April 22, 2014, available at: www.unesco.org/new/en/unesco/about­us/who-­we-are/history/constitution/. von Clausewitz, Carl. 1989. On War, edited and translated by Howard, Michael and Peter Paret. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Waltz, Kenneth. 1979. Theory of International Politics. Long Grove: Waveland Press, 1979. Wolfsfeld, Gadi. 1997. Media and Political Conflict: News from the Middle East. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wolfsfeld, Gadi. 2004. Media and the Path to Peace. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Part II

Intervening for peace

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9 Still caught in the crossfire? UN peace operations and their information capacities Ingrid A. Lehmann

Introduction When the United Nations launched its first peacekeeping operations in the 1950s, the concept of using third party military units to create conditions for peace was in its infancy. Inevitably, media reporting of those first peace operations was scanty. Public impressions of these efforts at conflict resolution were covered by relatively few print media and only some television news programs. However, conflicts in the 1990s in the Balkans, in Somalia and in Rwanda occurred nearly simultaneously and attracted 24/7 instant news coverage around the world. UN peace operations which were enmeshed in these new wars were thus propelled into the limelight. The media was systematically used by parties to the conflict to propagate hatred and violence, putting international peacekeepers increasingly on the defensive. Consequently, UN operations deployed in these conflicts received much unfavorable publicity and were, in more ways than one, caught in the crossfire (Lehmann 1999, 2009; Alleyne 2003; Loewenberg 2006; Lindley 2007; Abusaad 2008; Egleder 2012). Finally, the United Nations itself had to recognize the power of communication as a critical support for its peacekeeping operations. Beginning in 2000 a new peacekeeping doctrine evolved following the issue of the Panel on United Nations Peace Operations – the so-­called “Brahimi Report” – which also addressed the question of public information capacity. Simultaneously, substantial reforms of the UN’s own Information Department (DPI) were undertaken by senior management under Secretary-­General Kofi Annan. These reforms resulted in a series of policy papers and guidance notes which established a strategic approach to managing information during peacekeeping and post-­conflict peacebuilding. Throughout this process, which lasted several years, strategic communication was the declared goal of the UN in which the concept of peace communication was implicit rather than explicit. In order to analyze the effectiveness of the new communication policy this chapter will look at three peacekeeping operations where the UN’s ability to build public support and respond to criticism was tested:

136   I.A. Lehmann 1 the UN operation in Kosovo: “Peace Journalism” at work? 2 the UN’s role in the cholera crisis in Haiti (2010–2013): failed scandal-­ management 3 sexual abuse and exploitation by UN peacekeepers in the Congo. The comparative brevity of this chapter will not allow a comprehensive analysis of the public dimensions of those peacekeeping operations. By selecting critical incidents or crises for the missions concerned we will look at how these challenging situations were handled, and to what effect.

1  The UN operation in Kosovo: “Peace Journalism” at work? The literature on the conflict in Kosovo is substantial: from the time of the NATO bombing of Serbia following the aggression against Albanian Kosovars in 1999, to the unilateral declaration of Kosovo’s independence in 2008, numerous journalists (Goff 1999) and political analysts (Mertus 1999; Mertus and Thompson 2002) have analyzed the conflict and the attempts to manage it. Mertus and Thompson have primarily focused on issues of media development, and have analyzed the roles of the UN and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) in regulating hate speech, developing codes of conducts for the media, and setting standards for freedom of the press in Kosovo. Both organizations had far-­reaching mandates regarding the regulation of hate speech and in 2005 supervised a Kosovar multi-­ethnic press council. Kosovo – occupation or liberation? To step back: Kosovo was a semi-­autonomous province within Serbia, a place characterized by conflicting claims and recurrent violent strife by ethnic Serb and Albanian Kosovars over several centuries. As Julie Mertus pointed out in her background study of Kosovo psychology, “People of the region pattern their behavior around what they believe to be true, based not on what some outside ‘expert’ writes but on their own personal experiences and the myths perpetuated by the local media and other popular storytellers” (Mertus 1999: 9). Consequently, outsiders such as the United Nations and other third parties coming into the country were treated with immense suspicion and, simultaneously, their presence raised unrealistic expectations. For example, the newly arrived chief of staff of the UN mission in Kosovo was asked by a woman in Pristina in 2000: “When will the UN’s occupation of Kosovo end?” Another anecdote is related by Simon Chesterman – in his study of UN transitional administrations and state-­building – regarding the name of the UN’s operation, “UNMIK.” According to Chesterman it was discovered that anmik, in the dialect of Albanian spoken in Kosovo, meant “enemy” – so the UN had to scramble to issue instructions to pronounce the acronym “oon-­mik” (Chesterman 2005: 235).

UN peace operations, information capacity   137 The question of how the UN’s operation in Kosovo was perceived by Kosovars is therefore significant for estimating the effectiveness of its communication with its main target audience: the people of Kosovo. This issue of public support for the peace process is the final test for the question of how effective communication can help build peace. In the case of Kosovo, the study undertaken by Julia Egleder (2012) provides the most comprehensive analysis of the UN’s public information materials produced and distributed in the country between 1999 and 2008. Egleder uses the methodological criteria established by proponents of “Peace Journalism” (Kempf 2007; Lynch and McGoldrick 2005) and seeks to determine the extent to which UNMIK’s media effort contributed to reconciliation and de-­escalation in post-­war Kosovo. She asks specifically: (1) did the content of its media products match the criteria of “Peace Journalism”? (2) were the consumers of UNMIK media products more predisposed toward inter-­ ethnic cooperation and reconciliation than non-­consumers? Egleder analyzes the content of three media products issued by UNMIK in the period 2001–2008: the print magazine Focus Kosovo, the radio program UNMIK on Air and six different television programs categorizing the content of over 1,000 articles or programs (Egleder 2012: 86–102). She finds that roughly a third of UNMIK’s news and information outputs matched the characteristics of Peace Journalism. The subject most frequently covered by the UNMIK media was inter-­ethnic cooperation, such as “multi-­ethnic youth centers, the interethnic cooperation sparked by an earthquake or the micro-­finance enterprise FINCA, where employees from different ethnic backgrounds worked together” (Egleder 2012: 127). While crediting the UNMIK information team with a high degree of professionalism and dedication in the early phases of the mission between 1999 and 2003, she agrees with Loewenberg’s criticism of the absence of a coherent information strategy and the lack of evaluation procedures for UNMIK’s media products. She notes a deterioration of UNMIK information products beginning in 2004, and after that sees only a lacklustre effort at communicating with local audiences. Spring 2004 – things fall apart In March 2004 Kosovo experienced the worst crisis of the post-­war period: after local media reports incited crowds in the town of Mitrovica to violence, the ensuing unrest led to the destruction of religious sites, cost 19 people their lives, left 900 injured and 4,000 homeless. The process of reconciliation and the project of multi-­ethnic state-­building thus experienced a significant setback. UNMIK staff were shocked by the level of violence. Being unable to respond appropriately, there was much soul-­searching among international organizations (Hopkinson 2004). UN Secretary-­General Kofi Annan asked Kai Eide of Norway to review the situation in Kosovo, and it was reported in November 2004 that UNMIK had

138   I.A. Lehmann “failed to read the mood in the population and to understand the depth of the dissatisfaction of the majority and the vulnerabilities of the minorities” (Letter from the Secretary-­General, 2004). A new conflict cycle had begun in Kosovo which showed the UN again caught in the crossfire of public opinion. In the following months, KFOR and UNMIK police were beefed up and Kosovo status negotiations were intensified at the highest levels – UNMIK however never regained its credibility in the country. Negative views of UNMIK were reflected in public opinion polls conducted in the country by the Kosovar Riinvest Institute, and published by the UN Development Program in Kosovo as Early Warning Report: Kosovo. In November 2002, when the first polls were conducted, 63 percent of Kosovars were still satisfied with the work of UNMIK (KFOR got close to 90 percent in that year) – but by November 2003 UNMIK’s approval rating had fallen to less than 30 percent, and by July 2004 it was close to zero percent (with KFOR still scoring 80 percent support). The authors of the studies see various reasons for this calamitous decline: the political disagreements between Kosovar authorities and UNMIK, the arrest by the UN of former KLA members as war criminals, and what was seen as UN indulgence for parallel Kosovo Serb authorities supported by Belgrade (Egleder 2012: 235–8). UNMIK as scapegoat for frustrated aspirations This brief review of the UN’s Kosovo experience shows that a professional, well-­equipped information effort (as UNMIK was in its early stages), with a competent staff of seasoned journalists and media access to several print, radio and television media, was not able to counter hate media run by spoilers of the peace process who managed to manipulate the sentiments of local populations against each other and a third party. As often happens during a protracted conflict without a clear political perspective for its resolution, the third party mediator (i.e., the UN) can easily become a scapegoat for the pent-­up frustrations of local communities. While KFOR was still seen by Albanian Kosovars as a “protector” force that repelled the Serbian arch-­ enemy, the civilian organization UNMIK – with its cumbersome decision-­ making processes and perceived aloofness was not able to regain credibility once it was seen to have outstayed its welcome. As far as UNMIK media products were concerned, Egleder observes “that UNMIK featured well-­ researched peace journalism in its media products, while KFOR relied on a very superficial reporting, largely lacking the characteristics of peace journalism” (Egleder 2012: 283). Her conclusion is that, in the case of the UN’s operation in Kosovo, messages transmitted through the media only had a limited effect on peacebuilding and reconciliation in Kosovo (Egleder 2012: 291–2). This reflects as much on the continuing shortcomings of Kosovar media and their continuing ethnic predilections as on the inability of the United Nations to change local media and attitudes.

UN peace operations, information capacity   139

2  The UN’s role in the cholera crisis in Haiti (2010–2013) The United Nations has had, with some interruptions, a peacekeeping presence in Haiti since 1994, when UNMIH (United Nations Mission in Haiti) took over from the US-­led multinational force “Operation Uphold Democracy” – which was launched to restore President Aristide, the democratically elected president of Haiti who had been overthrown by a military junta in 1991 (Lehmann 1998). UNMIH’s primary task was to assist the government of Haiti in maintaining a secure and stable environment. Following that intervention of 1994, UNMIH inherited from the US military a “Military Information Support Team” (MIST) whose stated goal was “to create an information environment in support of US objectives to restore democracy to Haiti, to allow President Aristide to present a message of reconciliation to his constituents” with the intended side-­effect that these information efforts would arrest the flow of Haitian migrants to the United States and other neighbouring countries (Farmer 1995). Following the renewed outbreak of fighting in large parts of the country in 2004, the UN Security Council authorized another multinational interim force, followed by the UN Peacekeeping Force MINUSTAH (Missions des Nations Unies pour la Stabilisation en Haiti) which was, inter alia, tasked with the restoration and maintenance of the rule of law and public safety in Haiti, and to help carry out free and fair elections in the country. By 2009 observers saw “reason for optimism,” as partial senatorial elections had been held and “Haiti remained stable throughout the year” (Center on International Cooperation 2010). Alas, a devastating earthquake struck Haiti on January 12, 2010, causing immense destruction and a massive loss of life. According to Oxfam, more than 220,000 people were killed, 300,000 were injured, and over a million left homeless. The United Nations mission in Haiti suffered a large loss of life among its staff that day: 102 staff, the head of mission and his deputy were killed, and MINUSTAH’s headquarters was totally destroyed (MacFarquar 2010). A large and highly visible relief effort began, headed by former President Bill Clinton who, as UN envoy for Haiti, was also charged with overseeing international relief and reconstruction in the devastated country. Ten months later, Haiti health authorities reported an outbreak of a diarrheal illness which turned out to be cholera, and which spread rapidly. As cholera had not been seen in Haiti for a century, and with the source of the outbreak unclear, the news triggered panic and confusion among the population. Suspicion among Haitians grew that the source was a tributary of the Artibonite River – where UN military peacekeepers from Nepal were stationed. Initially MINUSTAH officials denied the possibility that the base had been the source of the epidemic, but several journalists who had visited the base found inconsistencies between UN press statements and actual conditions in the Nepalese camp (Katz 2013: 217–44). Not surprisingly this led to further accusations and charges of a cover-­up.

140   I.A. Lehmann Damage control goes wrong The attempt by local MINUSTAH spokespeople, and by Ban Ki-­Moon’s spokesman in New York, to control this rapidly evolving news story only served to fuel the rumours circulating among the Haitian population. Opinion in Haiti is usually formed by word-­of-mouth, the teledjol [mouth channel] – rumours form rapidly and are difficult to dispel due in part to the Voodoo tradition. Jonathan Katz writes: As word of the cholera epidemic spread, teledjol lit up. Some said they heard the sickness had begun when a UN soldier emptied a latrine into a water source. Others swore a white UN helicopter was seen dumping black powder into the Artibonite – shades of Haitian folk sorcery, where a kou d poud, or powder attack, is said to cause death or zombification. (Katz 2013: 224) When cholera set foot in Port-­au-Prince the disease spread rapidly due to unsanitary conditions and a lack of fresh water supplies in the camps set up for Haitians displaced by the earthquake. In the first half of November 2010 media reporting was contradictory, with Jonathan Katz and a few other journalists insisting on a direct link between cholera and the UN base, and Haitian public opinion inclined to focus on a major conspiracy. Katz wrote that “those seeking to protect the UN – the WHO and CDC, sympathetic journalists, aid workers and diplomats who depended on the UN for protection on the ground” claimed that it was a “blame game” (McNeil 2010). A health worker asked Katz: “Do you realize you could start a civil war?” Katz, for his part, wrote, that “weeks of watching the mission stonewall bolstered most Haitians’ already strong belief that the UN had imported cholera. By refusing to engage, the investigators ceded inquiry to agitators and xenophobes” (Katz 2013: 239). By mid-­November the death toll from cholera had passed 1,000 people and attacks against Nepalese UN soldiers began: several protesters were killed and half a dozen MINUSTAH soldiers injured. In the meantime a French investigation team had carried out its own, supposedly confidential, investigation – which found that the source of the infection was indeed the UN base. This information promptly leaked out and led to further accusations of deliberate stonewalling by the UN. MINUSTAH had been a target for complaints, demonstrations and violent unrest before, but now it became the main culprit for all that had not happened in the country following the earthquake. Unfortunately it took nearly two more months before Secretary-­General Ban Ki-­Moon appointed an independent expert panel to investigate the cholera outbreak, in January 2011. The experts reported back in May, and confirmed that the source of the cholera outbreak had been a tributary of the Artibonite River – with strains of a South Asian type of cholera found – and that the Nepalese soldiers

UN peace operations, information capacity   141 were the likely source. They insisted, however, that the outbreak “was caused by the confluence of circumstances” and was “not the fault of, or deliberate action of a group or individual” (UN 2011: 29). Jonathan Katz commented: “The panel was missing the smoking gun, and in this sense, the cover-­up had worked” (Katz 2013: 243). The terrible saga continues International criticism and local protests against MINUSTAH continued throughout 2011 and the story was kept alive as the number of deaths mounted in Haiti and in the neighbouring Dominican Republic. A group of Haitian and American lawyers filed a suit on behalf of 5,000 cholera victims’ families, calling for the UN to apologize and pay reparation. In 2012 UN Secretary-­General Ban Ki-­Moon expressed his “profound sympathy for the terrible suffering caused by the cholera epidemic” and launched an initiative for the elimination of cholera. He also appointed Paul Farmer, a respected health expert with deep knowledge of the country, as “Special Adviser for Community-­based Medicine and Lessons from Haiti.” The UN started quick impact projects (QIPs) and spent US$120 million to fight the epidemic in 2012, but the problem was not going away. Local and international media continued to expound the issue of UN culpability. The New York Times editorial of May 12, 2012 was headed “Haiti’s Cholera Crisis,” and expounded the opinion that “The United Nations bears heavy responsibility for the outbreak: its own peacekeepers introduced the disease through sewage leaks at one of their encampments,” before going on to accuse the UN of not doing enough to eliminate the disease from the island (New York Times Ed. Board 2012). By February 2013 Ban Ki-­Moon again felt compelled to state that the Haiti cholera victims’ compensation claims were “not receivable” under the Privileges and Immunities Convention of the UN. This fuelled further outrage in Haiti, and among some NGOs, as the cholera crisis continued. In the three years after the outbreak 650,000 people were infected and 8,300 died. The New York Times again felt compelled to write on October 12, 2013 that the epidemic was a man-­made disaster for which “the United Nations has refused to accept blame [even] though the evidence of its peacekeepers’ recklessness is overwhelming,” and argued that the UN should now “acknowledge responsibility, apologize to Haitians and give the victims the means to file claims against it for the harm they say has been done to them” (New York Times Ed. Board 2013). The saga continues and there is no end in sight to the tragedy. A bad reputation – but politically indispensible On October 10, 2013, MINUSTAH’s mandate was unanimously renewed by the Security Council for another year, an action which shows how the major powers regard the UN peacekeeping presence in Haiti as essential

142   I.A. Lehmann to maintaining the shaky “stability” of the country. As is so often the case, the UN is tasked with an impossible mandate in a country with little hope of long-­term recovery. Disparaged as it may be, MINUSTAH continues to struggle along. Stonewalling the story of the source of the cholera strain in October 2010 led to a public relations nightmare for the UN’s press office which lasted for over three years. Public opinion in Haiti, and internationally, has been outraged, but in the final analysis it is not consulted when the Security Council extends MINUSTAH’s mandate year after year. When communication fails to convince people on the ground that a peacekeeping presence is necessary, the peacekeepers themselves – civilian and military – are caught in the crossfire of international politics.

3  Sexual abuse and exploitation by UN peacekeepers in the Congo The United Nations had its first peacekeeping presence in the Congo in the period 1960–1964; it returned to the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) in 1999 when it was hoped a shaky ceasefire would pave the way to end ten years of war. A fragmented country of 65 million inhabitants, in a territory the size of Western Europe, the DRC did not have a national road network, postal or telephone services. The UN operation there was to become the largest it ever operated, and at the height of operations well over 20,000 soldiers from more than 50 countries were deployed. Decades of war had had a devastating effect on the Great Lakes region of Africa. The Rwanda genocide, and the continuous fighting of 1994, drove Hutu refugees and the “genocidaires” out of Rwanda and into north-­eastern Congo, leading to serious destabilization of the region. Furthermore, there was fighting with the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and its infamous leader Joseph Kony – who committed numerous atrocities and mass killings and forcefully recruited thousands of child soldiers. After 2012 another front opened in the DRC – the M23 rebels briefly occupying the town of Goma in eastern Congo. Hundreds of thousands lost their lives in the continuing conflicts, with women and children suffering most. In 2009 the UN reported that 8,000 women had been raped in the country; in 2010, Margaret Wallstrom, the UN’s Special Representative on Sexual Violence in Conflict, called the DRC the “Rape capital of the world” (BBC News 2010). In the Congo, the UN set up one of the more successful ventures in radio broadcasting – Radio Okapi – in partnership with the Swiss Fondation Hirondelle which had also briefly worked with the UN in Kosovo. Radio Okapi started to broadcast in February 2002, and, according to Susan Manuel (a senior UN information officer) “it has reunified the country through the air waves” (Manuel 2004). Radio Okapi partners with 28 radio stations throughout the country, thus reaching some of the more isolated regions of the Congo. Although it continues to receive enthusiastic

UN peace operations, information capacity   143 support from foreign journalists and observers, and despite being awarded the Free Media Award by the International Press Institute (IPI) in 2010, Radio Okapi’s effect on peacebuilding and reconciliation in the Congo is difficult to measure – as evaluators form the US Institute of Peace have pointed out (Arsenault et al. 2011). Gender-­based transgressions – hurdles to peace communication Unfortunately, the record of UN peacekeeping forces in the Congo has been very mixed. Allegations of UN soldiers using child prostitutes appeared in 1999; charges of this nature continued over the years and hit a high point in 2005–2006 (Notar 2006). Many troop-­contributing countries tended to treat sexual exploitation as “unavoidable side-­effects” of operating in war zones: “boys will be boys.” In August 2006 the UN admitted that “at least 300 UN peacekeeping staff faced sexual exploitation inquiries since 2004, resulting in the dismissal of 17 staff and the forced repatriation of 161 others” (UN News 2006). This problem continued to plague UN peacekeeping in the Congo and exposed the UN Secretariat to severe criticism from human rights activists, feminists and child advocates. While the UN’s Department of Peacekeeping Operations at that time reported that some member states “have conducted investigations against their own nationals as a result of the allegations, leading to a range of further penalties, including jail sentences, dismissal from their armed forces or demotion in rank,” it remains problematic that other member states hide behind the privileges and immunities of their soldiers when on UN peacekeeping duties. However, at management level, codes of conduct for peacekeepers were elaborated by the UN Secretariat – which in 2010 resulted in the directive Gender Equality in UN Peacekeeping Operations. This policy stipulates, inter alia, that missions should seek an effective security presence that incorporates protection for women, including from sexual and gender-­based violence; ensures that women are consulted in all information-­gathering and priority-­setting and decision-­making processes; . . . and ensures adherence to the highest standards of professional standards and discipline. (United Nations 2010, 4) It must be remembered, however, that the issue of disciplining soldiers remains in the hands of their own national authorities – in this regard the UN can only call on the cooperation of contributor states. The UN Security Council had already, in 2000, recognized that one of the solutions to this widespread problem was a better gender balance among its peacekeeping forces (UN Security Council 2000). But recruitment of women in peacekeeping operations has proven difficult. A statistical report

144   I.A. Lehmann prepared by the UN Department of Peacekeeping operations in 2010 – for the tenth anniversary of this landmark Resolution 1325 – shows that the number of female military observers rose from none to 96, which still only represents 4 percent of the total number; among troops it rose from none to 2.4 percent; and among UN police numbers it rose to 8.7 percent from none in 2000.

Conclusion – lessons learned? When compared to the 1990s, the United Nations has seen significant progress in the development of peacekeeping doctrine, including the training of its staff and the elaboration of codes of conduct. In times of crisis – and peacekeeping operations often are permanently in crisis – much of what has been so painfully learned in training at UN headquarters in New York, Geneva and Vienna, is brushed aside by the sheer force of circumstance. In looking at our three case studies it was found that principles of strategic communication and standards of Peace Journalism were not easily applied on the ground. In the case of the Kosovo mission, UNMIK appeared to fulfil the role of whipping boy for problems not solved at the strategic level of the Security Council. When faced with a reassertion of the retrogressive forces of ethnic media, it had to struggle to regain the high ground through more rigorous monitoring and self-­regulation. Political and cultural realities worked against the multi-­ethnic society advocated by the UN and other peace activists since Albanian Kosovars were working toward a unilateral declaration of independence which implied the eventual exclusion of the Serbian minority. In Haiti, the UN’s image problems after 2010 appeared to be largely self-­inflicted. When the cholera scandal broke, UN officials spent more time stonewalling, denying and procrastinating than acting. As a reult the UN received much justified criticism in both the local and the international press. The UN continued to be “caught in the crossfire,” some certainly of its own making. In Congo, when peacekeepers came to be seen as predators, there was and there is still little chance of repairing the damage with clever use of communication tools. However, serious attempts have been made by the UN peacekeeping department since 2010 to rein in those soldiers and civilians who have used and abused their positions vis-­à-vis local children, women and men. In the case of Congo, there is hope that a new peace agreement with the rebel group M23, crafted in October 2013, will hold. In November 2013 international media reporting on the Congo tended toward being optimistic (French 2013; Mittelstaedt 2013). When the UN began to deploy its most recent peacekeeping operation in Mali it appeared that some lessons had been learned from the cholera tragedy in Haiti. Soldiers were screened for infectious diseases and the

UN peace operations, information capacity   145 environmental impact of the mission was taken into account. This is reflected in the mandate of the UN Security Council for the mission MINUSMA where the UN is called upon to “consider the environmental impacts of operations” and manage them appropriately (Davidson 2013). The question asked at the outset of this chapter was whether the UN now more effectively employs the strategic and tactical information tools at its disposal. This cannot easily be answered. Doctrine has clearly developed which should permit the use of professional information capacities from the outset of an operation. Nevertheless, realities on the ground combined with bureaucratic resistance and a lack of understanding at senior mission level of the vital need for public information in peacekeeping, continues to inhibit peace communication by the United Nations in the field. As evidenced in the three case studies presented here, UN public information in peace operations falls short of the high-­minded goals set by authors advocating Peace Journalism. Individual journalists covering the UN occasionally can, and will, employ some of these practices. UN Secretariat officials often are not aware of the principles of Peace Journalism and follow guidelines set by the Secretary-­General and their individual departments. Those guidelines are often the result of internal power struggles and carefully crafted so as “not to offend.” While all UN officials are bound by the principles set out in the UN Charter – which holds peaceful cooperation among states as its highest priority – the prominent requirement set out in the UNESCO preamble that “it is in the minds of men that the defenses of peace must be constructed” has not yet suffused the public information policies of all international organizations. Nevertheless, the UN is a highly political actor with a unique legitimacy in the arena of conflict management. Whether one likes the UN or not, it is often the only available international player on the ground able to assist in impossible situations of disaster, conflict and civil strife. As we have seen in the case studies of Kosovo, Haiti and Congo the syndrome of “scapegoating” (i.e., blaming the third party intervener for everything that goes wrong) is a pattern commonly affecting countries in conflict. Exaggerated public expectations of what an international peace mission can achieve in a short period of time is a major challenge for peacekeepers: realistic goals and effective communication with local populations can help in improving prospects for long-­term conflict management.

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146   I.A. Lehmann Arsenault, Amelie, Sheldon Himelfarb and Susan Abbott. 2011. “Evaluating Media in Conflict Countries: Toward Developing Common Principles and a Community of Practice.” Peaceworks, 77. Washington, DC: US Institute of Peace. Online, accessed March 10, 2013, available at: www.usip.org/sites/default/files/ resources/PW77.pdf. BBC News. 2010. “UN official calls DR Congo ‘rape capital of the world’.” Online, accessed November 2, 2013, available at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/ africa/8650112.stm. Center on International Cooperation. 2010. Annual Review of Global Peace Operations 2010. Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Chesterman, Simon. 2005. You, the People: The United Nations, Transitional Administration and State-­Building. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Davidson, Matthew. 2013. “Mali: Are the Blue Helmets Going Green?” ThinkAfricaPress, 4 November. Online, accessed March 10, 2014, available at: http:// thinkafricapress.com/mali/what-­impact-will-­minusma-have-­environment. Egleder, Julia. 2012. Peace through Peace Media?: The media activities of the international missions (KFOR and UNMIK) and their contribution to peacebuilding in Kosovo from 1999 till 2008. Münster: LIT-­Verlag. Farmer, Paul. 1995. “The Significance of Haiti” in Haiti: Dangerous Crossroads, edited by NACLA: 217–30. Boston: South End Press. French, Howard. 2013. “Banishing Congo’s Ghosts.” New York Times, November 17. Hopkinson, Bryan. 2004. “Soul-­searching on Kosovo – March violence poses challenge to international community.” OSCE Magazine, May 21–23. Goff, Peter. 1999. The Kosovo: News and Propaganda War. Vienna: International Press Institute. Katz, Jonathan M. 2013. The Big Truck That Went By: How the World Came to Save Haiti and Left Behind a Disaster. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Kempf, Wilhelm. 2007. “Peace Journalism: A tightrope walk between advocacy journalism and constructive conflict coverage.” Conflict & Communication Online, 6 (2). Online, accessed March 31, 2014, available at: www.cco.regener-­online. de/2007_2/pdf/kempf.pdf. Lehmann, Ingrid. 1998. Public Information Campaigns in Peacekeeping: The UN Experience in Haiti. The Pearson Papers No. 1. Clementsport: The Canadian Peacekeeping Press. Lehmann, Ingrid A. 1999. Peacekeeping and Public Information: Caught in the Crossfire. London: Cass. Lehmann, Ingrid A. 2009. Managing Public Information in a Mediation Process. Washington: US Institute of Peace, Peacemaker’s Toolkit. Lindley, Dan. 2007. Promoting Peace with Information: Transparency as a Tool of Security Regimes. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Loewenberg, Shira. 2006. United Nations Media Strategy: Recommendations for Improvement in Peacekeeping Operations. Case Study: United Nations Interim Mission in Kosovo. New York: United Nations Best Practices. Lynch, Jake and Annabel McGoldrick. 2005. Peace Journalism. London: Hawthorn Press. MacFarquar, Neil. 2010. “U.N. Honors the 101 who served and died in Haiti.” New York Times, March 10. Manuel, Susan. 2004. “UN media and post-­conflict peace-­building.” Article prepared for UNESCO seminar entitled “Support to Media in Violent Conflict and in

UN peace operations, information capacity   147 Countries of Transition.” May 3. Online, accessed March 31, 2014, available at: http://portal.unesco.org/ci/en/ev.php-­U RL_ID=15499&URL_DO=DO_ TOPIC&URL_SECTION=201.html. McNeil, Donald G. 2010. “Cholera’s Second Fever: An Urge to Blame.” New York Times, November 21. Mertus, Julie A. 1999. How Myths and Truths Started a War. Berkeley: University of California Press. Mertus, Julie A. and Mark Thompson. 2002. “The Learning Curve: Media Development in Kosovo” in Monroe E. Price and Mark Thompson (eds), Forging Peace: Intervention, Human Rights and the Management of Media Space: 259–86. Indianapolis: University of Indiana Press. Mittelstaedt, Juliane von. 2013. “Pacifist at War: An Unlikely Leader’s Success in Congo.” Spiegel Online, November 4. Online, accessed March 10, 2014, available at: www.spiegel.de/international/world/german-­p acifist-leads-­u n-force-­i ncongo-­a-933381.html. New York Times Editorial Board. 2012. “Haiti’s Cholera Crisis.” New York Times, May 12. New York Times Editorial Board. 2013. “Haiti’s Imported Disaster.” New York Times, October 12. Notar, Susan A. 2006. “Peacekeepers as Perpetrators: Sexual Exploitation and Abuse of Women and Children in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.” American University Journal of Gender, Social Policy & the Law, 14 (2): 413–29. United Nations. 2004. “Letter dated 6 August from the Secretary-­General addressed to the President of the Security Council.” S/2004/932. Annex 1, 3. Online, accessed March 10, 2014, available at: www.securitycouncilreport.org/ atf/cf/%7B65BFCF9B-6D27–4E9C-8CD3-CF6E4FF96FF9%7D/kos%20 S2004%20932.pdf. United Nations. 2010. “Policy on Gender Operations in UN Peacekeeping Operations.” United Nations Gender Directive, July 26. Online, accessed March 10, 2014, available at: www.un.org/en/peacekeeping/documents/gender_directive_2010.pdf. United Nations. 2011. Cholera Report 2011, May 4. Online, accessed March 10, 2014, available at: www.un.org/News/dh/infocus/haiti/UN-­cholera-report-­final.pdf. United Nations General Assembly/Security Council. 2000. “Report of the Panel for United Nations Peace Operations: ‘Brahimi-­Report’.” Online, accessed March 31, 2014, available at: www.un.org/en/ga/search/view_doc.asp?symbol=A/55/305. United Nations News. 2006. “At Least 300 UN Peacekeeping Staff Faced Sexual Exploitation Inquiries Since 2004.” August 28. Online, accessed September 12, 2006, available at: http://intranet.dpko.un.org/dpko/pages/home.aspx. United Nations Security Council. 2000. UN Security Council Resolution 1325, October 31. Online, accessed March 31, 2014, available at: www.un.org/womenwatch/ods/S-­RES-1325(2000)-E.pdf.

10 Beyond journalism Expanding the use of media in peacebuilding Vladimir Bratic´

Media development in conflict zones of the last 20 years has been dominated by a comprehensive reform in the sector of news reporting and journalism. Journalism reform in conflict zones has been extensive in scope (Rhode 2005), diversified in practice (Howard et al. 2003) and remains on the top of the agenda among policy-­makers (Cary 2010) and academics (Kempf 2008). However, in the 1990s it became clear that media other than journalism had a potential to assist in conflict resolution for a number of reasons. Though very influential, news programs occupy a small fraction of the 24-hour media cycle. On the other hand, sports, scripted dramatic content, musical programs (known collectively as entertainment programming) are the kind of content that is prevalent, in terms of quantity, in most media systems. Entertainment programs appeal to wider demographic sets (e.g., women, youth, the uneducated, etc.) and thus claim a larger audience. Additionally, entertainment is appealing because it is suggestive; it allows for a portrayal of moral conflicts and nudges the audience to side with the protagonist. In such scenarios, bias toward a positive or beneficial outcome is not only acceptable but also desirable. Entertainment can promote peaceable and ethical outcomes without losing its credibility, thus making it appealing to peacebuilders. Furthermore, media other than journalism had previously demonstrated their ability to influence social change in societies around the world. In the field of international development, media already addressed most critical social issues in the world’s most prominent crises (e.g., eradicating poverty, disease prevention, family planning, etc.). For example, popular entertainment programs and targeted communication campaigns in Africa, Asia and Latin America raised the awareness about AIDS prevention, farming improvements, literacy and the use of contraceptives for family planning (Piotrow et al. 1997). This field, known as development communication (DC), emerged from a pragmatic interdisciplinary integration of communication research and development studies. Defined as a “planned use of strategies and processes of communication aimed at achieving development” (Bessette and Rajasunderam 1996), this field

Beyond journalism   149 became a distinctive way to promote positive social change in the underdeveloped world. Though the idea has been known about for centuries, the practical application of media use for social change has become prominent since the 1960s (Frasier and Estrada 1998). While several media approaches and strategies are frequently used in DC, two practices – entertainment education (or “edutainment”) and social marketing – are the best-­known examples of strategic use of communication in pursuit of socially beneficial advancement. Entertainment-­ education promotes social development by placing educational messages into popular entertainment formats like soap operas or reality television. Along the same lines, social marketing uses commercial marketing process and techniques to promote social change through multimedia campaigns like the anti-­smoking or AIDS prevention efforts. Both of these media practices have found an application in the changing of beliefs, attitudes and behaviors of people in conflict (Piotrow et al. 1997). Both practices are distinctively different from journalism because of the way they use the media as a tool in pursuit of an intended goal or objective.

Entertainment-­education in theory and peacebuilding practice A major feature of entertainment-­education that distinguishes it from other media practices is its reliance on, and skilful application of, communication theory. At the center of entertainment-­education practice is the social learning theory of Albert Bandura (1986) – which suggests that people learn from modeling behavior they observe in others and in the media. It is safe to say that media is an environment for the formation of cultural narratives, images and perceptions – both good and bad (Severin and Tankard 1992). Therefore, it is hard to imagine a more appropriate venue than the media, where conflicts over narratives, images and perceptions can be transformed in a non-­violent fashion. Based on previous research of media effects it is understood that the media does not have the power to directly inject a certain behavior into people’s minds (Klapper 1960; Katz and Lazarsfeld 1955); but equally the effects of the media are neither minimal nor negligible. While the media rarely acts as a sole agent of change, it often serves as a prominent factor in complex social systems that induce change (Severin and Tankard 1992) by influencing people’s beliefs, attitudes and opinions over time (Hovland et al. 1949). It is responsible for creating the symbolic sphere of our existence (Gerbner et al. 1986) within which the public’s thoughts and attitudes are cultivated. But when it comes to entertainment programs, enhanced impact comes from the additional advantages of such content. Entertainment shows are effective mostly because they are well-­told stories that fully entice the audience (Slater and Rouner 2002). According to the elaboration likelihood

150   V. Bratic´ model of persuasion (Petty and Cacioppo 1981), sustainable persuasion occurs when people are highly motivated and cognitively engaged in the process (central route), though persuasion can happen also to a lesser degree when people are unaware of the process (peripheral route). Entertainment-­education works along the peripheral route of persuasion because its primary purpose is not persuasion. However, its effectiveness stems from its ability to engage people in the storyline, which makes them less likely to resist the persuasion. Based on the fact that entertainment induces higher rates of engagement, it reduces resistance to change and produces outcomes conducive to persuasion (Moyer-­Gusé 2008). This coincides with findings from Bandura’s (2004) social learning theory which also states that the media’s ability to influence people increases if the audience identifies with the characters, perceives them to be similar to themselves, and finds them attractive (Moyer-­Gusé 2008). Finally, Bandura confirms that people learn best from behavior that they understand to be beneficial. Although these theoretical findings came after early practice had already been implemented, early entertainment programs were very effective in areas such as the promotion of farmers’ productivity in the UK, adult literacy in Latin America, and empowerment of women in India. The main entertainment format used to deliver messages was the dramatic serial format known as “soap opera.” Originally, Mexican television writer Miguel Sabido (1981) developed a number of popular soap operas that depicted situations which continuously encouraged positive behavior among the characters contained in them. Other models developed globally, such as the South African Soul City television drama – which managed to entice its viewers into becoming four times more likely users of condoms than non-­viewers (Bansal 2012).

Dramatic series in peacebuilding The effects of the early use of these dramatic series in international development influenced the motivations for their use in peacebuilding soon afterwards. Typically, dramatic programs depict the frequent conflicts and dilemmas that arise out of the social and personal problems of everyday families. These dramatic programs – television soaps or radio dramas – are generally character-­based stories involving dramatic plots, real-­life problems and multiple twists and turns. In the dramas and soaps from conflict zones, normal living experiences are dramatized while the characters deal with the consequences of violent conflict. These features make the format relatable, convincing, and a perfect ground for modeling the resolution of conflict in a non-­violent form. One of the first radio dramas in from conflict zone – Umubanyi Niwe Muryango [Our Neighbors, Ourselves], was developed for the Great Lakes region of Africa by Search for Common Ground (SFCG) in 1995. It was set

Beyond journalism   151 in one of the rural hill areas, and centered around a Hutu and a Tutsi family who lived next door to each other. The drama depicted the complexities of the conflict through the relationships between the two families in the context of the genocidal war between the two communities (SFCG 2004). Soaps from conflict zones have usually targeted particular issues at the center of the conflict. While it is not uncommon for a dramatic series to target a number of general issues, like health and education, the primary focus is usually on one of the major obstacles to peace, e.g., landmine avoidance, cross-­ethnic cooperation, the rights of minorities, etc. Menteng Pangkalan, named after two Indonesian towns, is a radio drama targeting the multi-­ethnic co-­existence of diverse communities in that country. The Angolan radio soap operas, Vozes Que Falam [Voices that Speak] was developed specifically for internally displaced people, focusing on displacement issues, conflict over land, and life in the camps. The popularity of these programs is almost universal across the various conflict zones. Even though some of the evaluations of them may have been methodologically designed to demonstrate over-­performance (Burgess 2010), the number of listeners and their positive reactions are nonetheless encouraging. For example, between 80 and 90 percent of the population regularly listened to the drama Umubanyi Niwe Muryango, a figure based on three surveys conducted since 1999 (Radio Netherlands 2004). The numbers are similar for the Angolan Vozes Que Falam – and when measured among the drama’s target population, the program is rated the most popular in the country. In addition, listeners find such programs effective – 82 percent of Burundians who listened to the drama Umubanyi Niwe Muryango believed that it was helping toward peaceful reconciliation (Hagos 2001); 91 percent of refugees listening to Vozes Que Falam in Angola (Utterwulghe 2004) thought the same way. One explanation for such programs’ popularity can be attributed to the relatively scarce media environment – there is little competition from other programs of similar quality. Another reason is the expert organizations’ methodological and theoretically sound processes for ensuring the involvement of their audience. The Panos Institute West Africa, for example, includes audience participation via telephone and letters as an interactive supplement to its programming of its radio soap opera in Senegal. This project placed a special emphasis on the participation of local people in writing, producing and acting, as well as close cooperation with the local broadcasting company. Another strategy that ensures increased viewer/listenership is the use of “reinforcement content” –additional media programs that repeat and reinforce the main themes. For example, in the case of the Afghan radio soap New Home, New Life, a monthly cartoon magazine, songs based on the show, interviews with experts and a newsletter were produced to expand on the themes.

152   V. Bratic´ Over the last decade a new entertainment format known as reality television became a favorite of the commercial television industry. It emerged as the dominant form of entertainment primarily due to the more realistic depiction of characters and events, as well as the lower costs of production. A number of reality shows have been produced with implicit peacebuilding motivations. On the Road in America is one such show. The program follows a small group of Arab youths who are selected to experience the US by travelling across the country. Another example is the Palestinian reality TV competition, The President, where young men and women battle to come up with the best version of a democratic solution for the West Bank. A similar sub-­genre of reality television is music competitions like Afghan Idol, Arab Idol, Super Star and Star Academy. The premise of such shows is the demonstration of musical talent and individual competition based on audience voting decisions. What makes these music shows different is that they are self-­sustaining, independent, commercial projects. Even though they are not explicit peacebuilding projects managed through NGO funding under international aid policies, many argue that their audience participatory nature encourages democratic processes in the developing world (Kraidy 2006). As a musical format, reality music competitions are an expansion of the “peace songs” which have been produced in the hope that the lyrics and the personalities singing them will encourage peace. SFCG, for example, helped produce a number of such songs like the Angolan A Paz E Que O Povo Chama [People Are Calling for Peace], for which 35 popular Angolan artists from across the warring divide came together to create an anthem for peace. A similar example is the Israeli/Palestinian duet In My Heart. Both songs received significant air time and were well known to radio listeners but lacked methodological or strategic support and could hardly be considered purposeful without a wider supporting platform around them – unlike the soundtrack of a children’s program from Macedonia, Nashe Maalo [Our Neighborhood] whose songs reinforced the already-­prevailing message of the well-­known entertainment program.

Children’s programming Education through the sending of media messages was an acceptable pedagogical strategy for children even before it was used for adults as part of development communication. While the impact of soap opera proved to be a significant success for the education of adults, the education of children and youths via television programming already enjoyed a reputable history and a widely established practice (Bryant et al. 2001). Public broadcasters in almost all countries have a long history of carrying such programs (the BBC in the UK, PBS in the US, and NHK in Japan, for example). The use of children’s programming in peacebuilding is, therefore, more of a continuation of existing practice than a novelty. The work of

Beyond journalism   153 Sesame Workshop, formerly known as the Children’s Television Workshop (CTW), is an example of the continuation of already-­established practice. Although television programs for children have been broadcast since the early days of television, no series prior to Sesame Street had attempted to integrate specific curriculum goals (Lesser 1972). Since the introduction of Sesame Street, research has shown the positive cognitive and social impact that educational programs aired by PBS have had on children (cooperative behavior, pro-­social interactions and increased academic performance) (US Congress 1998; Mares and Woodward 2001; Rushton 1979; Paulson 1974). Sesame Street’s 40-plus years on the air – which has seen it combine oversized puppets, live action scenes featuring children and adults, as well as short animated segments – has enabled it to extend its pro-­social and cognitive content to millions of children around the globe. The Israeli/Palestinian version of Sesame Street (known as Rechov SumSum/Shara’a SimSim) was aimed at children between three and seven years old. At the time of its broadcast, the program was shown on three television stations in the region; Jordanian Television, the Ma’an Channel in the West Bank and Gaza, and the HOP! Channel in Israel. The project utilized well-­known methods of education through play and puppetry to teach the children from both communities about respect, tolerance and cooperation. The follow-­up survey of the effects of the program showed some positive results among this age group. However, the production was not an easy process. It took three years for the first episode to air and on many occasions the two ethnically divided teams could not agree on a mutual approach (Machlis 1998). Such divisions resulted in the production of two separate shows in two different languages (Arabic and Hebrew). Furthermore, each show had its own Muppet characters that lived on two separate streets. Because of the reputation that Sesame Street had in creating a new genre of educational television programming, SFCG undertook content production in Macedonia, Burundi and Liberia. Their most widely recognized success was the Macedonian program, entitled Nashe Maalo, which included a variety of reinforcement activities including theatre, puppet theatre, magazine, parent-­teacher guides, music CDs and a knowledge quiz. The program, aimed at children between the ages of seven and 12, skilfully incorporated the theme of multi-­ethnic tolerance and respect into a typical children’s adventure. Such children’s programs enjoyed remarkable ratings: the Macedonian TV series Nashe Maalo was regularly watched by 76 percent of Macedonian children (SFCG 2002). In the Middle East, 53 percent of all children under eight years old watched the Israeli/Palestinian version of Sesame Street (Cole et al. 2002). Additionally, research demonstrated significant attitudinal improvement among the primary audience. The most impressive statistics are for Nashe Maalo. Results showed at least a 20 percent positive change in attitude (measured after watching the program). All

154   V. Bratic´ three ethnic groups recorded an attitudinal change in terms of their willingness to play with each other after watching the program.

Social marketing in peacebuilding Social marketing processes have brought about an invaluable improvement in development practice by introducing communication techniques that are better at targeting specific segments of behavioral change processes within specific demographic segments. It is important to emphasize that social marketing was utilized as a process strategy in many edutainment programs in addition to promotional campaigns, rather than as a completely separate practice. It emerged from its much better recognized relative – commercial advertising and marketing. In business, the entrepreneur aims to provide a product to satisfy the needs of its customers – in social development, social marketing addresses socio-­economic needs and uses communication channels to outline a solution to social problems such as maternal and child health and nutrition and family planning in developing countries, the anti-­smoking campaign in the United States, cardiovascular disease risk reduction, and substance abuse prevention among adolescents (Walsh et al. 1993). The major improvement that social marketing processes brought to the peacebuilding field was its methodical and systematic approach to the process of social change. It has been defined as “the design, implementation, and control of programs seeking to increase the acceptability of social ideas or practices in a target group.” More practically, it is a technique that utilizes communication to promote cognitive, attitudinal and behavioral change (Servaes 1989; Fraser and Estrada 1998). Social marketing introduced a set of sequential steps which are often described in slightly different ways and by a different terminology, but commonly include (1) analyzing and defining the problem (2) designing the response (3) implemention, and (4) evaluation (Servaes 1989; Fraser and Estrada 1998). During the initial step – rigorous research (known as formative research or baseline research) of the audience’s needs, and the environment, are scoped to develop an understanding of the problem. Based on the research findings, the goals are designed into a comprehensive package of communication messages which are then pre-­tested and modified before implementation. The audience remains involved throughout the process, and is repeatedly re-­evaluated – before the final design and implementation of the message. The implementation involves a carefully coordinated and orchestrated plan of action through which the audience experiences the message. While the final evaluation of the entire process – known as summative research – assesses the entire process upon its completion, the process also includes ongoing monitoring in order to adjust the message based on feedback from the participants. Summative research can also be seen as feedback for adjustment of the message. This

Beyond journalism   155 process is more circular than linear, and, if carried out appropriately, continues even after the final stage. In 2007 USAID’s project on local governance in Afghanistan – known as ALGAP – was a textbook application of social marketing. In order to strengthen local governance institutions (i.e., provincial councils) the project encouraged local participation of citizens. BBC World’s radio drama, New Home, New Life, was selected as the primary channel because the show had a reputation for using a well-­planned social marketing process. As instructed in the USAID contract, the research team started with an assessment of the audience’s needs – which was accomplished by field research of the BBC local team involving 13 focus groups in five provinces. This initial survey revealed a lack of knowledge of, and dissatisfaction with, provincial councils. In response to the research, messages that addressed the role of provincial councils were identified and designed into themes. These themes were then creatively dramatized into storylines and scripts. For example, one episode (broadcast on 23 April 2007) highlighted a model of positive governance – and featured local villagers approaching their council representative to ask for help with a school project. The messages were often subtle, and delivered without preaching or an explicitly persuasive tone. A total of 48 episodes (24 in Dari and 24 in Pashto) dealt with themes of local governance. While the program was being broadcast the evaluation team continued monitoring how people were responding to the show. New Home, New Life producers and writers generally conducted weekly field trips, engaging in dialogue with listeners. At the end of the project a third party would usually be contracted to provide more detailed qualitative research about listeners’ attitudes and learning – though in this case the number of performances and assumed ratings of the program were the only known form of evaluation.

Electoral media campaigns: Northern Ireland and Macedonia The most obvious applications of social marketing in peace promotion are peace campaigns. Social marketing campaigns are designed to address either issues obstructing peace, or issues inflaming conflict. Two campaigns in Northern Ireland and Macedonia employed a typical social marketing operation in the promotion of their peace agreements. The agreements to end the conflicts in both countries were reached by the adversaries carrying out intensive negotiations far from the public eye. In order to become legitimate, the agreements had to be ratified in national referenda. In the case of Northern Ireland, international advertising firm McCann-­Erickson was contracted to develop a campaign. The campaign was meant to promote the agreed document and eventually endorse the acceptance of the Good Friday Peace Proposal. In Macedonia,

156   V. Bratic´ the International Republican Institute (IRI) was in charge of a similar effort. A multimedia campaign pointing to the benefits of the peace agreement was launched in Macedonia several months before the referendum. With help from the marketing experts from McCann-­Erickson and the IRI, pro-­agreement campaigns were developed. Not much has been revealed to the public about the campaigns because their success depended on confidentiality and discretion with regard to strategy. What was visible, however, were the posters, billboards, direct mail brochures and public service announcements (Finlayson and Hughes 2000). And in a document leaked to the press during the media campaign, Northern Ireland Office (NIO) director of communications Tom Kelly (1998) highlighted the strategy for a successful campaign. In terms of the overarching process, the document reveals wide-­ranging, carefully orchestrated processes used in social marketing. Kelly (1998) called for both quantitative and qualitative research of the audience’s concerns as well as monitoring of media coverage. He proposed segmenting the audience in terms of demographics (Unionists, Nationalists, first-­time voters, “middle class silent majority”) and, more specifically, targeting “the champions” – church and community leaders who had the ability to influence the opinion of citizens. Along the same lines, the peace campaign in Macedonia was the result of a carefully planned promotional effort. IRI carried out extensive research, mostly in the form of surveys, before the government launched its campaign. The results of the research informed the creation of public service announcements that were supposed to show the benefits of the peace agreement to each side in the conflict. This campaign provides an excellent example of effective audience segmentation and individualized messaging. Announcements produced in the Macedonian language focused on stability and security as the main benefits, while the Albanian announcements emphasized extended civil rights. The outcome of the referenda in Northern Ireland and Macedonia were heavily in favor of the peace agreements, the former receiving the support of 71 percent of people from both sides of the community (Ark Surveys 1998). It would be an exaggeration to attribute the positive outcomes of the referenda solely to the impact of the social marketing campaigns; such causation would be impossible to prove even though the correlation between the campaign’s goals and the voters’ ultimate decision is apparent. Without doubt, one of the major issues with the entire field of social marketing is the infrequency of objective evaluation. The prevalent justification given by the practitioner organization is lack of funding.

Campaigning to refugees: Bosnia, the African Great Lakes region and Sierra Leone Slightly different still are the marketing campaigns carried out in Bosnia, Sierra Leone and the African Great Lakes region. Unlike the two electoral

Beyond journalism   157 examples, these campaigns isolated the issue perceived to have been one of the major obstacles to sustainable peace. The return home of refugees and repossession of their original property were identified as the most pertinent problems of the post-­conflict period. All three conflicts produced a large number of internally displaced people who were either illegally occupying deserted houses or finding shelter in multiple refugee camps across their region. The campaigns in each conflict zone were considerably different in scope and application since the situation on the ground was dissimilar across the three regions. In Bosnia, a comprehensive campaign consisting of television, radio, print and non-­traditional advertisements was launched in 1999. Postovanje [Respect] and its sequel Dosta je [It’s enough] were the most prominent and well-­organized campaigns. The Postovanje campaign was designed to promote and educate about repatriation law in relation to the rights of refugees to reclaim property. The campaign Dosta je expanded Postovanje and aimed to address the most prevalent obstacles to the peace process – reclamation of property and the return of refugees to the homes where they had lived before the outbreak of war. The campaign utilized an impressive variety of mass communication channels: TV and radio spots, large billboards, posters, print ads, leaflets and some non-­traditional communication strategies (specially designed sugar packets, folders, matches and diskette holders). Some of these were unusually clever –sugar packets, in particular, considering the importance of coffee shop culture in Bosnian society. Diskette holders, on the other hand, were at best a questionable choice of medium considering the low computer penetration – especially among the internally displaced people. The campaigns were followed by a documentary TV series entitled Koliko jos [How Long] – 35-minute long stories about people affected by the displacement. The campaign was perceived to be a success due to the overwhelming level of public awareness generated and the recognition it received.1 Unlike the Bosnian case – which had vast political, institutional and financial support – the UNHCR (1998) campaign in Sierra Leone was much more modest and not as media savvy. In 1997, problems with repatriation were acute as refugees were unwilling to leave camps; UNHCR (1998) made the decision to integrate mass information activities as part of a repatriation strategy. The idea was to provide refugees with objective and accurate information relevant to their repatriation. The campaign utilized existing radio stations to deliver information, but also employed measures such as meetings with refugees in the camps, and the distribution of leaflets and posters. As an additional component, UNHCR (1998) arranged for refugees to visit the homes they had deserted in order to reinforce the campaign message. The campaign was not entirely completed due to violent outbreaks, but nevertheless succeeded in exposing a high volume of people to its messages.

158   V. Bratic´ Another UNHCR campaign aiming at repatriating refugees occurred between 1995 and 1996 in the Great Lakes region of Africa. This time Rwandan refugees were displaced in neighbouring Congo, Tanzania and Burundi. The UNHCR admitted that the original employment of the campaign was rather ad hoc – with initial information being communicated via loudspeakers and microphones in the camps. In time, however, mass information activities became more organized and were transmitted via radio (mostly Radio Agatashya), the UN radio station UNMIR, and other state and local radio stations. Eventually, and in order to improve credibility, the UNHCR developed video clips in which approximately 60 examples of successful repatriations of refugees to their homes were featured. This campaign was shown in the camps to about one million refugees in the three countries and was carried out with the help of local and international NGOs, including Fondation Hirondelle. It was reported that more than US$1 million was spent on the project in two years, and that over 700,000 people out of the two million refugees placed in camps viewed the video material (UNCHR 1998). While these campaigns may have had an effect in providing credible information, the exact effect of the campaigns on behavioral change will remain unknown. This remains the biggest weakness of such projects because many of them define their goals rather generally, lack previously defined measurable outcomes, and have little or no regard for behavioral change processes or media effects. On account of the complexity and unpredictability of the conflict environment, and an obvious lack of funding, assessments are rarely undertaken. Such assessments require expertise, time and money, all of which are in short supply in conflict zones. Even more methodologically challenging to assess the impact of are TV commercials by the SFCG which appeared on radio and TV during regular advertising time slots. In one of these spots Ziggy Marley (son of the late reggae superstar Bob Marley) appears in support of the peace process in Burundi. In Macedonia, an Albanian and Macedonian meet on the train to realize that they both share a love of similar music. While these efforts are certainly not counterproductive, they appear as isolated, individual spots, lacking strategic support or accompanying content, and featuring broad idealistic messages that lack the facility for gauging impact. On the other hand, the two extensive information campaigns in Bosnia – Postovanje and Dosta je – are rare examples of well-­funded campaigns that included a detailed assessment of the impacts. The first campaign was seen or heard by 72 percent of people, the second by 54 percent, and the TV series as a final product of the campaign was watched by some 37 percent of Bosnians.2 The two primary goals – to raise awareness of, and to provoke thought about, the issue – resonated with 59 and 32 percent of audiences

Beyond journalism   159 respectively. A majority of the audience understood the messages being given, although not all were excited about the design of the message. Some 60 percent of respondents neither liked nor disliked the message, but almost 90 percent of the audience found the campaign to be accurate, useful and fair.3

Conclusion It is apparent that over the last 20 years each new peace process has involved more and more media initiatives. More importantly, multiple non-­journalistic media practices have brought complementary tools and significant advantages to media assistance and development. While journalism development and reform are now a commonsensical solution to violence prevention, media reforms have included media other than journalism. These alternative forms may embody some of the same journalistic principles, and in a distinctive way they use media theory and processes in pursuit of an intended goal or objective. While journalists aim to inform, though, other media hope to persuade. There has not been a commonly accepted umbrella term for a peacebuilding strategy that includes different tactics of persuasion, but the field of development communication and its practices – like edutainment and social marketing – are already-­established models in international development. Persuasive strategy has long been employed by governments as part of propaganda and cultural diplomacy efforts, and such a stratgy has achieved significant accomplishments in advancing development in the areas of health, agriculture, family planning, etc. Building on these experiences, peacebuilding actors have embraced the processes available to them wholeheartedly and implemented successful programs in Afghanistan, Northern Ireland, Rwanda, Burundi, the former Yugoslavia and elsewhere. A number of different organizations have executed diverse programs resulting in a transformation of beliefs, attitudes and knowledge that in the long term may help defuse social tensions that exist in fragile societies. Lessons which have emerged as a result of practical implementation point to entertainment’s ability to deliver messages to the widest audience, and marketing’s ability to target a specific part of the population and individual phases of social change processes. These new strategies give the non-­journalistic media invaluable advantages in practical peacebuilding. The main theoretical criticism of the non-­journalistic media stems from the over-­reliance on individual change theories, which presuppose that change is a matter of individual choice for people who are of equal status and in command of their cultural environment. This is rarely the case; and therefore, culturally contextual theories of change must be brought into consideration to improve on the practice in the future.

160   V. Bratic´

Notes 1 Personal communication with Alma Sahbaz, former Public Information Manager, Office of the High Representative, Bosnia and Herzegovina. 2 Personal communication with Alma Sahbaz. 3 Personal communication with Alma Sahbaz.

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162   V. Bratic´ Rushton, J. Philippe. 1979. “Effects of Prosocial Television and Film Material on the Behavior of Viewers.” Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, 12: 321–51. Sabido, Miguel. 1981. Towards the Social Use of Soap Operas. Mexico City: Institute for Communication Research. Servaes, Jan. 1989. One World, Multiple Cultures: A New Paradigm on Communication for Development. Leuven: Acco Leuven. Severin, Werner J. and James W. Tankard. 1992. Communication Theories: Origins, Methods, Uses of the Mass Media. 3rd edition. White Plains: Longman. SFCG (Search for Common Ground). 2004. Burundi. Studio Ijambo. Online, accessed December 6, 2004, available at: www.sfcg.org/programmes/burundi/ burundi_studio.html. SFCG (Search for Common Ground). Nashe Maalo. Online, accessed January 25, 2002, available at: www.sfcg.org/programmes/cgp/cgp_nashe2.html. Slater, Michael D. and Donna Rouner. 2002. “Entertainment – Education and Elaboration Likelihood: Understanding the Processing of Narrative Persuasion.” Communication Theory, 12 (2): 173–91. UNHCR. 1998. “Review of UNHCR Mass Information Activities.” April 1. Online, accessed May 1, 2014, available at: www.unhcr.org/3ae6bd3f4.html. US Congress, House Committee on Science. 1998. “National science policy study, part I: Math and science education: maintaining the interest of young kids in science.” 105th Congress, 2nd session, March 4. Utterwulghe, Steve. 2004. “Conflict Management in Complex Humanitarian Situations: Peacemaking and Peacebuilding Work with Angolan IDPs.” Journal of Refugee Studies, 17 (2): 224–44. Walsh, Diana Chapman, Rima E. Rudd, Barbara A. Moeykens and Thomas W. Moloney. 1993. “Social Marketing for Public Health.” Health Affairs, 12 (2): 104–19.

11 UN peacekeeping radio The way forward Michelle Betz and Helene Papper

Overview of peacekeeping media Every UN peacekeeping mission since the end of the Cold War, has a Public Information Office (PIO), a media relations unit, an outreach unit, a web and publications unit, a video unit, a photography unit and a radio unit. It also always includes a spokesperson’s office, which is either directly under the PIO or a hybrid office between the PIO and the Special Representative to the Secretary-­General’s (SRSG) office. UN information initiatives during a mission have certain key roles which include: informing and facilitating international news coverage of the UN mission; keeping journalists informed about political, military, and humanitarian developments in the mission area; disseminating information to the local population about the UN mandate, policy, and actions; and informing UN personnel internally about mission-­related issues and events (Loewenberg 2006, 4). By and large, the objective of “peacekeeping media” is to inform the host country’s population of the mission’s reason for its presence in the country – to explain its mandate, its role and its actions while also managing expectations and addressing fears which come with having a foreign entity enter its country. However, mission mandates, until recently, rarely included any explicit statement regarding media, and most agreements regarding use of radio frequencies and broadcast over government or independent stations [if the mission does not set up its own broadcast facilities] are negotiated once the mission is on-­the-ground. (Loewenberg 2006: 4–5) Several of the recent Security Council resolutions provide for creation of radio capacities; however, the challenge is then how such a mandate is formulated, which is discussed below. The UN has used various media in these efforts; the most common and the most successful have been the UN peacekeeping radio stations which have been set up and are attached to peacekeeping missions. UN radio, like other public information efforts, is first and foremost a mission tool to promote its mandate. The use of radio in peacekeeping was part of the

164   M. Betz and H. Papper UN’s mission to assist with institution building and to disseminate information during electoral periods – periods that are often fraught with a variety of challenges in post-­conflict countries. In most of the countries in which there was a UN peacekeeping mission, it was deemed that due to weak infrastructure and low literacy rates radio would have the greatest reach. The 2008 UN peacekeeping operations guidelines suggest that “use should be made of local public radio and television, if available, as well as traditional forms of public information dissemination, such as the local community and religious groups” (United Nations 2008: 83–4). However, in many conflict and post-­conflict countries local radio stations simply do not have the necessary capacity or national reach and are therefore not viable as tools for disseminating information, leaving few options other than to set up a UN radio station. As such, the UN has suggested that if such local capacity does not exist, “a United Nations capability should be deployed at the earliest stages, while helping concurrently to build local capacities” (United Nations 2008: 84). For just over two decades United Nations peacekeeping missions have operated radio stations as part of their mission. Right up to the present day, each mission has its unique radio station set up (see Table 11.1), and developed depending on the lay of the land, its goals, and how much the leaders within the mission know about and/or care about information and communication. The first full radio station was set up in Cambodia in 1992. The idea was to disseminate reliable information to Cambodians prior to the country’s first national elections. The Cambodian mission was so successful that UN radio stations have been implemented in a dozen countries – mostly in Africa – including the Democratic Republic of Congo, Côte d’Ivoire, Liberia, Sudan and South Sudan. Additional stations are currently under consideration in at least two other countries. It is these full UN radio stations that this chapter will focus on. Interviews with media development practitioners and UN staffers (past and present) provide much of the basis for this chapter. In addition, one of the authors has worked with several UN peacekeeping radio stations.

Early UN peacekeeping radio stations These radio stations were originally set up as an arm of UN public information (see Lehmann, 1999: Chapter 8). The Brahimi Report first formulated this role as such: “An effective public information and communications capacity in mission areas is an operational necessity for virtually all United Nations peace operations. Effective communication helps to dispel rumor, to counter disinformation and to secure the cooperation of local populations” (Brahimi Report, para. 146). A later UN document said that the goal was to “promote consensus around the peace process” (United Nations 2008: 83) by disseminating reliable information prior to

UN peacekeeping radio   165 elections – which tend to be particularly contentious in post-­conflict environments. This was the case with the first such radio station set up in Cambodia in 1992 where the mission’s public information campaign provided an opportunity to reach out to key groups within society – whose voices may not have been heard otherwise – and to promote consensus around the peace process. When Radio UNTAC began broadcasting in November 1992, the programs concentrated on information regarding voter registration, the electoral process and human rights: During the electoral campaign particular emphasis was given to the secrecy of the ballot. In accordance with the directive of the Special Representative on fair access to the media during the electoral campaign, Radio UNTAC offered weekly segments to each political party for the broadcast of political material and allowed a right of response to a political party, candidate or official in cases of unfair attack or misrepresentation of public statements. (UN 2003a) The United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia (UNTAC) should be credited with the original comprehensive plan that engaged media in the Cambodian peace implementation. Jamie Metzl, an UNTAC human rights officer, published an article in Foreign Affairs in 1997 in which he proposed the concept of “information intervention” to accompany the already well-­established notion of humanitarian intervention (Metzl 1997). At that time, information intervention was mainly concerned with the harmful impact of hate radio. Metzl claimed that the need for unbiased information in conflict is central to the suppression of violence and pondered the use of jamming the broadcast messages that incited hatred. UN responses to these harmful impacts of hate radio varied greatly. In Somalia, for example, UNOSOM II removed Radio Mogadishu from the control of General Aidid’s faction, the United Somali Congress/Somali National Alliance (USC/SNA) on June 12, 1993, as one of the ways to restore peace to Mogadishu “so that the political reconciliation, rehabilitation and disarmament process can continue to move forward throughout Somalia” (UN 2003b). It is important to note that only peacekeeping operations with a Chapter 7 mandate (such as UNOSOM II) could attempt to shut down a domestic radio station. The distinction between Chapters 6 and 7 of the UN Charter are important. Chapter 6 calls for the UN to intervene at the behest of “the parties to any dispute” and attempt to mediate a solution (UN 1945). Chapter 7, on the other hand, suggests more muscle can be flexed: “Action with respect to threats to the peace, breaches of the peace, and acts of aggression” calls upon Charter signatories to get tough with countries that are destabilizing a region through their acts of aggression (UN 1945).

Cambodia

Somalia

Rwanda

1992–1993

1993–1995

1995–1996

1998–2000; Central 2000–present African Republic

Country

Date

MINURCA Fondation Hirondelle

UNAMIR

UNOSOM II

UNTAC

Mission

Radio MINURCA’s goal as specified in SG report S/1998/148, February 23, 1998, was to “promote national reconciliation and the goals of the Mission, including the dissemination of information on the electoral process.” Radio MINURCA closed down on February 1, 2000. Studio equipment and transmitters were transferred to the United Nations Mission in Sierra Leone (UNAMSIL).   In 2000, a successor station, Radio Ndeke Luka, was set up by the Swiss NGO, Fondation Hirondelle, using Radio MINURCA’s frequency. The station was set up in partnership with the local UNDP office and with funding from various sources. According to its charter the station is to transmit impartial, rigorous and professional information on subjects like economic and social development, security, good governance, peace and human rights.

The radio station was established more than one year after the mission began. According to the SG report S/1994/1133, October 6, 1994, the objective of the radio was “to provide the Rwandese people with factual information on the situation in their country, to assist in explaining UNAMIR’s mandate and to disseminate information on humanitarian programs.”1 Equipment was transferred to other UN missions.

The objective of the station was: to foster awareness of the mission’s mandate and activities, transitional arrangements and evolving functions; stimulate a stable social climate; and serve as an educational tool to strengthen the peace process, human rights and economic integration.

Radio UNTAC’s objective was to undertake information campaigns on mine awareness, to foster respect for human rights and to ensure a neutral environment for the conduct of free elections. UNTAC public information, including radio, aimed to establish itself as a reliably credible source of information for Cambodians on these matters, as well as to provide information on the comprehensive peace agreement and the mandate, activities and goals of UNTAC. Once the mission ended the equipment was distributed to other missions.

Context/objective

Table 11.1  UN peacekeeping missions that included setting up radio stations

Sierra Leone

2000–2005; 2006–2008

2003–present Liberia

UNTAET

East Timor

1999–2002

UNMIL

UNAMSIL UNIOSIL

UNMIK

1999–present Kosovo

continued

The radio station’s objective is defined in SG report S/2003/875 of September 11, 2003 as: “communicate [UN] goals to the Liberian people, provide them with accurate information on developments in the peace process and support the efforts of the transitional government in carrying out the provisions of the Peace Agreement, including respect for the right of freedom of expression . . . to promote understanding of the United Nations presence and underpin the United Nations role, including humanitarian and developmental activities.”2

Radio UNAMSIL’s goal was to promote understanding among Sierra Leoneans regarding the role and mandate of the United Nations and to provide information on specific aspects of the peace process, including the disarmament, demobilization and reintegration program, the electoral process, and other political and military developments.   United Nations Radio in UNIOSIL took over from Radio UNAMSIL as part of the newly established integrated office. The goal was to promote national dialogue and to inform and educate the public on the consolidation of peace, democracy and reforms and to ensure smooth transition from a peacekeeping/peacebuilding radio to a public service broadcaster. All equipment was handed over to the Sierra Leonean government when the mission ended.

Radio UNTAET aimed to support the mandate and activities of the mission by explaining the process with the participation of the main actors and to ensure comprehensive coverage as East Timor moved towards general elections and independence.

Radio Blue Sky was set up in partnership with Fondation Hirondelle. In accordance with the UNMIK-FH agreement, Fondation Hirondelle managed the studios and transmitting facilities and UNMIK held editorial responsibility. Programming included spots, debates, press reviews, features, phone-in programs and special coverage of women’s issues, youth, culture and humanitarian topics. Radio Blue Sky was absorbed by Radio Kosovo as its second station in mid-2000.

MINUSTAH

2005–present Haiti

Because of the important number of radio stations already in existence in Haiti, the necessity for the UN mission in Haiti to have its own frequency was debated both in New York headquarters and well as within the Haitian government. The UN radio spent its first two years producing radio programs highlighting the mission’s work throughout the country, voter education programs, and PSAs which were broadcast on the country’s national radio station as well as a few local stations across the country, while negotiations were under way to obtain their own frequency. A frequency was finally obtained in 2007.

ONUCI FM’s goal is to promote understanding of the peace process and the role of UNOCI among local communities. As the mission’s mandate expanded, the station’s objectives also expanded to include programming related to media monitoring and improving the media environment; allaying disinformation and incitement to violence; promoting human rights and national reconciliation; and, beyond being a mission radio station, to being a station for Ivorians.

UNOCI

Context/objective

2004–present Côte d’Ivoire

Mission

Partnership between Fondation Hirondelle and the United Nations. The station was mandated to promote understanding of the peace process and of the role of MONUC among local communities. Specific activities to be covered included disarmament, demobilization reintegration, repatriation or resettlement programs; human rights; child protection; humanitarian affairs; and political affairs. Although FH status was that of independent contractor, FH staff were allowed access to specified services on a par with UN Public Information staff, such as access to transportation, health facilities, etc. Fondation Hirondelle is not paid by the UN but has its own donors and also contributes with staff or equipment. The main role of Fondation Hirondelle in the partnership is to help the UN in the design and implementation of the editorial line and to monitor radio output. It also provides with capacity-building activities for local staff in the perspective of the sustainability of the the station.

Country

2002–present Democratic MONUC/ Republic of MONUSCO Congo

Date

Table 11.1  Continued

Central African Republic

2014

The mission is not yet created.

UNMIS, UNMISS

Currently under consideration.

Currently under consideration.

Another partnership between the UN and Fondation Hirondelle, Radio Miraya is authorized to broadcast in southern Sudan, but not in the north. The goal of Radio Miraya is to provide a clear, impartial, reliable and credible voice; to act as an information source for all stakeholders; to create a platform for community dialogue, including between the authorities and the people; and to promote an understanding of the peace process and the role of the UN mission. FH is considered an independent contractor, but FH staff are accorded access to specified services on a par with UN PI staff, such as transportation, health facilities, etc. Fondation Hirondelle is not paid by the UN but has its own donors and also contributes with staff or equipment. The main role of Fondation Hirondelle in the partnership is to help the UN in the design and implementation of the editorial line and to monitor radio output. It also provides capacity-building activities for local staff in the perspective of the sustainability of the station.

Notes 1 www.un.org/en/ga/search/view_doc.asp?symbol=S/1994/1133. 2 http://daccess-dds-ny.un.org/doc/UNDOC/GEN/N03/491/10/PDF/N0349110.pdf?OpenElement.

Mali

2014

2006–present South Sudan

170   M. Betz and H. Papper One former UN official has said that in at least one country (Cote d’Ivoire), prior to having a Chapter 7 mandate the mission tried a number of different measures to deal with widespread hate speech. These measures included reporting to a Security Council sanctions committee, working with the Government on media rules and ethics, using their own radio station (ONUCI FM) as a model, regularly speaking out and reporting on hate speech and forming media networks, i.e., with community radio stations.1 In Rwanda, however, Radio des Milles Collines also incited hatred over its airwaves – heinous propaganda against the Tutsi, the moderate Hutus, the Belgians and members of UNAMIR, the UN mission. The radio station was on air for a year between July 1993 and July 1994, and was widely accused and later condemned for incitement to genocide. Peacekeepers were widely criticized for standing by as the violence erupted. The rationale given later was that the Chapter 6 mandate in this case did not allow peacekeepers to militarily intervene. In addition to silencing harmful media, UN peacekeeping radio stations had other objectives. These included empowering alternative voices and creating new sources of information and, of course, the complementary aspects of these two. As these stations evolved they began to serve other purposes as well.

The evolution of UN peacekeeping radio Over the years, UN peacekeeping radio stations have begun to transcend traditional public information roles. Many, if not all, of these stations provide news and information and important spaces for dialogue and other so-­called peacebuilding activities. An example of this was in Haiti in 2006. At that time the country was due to hold presidential as well as legislative, municipal and local elections. In one particularly sensitive state in the heart of the country, l’Artibonite, the first round of elections was cancelled in a number of localities because supporters of opposite candidates came to the polls with guns and burned down polling booths. While this had little impact on the outcome for the presidential vote – Préval won with an overwhelming majority – it had an impact on the local elections and a rise in tensions. To address these tensions, a decision was made to have these localities head back out to vote several months later. One UN radio producer, who had established dialogue with individual candidates, asked them to come together and record a peace message asking the electorate to exercise their democratic right in peace, to leave their guns at home and allow for

UN peacekeeping radio   171 results based on the will of the majority instead of on the threat of force. Stressing the importance of a peaceful outcome to the elections, they agreed, and their message – which aired on all of the major frequencies – had a significant impact, as measured by informal polls taken on the day of the newly held vote. When electoral staff asked those who had come back to vote what had convinced them to return to the polls many reported that they had heard the radio spot in which all candidates had jointly called for peaceful elections and that this had convinced them. It is important to note that this type of intervention is considered more of a strategic communication-­type intervention; it is not strictly a news or information intervention and should, ideally, be identified as such. Radio also provides space for a live dialogue between the mission, a country’s leadership and its citizens. It has an even greater reach now that mobile phones and 3G networks extend into remote areas. Young people, who often make up the majority of many of the countries in which there are UN peacekeeping missions, often use mobile phones to listen to radio and text in their questions and comments to radio shows, allowing a conversation to be established which links a country together despite what is often a very poor infrastructure. In South Sudan, Radio Miraya developed call-­in programs and dialogue with listeners, not only with those who could actually make a call to the show but also with the many who were sending SMS messages. These radio stations have also played an important role in providing local news on a national scale. As Bill Orme writes: From Cambodia to Liberia, these UN stations have helped end violent conflict and make political transition possible. They have provided citizens with trusted local news programs and nonpartisan discussion forums, often for the first time. The UN radio stations were also often the first to reach all corners of these war ravaged countries. (Orme 2010: 8) The true impact, however, is actually difficult, if not impossible, to measure and evaluate.2 These examples suggest, then, that UN peacekeeping radio stations have gradually ventured into the realm of media development – often at mission-­level rather than as a coordinated, holistic strategy. While this was not the early intent of these stations, the 2008 UN peacekeeping operations handbook clearly states that mission public information activities – such as radio – “should be geared toward helping establish an environment that promotes the development of free and independent media, and the adherence to the highest journalistic ethics and standards” (United Nations 2008: 83, emphasis added). This could be due to the fact that both DPI and DPKO play a role in these stations – sometimes with competing interests, a situation that has never been reconciled.

172   M. Betz and H. Papper The stations also evolved in terms of their operational structure. Originally they were fully established and run by the UN; however, in some cases, the UN invited external partners to work with them or operated the stations as joint ventures. The latter was the case with Radio Okapi in the DRC and Radio Miraya in Sudan; in both cases the UN partnered with the Swiss NGO, Fondation Hirondelle (FH). The UN reached out to FH due to its expertise in media development in post-­conflict countries and in an effort to address issues of flexibility and media expertise. The reactivity of an NGO such as FH is an important counterweight to the heavy bureaucratic make-­up of the UN, something that is particularly important when it comes to gathering and broadcasting news and information and for potential sustainability beyond a mission’s mandate. Another example is a for-­profit model exemplified by Radio Bar Kulan in Somalia. Radio Bar Kulan was set up in 2010 as part of the UN mission to Somalia, AMISOM, and was then contracted out in 2011 to Albany Associates, a UK-­based media consultancy. The FH examples above suggest a dual role for such radio stations – furtherance of the public diplomacy/public information goal of the UN, coupled with advancement of the media development goal of FH. These stations have diverged from their original roots – of being strictly for UN purposes only, including outreach work and public information provision – but the potential of such stations, beyond mere public information provision, to play an important role in the development of the media sector in post-­conflict countries cannot be denied. Such stations will be well positioned to maximize listenership, promote peace efforts and develop the sector as a whole if they are seen as editorially independent.3

Challenges Herein lies perhaps one of the greatest challenges UN peacekeeping radios face. Indeed, the head of UN peacekeeping operations has commented on this conflict: “It is natural that a peacekeeping mission and a media development organization may at times have different priorities . . . [and] getting the balance right in all circumstances is not always easy” (Ladsous 2013). This raises the question then as to how best to utilize these stations and what their normative framework should be; it would seem that this duality makes it confusing not only for implementers, but also for audiences and the journalists that work for such stations. In addition, there is a serious risk of losing all credibility. In some cases the UN wanted a communication tool that could serve public diplomacy objectives; yet at the same time there was an understanding that some of these radio stations might also play the role of a public service broadcaster and so in some cases an attempt was made to do both without addressing the inherent tensions that emerged between delivery of

UN peacekeeping radio   173 these dual roles. Indeed, one must also wonder to what extent these stations are genuinely free, fair and transparent if they are simply following the political will of New York, the SRSG and the mission head: “There is a certain tension between using the news media for specific and directed purposes [e.g., DPKO radio] and, at the same time, trying to carry the message that a professional and free media milieu should not be controlled.”4 The lack of either a global strategy or vision, or a solid institutional or normative framework to support UN radio stations also poses significant challenges. Currently there is no global strategy that the UN employs when pursuing the set-­up of a peacekeeping radio station. This lack of a global strategy may be a challenge which lies ahead; the merit of creating a “customized” radio station based on the communication challenges of a particular host country also makes sense. Some countries may have sufficiently independent and widespread existing broadcasting networks that the UN may want to instead concentrate on working with them and providing them with content. But the structural tension between the Department of Public Information and DPKO must be addressed; decisions need to be made to address the crucial question of which department is the lead player, what the role of both departments is, and what the role of the radio station itself is. The issue of sustainability is still very much at the core of questions surrounding UN radio stations. The larger ones, in particular, often become the top source of information for a country and so become fundamental to the country’s media landscape. They also become information tools which need to be cared for. If some governments look at these radio stations as their own once the UN mission leaves, the problem of independence and a free press is posed once again – as has been the case of the former UN radio station in Sierra Leone that was handed over to the national broadcaster. This also has implications for donors since some donor countries feel the amount of money invested in setting up these radio stations needs to be justified in terms of the operation’s sustainability. Some of these stations have significant infrastructure (e.g., Radio Okapi in the DRC), infrastructure which was not only incredibly costly to set up in the first place but which comes with substantial maintenance costs. In 2009, Radio Okapi had a yearly budget of more than $10 million (Omeje 2013: 173), while UNOCI Radio had a budget of over $1 million. Most of these stations have no authorization to produce revenue of their own, and while these costs make up a tiny proportion of overall peacekeeping operations one still must ask who will pay once the UN exits and leaves the station behind. Regardless, it is clear that the decision to set up UN radio stations must be made with consideration for the context of any given country’s media, governance and institution-­building needs. For a further discussion on such methodologies see Chapter 15 by Betz in this volume.

174   M. Betz and H. Papper In cases where a UN peacekeeping mission does feel it requires a full-­ fledged independent radio with its own structure, full-­time staff and broadcasting capacity, then the challenge remains that for now there is no real institutional framework to accommodate the demands of 24-hour news and program organization; its administrative structure lacks the necessary flexibility in the provision of resources, but also of expertise. This is where the importance of having a smaller NGO partner such as Fondation Hirondelle becomes important. There is also the question of how these radio stations fit into the local media landscape, and what challenges they might pose to the host country. UN radio stations were created “with little strategic thinking about the local media landscape and without long-­term planning for local alternatives upon their eventual disappearance” (Orme 2010: 9). However, if the UN stations do indeed play a role in media development wherever they are established, then one must also consider criticism from media development practitioners – who argue that such radio stations hire the best journalists, pay the sort of wages that local stations cannot afford, and ultimately result in local stations losing their audiences (Powell 2014). One media development expert who has worked alongside UN radio operations feels that DPKO radio stations tend to undermine local media. Powell says this happens when the UN recruits all the best local journalists available and takes the audiences of existing radio stations. When the UN mission withdraws and the generously resourced UN radio station is closed, it leaves behind a sudden void in quality nationwide news coverage and radio programming. Many of the best journalists that it poached from the local media end up working as foreign correspondents or moving abroad, rather than returning to their former roles on local broadcasters. (Powell 2014) The legal advisor for Fondation Hirondelle acknowledges this tension and the potential of “disruptive impact.” In addition to UN resources and facilities, these stations also enjoy certain privileges and immunities provided by the Status of Forces Agreements. However, those advantages also put the UN in a unique position to create or support national platforms of information and dialogue in contexts where the media landscape is often polarized along the lines that divide the society. This therefore stresses the UN responsibility to gear its interventions toward the need of the local population and to promote its right to information.5 Yet these partnerships have been important, since each brings something to the table. The problem with 100 percent UN provision is “lack of

UN peacekeeping radio   175 expertise, lack of resources and difficulty delineating mandates between DPI (Dept. of Public Information), DPKO (peacekeeping policy) and DFS (Dept. of Field Support, which does the logistics, etc.).”6 One former UN public information specialist says that the problem with the current partnership [between UN and FH] includes grey areas over editorial control and so-­called “independence” of stations. The discussion for the last several years has been whether and how to continue UN radio stations that have become essential public services (i.e., in DRC and South Sudan) after the peacekeeping mandate concludes. Should they continue? If so, what entity can both afford them and protect their mandates of impartiality? Running a UN station and ensuring transmission in remote/dangerous areas is extremely expensive. Also, many of these new post-­conflict governments do not have a tradition of impartial expression, nor effective justice systems in place.7 Indeed, a significant question, and one which donors are also concerned with, is the lack of an exit strategy and issues of continuity for these stations. Orme (2010) addressed this fairly extensively in his report. But what happens to these radio stations once the UN leaves? Several different models have been tried: the station is closed, the equipment is packed up and shipped out; or the station is merged with the state broadcaster (e.g., in Sierra Leone). However, the Sierra Leone “merger” has been something of a disaster – allegations of corruption and mismanagement have left UN officials scratching their heads and wondering exactly what to do with the likes of Radio Okapi and Radio Miraya when DPKO finally packs up and leaves that country (The Economist 2012). This, however, is one of the expected added values of having a partner such as FH – that such a partner can provide strategic thinking and continued support during any transition period. For now, though, what does happen when the peacekeepers leave, or what should happen? Let us remind ourselves of the objective of UN radio stations – to provide public information pertaining to the peacekeeping mission, as well as provide a space for dialogue between the mission and the host population. But the reality is that there is a certain capacity-­ building element inherent in such stations. Many local journalists are hired and are able to practice, learn and debate issues in what is essentially a protected environment. Indeed, Orme suggests that these UN Department of Peacekeeping Operations radio stations contributed more to democratization and media development in post-­ conflict countries than the media programs of the rest of the UN combined, including the many targeted media projects of UNESCO and the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP). (Orme 2010: 15)

176   M. Betz and H. Papper However, it is important to remember that while media development is acknowledged in the UN Peacekeeping Operations Principles and Guidelines – also referred to as “the capstone doctrine” – it has never been distinct from public information objectives. Those achievements have proved disappointingly ephemeral due to a lack of long-­term UN planning and commitment to media development as an integral part of democratization: there has been no clear UN policy differentiation between the UN’s legitimate public diplomacy mandate in conflict and post-­conflict zones, and the quite different responsibilities the UN assumes when it provides local news and public affairs programming for national audiences. And the stations’ budgets are such a minuscule fraction of the current $8 billion annual cost of UN peacekeeping – a subset of the one percent of peacekeeping appropriations that are devoted to ‘communications’ – that they rarely attract the attention of peacekeeping overseers at the Security Council and UN senior management. When the stations close, few at headquarters take notice. (Orme 2011)

The way forward for UN peacekeeping radio Given the evolution of UN peacekeeping radio stations and the role they play in media development in post-­conflict environments, where do we go from here? It would seem that there is a much-­needed debate on how they should function in future, and what, if any, role they should play in future media development. A normative framework could then be developed accordingly. There are also several areas of research that could help inform these debates: examination of the structural environment and the human factors involved in such stations; examination of the structural tensions between DPKO and DPI and their respective roles. There have been few case studies carried out but more of these would be useful. Finally, sustainability issues and organizational factors are key to how these stations operate, and must be examined more fully. In any case, there are distinct steps that could be taken, going forward. First, some of those involved in media development feel that there is a clear need for the UN to consult with other actors in this arena – that there is a need for more inclusive and broader consultation (Powell 2014). If UN radio stations continue to serve a role in media development then there needs to be serious discussion and coordination between media development implementers, the UN and donors. The CDAC (Communicating with Disaster-­Affected Communities) Network also presents opportunities for IGOs and NGOs to collaborate, communicate and coordinate efforts in what are often complex conflict or post-­conflict environments.

UN peacekeeping radio   177 Second, a decision must be made on whether to have a defined role for these stations – and focus only on public information efforts – or whether they should remain fluid, and focus, perhaps more intentionally, on capacity-­building efforts. Either way there needs to be thought given to exit strategies and sustainability. Ideally, there should also be efforts to ensure that the local staff of these stations will be leaders in their field. Another option is to continue the examination further and pursue different models. For example, the UN could support existing local stations with training, editorial support and technical assistance to extend their geographic coverage. The UN could produce its own programming to provide impartial news coverage and humanitarian programming and to promote a free, fair and balanced debate about that country’s future. The UN could also pay for such programs to be aired on existing stations that meet its criteria as broadcast partners (or which can be brought up to the necessary standards), rather than airing programmes on its own frequency. This strategy would leave behind a stronger, more professional and more robust media once the UN mission eventually withdraws. (Powell 2014) Of course, this assumes a certain level of infrastructure and capacity, and is likely not possible in some scenarios. It could, however, be considered as an option.

Notes 1 Email communication with Susan Manuel, former Chief, Peace and Security Section, Deptartment of Public Information, United Nations, February 2014. 2 For further discussion of monitoring and evaluation in post-­conflict environments see Chapter 12 of this book, by Maureen Taylor. 3 See Bill Orme (2010: 16) for further discussion of this: “It is readily conceded that there are conflicts between a UN mission’s desire to use media for its own (albeit generally desirable) ends and its responsibilities as a local radio manager to adhere to UN-­endorsed standards for independent journalism.” 4 Personal interview with Robert Powell, media development and humanitarian response specialist, January 2014. 5 Personal interview with Sacha Meuter, legal adviser, Fondation Hirondelle, March 2014. 6 Email communication with Susan Manuel, February 2014. 7 Email communication with Susan Manuel, February 2014.

References The Economist. 2012. “Radio Ga Ga: A small radio station in Sierra Leone offers big lessons for the UN.” 1 September. Online, accessed March 5, 2014, available at: www.economist.com/node/21561923.

178   M. Betz and H. Papper Ladsous, Herve. 2013. Interview with Anne Bennett. “Contributing to Peace.” Fondation Hirondelle. Online, accessed March 5, 2014, available at: www.hirondelle. org/home-­page/contributing-­to-peace/?lang=en. Loewenberg, Shira. 2006. United Nations Media Strategy Recommendations for Improvement in Peacekeeping Operations. Case Study: UN interim administration mission in Kosovo. External Study – United Nations Department of Peacekeeping, August 14. Online, accessed March 5, 2014, available at: www.peacekeepingbestpractices. unlb.org/PBPS/Library/UN%20Media%20FINAL%2014%20August%202006. pdf. Metzl, Jamie. 1997. “Information Intervention: When switching channels isn’t enough.” Foreign Affairs, 76 (6): 15–20. Omeje, Kenneth and Tricia Redeker Hepner (eds). 2013. Conflict and Peacebuilding in the African Great Lakes Region. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Onadipe, Abiodun. 2004. “The Media, Communication and Public Awareness in DDR Processes.” Paper presented at the workshop “Identifying Lessons from DDR Experiences in Africa,” Kofi Annan International Peacekeeping Training Centre, Accra, Ghana, August 10–12. Orme, Bill. 2010. Broadcasting in UN Blue: The Unexamined Past and Uncertain Future of Peacekeeping Radio. Washington: Center for International Media Assistance. Orme, Bill. 2011. “UN Peacekeeping Radio’s Unexamined Past and Uncertain Future.” The Communication Initiative Network. March 21. Online, accessed March 5, 2014, available at: www.comminit.com/node/310843. United Nations. 1945. Charter of the United Nations. San Francisco: United Nations. Online, accessed 5 March 2014, available at: www.un.org/en/documents/ charter/. United Nations. 2000. UN Security Council – Report of the Panel on United Nations Peace Operations. A/55/305–S/2000/809, 21 August. Online, accessed March 12, 2014, available at: www.peacekeepingbestpractices.unlb.org/Pbps/library/Brahimi%20 Report.pdf. United Nations. 2003a. “Cambodia-­UNTAC Background.” Online, accessed March 5, 2014, available at: www.un.org/en/peacekeeping/missions/past/untacbackgr2.html. United Nations. 2003b. “Somalia-­UNOSOM II Background.” Online, accessed March 5, 2014, available at: www.un.org/en/peacekeeping/missions/past/unosom2backgr2.html. United Nations. 2008. United Nations Peacekeeping Operations: Principles and Guidelines. New York: United Nations. Online, accessed May 1, 2014, available at: http://pbpu.unlb.org/pbps/library/capstone_doctrine_eng.pdf.

12 Reflections on using monitoring and evaluation to enhance information interventions for peace Maureen Taylor Introduction In many countries, media control by the state, nationalist or militant forces has exacerbated conflict. When the conflict is over, free flows of information are at the heart of peace and reconciliation. People need information and they turn to the media for that information. The independence of national or local media influences what the public learns about the peace process. Frames used by the media will shape public perceptions of the root causes, solutions, and the roles of the different actors in the peace process. The media matters, and the quality of information disseminated in a post-­conflict country has repercussions for peace. In the past, the media has been used by repressive governments or groups to control public opinion. Today, in many respects, information has never been so free. There are more ways to spread more ideas to more people than at any moment in history. And even in authoritarian countries, information networks are helping people discover new facts and making governments more accountable. (Rodham Clinton 2010) Creating that free flow of information, ensuring it during times of conflict, and enhancing it during times of peace, is a fundamental activity of many organizations including the United Nations, national development agencies and non-­government organizations (NGOs) in the civil society sector. While there is significant need for these information flows, the paths to most effectively create the processes of information-­sharing, are less evident. Media assistance has been a hallmark of democracy and governance programs by the United Nations and other national diplomacy efforts. Over a billion dollars has been spent by non-­US organizations in media assistance. Additionally, another $600 million had been spent by the US government in the 1990s to support international media development and journalism training (Becker et al. 2007).

180   M. Taylor What is the impact of this assistance (Behn 2003)? How do we know if information interventions work? How can we improve on the successes and learn from our failures? The purpose of this chapter is to explore the ways in which media monitoring and evaluation (M&E) help to promote peace in nations emerging from conflict. The chapter explores some of the theoretical and methodological issues underpinning monitoring and evaluation of media in peacebuilding. The second section reviews major assumptions guiding the practice of monitoring and evaluation. It positions M&E as having an important organizational decision-­making function in the media assistance community. Third, the chapter explores how social science-­based monitoring and evaluation methods have helped donors of media and information interventions better serve peace and reconciliation. The final section reflects on the author’s 15 years of media experience and identifies ways forward for international donors who fund media interventions in post-­conflict nations.

Media development scholarship Psychologist Kurt Lewin observed, “there is nothing so practical as a good theory” (Lewin 1951). Fields of practice benefit from theories developed by scholars and the same academics benefit from studying how an occupation or profession is practised. The two areas should be linked and mutually reinforcing. Yet in media development, academic scholarship and methods are not always guiding practice. The area of media development and media freedom has long suffered from a dearth of academic scholarship. In 1956 the Four Theories of the Press identified a macro vision for how the media supports governments or democracy, but the normative theories provided little in terms of monitoring or evaluating media development (Schramm et al. 1956). Some academic work has since been conducted on the subject. Monroe Price (2011), for example, identified guiding questions about media development measurement. Price et al. (2011) organized a 16-chapter book dedicated to the topic. Chapters explored the development tools of media assistance (Becker and Vlad 2011), critiques of current measures and indices (Puddephatt 2011), and even new approaches to evaluating media ranking systems (Stremlau 2011). But much of the literature on measuring media development/freedom has not taken place in the academy, rather it has been mostly discussed and applied in the practice of media development. Organizations dedicated to media assistance such as Freedom House, Internews, IREX and Reporters Without Borders have developed indices that seek to measure media. Yet many of these measures have not been peer reviewed, and have conceptual and methodological shortcomings including weak operationalization, inconsistent measurement and subjectivity. The next section reviews some of the history and critique of M&E in general and then explores some ways to overcome challenges of measuring how the media contributes to peace.

Information interventions for peace   181

Assumptions guiding monitoring and evaluation Historical roots and critical reflections M&E grew out of the project management literature. In the 1960s the Green Revolution brought technology to agriculture projects across the world. The introduction of hybrid forms of plants, new watering methods and new technologies in traditional areas meant that development experts needed a way to compare results. At the same time, American business leaders were learning about management by objectives (MBO), and the lessons learned in the business sector diffused to the development sector. Giving development assistance was no longer good enough; project managers needed to show that the intervention produced tangible results (Crawford and Bryce 2003). Shortly after the Green Revolution, participatory development emerged as another topic in the assistance community. In the 1970s assistance projects began to recognize that local communities needed to be involved in setting objectives and identifying the path to reach them (Huesca 2008). There are criticisms of M&E in the development sector (Vijayendra 2004). The most common criticism is that many of the intended outcomes are difficult to measure. How does one measure that women’s lives have improved or that people feel more secure after a conflict ends? Additionally, how can one evaluate a project when the tangible impact will not be seen for years? There are questions about counting activities rather than measuring outcomes, and yet more questions about causality. Many people wonder if changes in a community were solely tied to an intervention. Yet despite these questions, monitoring and evaluation have emerged as a requirement in development projects across the world. The M&E imperative Today, development organizations are under increased scrutiny to show that the money spent on activities yields some type of impact. The rationale behind the movement toward quantifying results is captured by a UNDP report: Monitoring and evaluation can help an organization extract relevant information from past and ongoing activities that can be used as the basis for programmatic fine-­tuning, reorientation and future planning. Without effective planning, monitoring and evaluation, it would be impossible to judge if work is going in the right direction, whether progress and success can be claimed, and how future efforts might be improved. (UNDP 2009: 5) One would think that such a rationale would warrant all types of organizations to invest in robust M&E. Yet there are problems in getting the

182   M. Taylor importance of M&E accepted by organizational leaders at all levels, integration of methods of measurement in the field, and standardization. The obstacles to more formalized integration of M&E fall into two categories. The most common obstacle is the lack of funding given to monitoring and evaluation activities. Donors demand M&E, yet fail to fully fund monitoring activities. The failure of donors to hold implementers accountable for M&E creates the impression that it is not valuable. Second, there is a lack of expertise, especially in developing countries, to conduct higher level M&E activities. The next section explores some of the key concepts of M&E to show that both obstacles can be overcome.

The key concepts of M&E Effective M&E begins with a theory of change (B. Paul 2010). Assistance should be based on a theory that informs the intervention. The practice of monitoring and evaluation is actually two different, yet complementary, organizational functions. Monitoring is “the performance and analysis of routine measurements to detect changes in status” (USAID 2014: 7). It is an ongoing and reflective management activity that organizations use to review project implementation (USAID 2014). Monitoring should be a participatory process where donors, stakeholders and beneficiaries together decide which activities should be implemented to create certain outcomes. It forces organizations to identify in advance the expected outcomes from activities. A monitoring plan provides a systematic process that allows for accountability for results, identifies the resources needed, and outlines a method of organizational learning that reflects on programmatic activities. Monitoring helps organizations link results, objectives, activities and indicators. The movement from the macro results to micro indicators is best conceived of as a transition from the general to the specific. Results, “the output, outcome or impact intended (or unintended)” are the overall goal of a program (USAID 2014: 10). They are often very general and abstract. For instance, in media assistance programs a desired result might be “improved news and information for people in the post-­conflict zone.” The way to achieve this result is to identify a series of specific objectives that, if accomplished, move the program forward in its accomplishment of the general results. Programs create objectives to break down results into more achievement accomplishments. An objective, “a statement of the condition or state one expects to achieve,” is a specific, measurable, statement identifying what you seek to achieve through a media intervention (USAID 2014: 8). An example of a media objective is to “support the sustainability of independent media organizations.” Objectives, sometimes called intermediate results, are accomplished through a variety of activities. Objectives need to be realistic and clear statements that detail the desired

Information interventions for peace   183 accomplishments or outcomes of a project at different levels (for instance, moving from the short term to the long term). Objectives are accomplished when different activities create awareness, provide information or foment behavior change. Activities are “specific action or process undertaken over a specific period of time by an organization to convert resources to products or services to achieve results” (USAID 2014: 1). Activities are the things that we in the development community to do bring about peace or some type of social change. Activities may include peacebuilding workshops, conflict resolution trainings, integration of demobilized soldiers, community meetings and forums, capacity-­building of civil society organizations, or any of a thousand other activities that organizations interested in peace can enact to help a community recover from conflict. In the media assistance community, activities focus on training, equipment, media organizations and legal systems that support freedom of expression. Yet all of us know quite well that merely staging an activity does not mean that there has been any kind of result. Thus, the final part of the monitoring system is known as indicators. An indicator is a “quantitative or qualitative variable that provides reliable means to measure a particular phenomenon or attribute” (USAID 2014: 6). Indicators measure the intended outcome of activities. Output indicators count something such as the number of journalists trained, or the number of non-­state media outlets assisted. Output indicators are the foundational measurement of most media development programs that address peace. They are, however, merely the counting of the things that have occurred. They are necessary, but not sufficient, to have an impact. Outcome indicators are the next highest level of indicators. They show some type of change has occurred. For instance, the people who participated in the trainings (output) now are knowledgeable about the professional standards of journalism and can write more informative stories about the peace process. The outcome of the training is more knowledge and greater ability to write stories that inform the public’s understanding of the peace process. Outcome indicators are highly desirable, but are only a vehicle to achieving an even higher level of sustainable change in a society. The final indicators are called impact indicators. Impact indicators tell us that some type of change or outcome has been sustained. For instance, once the journalists are trained (output), and they are more capable of writing about peace issues (outcome), then the citizens are more prepared to discuss and negotiate the peace (impact). Media assistance programs don’t train journalists only to make them more professional; they train journalists so that the ultimate beneficiaries, the public, have access to improved information upon which to make better decisions in their lives. When put together results, objectives, activities and indicators provide monitoring information for organizations to better understand how well they are doing in achieving their long term impacts (USAID 2014).

184   M. Taylor Monitoring systems are a lot like accounting systems. They are conducted internally and they should be standardized and regularly consulted as organizations make decisions. Common tools include performance monitoring plans (PMPs), results frameworks, logical frameworks, indicator reference sheets and all kinds of monitoring templates (Richard, 2001). Yet there is little standardization of monitoring systems across the world. The United Nations, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, the Soros Open Society Foundation, the European Union and the World Bank have all developed their own unique monitoring tools to track progress. Monitoring is a foundational part of measuring the impact of assistance programs. To look for program impact we also must engage in evaluation. Evaluation, “a systematic and objective assessment of an on-­going or completed project, program or policy” is the second part of M&E (USAID 2014). It is a periodic assessment or judgement of a program’s impact. It is often conducted by external experts, at key times during a program’s life. Evaluation often occurs at the baseline, the mid-­point, and the end of the project. Some evaluations can occur years after interventions have ended as organizations such as the UN look at long-­term impacts of assistance. For instance, a recent media impact evaluation is the Media Map Project that brought together what we know and precisely defines what we do not know about the relationships between the media sector and economic development and governance. This website makes publicly accessible extensive quantitative data on the media sector for exploration and analysis. The research also examines donors’ roles in supporting the media sector over time and provides an evidence base for their future decision-­making about media support. (Sussman-­Pena 2012) The process of evaluation involves both independent and in-­depth analysis of the monitoring data. Evaluation takes a broader perspective than monitoring; it requires monitoring data and evaluations provide the information that donors need to extend a program, modify a program, or even cancel a program. All kinds of interventions, including media and information interventions, benefit from M&E, but it suffers from a lack of connection to the academic side of media development. There are far too few evaluations using standard social science theories and methodologies. The next section describes how some M&E programs in media and information interventions have integrated social science research methods into their evaluations.

M&E for media and information development This section illustrates some monitoring and evaluation methods that have helped donors of media and information interventions better plan and

Information interventions for peace   185 implement their peace and reconciliation initiatives. Social science-­based methods used to measure media outcomes and impacts may actually address some of the issues raised by Price, Becker and Tudor, Puddephatt, and others (Price 2011).

Social science methods of M&E data collection This section highlights four different research methodologies that have been used to measure higher level media assistance program outcomes. 1  Media monitoring (MM) and content analysis (CA) Media monitoring is a method to count how often certain themes or topics appear in the media. It is especially useful for projects that seek to build peace and reconciliation. Trained monitors watch, listen and read the news and count the number of stories that address a certain topic. For instance, a (Internews 2014) grant by Trust Africa in Liberia supports the Liberian Media Center (LMC) to monitor the news for stories about tribal or ethnic conflict (Liberia Media Center 2013). The stories provide an early warning system that helps the LMC and its donor to anticipate the locations where future conflict might occur. Content analysis is a well-­known and often-­used research method used by media development organizations to track the quality of news. In the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), members of community radio listening clubs (LCs) conduct a basic content analysis. The LC members listen to news stories and code them on the format of the story, relevance of the story, accuracy, objectivity and quality of the sound. The data from the listening club members provide a way of understanding how the target public views the news. Additionally, the data from the LCs provides the implementer with monitoring data to track progress toward the outcome indicator: “improved quality from partner radio stations.” Each quarter the implementer reports the scores and compares the scores of the individual community radio stations to earlier quarters. The training team reviews the content analysis data and makes plans for the next set of trainings at the radio stations based on the quantitative scores and qualitative comments provided by the LC coders. 2  Key informant interviews (KII) These are a qualitative M&E tool. Key informant interviews are loosely organized conversations with individuals who have knowledge about a subject that you need to understand. A key informant is someone who has greater than average knowledge about a specialized topic. Key informants, because of their personal skills or position in society, are “able to provide more information and a deeper insight into what is going on around them”

186   M. Taylor (Marshal 1996). Key informant interviews help a project team to understand the nature of a problem through the perspective of the informants. This method is especially useful for learning about how beneficiaries are using the skills and knowledge developed through training. Key informant interviews allow people to share their story. They are a powerful M&E tool because they provide examples and anecdotes that can be incorporated into reports. KIIs provide a human voice to show the impact of a project. Interviews played a key M&E role in measuring the impact of the Liberia Women Media Action Committee (LIWOMAC) activities in the 2012 presidential elections (Actionaid 2012). LIWOMAC recruited and trained 200 Peace Actors from ten counties to educate Liberians on the electoral process and promote a culture of tolerance to ensure violence-­ free elections. LIWOMAC also established a Mobile Platform to travel across ten counties and broadcast live, through its radio station – Liberia Women Democracy Radio (LWDR) – from various cities and towns. The Mobile Platform provided women in rural Liberia the chance to express their views on issues that they felt should drive the debates and discussions in the election campaign. Post-­election interviews with the Peace Actors provided powerful examples of how the training prepared the Peace Actors to speak on radio programs, give public speeches in their community, and address people who were unhappy with the election results. The interviews also provided suggestions for scaling up the project to train more Peace Actors for deployment in conflict areas during non-­election periods. 3  Systematic survey research This is another M&E method that provides quantitative evidence of awareness, attitudes and behaviors of the end-­users of media assistance programs (the public). Surveys are useful tools because public opinion matters a great deal in fostering peace. Most media assistance programs target citizens, and surveys allow you to learn what the public thinks or wants. Survey research is one tool to learn about public opinion, attitudes and behaviors. The BBC Media Action group regularly conducts public opinion research about media perceptions in conflict prone nations. In Bosnia, longitudinal public perception surveys asking citizens to identify the most trusted independent media outlets helped donors to allocate a dwindling pool of resources as aid diminished over time. Media outlets that were perceived to heighten ethnic tensions were no longer funded, no matter their reach or reputation (Taylor 2003). Today, there are many different ways to field a survey. Methods include traditional face-­to-face, telephone and mail. With new technologies there are now online survey platforms, SMS surveys, and surveys through social media such as Facebook. These online methods can minimize costs but they make generalization from the respondents to the larger population more difficult.

Information interventions for peace   187 4  Focus groups Focus group discussions (FGDs) are guided discussions about a particular topic, usually bringing together between six and ten people who share a common characteristic (gender, religion, political affiliation, education). FGDs are qualitative research techniques that allow an organization to explore topics in depth. The answers of the respondents provide insight into “why” people behave in certain ways, believe certain ideas or make certain decisions. FGDs provide a type of M&E data that quantitative methods such as surveys cannot provide to a program. For media interventions FGDs provide insight into local or cultural attitudes and practices among a social or demographic grouping. Participants can talk about what they like about the media, what they don’t like, and provide explanations about their viewing patterns. What makes FGDs useful for M&E is that they encourage participants to talk with each other. This group interaction is important because it provides a window into people’s thinking. In Pakistan, focus groups with media editors identified the major problems facing media organizations in conflict regions such as Baluchistan, Southern Punjab, KP and FATA. Editors discussed threats that they faced, and together came up with suggestions for dealing with local militias, interference from government officials, and economic pressures from owners and businesses. These research methods provide a starting point to think about M&E for media interventions for peace. What is needed is a closer tie to academic research, and more specifically to social science research methods informed by theory. There are other methods including Delphi panels, network analysis, website and social media analytics, panels, and capacity assessment tools that can be employed in M&E (Taylor 2010). Each method has strengths and weaknesses, and each organization will need to weigh the cost of each method with the value of the data gained. Where possible, organizations should consider combining methods – known as triangulation – to create robust M&E data upon which to make decisions and measure impacts. The final section of this chapter will identify ways forward for international donors and media implementers who enact media interventions in post-­conflict nations.

Toward enhanced M&E in media interventions: lessons from the field When I first conducted an evaluation of a media intervention in Bosnia-­ Herzegovina in 1998, no data were collected, and there were no monitoring systems and no clear recognition of what “results” meant. The theory of change guiding the media intervention in Bosnia followed a simple logic: the media had been used by nationalist leaders to foment conflict, thus the media had a role in fostering peace.

188   M. Taylor The program that I evaluated played a key role in helping moderate voices find a place on the radio, on television, and in the press. In post-­war Bosnia the media was perceived as part of the peace process. The media intervention had indeed made an impact on the peace process, and on the establishment of civil society in Bosnia, but the media implementer did not have any way of measuring this impact. The lack of a baseline meant that most reporting was narrative and highly personalized. Anecdotes served as the only evidence. Fast forward 15 years, to today. I have worked on media development projects across the world and have watched the steady improvement of conceptualizing M&E and enacting it. I offer these reflections, challenges and suggestions for next steps for both donors and implementers who conduct media interventions in peacebuilding. First, a quick look at some of the main donors in the development community – United Nations agencies, the Soros Open Society Institute, USAID, the European Union, the UK Department for International Development (DFID), and the World Bank all now all require some type of M&E. It is true that there is some variance in expectations, with some country programs having different requirements or levels of involvement in the M&E process, but, overall, donors expect M&E because they are being asked by their stakeholders (donors, governments, foundations) to prove results. Second, the new-­found recognition of the value of M&E has prompted some implementers to develop in-­house capacities in M&E. Media NGOs’ home offices, regional offices and country headquarters now have clearer M&E directions. Reporting has been improved and donors and implementers now know more clearly the impacts of the programs. Third, there is a greater diversity of M&E tools being used in the field. In the past, the humble sign-­in sheet, which was once considered the extent of M&E, is now joined by different assessment tools including the four mentioned in the section above. Teams in the field now are capable of creating M&E tools on the go and in the field as the need for monitoring different activities evolves. Fourth, there are now dedicated M&E persons in the field. Many media interventions have designated full-­time individuals or teams that conduct all parts of the M&E. These experts support the field staff and provide regular monitoring data for improved decision-­making. There is a lot to celebrate in the field of M&E but there are still challenges. Systemic challenges continue to influence media M&E. In too many projects the baseline M&E data are still missing. The reasons range from a lack of budget and/or time, to a lack of human capacity to conduct a baseline evaluation. No matter the reason, the lack of a baseline means that the project cannot draw a line between where it started and where it will finish. The impact of the project cannot really be known without a baseline. Organizations need to commit the human and economic

Information interventions for peace   189 resources to gathering a meaningful, useful baseline before major activities begin. Donors should make baselines compulsory. A second challenge is a disconnect between the M&E data and the decision-­making. When M&E data are collected in the field, they are used mainly for reporting. The M&E data become a foundational part of the quarterly and annual reports and this is an excellent first step. However, often indicators and data from M&E are used only in reporting but not in decision-­making. Programs lack a way of taking the data and looking at it from a holistic perspective. This diminishes the value of the M&E data. A third challenge is that M&E indicators are difficult to identify for new media projects. Today, social media, online advocacy, and other uses of new media appear frequently as communication tactics in media interventions. Programs train bloggers and citizen journalists, and teach CSOs how to use social media in their advocacy. However, the indicators that are intended to measure the outcomes of these communication interventions are weak. For instance, counting website visitors, number of downloads or comments posted to stories is not really very helpful for identifying the impact of these new media. These challenges are only stumbling blocks at this time. I am confident that larger discussions will filter to the field and the rationale of any changes made clear to those on the front line of M&E. I want to end this chapter with some suggestions about the future of social science methods and theories in M&E in media development. First, I look forward to a better connection between monitoring and program implementation. I see movement toward a holistic approach to M&E that does not divorce M&E from daily implementation activities. I see better indicators developed to truly measure if a training or workshop increased someone’s knowledge, or prompted them to think or act differently. It is critical that media donors and foundations fund impact assessments of past media interventions. The first large media assistance programs, in Eastern Europe in the early 1990s, are now over. We can look back 25 years on the media interventions in Bosnia, Serbia or other nations to look for country- and regional-­level impacts. Did the media help to support the peace? Such impact evaluations would allow us to draw a clearer link between media development, peace and democratic change. Finally, the diffusion of social media across the world provides additional ways to understand how information can help to change people’s lives. Media development programs may shift away from onsite interventions and move online. This opens up the idea of what information is, what it means, and how information is created and used by citizens to improve their lives and their communities.

190   M. Taylor

References Actionaid, Institute of Development Studies and Womankind Worldwide. 2012. “From the ground up country focus. Women’s roles in local peace building in Liberia.” Womankind Worldwide. Online, accessed October 13, 2014, available at: www.womankind.org.uk/wp-­content/uploads/2011/02/From-­the-ground-­upCountry-­focus-Liberia.pdf. Becker, Lee and Tudor Vlad. 2011. “The Conceptualization and Operationalization of Country Level Measures of Press Freedoms” in Susan Abbott, Libby Morgan and Monroe E. Price (eds), Measures of Press Freedom and Media Contributions to Development: Evaluating the Evaluators: 23–46. New York: Peter Lang. Becker, Lee, Tudor Vlad and Nancy Nusser. 2007. “An Evaluation of Press Freedom Indicators.” The International Communication Gazette, 69: 5–28. Behn, Robert D. 2003. “Why Measure Performance? Different Purposes Require Different Maesures.” Public Administration Review, 63: 586–606. Best, Paul. 2010. “The Power of Theory of Change.” Stanford Social Innivation Review. Spring. Online, accessed October 13, 2014, available at: www.kipp.org/ news/stanford-­social-innovation-­review-the-­power-of-­theories-of-­change. Clapp-­Wincek, Cynthia and Richard Blue. 2001. “Evaluation of Recent USAID Evaluation Experiences.” Washington DC: USAID. Crawford, Paul and Paul Bryce. 2003. “Project Monitoring and Evaluation: A Method for Enhancing the Efficiency and Effectiveness of Aid Project Implementation.” International Journal of Project Management, 21: 363–73. Freeland, Amber M. 2012. “An Overview of Agenda Setting Theory in Mass Communications.” University of North Texas. Halperin, Morton. 1974. Bureaucratic Politics and Foreign Policy. Washington, DC: The Brookings Institute. Huesca, Robert. 2008. “Tracing the History of Participatory Communication Approaches to Development: A Critical Appraisal” in Jan Servaes, Communication for Development and Social Change: 180–200. New Delhi: Sage. Internews. 2013. Internews. Online, accessed October 13, 2014, available at: http:// internews.org/where-­we-work/sub-­sahara-africa/democratic-­republic-congo. Lewin, Kurt. 1951. Field Theory in Social Science; Selected Theoretical Papers. D. New York: Harper and Row. Liberia Media Center, LMC. 2013. Online, accessed October 13, 2014, available at: http://lmc.org.lr/2press.php?newsid=9&related=79ps=sp. Marshal, Martin. 1996. “The Key Informant Interview.” Family Practice, 13: 92–7. Price, Monroe E. 2011. “Press Freedom Measures: An Introduction” in Susan Abbott, Libby Morgan and Monroe E. Price, Measures of Press Freedom and Media Contributions to Development” Evaluating the Evaluators: 1–19. New York: Peter Lang. Price Monroe E., Susan Abbott and Libby Morgan. 2011. Measures of Press Freedom Media Contributions to Development: Evaluating the Evaluators. New York: Peter Lang. Puddephatt, Andrew. 2011. “Examining and Critiquing Existing Measures of Media Development” in Susan Abbott, Libby Morgan and Monroe E. Price, Measures of Press Freedom and Media Contributions to Development: Evaluating the Evaluators: 67–88. New York: Peter Lang. Rodham Clinton, Hillary. 2010. “Remarks on Internet Freedom.” Online, accessed October 13, 2014, available at: www.state.gov/secretary/rm/2010/01/135519. htm.

Information interventions for peace   191 Schramm, Wilbur, Frederick Siebert and Theodore Peterson. 1956. Four Theories of the Press. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Stremlau, Nicole. 2011. “Towards a New Approach” in Susan Abbott, Libby Morgan and Monroe E. Price, Measures of Press Freedom and Media Contributions to Development: Evaluating the Evaluators: 191–209. New York: Peter Lang. Sussman-­Pena, Tara. 2012. “The Media Map Project.” Online, accessed October 13, 2014, available at: www.mediamapresource.org/about. Taylor, Maureen. 2010. “Methods of Evaluating Media Interventions in Conflict Countries..” December 13–17. Caux Conference Centre, Switzerland. Taylor, Maureen and Philip Napoli. 2003. “Media development in Bosnia: A longitudinal analysis of citizen perceptions of media realism, importance and credibility.” International Communication Gazette, 65: 473–92. UNDP. 2009. Handbook on Planning, Monitoring and Evaluating for Development Results. Online, accessed October 13, 2014, available at: http://web.undp.org/ evaluation/handbook P.5. USAID. 2014. “USAID Glossary of Evaluation Terms.” Online, accessed October 13, 2014, available at: http://pdf.usaid.gov/pdf_docs/PNAD0820.pdf. Vijayendra, Roa and Mansuri, Mansuri. 2004. “Community based and Driven Development: A Critical Review.” World Bank Observer, 19: 1–19.

13 Digital technology and peace Steven Livingston

The ability to gather and manage information on a global scale is growing exponentially. According to one estimate, at the close of the twentieth century, the sum of all human-­produced recorded information (including all audio, video recordings, and text/books) was about 12 exabytes of data (Enriquez 2003).1 To put that in perspective, Cisco (2014) predicts that in 2017 the same amount of data will be produced in a single month. Data are now extracted from social, spatial, and genetic relationships at an unprecedented rate and scale (Cukier and Mayer-­Schoenberger 2013). In this chapter, the discussion of peace is situated in the context of a consideration of the availability of information (Bimber 2003; Bennett and Segerberg 2013; Shirky 2008). I argue that information and communication technologies empower communities and non-­state actors in efforts to address the social and economic conditions that give rise to endemic violence and instability. We begin with a brief review of insecurity – the absence of peace – in the world. Next we turn to a brief survey of relevant technologies, followed by a review of new collective action theory, or what I will refer to as digitally enabled collective action. I’ll also illustrate the concept with a few examples. We will then close with a discussion of the connection between accountability and peace.

Insecurity around the world Despite taking millions of lives, “stealth conflicts” tend to remain off the radar of conventional media (Hawkins 2008). An oft-­cited example is the conflict in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) where estimates point to approximately five million deaths from war, disease and malnutrition since the mid-­1990s (Gettleman 2012). These are the wars that traditional media too often miss. “One or two of the twenty or thirty conflicts ongoing throughout the world appear to be ‘chosen’ as the subject of intense scrutiny and selective indignation, very rarely on the basis of scale or the level of humanitarian emergency” (Hawkins 2008: 187). Conventional media are even less likely to cover mob justice attacks in urban slums or guerrilla attacks on communities found deep in the bush in

Digital technology and peace   193 Africa or high in the Andean mountains. As long as people experience these depredations without voice and without effective recourse, the violence will continue unabated. Most modern conflicts are found in the Global South. Furthermore, many conflicts are not between states, but rather among sub-­state actors, exclusively, or between sub-­state actors and states. Figure 13.1 illustrates the distribution of conflicts in the world in 2012. The darker shades indicate a greater prevalence of conflict.2 About a third of all conflicts (n = 128) observed in this survey were found in Asia and Oceania. Sub-­Saharan Africa came next with 90 conflicts. The Middle East and North Africa recorded 69. Europe experienced 58 and the Americas 51 conflicts. At the heart of most of the conflicts in the world were disputes over status claims to legitimate governance. About 80 percent of all conflicts were “domestic,” involving disputes over sub-­national predominance – attaining de facto control over a territory or a population (Heidelberg Institute for International Conflict Research 2012). As insecure as the Global South already is, there is reason to believe that the situation is, in fact, much worse. The inherent methodological limitations for tracking conflict and insecurity lead to this conclusion. The Heidelberg Institute for International Conflict Research, for example, uses “news archives and other open sources” in assembling its statistical assessments of global conflict (2012: 121). The task of collecting accurate data on a global scale is enormous and imprecise. It is therefore understandable that the Heidelberg Institute must rely on the sources they do. Yet one should keep in mind that newspapers and other reliable news outlets either do not exist, or, if they do exist, are severely constrained and under-­ resourced. Little of the violence that touches the lives of people living in urban slums or in remote rural communities is known or reported by any news organization. In some places violence is pervasive yet episodic, buried in the daily routines of those living in slums or in remote rural settlements.

Figure 13.1 Global distribution of conflicts (source: Conflict Barometer 2012, Heidelberg Institute for International Conflict Research).

194   S. Livingston Around the world populations live in fear of political and criminal violence (which are at times indistinguishable) and undisciplined and unaccountable security forces (which are sometimes indistinguishable from the criminal and political sources of violence). What does insecurity look like in areas defined by the absence of war but still lacking in peace? Typically, it involves high crime rates, violent rivalry among competing ethnic groups, and mob justice. In the absence of effective policing, communities mete out swift and brutal “mob” justice on suspected criminals. According to Kenyan police statistics, 429 people were killed in mob justice attacks in 2011, though the actual number of deaths was surely much higher. Police statistics in Kenya are highly unreliable. Mob justice attacks are situational and episodic. The mobs are spontaneous and swift to resort to violence. Vigilantism, on the other hand, is a more sustained and organized form of security provisioning (Totolo 2009). It involves an informal organization of young men, often of a particular identity group, who provide for the security of the community. Although some of these groups provide a vital community service, they often degenerate into protection rackets and extortion rings. One such self-­defense group that strayed into criminality is the Mungiki in Kenya. Dominated by members of the Kikuyu ethnic group, the Mungiki illustrates the precipitous slide self-­help security protection efforts experience: from security force to criminal gang. As one investigation noted, Initially, the Mungiki were seen as substituting for a lack of public services in the slums. Later it started bullying individuals and businesses, including matatus [minibus taxi drivers] and owners of real estate, into making payments for services which it would provide, including connecting electricity, providing pit latrines, and meting out justice. Mungiki and other gangs across the country (e.g., the Taliban, Chinkororo, Kamjeshi, Baghdad Boys, and many others) grew and multiplied within the context of a political culture that both used and tolerated extra-­state violence. (Waki 2008: 27) In slums and poor neighbourhoods, local residents manage their own security, either through mob justice or vigilantism. In wealthier areas, private security firms fill in for missing state security provisioning. According to one estimate, some 1,500–2,000 security firms employ about 100,000 people in Nigeria. Kenya has about 2,000 such companies, some of which have expanded operations to meet demand throughout East and Central Africa. There are as many as 430,000 active private security officers in South Africa alone (Private Security Industry Regulatory Authority of South Africa 2012). This mish-­mash of private groups in Africa varies dramatically in competency and integrity, though almost all lack standards of accountability or regulation. The results of such informal and private security efforts can often be entirely counterproductive.

Digital technology and peace   195 In some cases the state maintains a monopoly on the use of force. The experience of state use of force, of course, varies widely. But where state security forces are unaccountable, poorly trained and unprofessional, peace is violated in profoundly disturbing ways. In his 2010 annual report, the United Nations Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial, Summary, or Arbitrary Executions stated: “All too common are intentional murders in which police shoot to kill alleged criminals without resort[ing] to other appropriate measures” (Alston 2010: 8). In some countries the security forces are directly controlled by politicians, and “security officials may conduct politically motivated killings, including of political opposition members or supporters, and election-­related killings” (Odinkalu 2010: 43). This claim echoed a 2006 statement by Nigeria’s first Presidential Committee on Police Reform: Extrajudicial killings, summary executions of suspects and revenge killings are also widely reported. Due to a combination of poor training, inadequate infrastructure, and absence of respect for due process and human rights, the police often resort to torture to extract confession[s] and information from suspects. (cited in Odinkalu 2010: 43) In Kenya, during a tense period in June 2007, the Mungiki was accused of killing 15 police officers and 27 civilians, many of them by beheading (Odula 2007). In response, the police claimed to have detained 2,464 “suspected” Mungiki members. However, this may have been only a small part of the police response. In November 2007 the Oscar Foundation Free Legal Aid Clinic Kenya, a human rights organization, reported that between 2002 and 2007 Kenyan police had killed over 8,000 people in crackdowns against the Mungiki, and that another 4,000 people were missing (BBC 2007). Well beyond the reports of violence one finds in newspapers, insecurity – the lack of peace – is deeply endemic to areas outside the governance capacity of an accountable state. Whether considering community self-­help initiatives, private security, or state systems run amok, the fundamental problem involves a lack of transparency, accountability and restraint. With few resources and even less oversight, the institutions intended to maintain security become themselves a principal source of insecurity. How might we accentuate accountability functions with various digital technologies? Our goal here is to consider the possibility that advances in digital technology will provide greater accountability. At the heart of the process are methods to strengthen accountability through a leveraging of various technologies. The expectation here is that digital technology will expose the illegitimate use of force and deter its future use. The first step in making this argument is with a brief introduction to relevant technologies. I will also offer several examples of their use in enhancing transparency and accountability.

196   S. Livingston

Information and communication technology As of 2014 there were about seven billion mobile phone subscriptions in the world, with billions of other connected devices comprising the “Internet of Things.” Over 30 billion connected devices were expected by 2020 (ABI Research 2013; Chaouchi 2010). Although a digital divide remains, especially with regard to the broadband connectivity of rural areas in the Global South, the fastest growth rates in mobile telephony are found in Africa and Asia (Livingston 2011). In addition to mobile telephony, geographical information system (GIS) platforms, geographical positioning satellites (GPS), and various remote-­sensing satellites are vital sources of data. Geospatial data create the capacity for constant spatial awareness – either for handheld devices or for devices embedded in automobiles, ships at sea, and onboard aircraft. Remote sensing data are themselves varied in content and precision, with different sensors capable of capturing different parts of the electromagnetic spectrum with varying degrees of spatial precision. Panchromatic (black-­and-white) imagery is now available in less than 0.5 meter resolution, meaning objects on the ground that are about the size of a toaster can be seen from 600+ km away in space. Multi-­spectral and hyper-­spectral imagery, though with less precise spatial resolution (at least when used from space) detects aspects of the chemical composition of substances on the ground. When mounted on aircraft, precise three-­dimensional models of the material composition of objects on the ground are possible. For example, the health of photosynthesis is detectable in the non-­visible ranges of the electromagnetic spectrum, making it possible to monitor the health of crops and forests from space. These data are managed by GIS software platforms that add practical value to massive amounts of geospatial data. These are not stand-­alone technologies. GIS, GPS and remote sensing are essential constituent elements in an integrated geospatial referencing and communication system. Without GPS and GIS, mobile telephony would be impossible, while mobile telephony facilitates the broad adoption of GIS and GPS platforms – such as Google Maps. Remote sensing satellite imagery is important for expanding the ability to account for human rights violations. Amnesty International, for example, used high resolution satellite imagery to reveal the scale of destruction arising from civil unrest in the Central African Republic. “The images – some taken since the beginning of November (2013) – include evidence of 485 homes being torched in Bouca as well as internally displaced persons (IDPs) massing near the town of Bossangoa as people flee the ongoing violence” (Amnesty International 2013). In Nigeria, satellite imagery revealed that in February 2013 the Nigerian government destroyed the homes of around 9,000 people as a part of a “redevelopment” initiative tied to a counterinsurgency campaign directed at Boko

Digital technology and peace   197 Haram, the Muslim militant group operating mostly in the north (Collins 2013). Also in 2013, Human Rights Watch used satellite imagery to reveal what it called the “massive destruction [and] deaths” resulting from a military raid on the town of Baga in northern Nigeria. The raid was carried out in retaliation for an attack that killed a soldier. Baga residents told Human Rights Watch that soldiers ransacked the town after the Boko Haram militant Islamist group attacked a military patrol, killing a soldier. Community leaders said that immediately after the attack they counted 2,000 burned homes and 183 bodies. Satellite images of the town analyzed by Human Rights Watch corroborate these accounts and identify 2,275 destroyed buildings, the vast majority likely residences, with another 125 severely damaged. (Human Rights Watch 2013) Digital technologies also help security forces in their efforts to provide individual and collective security. One way this is achieved is through what some call social physics (Pentland 2014). Data are used to map behavioral patterns over time, leading to probability-­weighted predictions of future behavior (Pentland 2014). In May 2012 Caesar Acellam, a commander of the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and military strategist for the extremist group’s leader Joseph Kony, was captured by the Ugandan Army. Capturing LRA commanders is especially difficult because of their habit of hiding in the jungles of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, South Sudan and the Central African Republic. Drawing on hundreds of data points – including terrain information, the location of prior LRA attacks, access to resources and locations of internally displaced persons (IDPs) – DigitalGlobe, a remote sensing satellite and geospatial information company, identified a pattern behind LRA movements. With this information algorithms generated a heat map pinpointing where LRA movements created a pattern. These data produced a weighted prediction of where the LRA was likely to attack next. Acellam was found in one of those areas (Clark 2013). In other instances broadly distributed mobile telephony enables crowdsourced monitoring of elections, efforts to respond to natural disasters, or politically motivated violence. Broadly distributed individuals, each carrying a mobile phone, become the eyes and ears of an initiative to achieve a collective goal or good. The cost of their involvement, at an individual level, is negligible, and perhaps even unrecognized. For example, contested elections have been the source of political instability and crisis the world over (Hyde 2011). Ushahidi GIS platforms are now used to monitor election processes via crowdsourced reports from the field using mobile phones. An example would be the use of mobile phones to report violent incidents following the disputed elections in

198   S. Livingston Kenya in 2007. The reports were managed on an open source digital mapping platform called Ushahidi, the Swahili word for “witness.” Since then, hundreds of Ushahidi deployments have monitored other violent episodes and conditions, as well as elections. Crowdsourcing and Ushahidi have also been used to coordinate the public response to wildfires in Russia and to earthquakes in Haiti, Japan and New Zealand (Jeffery 2011; see also Bailard et al. 2012; Asmolov 2014; Meier 2014). The forensic sciences have also been affected by the digital revolution. Data are extracted from genetic and textual sources. Newer scanning technologies, for example, enable forensic archivists to sort and manage massive amounts of unorganized textual information. This can be illustrated by an example that is also relevant to the larger point of this chapter. In July 2005 files containing the names, addresses and identification documents of the many thousands of victims of the Guatemalan government’s decades-­long civil war were found in an abandoned warehouse in Guatemala City. It contained an estimated 80 million individual pages, or about 15 million documents. Benethech, a non-­profit technology company based in the Silicon Valley, built specialized scanners and software to digitize the documents. The process of scanning so many documents in a meaningful timeframe also involved the datafication of space within the warehouse itself. First, the physical dimensions of the warehouse were obtained. From this, precise points in three-­dimensional space within the warehouse were randomly sampled. In essence, a random selection of spots within the physical dimensions of the warehouse was used to locate documents, painting a picture of what the entire population of documents would eventually reveal. Meanwhile, archivists continued the laborious process of digitizing the entire body of records. By the end of 2013 about 20 percent of the documents (15 million pages) had been digitized (Kinzer 2013). In the absence of scanners and software, assessing the content of the documents would have taken decades. Meanwhile, Guatemalan forensic anthropologists made use of genetic markers to trace the identities of victims of human rights abuses. DNA extracted from bone fragments or teeth of a victim is matched with the DNA of members of the affected community; that is, the victim’s likely relatives. Investigators establish the victim’s identity through DNA matching, a process first developed and used on a large scale by forensic anthropologists working to identify the disassociated remains of the 8,000 men and boys murdered by Serbian military in the Srebrenica massacre of July 1995 (Wagner 2008). This process is made less costly and less time consuming by efficiencies made possible by computer software (Brenner undated). In some instances, forensic anthropologists have been able to match genetic evidence collected from massacre sites with archival records assembled by forensic archivists to hold the perpetrators accountable (Suarez 2013; Boyd 2008). In Guatemala, Argentina,

Digital technology and peace   199 Peru, Chile and in the Balkans, former members of death squads and the political leadership that directed them have been prosecuted based on evidence collected by forensic specialists using these advanced technologies (Robbins et al. 1995). Most of the technologies discussed above lead to the datafication of social, spatial or genetic relationships. The data that are extracted from these relationships constitute new sources of transparency. People and groups who shatter the peace and well-­being of other people and groups are now less likely to continue to do so without detection.

Concluding thoughts – accountability and peace Amartya Sen has famously observed that famines do not occur in countries with a free press and fair multi-­party elections. “Famines are easy to prevent if there is a serious effort to do so, and a democratic government, facing elections and criticisms from opposition parties and independent newspapers, cannot help but make such an effort” (Sen 1999a: 8; see also Sen 1999b: 180–1). Newspapers and elections are accountability mechanisms. They take their force from the ability to signpost indifference, misconduct and malfeasance. Sen’s understanding of development economics is directly related to peace and accountability. Traditionally, the success of economic development has been measured by gross domestic product (GDP), the measurement of all domestically produced goods and services. Sen and his followers believe GDP is a poor proxy for a more complete and humane understanding of what it means to live in a developed country. His “Capabilities Approach” emphasizes a different set of expectations. Sen measures progress in development according to an individual person’s well-­being. “What is this person able to do or be?” (Nussbaum 2011: 18). What impediments do they face and how can they be freed from them? Capabilities do not reside only within an individual. They are also the freedoms created by the combination of personal abilities and the social, political and economic environment in which he or she resides. Political philosopher Martha Nussbaum has contributed to the Capabilities Approach by specifying some of the core attributes of a fully realized life. These include the ability to live a life of normal length; to enjoy good health and adequate nourishment; to maintain bodily integrity, understood as the ability to move about without fear of violent assault; enjoying a life of the mind, one that allows one to imagine and think and reason; enjoying a healthy emotional life; having the freedom to make political choices and expressions; and having property rights on an equal basis with others (Nussbaum 2011: 33–4). These attributes also seem to sketch the contours of a condition deserving of the term peace. Peace is more than the absence of war. It is the presence of the life-­affirming attributes of the community in which one lives. Some living conditions “deliver to people a life that is worthy of human dignity that they possess, and others do not” (Nussbaum 2011: 20).

200   S. Livingston With this added element we are proposing that digital technology contributes to the creation and preservation of peace. They do so by enabling groups and organizations to inspect the conduct, past and present, of those who undermine human capabilities. To live a life of normal length, to enjoy good health and adequate nourishment, and to be able to move about without fear of violent assault, require sources of individual and collective security that are themselves accountable. Digital technology contributes to the creation of that condition. This is the principal tie, as I see it, between information and communication technology and peace. This is not a perfect solution. Knowing about a harmful condition or human rights abuse does not necessary translate into change (Dai 2013).3 Regulation by revelation has its limits. Some violators of individual and collective security are impervious to external pressure. It is also a deeply ironic solution. It relies on advanced digital technologies – such as remote sensing satellites, GPS and digital mapping – all technologies created for the purposes of more efficient and deadly warfare. The first marketed transistor, the 2N697, developed in 1958 by what would become Intel, was sold to IBM for $150 a piece, a price that far outstripped its pure market value. That price was met by the deep pockets of the Pentagon, which saw its potential for weapons development (Lécuyer 2010). The Internet is also a Defense Department creation. And in the wrong hands greater transparency intended for good can turn into a lack of privacy resulting in political control. This dialectic of technology is not limited to satellite imagery or mobile phone metadata. Every technology, from biological science (curing disease or creating biological weapons) to radiology (medical imaging and radiotherapies or nuclear weapons) to aeroplanes (civilian airliners reuniting families or bombers) has a dialectical presence. The key is to teach and share the values that will give strength to preferred outcomes. No outcome is predetermined. They are instead contested and fought over by people who work together collectively for things that matter to them – such as peace.

Notes 1 One exabyte = 1,0006 bytes = 1018 bytes or 1,000,000,000,000,000,000 bytes or 1,000 petabytes or one million terabytes or one billion gigabytes. 2 For a definition of conflict see Heidelberg Institute for International Conflict Research 2012:120. 3 For a broader discussion of transnational human rights activism and information, see Risse et al. 1999, and Keck and Sikkink 1998.

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Digital technology and peace   201 Alston, Philip. 2010. “Report of the Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial, Summary or Arbitrary Executions (A/HRC/14/24).” Geneva, Switzerland: United Nations. Amnesty International. 2013. “New Satellite Images Reveal Shocking Aftermath of Abuses in Central African Republic.” Amnesty International News, November 8. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.amnesty.org/en/news/new-­ satellite-images-­r eveal-shocking-­a ftermath-abuses-­c entral-african-­r epublic2013–11–08. Asmolov, Gregory. 2014. “Natural Disasters and Alternative Modes of Governance: The Role of Social Networks and Crowdsourcing Platforms in Russia” in Steven Livingston and Gregor Walter-­Drop (eds), Bits and Atoms: Information and Communication Technology in Areas of Limited Statehood: 98–114. New York: Oxford University Press. Bailard, Catie, Rob Baker, Matt Hindman, Steven Livingston and Patrick Meier. 2012. “Mapping the Maps A Meta-­Level Analysis of Ushahidi and Crowdmap.” CrowdGlobe, July. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: http://irevolution.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/internewswpcrowdglobe_web-­1.pdf. BBC. 2007. “Kenyan Police ‘Killed Thousands’.” November 25. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/7112183.stm. Bennett, W. Lance and Alexandra Segerberg. 2013. The Logic of Connective Action: Digital Media and the Personalization of Contentious Politics. New York: Cambridge University Press. Bimber, Bruce A. 2003. Information and American Democracy: Technology in the Evolution of Political Power. New York: Cambridge University Press. Boyd, Clark. 2008. “Guatemala: The Secret Files.” Frontline. PBS, May 27. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.pbs.org/frontlineworld/stories/guatemala704/. Brenner, Charles H. Undated. “International Commission on Missing Persons.” Online, accessed April 16, 2014, available at: www.ic-­mp.org/committees/ steering-­committee-on-­forensic-sciences/charles-­hbrenner-phd-­usa/. Chaouchi, Hakima. 2010. The Internet of Things. London: Wiley-­ISTE. Cisco (2014). “Cisco Visual Networking Index: Global Mobile Data Traffic Forecast Update, 2013–2018.” Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.cisco. com/c/en/us/solutions/collateral/service-­provider/visual-­networking-index-­ vni/white_paper_c11–520862.pdf. Clark, Liat. 2013. “How Geospatial Analytics Is Helping Hunt the LRA and Al-­ Shabaab.” Wired Magazine, June 24. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.wired.co.uk/news/archive/2013–06/24/geospatial-­analytics-hunting-­lra. Collins, Katie. 2013. “Satellite Images Prove Forced Evictions that Left 9,000 Homeless in Nigeria.” Wired Magazine, August 14. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.wired.co.uk/news/archive/2013–08/14/satellites-­nigeria-forced-­evictions. Cukier, Kenneth and Viktor Mayer-­Schonberger. 2013. Big Data: A Revolution that will Transform how we Live, Work, and Think. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Dai, Xinyuan. 2013. “The ‘Compliance Gap’ and the Efficacy of International Human Rights Institutions” in Thomas Risse, Stephen C. Ropp and Kathryn Sikkink (eds), The Persistent Power of Human Rights: From Commitment to Compliance: 85–102. New York: Cambridge University Press. Enriquez, Juan. 2003. “The Data that Defines Us.” CIO Magazine. Fall/Winter. Online, accessed December 1, 2013, available at: www.cio.com/archive/092203/ enriquez.html.

202   S. Livingston Gettleman, Jeffrey. 2012. “The World’s Worst War.” New York Times, December 15. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.nytimes.com/2012/12/16/ sunday-­review/congos-­never-ending-­war.html?_r=0. Hawkins, Virgil. 2008. Stealth Conflicts: How the World’s Worst Violence Is Ignored. Hampshire, England: Ashgate. Heidelberg Institute for International Conflict Research (2012). “Conflict Barometer (21).” Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.hiik.de/en/konfliktbarometer/pdf/ConflictBarometer_2012.pdf. Human Rights Watch. 2013. “Nigeria: Massive Destruction, Deaths from Military Raid.” Human Rights Watch News, May 1. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.hrw.org/news/2013/05/01/nigeria-­massive-destruction-­deaths-military-­ raid. Hyde, Susan D. 2011. The Pseudo-­Democrat’s Dilemma: Why Election Observation Became an International Norm. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Jeffery, Simon. 2011. “Ushahidi: Crowdmapping Collective that Exposed Kenyan Election Killings.” Guardian, April 7. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.theguardian.com/news/blog/2011/apr/07/ushahidi-­crowdmap-kenya-­ violence-hague. Keck, Margaret E. and Kathryn Sikkink. 1998. Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Kinzer, Stephen. 2013. “Glimmers of Hope in Guatemala.” New York Review of Books, December 5. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.nybooks.com/ articles/archives/2013/dec/05/glimmers-­hope-guatemala/. Lécuyer, Christophe. 2010. Makers of the Microchip: A Documentary History of Fairchild Semiconductor. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Livingston, Steven. 2011. Africa’s Evolving Infosystems: A Pathway to Stability and Development. Washington, DC: National Defense University Press. Meier, Patrick. 2014. “Crisis Mapping in Areas of Limited Statehood” in Steven Livingston and Gregor Walter-­Drop (eds), Bits and Atoms: Information and Communication Technology in Areas of Limited Statehood. New York: Oxford University Press. Nussbaum, Martha C. 2011. Creating Capabilities: The Human Development Approach. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Odinkalu, Chidi A. 2010. Criminal Force: Torture, Abuse, and Extrajudicial Killings by the Nigerian Police Force. New York: Open Society Institute. Odula, Tom. 2007. “Arrest Reported in Kenya Mungiki Beheading Spree.” Guardian, August 22. Pentland, Alex. 2014. Social Physics: How Good Ideas Spread: The Lessons from a New Science. New York: Penguin Press. Private Security Industry Regulatory Authority of South Africa. 2012. “2012 Annual Report (20).” Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www.psira.co.za/ psira/dmdocuments/annual_report/Annual_Report_20112012.pdf. Risse, Thomas, Stephen C. Ropp and Kathryn Sikkink. 1999. The Power of Human Rights: International Norms and Domestic Change. New York: Cambridge University Press. Robbins, Robert J., David Benton and Jay Snoddy. 1995. “Informatics and the Human Genome Project.” IEEE Engineering in Medicine and Biology, 14 (6): 694–701. Sen, Amartya K. 1999a. “Democracy as a Universal Value.” Journal of Democracy, 10 (3): 3–17. Sen, Amartya K. 1999b. Development as Freedom. New York: Anchor Books.

Digital technology and peace   203 Shirky, Clay. 2008. Here Comes Everybody: The Power of Organizing without Organizations. New York: Penguin Press. Suarez, Pablo. 2013. “The bloody truth: Forensics rebuilding identities.” Buenos Aires Herald, September 19. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: http://buenosairesherald.com/article/140945/the-­bloody-truth-­forensics-rebuilding-­identities. Totolo, Edoardo. 2009. “Kenya: vigilantes unleashed.” The International Relations and Security Network, June 2. Online, accessed May 22, 2014, available at: www. isn.ethz.ch/Digital-­Library/Articles/Detail/?lng=en&id=100755. Wagner, Sarah E. 2008. To Know Where He Lies: DNA Technology and the Search for Srebrenica’s Missing. Berkeley: University of California Press. Waki, Philip N. 2008. “Report of the Commission of Inquiry into Post Election Violence.” Nairobi, Kenya: Government Printer.

14 Strategic communications and the avoidance of violent conflict Monroe E. Price and Nicole Stremlau

There are many promising elements in the repertoire of peacebuilding communications, but one overarching aspect is the role of strategic leadership. In this chapter we examine ways of thinking about this subtle but necessary phenomenon of strategic leadership and how it relates to other embodiments of peace communication. Communication, as we know, plays a key role in guiding public expectations that influence whether the tensions behind violent conflict are heightened or ameliorated. Communication, in the hands of capable leaders and citizens, can help build resilience to strains and divisions by enhancing social cohesion and building support for a vision – often unifying – of the future. In contrast, communication techniques, inadvertently or not, can act as a stress factor, weakening state legitimacy and undermining social harmony. Leaders may leverage communication to establish and promote a legitimate and cohesive constituency or sense of participation that sustains society’s transformation toward a unifying goal. Leaders can select a narrative of legitimacy that facilitates conflict resolution. In outlining these issues we argue that the new multi-­modal communication environment has blurred traditional distinctions between mass communication (i.e., one-­to-many) and interpersonal communication (i.e., one-­to-one). Communication has been fundamentally changed by interactive Internet technologies, the proliferation of mobile networks, and the rise of social networks unfettered by geographic boundaries and national legal restrictions. Nevertheless, governance and leadership still have crucial roles. Effective communication on the part of leaders can prove critical in establishing legitimacy, managing expectations and preventing violence more generally. Our chapter is divided into two sections. The first section focuses on questions of leadership, specifically how the communication strategies of leaders affect potential stresses, social cohesion and trust. In developing this section we have drawn on examples of leadership over the past two decades. An historical approach has given us perspective to understand how the communication strategies of leaders have evolved and the benefit of hindsight to understand how these strategies have shaped their countries. The second section offers perspectives on how media development strategies have

Strategic communications   205 sought to shape this environment. We conclude by arguing that among the most significant challenges for leadership during the critical period of post-­ conflict transition are effectively managing expectations of the population and promoting national unity and social cohesion.

Leadership Our first emphasis is on the importance of responsible leadership for strategic communications. Understanding what makes leadership responsible is a mode for identifying areas of potentially destabilizing stress and creating an environment in which expectations are engaged, articulated and shifted to provide a greater sense of social cohesion. What is involved is a definition of national leadership that sees a society as a vast and complex series of interactions in which interventions can alter the integrated outcome. Responsible leadership can consider overarching narratives that elevate aspirations, furnish a sense of shared community and provide evidence of a determination to enhance security and stability. There are three significant areas we highlight in this section: listening for stresses; fostering social cohesion; and moderating polarizing language. To deepen these three areas we draw on examples from leaders in Asia and Africa. These are certainly not perfect examples, though in some cases they provide a lesson in the damage that can be done by an ineffective communications strategy and together help draw out the complexities of leadership communication. It would be possible to write about weak leadership and the complexities of responsibility: there are many countries and many persons of responsibility that fall within this category. And one can write about strong leaders whose goals are inconsistent with peacebuilding. This, too, is a large and problematic category. Much of our recent history is about these two categories – indeed, at times, circumstances where a state shifts from the latter category to the former, where a strong, authoritarian leader is deposed and replaced by a weak successor for example. What circumstances give rise to responsible leadership and leadership for peacebuilding is not the subject of this article – as important as that may be. In this essay, however, we emphasize leadership for peace – and in so doing elide other conditions, such as democratic legitimacy or the influence of human rights norms. Listening for stresses and managing expectations One step of responsible leadership, in this sense, can be understood through the work of Albert O. Hirschman, particularly “exit,” “voice” and “loyalty.” For Hirschman, responsible leadership exists where the government is carefully in tune with signals of dissatisfaction or potential stress. It monitors various indications of “exit” that are harbingers of future crisis.

206   M.E. Price and N. Stremlau These may include the more obvious elements of “exit” such as flight, as well as other profound and meaningful elements of citizen exit such as failure to obey the law, acceptance of a system of illegality, substitution of systems of governance, or refusal to pay legitimate taxes. Responsible leadership also tolerates and encourages “voice” as another means of being informed of potential crises. “Voice” is a valuable reservoir of intelligence about deep-­seated stress or reservoirs for sustained criticism. For Hirschman, there was peril in relying too much on “loyalty” in his sense of the word (attachment to an organization or state). While loyalty, however created, increases the cost of exit, it may, in Hirschman’s terms, suppress the desire for “voice.” While these modes of enhancing social cohesion may have short-­term benefits, they may also increase longer term peril and, in some circumstances, lead to the failure of the entity. A critical element of managing and listening to stresses is managing expectations. In contexts of divided societies with ethnic turbulence, significant economic inequality, or shifting divided loyalties, hopes and aspirations may outrun realities. In August 1998, shortly before his death, Julius Nyerere, the former president of Tanzania, offered his thoughts on “Leadership and the Management of Change” during a university lecture. While largely peaceful, Tanzania had struggled over the past several decades of independence to maintain economic growth. Nyerere spoke about the challenges for current leadership and about managing the expectations of the people in an international system where power, particularly economic power, is imbalanced. “The present generation of leaders,” he noted, have to deal with challenges when the “expectations of the people are higher than the general understanding of what is happening and why” (Nyerere 1998). Responsible leadership – that which is in tune with signals of potential “exit” and adroit at managing “voice” and “loyalty” – can offer a systematic approach for identifying and avoiding the “expectations trap.” Within misplaced “loyalty” can lie acceptance of societal goals that are wholly unrealistic, that will deflate and lead to instability. The stifling of both exit and voice will desensitize a leader to taking early notice when expectations turn to traps. This is particularly crucial in societies prone to violent conflict where polarizing interest groups will seek to defy political advances by invoking memories, and creating narratives or reiterating failures, in order to make further progress more difficult. The task of moving toward resolution becomes enormous; backsliding becomes a norm. Such an approach, related to Hirschman’s analysis, might have three pillars. First, leaders must anticipate circumstances in which expectations need to be addressed and shifted, and where grievances must be addressed and countered where possible. Second, leaders must establish, in advance, the machinery by which leadership decisions relating to such an expectations gap and its consequences can be dealt with in a manner that further legitimates the state rather than undermining it, and then must effectively

Strategic communications   207 execute the policy. Third, leaders must protect against external efforts to increase stress as occasions for an expectations gap and other conflict-­ heightening circumstances arise. Listening to stresses offers the opportunity for “exceptional collective action by national leadership and international actors to confront these negative tides of expectations and shift them in more constructive directions” (World Bank 2011). Affirmative examples include states that have beneficially arranged positive transitions by acknowledging realistic assessments of deep and divisive issues, recognizing signals of potential conflict, and taking decisive signals and rapid action on a few key issues. The British prime minister, David Cameron, seems to have adopted this approach. In June 2010 he used his national podium to define what he perceived to be realistic expectations regarding the current and prospective economic environment, indicating that there would be cuts and that there would be “momentous decisions” that would change Britain’s “form of life” and which would disrupt societal arrangements for years to come. But he housed this significant exercise in “expectations management” in appeals to consideration of social cohesion – notions of fairness and openness, for example. He also stressed that the sacrifices were essential for achieving a better society in the long run. Acknowledging grievances but making appeals to fairness, transparency, justice and progress are a key part of a positive strategy. Fostering social cohesion Political scientists and communication scholars have long pointed toward the importance of social capital in both ameliorating and avoiding domestic and international conflict. At its core, social capital refers to the idea that interactions both within and between communities may foster social trust and create norms of reciprocity and goodwill that may be drawn upon during times of crisis. In the simplest terms, building social capital is about establishing lines of communication surrounding a particular project or activity.1 Responsible leadership, particularly in the context of incipient conflict, includes efforts to foster social cohesion as well as to respond effectively when social cohesion appears to be unravelling. It is helpful to think of promoting social cohesion as an enterprise that requires a thorough understanding of the way values are developed in the society. For example, one result of the shift from the Soviet Union to the autonomous states of the post-­Soviet world was the disappearance of a strong central leadership structure, including its education-­related and propaganda ministries that projected a narrative (however fictive) of social cohesion. Putting aside the considerable burdens and weaknesses of an ideological and controlled educational enterprise, the shift robbed the new regimes of a major contributor to modes of furnishing ideas of identity and common purpose (Silova et al. 2007).

208   M.E. Price and N. Stremlau For an educational system to be refashioned to perform such social cohesion functions – without being controlling and politically charged – requires a particular style of leadership. In 2009 the Royal Think Tank in Morocco recommended strengthening social cohesion through democracy, good governance and the reinforcement of social safety by more efficient and effective social policies (Achy 2009). If, as Durkheim would have it, social cohesion is fostered in part through shared interdependency, many crises (particularly those that involve violent conflict) present inherent challenges as traditional forms of interdependence break down. The dissolution or destruction of operating aspects of social cohesion is an especially important moment for leadership, but one in which the exercise of leadership is ever-­more complex. At such points, leadership must provide a vision that is authentic, or appears sufficiently and convincingly authentic so that it has the hope of being enduring and is not perceived as a cover for control and manipulation. Social cohesion occurs not just because of a set of actions or policies, but as the result of shrewd communications techniques and strategies. It can obviously exist in the absence of strong leadership, but when there are pervasive damaging divisions, leadership is an essential element of repair. One particularly important opportunity to increase social cohesion occurs in contexts of transitional justice – activities in post-­conflict societies that are undertaken in order to offer recognition to victims and to enhance civic trust between citizens and the state, and among citizens themselves. Some of the more publicized efforts include truth and reconciliation commissions, meaningful reparations programs for victims, and prosecution of the architects of crimes. But there is also a more diverse palette of measures that can include initiatives such as education projects, ethnic federalism that confers more self-­government and rights to local groups, and traditional rituals of forgiveness. These measures may be undertaken by a variety of actors, including local communities, national governments or international bodies. What matters in terms of the capacity to achieve results is how these efforts are framed to various audiences, and whether the targeting strategy addresses an opportunity to address past wrongs and define a new future in an effort to promote social cohesion. In these processes of reconciliation, communication has a role in framing and articulating ideas of justice for public audiences, what kind of societal consensus might take place, and which of many competing objectives may be achieved. Just as reconciliation efforts can be exploited or manipulated by political or economic interests, communication practices may also perversely exploit these efforts to deepen ethnic divides. Communication may, conversely, support and advance these measures to help knit a society together. In this case, the media can become a theatre where the broader political, cultural and social dynamics at play in a society are discussed. Leaders need to consider how to engage with the media to

Strategic communications   209 establish a supportive environment for reconciliation measures, for addressing responsibility, for defining competing perceptions of justice, and in some circumstances providing a forum for their negotiation. Moderating polarizing language The third consideration is relatively obvious: modulating the vocabulary of violence. This consideration, important in its own right, is also closely linked to the other goals of setting or shifting expectations (and avoiding an expectations gap), and fostering social cohesion. The call to violence may create its own pathway of access to significant audiences with the capability of binding them to the communicator’s cause. The response – which is often strong censorship based on limiting appeals to violence – can be read as a way (often, but not always, appropriate) to limit access to the marketplace of voices and ideas. As part of the Oslo Accords negotiations, for example, all parties recognized the need to avoid an intensification of antagonisms or rhetoric. The Accords provided undertakings by each signatory to address communications within their control that could inflame and increase the likelihood of conflict. There was no specific machinery to execute this policy, though it was the responsibility of the respective authorities. Over time, commitment to this principle declined and entities outside the Middle East helped contribute to the heightening of conflict. Here, leadership can take the form of positive, persuasive efforts (which are more consistent with international speech norms) or coercive, criminalizing ones. The core of this issue is how leaders and their governments communicate to reduce polarization or regulate polarizing speech, or, conversely, use their positions of power to exploit divisions in an effort to marginalize competitors or incite violence. Leaders are in a privileged position to frame reconciliation and create a forum for dialogue. The Middle East conflict presents a particularly instructive case. One could describe the creation of overarching approaches as modes of shifting expectations: how to prepare parties for a “two-­state solution,” or create understanding and appreciation of competing resolutions of Jerusalem as part of a final arrangement. How leaders manage and manipulate public opinion helps determine the potential for any particular approach to be effectively implemented. Post-­apartheid South Africa has also struggled with this; its Truth and Reconciliation Commissions (TRC) were modes of transitional justice that affected and addressed inflammatory and polarizing rhetoric. These Commissions were part of an elaborate thinking through of the potential triggers of post-­resolution violence, including how to think of narratives that demonstrate causes, the ongoing need to live together, and ideas of responsibility. The media – both government and private – had a central role in propagating, as well as challenging, apartheid, and were addressed during the TRC hearings.

210   M.E. Price and N. Stremlau Related to this is a project commissioned by the South African Human Rights Council that investigated subliminal racism in the media. This report, known as the Claudia Braude Report (after its author), argued that several years after the end of apartheid, much of the media remained racially biased. The report was heavily criticized by the media, and others, for its use of discourse analysis and quickly drawn conclusions. Critics argued that it was almost impossible to accurately identify “subliminal racism” in the media, at least without stifling debate. However, the report had a significant impact on public discourse, raising sensitivity toward subtle bias, the framing of race, and lingering racial assumptions. It created much-­needed public dialogue and discussion that went well beyond hate speech to cover more more subtle prejudices. On the other side of persuasion there are efforts of regulation and control of the information space in the apparent interest of reducing the potential for internal conflict. These examples are important to understand because they demonstrate or expose, in almost every case, the not-­ so-delicate line that leaders must tread between repression and future schism on the one hand, or cohesion on the other. Exemplary of this effort is the series of laws in Rwanda that criminalize “genocide ideology.” The ethics and sustenance of such an effort under international norms is the subject of a vigorous debate as to whether the laws are primarily in the interest of maintenance of power by the incumbent and are therefore inherently repressive.2 Hate speech prohibitions, Holocaust Denial statutes and similar measures are other, sometimes similar, modes of regulating the information environment – often in the interest of social cohesion. In Singapore and Malaysia governments justify strict control over the media – often with the support of a significant proportion of the public – because of the histories of ethnic conflict and the potential that they could once again inflame populations and allow decades of achievement to be destabilized and destroyed. A similar phenomenon exists in the Middle East, where there are overt efforts to regulate transnational satellite communications with the stated goal of reducing potential conflict and violence in the target societies. The Arab Satellite Broadcasting Charter, agreed to by ministers of information of the Arab League in February 2008, requires in Article 4 that satellite broadcast or retransmission entities “act in a way that will not jeopardize “social peace, national unity, public order and general propriety” (Arab League 2008). The Iraqi government’s effort to ban “insurrectionist” video channels transmitted over Nilesat, but directed at Iraqi populations, falls within this category (Santora and Cave 2007). Even accurate statements – reportage of secular violence in India for example – can be seen as bearing the potential for conflict-­producing violence and thus regulated by sensitive governments. In China, a recent Internet White Paper issued by the State Information Office asserts the need to maintain control over the Internet for similar ends: “To build, utilize and administer the Internet well is an issue that

Strategic communications   211 concerns national economic prosperity and development, state security and social harmony, state sovereignty and dignity, and the basic interests of the people” (People’s Republic of China Information Office 2010). The “harmonious society” is cited as a goal; filtering and asserting legal control is a means of achieving it. Administration and management (not autonomous free market growth) is the key, in this telling, to making the Internet successful.

International dimensions: a supplementary role We turn, finally, to explore what international partners must consider where leadership issues arise in the context of conflict. We have emphasized that leadership can harmonize or reinforce divided identities, even where (perhaps especially where) there are efforts to deploy ideology to surmount existing settlements of identity politics. Leadership can advance or minimize the impact of harmful symbols in adjusting social relationships. Representations of identity, of history, of the justification of transitional measures – indeed the narratives of the society itself – become critical in shaping the extent to which stability, harmony, new nation building and community can be sustained. The origins, spaces and participation where these issues are negotiated are also closely linked to the media’s role and define the processes of conflict or reconciliation. The exercise of leadership can be both a forum where identity issues play out, and can also provide the space for encouraging certain measures, such as transitional justice efforts, to be accepted. But when international partners seek to foster these qualities, the special impacts of conflict should be assessed. A critical element of communication policy in crisis states is the ability to support a functioning government. For leadership to have any meaning there must be an apparatus that can deliver services and perform objectives. A first step in crisis environments, in this sense, is one of recuperation – or paying attention to the machinery of government. This standard approach to the functioning of the press and broadcasters, which is largely framed in free expression terms, has been challenged by those that focus on the role of the media in preserving stability and in contributing to a well-­functioning government. This argument has been put forward by a number of African leaders seeking to promote a model of “developmental media,” but it has also been raised by those critical of the prevailing approach to media development (Stremlau 2011; Gagliardone 2014). In this view, too much pluralism or abrasive dissent might make governance in many of these circumstances impossible (Stremlau and Allen 2005). Media systems have a long history of a relationship with conflict. In the late twentieth and early twenty-­first centuries, the very organization, content, and influence of the press and broadcasting – and communication in general – were matters of division and intervention by leaders

212   M.E. Price and N. Stremlau seeking to delegitimate or undergird regimes for harshly divided ethnic groups, for civil authorities fulfilling their role in peacekeeping duties, for non-­governmental organizations seeking to change norms, and for state parties with a stake in promoting stability. In the 1990s, as part of the ensuing discussion, scholars, NGOs, public officials and members of the international community began probing ways of understanding the general role of leadership and communication in promoting or accentuating devastating, and often genocidal, conflict. Information intervention was thought of as a way to broaden the range of intermediary opportunities available to international organizations and domestic players in ethnic and other conflicts (Metzl 1997; Price and Thompson 2002). One focus was on how the international community should react to these situations, such as: the proto-­genocidal uses of broadcasting (and other media) as in Rwanda; the bitter violence in conflict’s wake as in Bosnia; or the need for wholesale reconstruction, as in East Timor and, later, in Iraq. Internal stresses can be animated and intensified, or mollified and lessened, by external media and communications interventions. It became a matter of common understanding to point to the explosive mobilizing role that Radio-­Television Libre des Milles Collines (RTLM) had in Rwanda, with its repetitious and explicit incitement for Hutu to slaughter Tutsi, as a textbook example where preventive intervention by the international community should have been deemed suitable and, perhaps, necessary. Control of the market determines which voices and which forces enter and which are excluded. In the context of “occupation,” such as in post-­war Germany or Japan, management or supervision by the occupying force is complete: the media is fully controlled and a monopoly is maintained in which the occupier is the sole strategic communicator or the active regulator of entry. There are other contexts, such as Iraq, where the initial approach to communication policy of the sort described above phased into a model in which the modes and practices of affecting media and speech became more diffuse. Occupation is not an available, and certainly not a desirable, policy in many conflicts. Indeed, such full control is usually a sign that conflict has ended, at least temporarily. In each instance, the analytic point involves observation of competing entrants to see how they gain some control over modes of communication. A diagnostic of how voices, or aggregates of voice, enter – entities within or without, whether government supported or rebel financed, promoting tolerance or extremism – is key to understanding the workings of the market. In the occupations of World War II in Japan and Germany, the United States paid close attention to how the populations under occupation would receive information, and be influenced about critical issues relating to the conflict, including the legitimacy of the occupation. The modes and techniques used in this example should be further analyzed for their

Strategic communications   213 implications. Half a century later international actors and NGOs have again perceived the need to build a more conducive information and communication environment for furthering conflict reduction objectives. The language now is less about “occupations,” and more about the role of international organizations. In Cambodia, as a result of the 1991 Paris Agreements, the United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia (UNTAC) sought techniques and approaches to alter the structure and practice of information distribution prior to the 1993 elections. Shortly thereafter, under the Dayton Accords, SFOR (the NATO-­led Stabilisation Force), the Office of the High Representative, the Organization for Security and Co-­operation in Europe (OSCE), and a wide variety of NGOs, took steps to reshape and reform the media space in Bosnia and Herzegovina, recognizing the critical role of altering media as part of reconstructing society. In Kosovo, variations on the Bosnia and Herzegovina themes were repeated, as the OSCE was given administrative responsibilities for reconstructing the devastated Kosovar infrastructure in connection with peacekeeping there. The structure of the Kosovo Temporary Media Commission is an example of a relatively successful effort to use what might be called “imposed self-­regulation” to restrain depictions of groups in society (in this case Serbs) in ways that would be inflammatory and almost certainly lead to violence. It became clear that a new approach by the international community was emerging – a machinery of administration over the media that had not been seen in half a century – with vastly important constitutional, political and structural implications. In the case of Iraq, the structuring of the Iraq Communications and Media Commission (and al Iraqiya, the Iraqi Media Network) highlighted the stop-­start nature of efforts to manipulate elements of a communication system for short-­term confidence-­building. In this instance the idea was that a properly functioning regulatory system would reduce the likelihood of divisive speech by bringing order to a post-­conflict media. In this respect the “handover,” or transition in the control of communication systems, is not fully understood. In Iraq, one possible criticism relates to the dissolution of the CPA and the exercise of control, in that case, without the sufficient institutional back-­up of the Iraq Communications and Media Commission. The Commission was both weak and politicized. Similarly, the Iraq Media Network was too politicized. In both instances a “medium-­term legitimacy” or state-­building institution was established, but then cast adrift without proper support and, to some extent, a lack of supervision and control. Also during this period, the CPA’s use of Order 14 (which prohibited certain media activities “to prevent the misuse of media to promote violence or undermine public security”) to close down a newspaper controlled by followers of Muqtada al Sadr was an example of an ill-­conceived intervention for which there was no sense of transparency or due process.3

214   M.E. Price and N. Stremlau As the international community has stocked its armoury for support of post-­conflict communication, one important design technique focuses on public service broadcasting. In the 1990s and afterwards, in the wake of the Balkan conflicts, there were concentrated efforts to use positive communications initiatives and regulations to abate the renewal of violence. The general effort in Bosnia to establish a cross-­federation public service broadcaster, along with close regulation by the Office of High Representative of the development of the media, was an effort to foster a positive national identity. Far more controversial in terms of avoiding violence is the use of state of emergency declarations. Leaders have deployed such tactics to stifle what they deem to be destabilizing communication streams during moments of societal stress. States of emergency have been abused and overplayed, and can be of very long duration as methods of dealing with conflict and the media. India in the mid-­1970s is still a harshly disputed chapter; Egypt endured a state of emergency that ran from 1967 to 2012 (with an 18-month break in 1980–1981), and which limited media freedom by giving the government ultimate control over the censorship or shutting down of media outlets. In recent years states of emergency have been declared in Thailand (April 2010); Pakistan (November 2007, by President Musharraff ), in Georgia (for a shorter period and in tandem with an announcement of a proximate election by President Saakashvili) (Radio Free Europe 2007). In Thailand, the government shut down an opposition television station under Article 9 of the State of Emergency Declaration, which gave the government the power to prevent the “dissemination of information liable to disturb public order” (Reporters without Borders 2010). In Georgia, the ban on all radio and television broadcasts – except by state-­funded Georgian Public Television – was defended as an effort to prevent violent destabilization. Establishing a “free and independent media” USAID efforts in the last two decades have considered the establishing of “free and independent,” often private, and usually commercially driven media in transition societies. The connection between this process and the strengthening of fragile governments is sometimes agonized and indirect. In many transitions support for private broadcasting initiatives have been favored because strong interests, often related to government, have gained control of private outlets. US secretary of state Hillary Clinton reasserted this strategy in her “Remarks on Internet Freedom,” a significant and somewhat elegiac address given at the Newseum Washington, DC, in January 2010: On their own, new technologies do not take sides in the struggle for freedom and progress, but the United States does. We stand for a single internet where all of humanity has equal access to knowledge

Strategic communications   215 and ideas. And we recognize that the world’s information infrastructure will become what we and others make of it. Now, this challenge may be new, but our responsibility to help ensure the free exchange of ideas goes back to the birth of our republic. The words of the First Amendment to our Constitution are carved in 50 tons of Tennessee marble on the front of this building. And every generation of Americans has worked to protect the values etched in that stone. (Clinton 2010) We have already emphasized that in post-­conflict contexts, communications efforts (often supported or encouraged from outside) include the use of international criminal courts or similar tribunals, and truth and reconciliation efforts. A case study is the broadcast of the International Criminal Court proceedings in The Hague to the Respublika Srpska. The hope was that the broadcast would be educational and healing, but among partisans the intensification of divisive, secessionist tendencies may have occurred instead. Although the capacity to communicate was present, the modes for constructing a case for healing divisions remained a puzzle for the peacebuilding-­related communications system. The International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia courted the international media more effectively than it engaged with local counterparts. In anticipation of the operations of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in Liberia, the European Union and others invested heavily in journalism training, including preparation of a TRC Journalists’ Code of Conduct. The Liberian journalists’ association itself was encouraged to adopt a code of conduct, and the International Center for Transitional Justice conducted an early evaluation of journalistic behavior (ICTJ 2008). In Darfur, NGOs, the UN and other entities are very conscious of the consequences of the reporting and interpretation – both internally and externally – of the International Criminal Court’s indictment of Sudanese President Omar al-­Bashir. Other examples include exercises in collaboration and dialogue, using communications to foster social cohesion. In the last two decades, Fondation Hirondelle and Search for Common Ground (SFCG) have been experimenting with various techniques for promoting conflict resolution. They have done this by inventing narratives of peace, and through considering ways in which developing audience constituency can help perpetuate a sense of the society in which the necessary cohesion is present. An evaluation of a SFCG efforts in the Democratic Republic of Congo states: CL (Centre Lokole) . . . combines practical peace-­building with the power of the mass-­media (i.e., radio), to inform and encourage Congolese participation in the ongoing peace process, as well as influencing knowledge, attitudes and behaviour of the audience in ways that can facilitate peace. . . .CL has promoted conflict transformation communication through its radio outputs as well as through

216   M.E. Price and N. Stremlau participatory theatre (a field in which it has become an important resource), and to a lesser degree through its on-­the-ground community work. There is some evidence that CL’s outputs have helped reduce general levels of tension, as well as contributing to specific instances where violence has been prevented, most notably including child demobilisation resulting from “Sisi Watoto.” The key achievement of CL’s radio output is that it produces informative, relevant and stimulating material which is disseminated to mass audiences in parts of the country where few other sources of information or discussion reach. Programmes have contributed to transition processes by enabling people to become better informed about the transition, better able to assess and act on information, and by providing outlets for popular opinions and commentary. (Myers and El Bushra 2006) However, the evaluation says little about the radio station’s ability to mediate social cohesion or set a national narrative that offers an opportunity for unity. Such efforts almost always must come from national leadership rather than from international support.

Conclusion While there has long been concern with leadership and communication, the need for further understanding and more detailed attention is great, particularly when applied to peacebuilding or post-­conflict situations. As this article has argued, it is precisely during these critical times that leadership is desperately required to help manage expectations about the transition, as well as promote national unity and social cohesion. This leadership will ideally come from national leaders, but in the absence of leaders with sufficient legitimacy or resources international actors can have a role to play. Their involvement, however, must be carefully monitored as it can also undermine (either advertently or inadvertently) weak and fragile governments or local initiatives. Proposing remedies, by any actor, requires an appropriate diagnosis of the crisis and the state of health of the patient.

Notes 1 These lines of communication may then be utilized at later dates during times of tension. Over the last 20 years, the World Bank, for instance, has embraced social capital building projects. See: www1.worldbank.org/prem/poverty/scapital/home.htm for an overview of such projects. 2 For a discussion on this, see the Amnesty International Report of 2009, which argues that “vague and ambiguous terms” could “stifle freedom of expression, and restrict the ability of the accused to put forward a defense in criminal trials.” See: www.amnesty.org/en/region/rwanda/report-­2009. 3 Order 14, June 10, 2003; www.cpa-­iraq.org/regulations/20030610_CPAORD_14_ Prohibited_Media_Activity.pdf.

Strategic communications   217

References Achy, Lahcen. 2009. “Morocco’s Royal think tank issues report on economic crisis: Diagnosis right, therapy wrong!” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, August 7. Online, accessed March 18, 2014, available at: http://carnegieendowment.org/2009/08/07/morocco-­s-royal-­think-tank-­issues-report-­on-economic-­ crisis-diagnosis-­right-therapy-­wrong/6pn. The Arab League. 2008. “The Arab League Satellite Broadcasting Charter: Principles for Regulating Satellite Broadcasting Transmission in the Arab World.” Arab Media & Society, February. Online, accessed March 18, 2014, available at: www.arabmediasociety.com/articles/downloads/20080314081327_AMS_ Charter_English.pdf. Gagliardone, Iginio. 2014. “New media and the developmental state in Ethiopia.” African Affairs, 113 (450): 279–99. Information Office of the State Council of the People’s Republic of China. 2010. “The Internet in China.” Online, last modified June 8, 2010, available at: http:// china.org.cn/government/whitepaper/node_7093508.htm. Metzl, Jamie. 1997. “Information Intervention: When changing channels isn’t enough.” Foreign Affairs, November/December. Online, accessed March 18, 2014, available at: www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/53575/jamie-­f-metzl/information-­ intervention-when-­switching-channels-­isnt-enough. Myers, Mary and Judy El-­Bushra. 2006. “Mid-­term evaluation of Search for Common Ground (Centre Lokole) ‘Supporting Congo’s transition towards sustainable peace’ programme in Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC).” Search for Common Ground, 2March 22. Online, accessed April 5, 2014, available at: www.sfcg.org/programmes/ilt/evaluations/drc_2006_keyf_en.pdf/. Nyerere, Julius K. 1998. “Leadership and the management of change.” Address at the Quinquennial General Conference of the Association of Commonwealth Universities in Ottawa, August 17. Online, accessed April 3, 2014, available at: www.insiderzim.com/stories/6165-nyerere-­on-leadership-­and-change. Price, Monroe and Mark Thompson (eds). 2002. Forging Peace: Intervention, Human Rights and the Management of Media Space. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Radio Free Europe Radio Liberty. 2007. “Criticism mounting over Georgia’s state of emergency.” Radio Free Europe Radio Liberty, November 8. Online, accessed April 1, 2014, available at: www.rferl.org/content/article/1079097.html. Randall, Lawrence and Cosme R. Pulano, Jr. 2008. “Transitional Justice Reporting Audit.” International Centre for Transitional Justice and United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, January–February. Online, accessed March 18, 2014, available at: www.unesco.org/new/fileadmin/MULTIMEDIA/ HQ/CI/CI/pdf/programme_doc_review_media_coverage_liberia.pdf. Reporters Without Borders. 2010. “Government uses state of emergency to escalate censorship.” April 8. Online, accessed March 14, 2014, available at: http://en.rsf. org/thailand-­government-uses-­state-of-­emergency-08–04–2010,36968. Santora, Marc and Damien Cave. 2007. “The struggle for Iraq; banned station beams voice of Iraq insurgency.” New York Times, January 21. Online, accessed March 11, 2014, available at: http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9 F07E7DE1F30F932A15752C0A9619C8B63&pagewanted=all. Silova, Iveta, Mark S. Johnson and Stephen P. Heyneman. 2007. “Education and the crisis of social cohesion in Azerbaijan and Central Asia.” Comparative Education Review, 51 (2): 159–80.

218   M.E. Price and N. Stremlau Stremlau, Nicole. 2011. “The press and the political restructuring of Ethiopia.” Journal of Eastern African Studies, 5 (4): 716–32. Stremlau, Nicole and T. Allen. 2005. “Media policy, peace and state reconstruction” in Oscar Hemer and Thomas Tufte (eds), Media and Global Change: Rethinking Communication for Development: 215–32. Buenos Aires: Publicaciones Cooperativas. United States Department of State. 2010. “Secretary of State Hillary Clinton’s remarks on Internet Freedom.” January 21. Online, accessed April 30, 2014, available at: www.state.gov/secretary/20092013clinton/rm/2010/01/135519.htm. World Bank. 2011. World Development Report 2011. “Concept Note of Executive Summary and Table of Contents.” January 7. Online, accessed March 13, 2014, available at: http://siteresources.worldbank.org/EXTPARLIAMENTARIANS/ Resources/WDR2011_Conflict_Security_Development.pdf.

15 Capacity-­building, institutional change and theories of change Creating an enabling environment for journalists in post-­conflict environments Michelle Betz The evolution of media development and capacity-­building The study of media development theory is, historically, a relatively new field that challenges researchers due to its interdisciplinary nature that encompasses media, development, governance, accountability, advocacy and more – largely following Western models. Media development and media assistance strategies first gained prominence during the late 1980s and 1990s with the collapse of the Soviet Union at the end of the Cold War. At that time the primary focus was on training journalists and encouraging the development of solid professional standards based on the Western model. The assumption was that journalists were themselves a primary driver of change – if journalists adopted “international standards” of professionalization, then their work would be effective in creating an informed society that would demand democratic reforms. These efforts were not unsuccessful and had a positive impact on capacity-­building. Civil society and development workers acknowledged the introduction of dissident voices on radio stations such as Radio Free Europe, and the underground production and distribution of restricted publications were catalysts in promoting free societies at the end of the Soviet era. Mainstream media development templates emerged out of the political and economic transitions of the former states of the Soviet Union, promoting the aims of Western governments and multilateral institutions to speed up the transition from centralized, state-­led economic and political organizations to market capitalism. Implementing these programs led to a more nuanced understanding that capacity development is crucially dependent on “the quality of the organization in which they work which in turn are influenced by the enabling environment – the structures of power and influence and the institutions – in which they are embedded” (Walters 2007: 3). In the case of the former Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, most organizations and institutions were holdovers from the Soviet days and simply did not provide an environment conducive to journalists newly trained in

220   M. Betz “Western” standards. As such, it became evident that institutional (and organizational) frameworks also needed to be examined and addressed. Media development practitioners were faced with changing contexts in the early to mid-­1990s when there was a shift of focus from post-­Soviet countries to conflict and post-­conflict countries. As such, the context in which media development activities were taking place was completely different – there were twin goals of peace and democracy, arguably the preconditions for economic development in divided societies, and questions about how the media could be assisted in pursuit of such goals. Two vivid examples illustrate that it is problematic to assume the existence of a functioning infrastructure and state in post-­conflict environments. In Rwanda, in 1994, citizens were reeling in the aftermath of the genocide and structural changes to the government. In the aftermath of the war in the Balkans, one country disintegrated into several new states, all of which needed to establish functioning governments and institutions. Clearly, there are challenges to using a Western model and modernization theories as a basis for developing media development interventions. For example, interventions tend to be based on either US-­style or French-­ style media, depending on the donor – leaving no alternatives. Indeed, the goal of this chapter is to suggest alternate methodologies that go beyond modernization and are more inclusive of local contexts. But what was often missing early on in media development was consideration of the greater environment or context. The media in any country does not operate in a vacuum. Who makes the laws? Who sets up the regulatory body and who sits on this body? It has become clear that to bring about change in institutions (i.e., rules) a certain malleability is required – or at the very least a willingness to change – among the organizations (i.e., players) in which they are embedded, be it at the level of the family, community, society, country, region, etc. Finally, serious soul-­searching about the legacy of hate media (as well as propaganda) has forced many practitioners to urge more attention be paid to the role of the media in conflict situations; this would later expand to include the role of media in conflict resolution and peacebuilding. Perhaps the same tools used with fiendish efficiency by those who would encourage atrocities can be used for peace. In this landscape the media development sector began to consider the issue of media in conflict and post-­conflict situations.

Post-­conflict With the credibility of media development established from experience with post-­Soviet bloc countries, it was hoped that promotion of a competent and free media could serve as a critical component in creating and building civil society, and stability, in post-­conflict countries in other parts of the world.

Creating an enabling environment   221 The challenges of working in such fragile environments have led to research examining not only the methodologies used, but questioning some of the fundamental assumptions about the realities of meeting the goals set by donors. In their paper, “Why templates for media development do not work in crisis states,” Putzel and van der Zwan suggest that new paradigms are necessary in post-­conflict countries. They argue that “at a minimum, a complementary strand of strategies and tactical interventions is required to address the unique characteristics of crisis states vis-­àvis transitional political systems” (Putzel and van der Zwan 2006: 17). This is necessary because what had hitherto been the default template made several assumptions: a functioning state and government; that states are either free or unfree; and that a functioning state must be formed “before the idealized role of the independent and competing media can be fostered” (Putzel and van der Zwan 2006: 17). Krause goes even further, emphasizing that Post-­conflict operations are not minor “insertions” of another actor into a complicated field of forces, but represent major breaks in state formation, often attempting to redistribute political, economic or social power and reshape the institutional terrain on which political competition occurs. Moreover, these ruptures occur in situations of often extreme violence and insecurity, human deprivation and institutional collapse. (Putzel and van der Zwan 2006: 17) In such scenarios, building peace is not exclusively oriented toward creating immediate stability to prevent further violent conflict; it entails building political, social and economic institutions, building capacity, and working toward good governance. In other words, it is essential to “add the concept of development into the peacebuilding equation” (Krause 2005: 454) for a more comprehensive understanding of peace. Development agencies also have begun to acknowledge that building democratic governance in post-­conflict situations also requires building the capacity of the media, usually as part of democracy and governance programs which usually include: “conduct of elections; establishment of State Institutions – a working civil service, parliament, political parties, the justice system, security institutions etc.” (Kayanja 2007). A recent BBC Media Action policy briefing concluded that media in fragile states can make a positive difference and should be integrated into both the post-­Millennium Development Goals framework and into the fragile states agenda (Dean 2013). However, there needs to be a clear understanding of the context in which one is working and strong evidence to illustrate impact during and after implementation. One effective framework with which this might be done is through theories of change, which will be examined later in the chapter.

222   M. Betz Crafting media development efforts in these environments requires attention to numerous complicating issues. Security, including disarmament, demobilization, reintegration of former combatants, security sector reform, a functioning system of law and order, including questions of redress for past crimes, refugee and IDP return and reintegration, a sound economic and fiscal policy, education reform and the incorporation of local and civil society actors all form part of the state-­building process and have an effect on both the nature of the state that is being built and the sustainability of peace within it. (Wolff 2011: 5) How does one tackle media development in such complex and unstable environments? Should donors and implementers wait until after the establishment of state institutions to pursue media development agendas, or should these be concomitant pursuits? This author would argue that the media sector is crucial in the development and rebuilding of the state and thus development and reconstruction must include support for a media sector which plays a key role in building effective governance and ensuring democratic evolution. It is clear that the role of the media in post-­conflict scenarios, as both instrument and agent, is important and demands complex interventions ensuring capacity-­building efforts as well as strengthening of institutional and organizational structures. When formulating media development interventions a holistic approach that appreciates the numerous factors at play – political, social, economic institutions, legal and regulatory frameworks – is crucial.

Organizational and institutional frameworks A central paradigm of the media development sector is to acknowledge the importance of intervening at both the level of societal institutions, such as the rule of law, as well as formal organizations, such as the military, government, and other associations. Clearly, in post-­conflict environments, this can be challenging as there is often little, if any, rule of law, and formal organizations are usually in complete disarray – leaving implementers, such as NGOs, working with weak local partners who often have very little capacity. Highlighting the importance of addressing institutional frameworks in her paper on capacity development, Hettie Walters stressed the need to understand and effectively address institutional constraints in order to propose policies and interventions that will lead to the required changes (Walters 2007: 8). But what are these institutional frameworks and/or constraints in post-­ conflict environments as they pertain to media development? Many

Creating an enabling environment   223 scholars have followed the lead of Monroe Price and usually consider the legal and regulatory structures within which the media operates as the institutional framework (Price and Krug 2002). But again, in post-­conflict environments these structures are weak at best. Regulators are in disarray and often not functioning, legislation is often outdated and punitive when it comes to journalists and is often used to punish them rather than create an enabling environment – leaving many journalists in post-­conflict situations trying to operate in a disabling environment. In addition to regulatory and legislative structures, there are often a variety of different institutions involved in media development – the donor, implementer, the target community and individuals – which together create very complex interactions and which individually cannot be discounted. Indeed, donors and implementers are most often from Western countries – which in itself might call into question their claims of legitimacy in some post-­conflict countries, particularly if these same countries did not play a role (e.g., intervention) in the conflict itself. This is an area of exploration worthy of a separate study yet it is important to make this point bearing in mind that “much of the failure in development can be accounted for by a poor understanding of institutions and how to change them” (Walters 2007: 7). Clearly, there are tensions between these different institutions. Rarely do donors pursue policies for purely altruistic reasons; rather they do so for geopolitical, strategic or economic reasons. Implementers, such as NGOs, will most often simply follow the donor money – a reality which tends to leave the target communities and individuals in post-­conflict countries that are not on the radar of donors to fend for themselves. In addition, there are often cases in which a particular post-­conflict country is the flavour of the day (Myanmar was such a case in 2013), and where most donors are involved. This then has implications as implementers may not coordinate or address the target community’s specific needs. Local communities should be consulted and specific contexts should be taken into account as no two are alike. This may mean reaching out to exiled or refugee communities in post-­conflict settings. Donors and implementers should work to better understand the complex environments in which they are going to be working and should coordinate efforts to avoid duplication. One also needs to define the target community. Is the target journalists, unions, editors, publishers and owners, associations and organizations, and/or journalism schools? There are a plethora of institutions and all are necessary in a post-­conflict media environment – although priorities change depending on the specific context. In the Central African Republic, for example, most media outlets were looted and many were destroyed during the crisis there; here there was a desperate need to rebuild so that crucial information could reach the communities. In a fragile or transitional country like Egypt, however, the priorities would be

224   M. Betz different and would point to necessary changes in the legal and judicial systems. Regardless of which institutions should be targeted, it is essential to understand that together they provide a series of checks and balances and an enabling environment, and thus must be examined together – interrelations and all. For example, journalists can pursue stories often only if they have the support of their editors, yet editors may be hesitant to report on certain aspects; as a result they need to be targeted as well. Associations and unions are necessary to provide a forum for media workers and to negotiate salaries, for example, from a position of strength. As such, it is important for donors (though it most often falls to the implementers) to coordinate their efforts. While one organization may have expertise in regulatory and legal frameworks another might compliment this effort by working to strengthen local journalist associations and journalism institutions. The development of the UNESCO (United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization) media development indicators emphasized that a more holistic view of media development was needed – that training journalists and building capacity simply was not enough (UNESCO 2008). There was a need to also to examine and address pluralism and diversity of media, sufficient infrastructure capacity and sustainability, the use of media for democratic discourse rather than for hate speech, as well as professional organizations and media monitoring. Such frameworks also provided some preliminary suggestions as to how best to tackle assessments and evaluations. As such, when pursuing media development work in post-­conflict settings, it is important to assess the state of all of these institutions in each particular context prior to designing any program. There are additional elements not covered by the UNESCO indicators that come into play and cannot be ignored: geopolitical, socio-­political and strategic factors, and the safety of media workers (both physical and online). Examining all of these factors in any specific context allows for a holistic program design conducive to the success of post-­conflict reconstruction. While not institutions, these contextual elements are an important part of any assessment in a post-­conflict environment.

Theory of change As the media development sector has grown, particularly in post-­conflict environments, donors have challenged implementers to provide evidence of the impact of their programs. The need for accountability mirrors requirements in other development sectors which are also challenged to demonstrate proof of the value of their work. As a result, implementers have searched for methodologies which can be used as a framework to evaluate the impact of post-­conflict media programs. However, growing

Creating an enabling environment   225 pressure to demonstrate results leads to the danger that the processes by which these results are achieved are overlooked. Increasingly, this has become a point of focus – leading both implementers and academic researchers to discuss real-­world solutions with a closer consideration of the processes that lead to the desired results, rather than simply the results themselves. One such way is through use of the methodologies arising from the theory of change. Theory of change is an approach to both planning and evaluating change, and is part of program theory that stems largely from the evaluative aspects. The use of theory of change originally gained ground as a tool for evaluation processes; however, it is clear that the framework can also be useful for designing media development interventions, post-­ conflict. This is because they are particularly adept in complex change processes that are multi-­layered, multi-­faceted and multi-­stakeholder, and they allow for a certain amount of flexibility – something that is crucial in the complex post-­conflict media environment. Such approaches require a clearer articulation of the linkages between inputs and outcomes, and how programs are intended to work, to improve evaluations and program performance (Vogel 2012: 9). While theory of change was initially used as an evaluation tool (“prove it”), it has also proven to be an excellent tool for visioning and planning (“improve it”). More recently, implementers have begun to see that its real potential lies in sparking innovation. The reason for this is that theories of change frameworks lead implementers and planners to ask questions that might otherwise be overlooked. Theory of change examines the process or processes by which change happens and can help organizations focus their own organization, the programs they are undertaking, specific projects, or even an activity. While similar to a logical framework approach, or “logframes” (long the mainstay of developing and assessing development programs), the major difference is that logframes assume simplistic linear cause and effect relationships with a four-­step process: input, output, outcome, impact. Theory of change analysis is based more on adaptive change processes and better reflects the reality in which implementers function. This is especially important in post-­conflict environments which are fluid and ever-­changing. Working with the media sectors in such environments therefore demands a closer look at the processes underpinning this change, and identifying appropriate entry points. There is consensus on the basic elements that make up the theory of change approach. At a minimum, theory of change should include an examination which considers the following questions (from Vogel 2012: 4): • •

What is the context for the initiative, including social, political and environmental conditions? What is the long-­term change that the initiative seeks to support?

226   M. Betz • • • • •

Who is the ultimate beneficiary? What is the process that is expected to lead to the desired long-­term outcome/s? What are the assumptions about how these changes might happen? What activities and outputs are appropriate for bringing about the desired change in the specific context? What are the outcomes?

Theory of change analysis is based on the definition at each and every level of the process, examining and identifying why one outcome may lead to another, and why one activity might lead to the intended outcome or result (or not). “In a theory of change approach the assumptions underlying the internal logic or causal links chain need to be examined and tested” (Walters 2007: 11). Specifically, a theory of change examines what the change should be, how a change process occurs, what makes it happen, what has to happen for the intended result/outcome to be reached, who needs to be involved, whose interests are at stake, and what the result/outcome of a change process should be. (Walters 2007, 11) Theory of change takes into account the real-­world need for flexibility to be built into development projects, including media development in post-­ conflict situations. Yet flexibility is precisely something that many donors may initially be reluctant to embrace; their priority is to focus on results rather than processes, and implementers are conversely discouraged from building such flexibility into project design and implementation. Another benefit to theory of change frameworks is overcoming the tendency to minimize the implications of complicating factors on a previously detailed and agreed-­upon plan – again something that is particularly important in post-­conflict environments. Few donors or implementers easily acknowledge the need for change and as a result are not flexible in adapting to deviations from initial assumptions if things do not progress as intended. As a result, theory of change changes the way organizations (both donor and implementer) need to think about implementation strategies – encouraging them to focus not simply on what is being done, but on what needs to be changed during the overall process. One might look to the example of the media sector in the Central African Republic to illustrate this. There has been significant focus on the radio sector by donors and implementers during recent years, with no support given to the print media. While the print sector is rather small it does play an important role for the country’s elite. As such, it is a part of the media community that should not be discounted but rather should be considered during implementation.

Creating an enabling environment   227 Until recently, neither donors nor implementers have spent “much time thinking about or articulating a theory of change” (Susman-­Pena 2012: 11). Yet it is clear that “there is no point in doing development work unless actions are expected to yield change. Fully articulating this theory should be the responsibility of any development actor” (Susman-­Pena 2012: 12). Articulating a theory of change necessitates understanding the direction in which a program or project should go – what challenges need to be addressed. Only a proper assessment can clearly outline what a particular media sector looks like and how it functions; what institutions exist, what is missing and what is needed to work toward a strong media environment in a post-­conflict setting. Once you know where you want to go then you can figure out how to do it most effectively. Because change, particularly in post-­conflict environments, is a dynamic process, theories of change can prove to be an ideal framework in that they allow a thoughtful review of processes that are often multi-­layered and chaotic. Used effectively, theory of change can serve a number of different purposes; it can serve as a framework with which to check progress toward change and ensure the project is on course; it allows for testing weak links in the change path; it allows for documenting lessons learned about what is really changing; and it allows for transparency of the implementation process and impact assessment (O’Flynn 2012: 2). Using theories of change can help both donors and implementers focus more directly on long-­term change rather than project-­focused or project-­ specific outputs and outcomes. This can help direct energies more clearly. Long-­term change and engagement is crucial in post-­conflict environments – which tend to go through cycles of violence for years, and sometimes decades. Furthermore, it suggests that full stakeholder engagement is necessary – and not top-­down engagement, as is so often the case in development. Theory of change allows for step-­by-step change and allows for deviation from a planned course if necessary. Indeed, it allows for rigorous testing of assumptions made during the planning process, and during implementation. It also allows for failure. The latter is crucial since it also suggests the need for an acceptance of failure and a mechanism that embraces adaptation and correction of courses already taken. This allows us, ultimately, to learn from failures. Again, this deviation and flexibility are critical in post-­conflict media development situations, where the media often struggles to survive, where both civil society and state structures are weak, and where the context is fluid. Theory of change provides us with a framework to identify a sequence of changes necessary for a longer term goal to be reached. So there is a need for flexibility and a need to allow failure and to allow for changes and adjustments in programs. This will require a substantial change in mindset, however, and a certain amount of risk – primarily for the donors. A case study demonstrating the need to better appreciate risk might be

228   M. Betz to look at how the Egyptian legal system was co-­opted into an attack on development work, post-­revolution – culminating in legal charges and subsequent felony convictions for development implementers: including some in the media development sphere (Witte: 2013). While Egypt was a country in transition, neither implementers nor donors, post-­revolution, adequately assessed how these changes might affect the atmosphere in which media development could take place, and continued their programs as if nothing had happened. In the case of the Egyptian convictions, there was no in-­depth analysis undertaken as to the risks to civil society despite the fact that during this period certain segments of the government used public suspicion of foreign actors to solidify their positions. Warnings were present, including public and private statements by government actors.1 Yet there was no framework in place to evaluate the risks to these programs in the context of the rapidly changing political atmosphere. The end result was the calculated targeting – including international and local NGOs – of civil society efforts, including media development. Some 43 individuals were indicted and later convicted as a result of this case. Other countries, including the UAE, India and Russia, have followed the Egyptian example and have begun to go after foreign NGOs and individual implementers – making novel use of INTERPOL, an international organization with a charter to promote the rule of law, as an instrument of retaliation, oppression and intimidation. The application of the theory of change would not avoid such scenarios. However, theory of change does provide a framework for exploration of possible scenarios that might occur in the implementation of development projects, and use of the principles involved may likewise provide a way to approach the need for change to abate risk – eventualities that are quite likely in post-­conflict or transitional environments.

Enabling environments Theory of change suggests that attention must be paid to the enabling environment as a whole, or as “a set of interrelated conditions – such as legal, bureaucratic, fiscal, informational, political, and cultural” (Thindwa 2001). Together these conditions, or factors, will have an impact on the capacity of development actors to engage in development processes in a sustained and effective manner (Thindwa 2001). These actors include donors, implementers and contractors, together with the local media community, government and society at large. Brinkerhoff unpacks this and is more specific about what the enabling environment requires. First, he writes, one needs to elaborate a comprehensive set of influential environmental factors; second, there needs to be clarification of the nature of their impacts on the various development actors (Brinkerhoff 2004: 3). It is also important to consider that these

Creating an enabling environment   229 conditions, or at least some of them, are interrelated and that some are likely more important than others. These are usually identified during an assessment. Theory of change can help us map these out and can also assist us in identifying spheres of influence, thereby pinpointing entry points and potential partners or key players to engage from the outset: “The idea being that ‘influence’ makes actors apparent while also revealing the power dynamics between them” (Institute of Development Studies: 6). This then provides donors and implementers with a better understanding of the influence or impact on local media actors in a post-­conflict or transitional scenario. Ultimately, using theory of change to thoroughly examine and identify the enabling environment of a post-­conflict situation will force us to re-­ examine the lens through which we look at and undertake media development activities, projects and programs. It has become clear that the training of journalists, on its own, is not sufficient. Thousands, if not tens of thousands of journalists have been trained over the years – be it to conduct investigations, to report in a conflict-­sensitive manner, to follow codes of ethics, and such like. Yet many of these journalists work in a disabling environment – an environment that simply does not support what they are trained to do. Corruption is rampant; pay is low; sources (official and unofficial) often refuse to or are afraid to talk to journalists; unions and associations, if existent, are usually weak; and the regulatory and legislative environments are more punitive than supportive of freedom of expression and freedom of the press. Finally, one cannot discount the community in which the media operates – the level of media literacy and citizen engagement, for example. This may be particularly important in a post-­conflict environment, yet there has been little if any research conducted in this area. So how do we address all of these factors? First, we have to identify the factors, the players (or organizations), the institutions (or rules) in each case. Thorough assessments that examine the enabling environment at large, and that utilize a theory of change framework, can begin to provide both a framework and a starting point from which donors and implementers can examine, assess, evaluate and even implement. However, conducting such assessments can prove overwhelming; they can be so all-­encompassing or detailed, and may require the examination of each particular aspect of an environment. It is also particularly challenging in post-­conflict or transitional environments where there are security risks, where infrastructure is lacking, and where the rule of law is often marginal at best. Some organizations have carried out these types of missions, often in partnership with other organizations – each taking on their own part of the equation. While this may seem unwieldy, it will force implementing organizations, and possibly donors, to collaborate and coordinate. The reality, however, is that most donors are simply unwilling to fund such in-­depth, multi-­actor

230   M. Betz assessments; they are also unlikely to be interested in doing so either, since they usually have other interests that they prefer to pursue. Likewise, implementers have become increasingly specialized and tend to focus on certain aspects of the media development sector, making it challenging to take into consideration additional aspects of a post-­conflict environment. As discussed above, theory of change can assist actors identify certain aspects of the change process that they would like to address. They can then work with other donors or implementers who can address other aspects together, ensuring a holistic approach to media development in post-­conflict settings.

Conclusion What, then, are the possible future directions of media development, both in theory and practically, in post-­conflict and transitional countries, from a theory of change perspective? How is a greater appreciation of the role of enabling environments to make a difference on a very practical level? One consideration may be the need to integrate risk assessment into the theory of change model as one parameter which should be routinely addressed as part of developing a comprehensive approach to a given media development project. Without a thorough appreciation of risk factors – including the possibility of consequences without previous precedent – programs can be caught unawares, leading to unwanted outcomes for implementers and donors alike. It is also important to examine both security and development concerns in such environments, for, as Krause suggests (2005: 454–5), they are “arguably the two main pillars of multilateral action.” He goes on: for almost four decades ideas about development and security were pursued in parallel but [were] disconnected institutional and political structures. . . . To this day, the gap in institutional cultures remains enormous, and . . . debates on how to achieve development continue to be insulated from any consideration of security issues. This is the case also for media development in post-­conflict environments; one cannot simply look at the media, rather one must examine the context as a whole – institutions, security, etc. Theory of change can assist with this as it allows for innovation and a holistic framework. The larger challenge, as has been suggested above, is that this also means there will likely continue to be a need for coordination and cooperation among implementers and donors as well as further inclusion of local partners and players. Each of these actors has its own interests, needs or areas of expertise. This would also suggest that it is crucial to build key linkages between development, peace and security; hence, between peacebuilding and state-building institutions, and thereby supporting more effective media development in post-conflict environments.

Creating an enabling environment   231 The need for continued evolution of adaptive and flexible doctrine in media development, post-­conflict, is hardly confined to risk assessment. Krause warns that “if local dynamics are not taken into account, if practices and approaches are not contextualized to meet the requirements of a particular case, PCPB [post-­conflict peacebuilding] efforts will continue to remain a frustrating, and often seemingly hopeless, enterprise” (Krause 2005: 459). And as the Egypt case illustrates, contexts change – they are not static. The whole idea of development is to bring about change, and in a post-­conflict or transitional situation the entire environment is changing, constantly. This is true also for the media sector.

Note 1 There was no sophisticated analysis or awareness that the judiciary was still controlled by Mubarakites, who were not happy at all with the revolution. It wasn’t long before civil society was targeted, including international and local NGOs.

References Brinkerhoff, Derick. 2004. “The Enabling Environment for Implementing the Millennium Development Goals: Government Actions to Support NGOs.” Paper presented at George Washington University Conference entitled “The Role of NGOs in Implementing the Millennium Development Goals.” Washington DC, May 12–13. Online, accessed November 14, 2013, available at: www.rti.org/ pubs/brinkerhoff_pub.pdf. Deane, James. 2013. Fragile States: the role of media and communication. London: BBC Media Action. Forti, Matthew. 2012. “Six Theory of Change Pitfalls to Avoid.” Stanford Social Innovation Review, May 23. Online, accessed November 14, 2013, available at: www.ssireview.org/blog/entry/six_theory_of_change_pitfalls_to_avoid. Institute of Development Studies and BBC World Service Trust. 2009. “Effective States and the Media: A research dialogue across the disciplines.” Symposium Report, January 16. Online, accessed November 14, 2013, available at: www.ids. ac.uk/files/dmfile/EffectiveStatesandtheMediareportdraft.pdf. Kayanja, Ronald. 2011. “Media and democracy in fragile states: the promises and problems of policy relevant research.” The Communication Initiative Network, March 21. Online, accessed November 14, 2013, available at: www.comminit. com/policy-­blogs/content/media-­and-democracy-­fragile-states-­promises-and-­ problems-policy-­relevant-research. Khalil, Elias. 1995. “Organizations versus Institutions.” Journal of Institutional and Theoretical Economics, 151 (3): 445–66. Krause, Keith and Oliver Jutersonke. 2005. “Peace, Security and Development in Post-­Conflict Environments.” Security Dialogue, 36 (4): 447–62. O’Flynn, Maureen. 2012. “Theory of Change: What’s it all about?” Ontrac: The Newsletter of INTRAC. May. Online, accessed November 14, 2013, available at: www.capacity.org/capacity/export/sites/capacity/documents/topic-­readings/ ONTRAC-­51-Theory-­of-Change.pdf.

232   M. Betz Price, Monroe and Peter Krug. 2002. The Enabling Environment for Free and Independent Media: Contribution to Transparent and Accountable Governance. Washington: USAID. Putzel, James and Joost van der Zwan. 2006. Why templates for media development do not work in crisis states: defining and understanding media development strategies in post­war and crisis states. London: LSE Research Online. Accessed May 3, 2014, available at: http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/837/. Susman-­Pena, Tara. 2012. Making Media Development More Effective. Washington: Center for International Media Assistance. Thindwa, Jeff. 2001. “Enabling Environment for Civil Society in CDD Projects.” Paper presented at Environmentally and Socially Sustainable Development Network Week. World Bank, Washington DC, April 19. United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization. 2008. Media Development Indicators: A framework for assessing media development. Paris: UNESCO. Online, accessed April 9, 2014, available at: www.unesco.org/new/en/ communication-­andinformation/resources/publications-­and-communication-­ materials/publications/fulllist/media-­development-indicators-­a-framework-­forassessing-­media-development. Vogel, Isabel. 2012. Review of the use of “Theory of Change” in International Development. London: UK Department for International Development. Walters, Hettie. 2007. “Capacity Development, Institutional Change and Theory of Change: What do we mean and where are the linkages.” Paper presented at the seminar “Scrutinizing Success and Failure in Development.” Wageningen University, December 3. Online, accessed November 14, 2013, available at: http:// portals.wi.wur.nl/files/docs/successfailuredevelopment/Walters_CapacityDevelopmentConceptPaperFIN.pdf. Witte, Griff. 2013. “NGO workers convicted in Egypt.” Washington Post, June 4. Online, accessed May 3, 2014, available at: www.washingtonpost.com/world/ngo-­workersconvicted-­in-egypt/2013/06/04/dacbcc2a-cd2e-11e2–8573–3baeea6a2647_story. html. Wolff, Stefan. 2011. “Post-­conflict State Building: The Debate on Institutional Choice.” Third World Quarterly, 32 (10): 1777–1802.

16 Confronting the conundrum of hate speech Julia Hoffmann

Introduction The circumstances that can make human beings cross the line that separates them from killing fellow humans on a mass scale, require, in the words of Helen Fein (1993: 50), the exclusion of those “others” from the “universe of moral obligation.” In this psychological process, inflammatory speech is a common precursor, if not a necessary ingredient, of mass violence. Historical examples of manipulation and indoctrination with devastating consequences abound, and the advent of electronic mass media during the twentieth century has augmented the potential of their reach. Nazi propaganda was brought directly into German homes by radio sets specially manufactured for their affordability, the Volksempfänger; the hate-­ mongers of the Rwandan Radio Milles Collines (RTLM) helped scare, dupe and seduce their audiences into participating in the most efficient mass slaughter of the century – and subsequently also provided its “soundtrack”; while media in the former Yugoslavia were systematically employed in an effort to blend historical myths and nationalistic romanticism into ethnic antagonism, fear and hatred. More recently we have witnessed familiar tactics of manipulation and incitement (see De la Brosse 2003; Belman 2004; Benesch 2008, and Bahabor’s contribution in this volume) take root, cementing conflict in countries ranging from Kenya and Zimbabwe to The Netherlands and the former Yugoslavia, whereas the potentially destructive evolution in the tone of Rema FM during Burundi’s 2010 elections reminded many of the horrible events in Rwanda of 1994. Technological innovations such as the mobile phone and the Internet have added new modes of delivery for rumour, racist slurs and calls for (organized) violence (Stremlau and Price 2009).

Information intervention and prevention Whereas instances of what is commonly referred to as “hate speech” are a worldwide phenomenon, what has come to be termed “information intervention” – since its formulation by Jamie Metzl in 1997 – was informed by

234   J. Hoffmann the Rwandan genocide. Envisaging a world that would be far less inclined to respond forcefully to humanitarian crises after the US debacle in Somalia, he called on the UN to “develop, refine, and institutionalize information-­based responses to incendiary mass communications.” Hate speech has since been recognized as a common precursor of mass violence, which explains why it has also been a recurrent theme when it comes to drawing up post-­conflict media laws and regulations, and triggering other “information interventions” (see Price and Thompson 2002). It has come to be understood not as merely a “second best option” to military force, but rather as one of a set of measures that ought to supplement other interventions and in some cases could indeed prevent the need for such operations in the first place. A similar reasoning is reflected, for example, in Kenya’s reaction to the much-­cited examples of inflammatory speech that contributed to inciting the inter-­ethnic violence that erupted in the aftermath of the 2007 elections and which left more than 1,000 people dead. When, in 2010, Kenyans were called upon to vote in a referendum on a new constitution, Kenya sought to head off a potential repeat by prosecuting members of parliament for the use of inflammatory speech. In other countries, such as Burundi, networks of NGOs engaged in monitoring the 2010 election coverage, while in Rwanda the use of criminal provisions concerning “genocide ideology” were introduced after the genocide. As Kofi Annan posited in his speech on the occasion of establishing the UN Genocide Prevention Committee and a UN Special Rapporteur on Genocide Prevention in 2004: “We must attack the roots of violence and genocide. These are intolerance, racism, tyranny, and the dehumanizing public discourse that denies whole groups of people their dignity and rights” (emphasis added).1 His comments should be seen in the context of a wider emphasis on the task of prevention of the worst international crimes, as has also been evidenced in the emergence of Responsibility to Protect (R2P) as an evolving international norm, and the role of communication within that remit (Pauli 2010; Hoffmann and Okany 2012). Accordingly, in February 2013, the UN Special Advisor on the Prevention of Genocide convened a group at UN headquarters to address the problem arising since Radio RTLM’s infamous role in “fanning the flames of hatred” in 1994: how to deal with speech that incites genocide or other crimes against humanity? The recognition of the importance of the element of public discourse in processes of escalation – especially in so-­called “identity conflicts” that increasingly mark the prevalent intrastate conflicts of our time – begs the question of how to confront hate speech without destroying the very purpose of freedom of speech norms that underlie minimally pluralist public communication, which is seen as crucial for maintaining the discursive dexterity needed in democratic societies. The search is ongoing for reliable indicators that could inform policy responses to patterns of speech that are deemed dangerous and/or illegal,

Confronting “hate speech”   235 and the continuing search for such indicators plays an integral element in existing efforts to improve prevention strategies.2 This debate has so far mostly circled around the question of where the limits of freedom of speech are, and how these limits can be operationalized.

International law and the problem of definition Hate speech is not a clear, singularly defined, legal notion. It can be better understood as convenient shorthand for a broad variety of expressions used in widely diverging ways, and within different discourses – judicial as well as non-­judicial. This situation is not always helpful (McGongale 2012: 3). Within the body of international human rights law there are a number of relevant provisions that address the abuse of the freedom of expression, and provide for limits to this right. For example, Article 20 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) calls for a prohibition of “any advocacy of national, racial or religious hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility or violence.” Article 4 of the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICEARC) offers another relevant normative guideline, which goes even further in calling for state parties to inter alia declare an offence punishable by law all dissemination of ideas based on racial superiority or hatred, incitement to racial discrimination, as well as all acts of violence or incitement to such acts against any race or group of persons of another colour or ethnic origin. (emphasis added) Additionally, the various regional instruments that protect the freedom of expression recognize limitations to such freedom in order to protect the rights of others. Yet there is still considerable ambiguity when it comes to defining and delineating various, sometimes interchangeably used, concepts such as “incitement to hatred,” “incitement to violence” or the commonly used “hate speech” – all of which carry an inherent danger of unduly curtailing the freedom of expression that includes protection also of ideas that “shock, offend and disturb” (McGonagle 2001, 2012). Questions include which kinds of groups are protected. For example, within the Genocide Convention there is no mention of politically defined groups,3 even though many campaigns have precisely targeted just such groups – notably during the Cultural Revolution in China, or during the mass killings in Cambodia under the Khmer Rouge. Other questions include what types of harm should be considered (should emotional harm resulting from racial stereotyping be included, for example?); how to apply these concepts to different genres; whether to focus on the effect of speech rather than the

236   J. Hoffmann intent of the speaker; and how to prove such intent. Such matters continue to keep judges, lawmakers and scholars puzzling. As McGonagle (2012: 1), at a thematic discussion organized by the Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, notes: [Hate speech is] a vexed notion. It means many things to many people and inevitably some of those meanings are contestable and contested. It is also a recalcitrant notion. Neither the term nor the types of expression it denotes are likely to go away in the foreseeable future. Furthermore, racist hate speech is, politically-­speaking, a highly-­ charged notion. So, while these provisions continue to be highly contested at the international level, and their implementation criteria divergent, what might be considered the ultimate (and therefore the narrowest) exception to the freedom of speech can be found in the prohibition of “direct and public incitement to commit genocide” in Article III (c) of the International Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide of 1948.4 Yet, notwithstanding existing case law, such as the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda’s “media case”5 that elaborated upon the first judgements issued in the Fritzsche and Streicher trials during the International Military Tribunal held in Nuremberg after the Second World War, many unanswered questions remain and the standard, as such, is still too loosely defined to serve as a workable tool for analysis. This has led to prominent researchers such as Susan Benesch (2013) preferring to refer to “dangerous speech”6 rather than “hate speech,” or “incitement to hatred”, and to formulate criteria for its operationalization that take into account a variety of contextual factors, mirroring the complexity of applying this legal standard in different environments.7 At the heart of the balance that needs to be struck lies the question of how to define the moment when freedom of expression is abused such that it erodes the human dignity of others.8 This is complicated and controversial enough in established democracies with a reasonable degree of stability and social cohesion, but is rendered yet more intricate when it occurs in societies emerging from deadly violence and faced with the daunting tasks of transitional justice and reconciliation. Arguably, the one-­size-fits-­all solutions that simply preach the virtues of freedom of speech, media liberalization or copy-­and-paste “good” model media laws in tune with international “golden rules” (Mendel 2010) do not adequately take into account the different contexts in which such laws need to function. Similarly, creating a certain legal infrastructure or type of media system does not automatically translate into a specific quality of journalism or media discourse characterized by pluralist tolerance, open democratic debate and inclusive public space.

Confronting “hate speech”   237

Legislation and its limits Notwithstanding a widespread consensus that there are legitimate reasons to put certain limitations on the freedom of speech, especially when it comes to the protection of vulnerable groups, the law as a tool for contributing to prevention of the (re)occurrence of violence has a number of inherent limitations and may, under some circumstances, prove to be counterproductive. First, there is the problem of chronology. While, for example, the logic of making incitement to commit genocide an inchoate crime is arguably aimed at the prevention of the actual commission of genocide, its application has to date exclusively been in cases where mass violence had already occurred. It is in this context that the first prosecution of a journalist before the International Criminal Court – the September 2013 trial of Joshua Arap Sang, who ran Kass FM radio in Kenya – has taken shape. That is to say, it occurred only after the large-­scale violence of 2007–2008, and thus occurred too late for the victims. The post hoc nature of this mechanism under international criminal law thus seems to be limited to the deterrent effect prosecutions are envisaged to have on potential future offenders. Similar offences using new diffusion channels, such as SMS text messages, are, however, likely to evade prosecution under these international mechanisms. Second, laws aimed at setting limits to the freedom of expression are also infamous for their potential for abuse by states wanting to stifle any kind of unwelcome opposition under the guise of protecting national unity, stability or in the name of peace more generally. In the aftermath of the Rwandan genocide, in which RTLM has become the sad poster child of hate speech in its most extreme form, countermeasures taken that continue to affect the existing communication environment include the removal of any mention of “ethnicity” from civil service administrative documents (Frère 2010: 342), and the introduction of laws spelling out punishments for “divisionism,”9 “sectarianism”10 and “genocide ideology.”11 It has been these latter legal rules which have been most fiercely criticized by international human rights organizations for being too vaguely defined and open to abuse. Indeed, the spectre of RTLM is regularly invoked by authorities as a pretext for restricting the media (Human Rights Watch 2013; Amnesty International 2010, 2011) and suppressing the emergence of meaningful opposition.12 It can further be questioned to what extent reconciliation processes actually require a degree of controversy – real attempts to “face the past” will inevitably be linked to pain, trauma and the opening of old wounds – and thus what room there is for discussing taboo subjects including those of matters of “ethnicity.” At the same time, one should not forget that in the country’s past there undeniably was an active construction of a genocide ideology, which publicly legitimized the most efficient genocide of

238   J. Hoffmann the twentieth century. So it seems pertinent to point out that “while the government must learn that not all disagreement is subversive, good-­faith critics of the government (and many critics show none) must recognize that not all criticism is legitimate dissent, especially in Rwanda” (Caplan 2011, emphasis added). In the face of constant criticism, Rwanda in 2011 announced it would consider review of its law on “genocide ideology” to clarify the definitions of which behaviors would fall within the scope of illegality – narrowing its scope by adding the requirement that the offence must be committed in public, and lowering the maximum sentence from life imprisonment to nine years. Yet, as the Rwanda Bureau of Information and Broadcasting stated in April 2013, during the national commemoration ceremonies, 42 people had been arrested for “harboring the genocide ideology” and “uttering inflammatory speeches that negate the genocide.”13 In a recent review of its media laws, Rwanda has further prepared the way to introduce self-­regulation and remodel its state broadcaster to become a public broadcaster. But as Caplan (2011) puts it: if self-­regulation merely means self-­censorship, with vulnerable-­feeling journalists censoring themselves when it comes to criticizing the government and the president, it will be dismissed as merely a public relations stunt by a government that still can’t abide criticism by a free press. Similarly, in Burundi, a country that also has a legacy of ethnic violence between Tutsi and Hutu – a situation which in 1993 culminated in a civil war that claimed about 300,000 lives (Frère 2010: 327) – the experience of “pyromaniac media” has led to “subsequent realization of their responsibility in the civil war (which) had a lasting impact on Burundian journalists and led to a profound change in the media sector” (Frère 2010: 24). Studio Ijambo (founded by the NGO, Search for Common Ground, in 1995) and other private radio stations funded by international NGOs and donors in succeeding years, multiplied – with the aim of offering balanced information, and promoting peace and reconciliation (often with financial support by an “international community” that was still traumatized by its own failures in the face of events in Rwanda). Such radio stations often clashed with government authorities by opening the airwaves to previously unheard voices (including the poor, and rural populations) and giving space to a variety of political parties and social forces that proved willing to raise taboo subjects. Interference by the regulatory body and the Ministry of Communication between 2003 and 2005 – when Radio Bonesha, RPA and Radio Isanganiro were frequently harassed for giving armed rebel groups an opportunity to present their views to the audience (Mfuranzima 2005: 49; Frère 2010: 337) – was, however, met with the emergence of professional solidarity among journalists, creating the

Confronting “hate speech”   239 possibility for a collective response when their rights were threatened (Frère 2011: 25). Third, it remains unclear to what extent legal prohibitions on hate speech are effective in the first place – even in the context of a government open to oppositional voices and independent judicial oversight of implementation – especially in light of its unintended negative side-­effects. This can happen, paradoxically, by affording yet more legitimacy to speakers who are censored, especially where the audience may already harbour feelings of victimization and marginalization. This situation can provide polarizing voices a platform for public and strategic “martyrdom” – banning or prosecuting offenders can serve merely to increase the visibility of their ideas. Another unintended negative consequence might lie in an excessively tame public debate and discourse – out of fear of renewed violence and/ or the threat of prosecution. For example, in Kenya, traumatic experiences of the post-­election violence of 2007–2008, and the role that vernacular radio played there, have left a legacy of apprehension that triggered a number of initiatives to prevent a recurrence of a similar escalation during the most recent elections. Parliamentarians were arrested for engaging in hate speech during the run-­up to the 2010 constitutional referendum, and hotlines were established for citizens to report instances of such speech. Crowdsourcing platforms14 to map incidences of hate speech were created, and there was wide societal mobilization around the issue (International Crisis Group 2013). Indeed, media behavior around the time of the elections seems to have been very cautious – and characterized by collaboration with security agencies and peace committees, and the promotion of a larger “peace-­atall-­cost message” (International Crisis Group 2013: 3). Fortunately large-­ scale violence did not erupt. But self-­censorship out of fear – and the use of the concept of hate speech to gag difficult questions and minimize coverage of opposition legal challenges to the election results – could lead to a self-­defeating mechanism that suppresses rather than informs public debate. It could also lead to the erosion of public trust in a media that is suffering, in the words of one commentator, from a national “peace lobotomy.”15 Additionally, the law may find its limitations when it comes to effectively addressing patterns of speech, or rather the overall discursive climate, which precede violent action. More often than not the elaboration and propagandistic use of historical myths and exclusionary ideologies to project a future utopia that could be achieved by the elimination of members of a given target group have contributed to mass killings. Agitators seek to convince their audience of the need to “purify” the community or “defend” themselves against the “bloodthirsty” enemy; before genocide is conceivable “extermination belief ” must first be instilled in the collective mind (Hamelink 2008).

240   J. Hoffmann This, however, is a gradual process that does not necessarily start with speech that is commonly understood to be hate speech, but rather entails a process of, as one witness in the ICTR “media trial” put it, “spread[ing] petrol throughout the country little by little, so that one day it would be able to set fire to the whole country.”16 This process often begins rather subtly with manipulators using existing stereotypes and widespread beliefs that appear acceptable in a given society. . . . Through continuous repetition, certain messages become acceptable, a normal part of everyday life. In this way, listeners habituate to dehumanizing language and destructive ideologies. This allows for a gradual increase of the extremity of hate speech. (Vollhardt et al. 2006: 25) Rather than such “discursive climate change,” legal prohibitions of hate speech will, however, usually target only the most prominent and extreme expressions and speakers – punishing the incidental outliers rather than addressing the systemic prevalence of cultural violence that is arguably the more dangerous feature of discursive climates, and which contributes more greatly to the psychological preparation for mass violence. Such provisions also have little to say when it comes to issues of representation. Those are, however, vital for the overall symbolic environment of societies, such as representations of persons with disabilities, women, or indigenous groups, all of whom are covered by specific provisions of human rights treaties17 that call on states to encourage the media not to engage in stereotypical portrayals of them. Unfortunately such calls are not usually related to discussions around, or prohibitions of, “hate speech.” This omission is especially problematic, for example, in light of the use of rape as a widely employed weapon in violent campaigns, the use of gender-­based images of (hyper-)masculinity (see Mazurski’s contribution to the present volume) and nationhood as a rallying cry, the pervasive vilification of LGBTIQ persons, or the glorification of violent, criminal lifestyles (as, for example, in popular Colombian soap operas). Additionally, the evolution of information and communication technologies has posed a series of new challenges to hate speech legislation. There is no such thing as “the media” as a unitary social actor, but rather an increasingly fragmented and complex information environment which is characterized by a shift from mass communication via “legacy media” toward mass-­self communication (Castells 2009) – enabling social networks to emerge. This diversified communication landscape also means new fora for “hate speech 2.0,” new actors (which raises complex liability issues for private actors such as the distributive telecoms companies or

Confronting “hate speech”   241 ISPs), and makes it much less obvious, who, in fact, is the originator of the sort of offensive/hateful speech that may turn out to be highly effective in triggering and organizing violence. Also, short of extensive filtering and blocking attempts by states, actions which in themselves are highly problematic from a human rights perspective, the Internet and its use by many diaspora groups makes curbing hate speech less and less effective. As Frère points out in a recent report mapping digital media in Central Africa: It has been publicly suggested that the Burundian regulator, the CNC, should and could intervene against websites involved with stoking ethnic hatred online. For its part, the CNC has said that it is powerless in the face of proliferating websites that are not officially registered, are hosted on foreign servers, and have no clearly identifiable owner. (2012: 52) Finally‚ “the media” are not isolated actors, but need to be understood as part of a larger social system that to a large extent mirrors that system’s limitations and predilections; such media are also naturally deeply embedded in the larger political and cultural context of a given society (see also Frère’s contribution to the present volume). As such, content regulation on its own is unlikely to be effective in bringing about constructive change in the larger “information ecology” that includes the nexus of “formal and informal communication techniques and institutions within a broader social context” (Price and Stremlau 2012: 1078).

Conclusions Hate speech is a problem of indignity cast on the victims, met with mainstream indifference and, addressing it, calls for indignation against the phenomenon. (Jan Malinowski, rapporteur of the Council of Europe)18 The role played by the mass media before, during and after outbreaks of violence has gained an increasingly prominent place in social science research as well as occupying high priority on the international political agenda. This is reflected in the collaborative work of two UN special advisors on the Responsibility to Protect and on the Prevention of Genocide respectively, although there is arguably still a lack of coherent, common indicators to inform policy and, more importantly, of clear procedures and responsibilities to implement policies aimed at prevention as a reaction to reliable early warning signals.

242   J. Hoffmann Legal prohibitions of hate speech are often the manifestation of our moral condemnation of certain types of expression. However, this often belies the complexity of the issue and can have very different effects depending on the context (see Benesch 2008, 2013). Furthermore, in the light of an evolving and rapidly changing communication environment, even the best laws will likely not be able to keep pace and address the larger issue of “discursive climate change” in societies that face transitional justice and reconciliation challenges. While the group of experts that gathered in 2013 at UN Headquarters seems to be concentrating on developing much-­needed (but hard to universally define) criteria to recognize – and thus curb – so-­called “hate speech,” it is also notable that there seems to be increasing recognition that use of legal responses alone to address this phenomenon will ultimately be insufficient, if not counterproductive. The call for a multi-­ layered approach is becoming more audible. Measures of “subsidizing” alternative speech (Stremlau and Price 2012) or “counter speech” (McGonagle 2012) have thus come to be more routinely included in such discussions.19 An appreciation not only of the legitimate limits of the freedom of expression, but also a more proactive engagement with this freedom’s potential to react to and pre-­empt such speech, seems timely. Also, mobile and digital technologies may hold promise, as exemplified in the work of Sisi ni Amani which uses mobile phones in an attempt to increase civil engagement and contribute to violence prevention in Kenya (Awori et al., unpublished; Makinen and Wangu Kuira 2008; Frère 2012). A notable example of complementing the restriction of hate speech with efforts to fortify the media savviness of audiences and thus enable higher resistance against the well-­known mechanics of psychological manipulation, can be found in the Synergie des médias initiative taken by a coalition of media outlets and NGOs prior to both the 2005 and 2010 elections in Burundi.20 This saw the Burundian media team up and pool their resources to monitor elections and network their efforts to respond to divisive political discourses and provide alternative spaces for debate. These collaborations led to shared programming aimed at enabling audiences to deconstruct “hate speech,” stimulating media literacy, and broadcasting short sketches to encourage non-­violent reactions (often on the same stations that earlier broadcast potentially incendiary speech). This project may constitute just one promising example from a country that “effectively became a laboratory for NGOs working on ‘journalism for peace’, that is working to make the media instruments of reconciliation” (Frère 2010: 340). The above experiences ought also to feed back into media development strategies at the international level. The challenges of empowering media functions, including the requirements of creating a broader enabling environment in post-­conflict situations, ought to be placed high on the agenda.

Confronting “hate speech”   243

Notes   1 “Genocide is Threat to Peace Requiring Strong, United Action, Secretary-­ General tells Stockholm International Forum.” 2004. Press Release SG/ SM/9126, January 26. Online, available at: www.preventgenocide.org/prevent/ UNdocs/KofiAnnanStockholmGenocideProposals26Jan2004.htm.   2 Hamelink (2008) has long argued, for example, for the establishment of an International Media Alert System.   3 Therefore in international law, mass killings that are not accompanied by an intent to destroy the whole or part of a group does not, as such, qualify as genocide. In non-­legal discourse, genocide is often used to indicate the mass killing of a politically defined group, while other times the term “politicide” has been used.   4 It is also criminalized under the statutes that established the two main ad hoc international criminal tribunals as well as the newly established International Criminal Court.   5 International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, The Prosecutor v. Nahimana, Barayagwiza and Ngeze (Judgment) ICTR 99–52-T (December 3, 2003). Appeals Judgment, November 28, 2007.   6 Defined as “hate speech that has a special capacity to inspire violence because of the construction and reconstruction of narrative that it helps to drive” (Benesch 2013: 3).   7 Other tests have been proposed by Gordon (2008) and La Mort (2009).   8 The “abuse clause” contained in Article 17 of the European Convention on Fundamental Freedoms and Human Rights is an expression of this logic, mirroring the condition of reciprocity underlying human rights law.   9 While the country’s regulatory body (HCP) has never taken an official position on the question of “divisionism” in the media, and the concept has never been mentioned in any of its decisions (Frere 2010), a number of publications have been confronted with this charge. 10 Defined in a 2002 law as “any discourse, written statement or action, which creates a conflict liable to generate difficulties at risk of degenerating into conflict between people.” 11 Article 2 of Law No. 18/2009 defines genocide ideology as “an aggregate of thoughts characterized by conduct, speeches, documents and other acts aiming at exterminating or inciting others to exterminate people basing [sic] on ethnic group, origin, nationality, region, color, physical appearance, sex, language, religion or political opinion, committed in normal periods or during war.” The crime of genocide ideology inter alia entails (under Article 3 of the law mentioned above) “threatening, intimidating, degrading through diffamatory [sic] speeches, documents or actions which aim at propounding wickedness or inciting hatred” and “marginalizing, laughing at one’s misfortune, defaming, mocking, boasting, despising, degrading, creating confusion aiming at negating the genocide which occurred, stirring up ill feelings, taking revenge, altering testimony or evidence for the genocide which occurred.” These provisions clearly leave a very broad space for interpretation, leaving it problematic in terms of its legal certainty and Rwanda’s human rights obligations under international instruments such as the ICCPR. 12 The most recent and controversial case is perhaps that of the president of a coalition of Rwandan opposition parties, Victoire Ingabire Umuhoza, who had returned to Rwanda to run in the presidential elections after 16 years living in exile in the Netherlands (see, for example, the European Parliament’s resolution of 23 May, 2013/2641 (RSP).

244   J. Hoffmann 13 Also in March 2013, the new media law (No. 02/2013) and a new law determining the responsibilities, organization and functioning of the Media High Council were introduced (including online media and digitized platforms, the regulatory regime for which is also currently under review). 14 Benesch, however, has cautioned against the risk of overusing such platforms. A plethora of them sprang up in Kenya which led to confusion among audiences as to where to send their information, thus diluting useful data (USIP 2012: 11). 15 Cited from http://gathara.blogspot.hk/2013/03/the-­monsters-under-­house.html. 16 Nahimana I, para. 436. 17 See Article 8 (1) (c) of the Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, Article 5 (a) of the Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination against Women or Article 16 (2) of the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. 18 See: www.elsa.org/fileadmin/user_upload/elsa_international/Files/AA/Hate_ Speech_Jan_Malinowski_Council_of_Europe.pdf. 19 In his 2012 report the UN Special Rapporteur for Freedom Expressions recognized that “while laws are certainly necessary and an important component in addressing hate speech, they should be complemented by a broad set of policy measures to bring about genuine changes in mindsets, perception and discourse” (Frank de la Rue 2012: 22, emphasis added). 20 In 2005 this enabled the deployment of a network of 140 journalists and correspondents from ten media outlets to cover about 100 of the country’s 117 municipalities, transmitting shared broadcasts on all stations (Frère 2010: 340).

References Amnesty International. 2010. “Rwanda: Safer to Stay Silent. The Chilling Effect of Rwanda’s Law on ‘Genocide Ideology’ and ‘Sectarianism’.” Amnesty International website, August 31. Online, accessed April 6, 2014, available at: www. amnesty.org/en/library/info/AFR47/005/2010/en. Amnesty International. 2011. “Unsafe to Speak.” Amnesty International website, June. Online, accessed April 6, 2014, available at: www.amnesty.org/en/library/ asset/AFR47/002/2011/en/ef7cd1a3-d1db-46da-b569–818b7555b83b/ afr470022011en.pdf. Awori, Kagonya, Susan Benesch and Angela Crandall (unpublished draft). Umati: Online Discourse to Catalyze and Counter Violence. BBC Media Action. 2008. “The 2007 Kenyan elections and their aftermath.” Policy Briefing. April. Online, accessed April 6, 2014, available at: www.bbc.co.uk/ mediaaction/publicationsandpress/policy_kenyan_elections.html. De la Brosse, Renaud. 2003. “Political Propaganda and the Plan to Create a ‘State for all Serbs.’ Consequences for using the media for Ultra-­Nationalist Ends.” Report compiled at the request of the Office of the Prosecutor of the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia. February 4. Online, accessed March 3, 2014, available at: http://hague.bard.edu/reports/de_la_brosse_pt1.pdf. Belman, Jonathan. 2004. “ ‘A Cockroach Cannot Give Birth to a Butterfly’ and Other Messages of Hate Propaganda.” Online, accessed April 2, 2014, available at: http:// gseweb.harvard.edu/~t656_web/peace/Articles_Spring_2004/Belman_Jonathan_ hate_propaganda.htm. Benesch, Susan. 2008. “Vile Crime or Inalienable Right: Defining Incitement to Genocide.” Virginia Journal of International Law, 48 (3): 485–528.

Confronting “hate speech”   245 Benesch, Susan. 2013. “Dangerous Speech: A Proposal to Prevent Group Violence.” Voices that poison. February 23. Online, accessed April 12, 2014, available at: www.worldpolicy.org/sites/default/files/Dangerous%20Speech%20Guidelines%20Benesch%20January%202012.pdf. Caplan, Gerald. 2011. “Rwanda 17 years later: What is the truth?” Review of Remaking Rwanda: State Building and Human Rights after Mass Violence, edited by Scott Straus and Lars Waldorf. Pambazuka News, October 19. Online, accessed April 11, 2014, available at: http://pambazuka.org/en/category/books/77258. Castells, Manuel. 2009. Communication Power. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press. Fein, Helen. 1993. Genocide: A Sociological Perspective. London: Sage. Frère, Marie-­Soleil. 2010. “After the hate media: regulation in the DRC, Burundi and Rwanda.” Global Media and Communication, 5 (3): 327–52. Frère, Marie-­Soleil. 2011. Elections and the Media in post-­conflict Africa. Votes and Voices for Peace? London: Zed Books. Frère, Marie-­Soleil. 2012. Mapping Digital Media: News and new media in Central Africa. Challenges and Opportunities. Open Society Foundations, Reference Series, No.  19. Online, accessed March 2, 2014, available at: www.opensocietyfoundations.org/reports/mapping-­digital-media-­news-and-­new-media-­central-africa-­ challenges-and-­opportunities. Gordon, Gregory S. 2008. “From Incitement to Indictment? Prosecuting Iran’s President for Advocating Israel’s Destruction and Piecing Together Incitement Law’s Emerging Analytical Framework.” Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology, 98 (3): 853–920. Hamelink, Cees J. 2008. “Media Between Warmongers and Peacemakers.” Media, War & Conflict, 1 (1): 77–83. Hoffmann, Julia and André Nollkaemper (eds). 2012. The Responsibility to Protect. From Principle to Practice. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Hoffmann, Julia, and Amaka Okany. 2012. “Taking Prevention of Genocide Seriously. Media Incitement to Genocide Viewed in the Light of the Responsibility to Protect” in Julia Hoffmann and André Nollkamper (eds), The Responsibility to Protect. From Principle to Practice: 321–38. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Human Rights Watch. 2013. “World Report – Country Chapter Rwanda.” 31 January. Online, accessed March 13, 2014, available at: www.hrw.org/world-­ report/2013/country-­chapters/rwanda. International Crisis Group. 2013. “Policy Briefing. Kenya After the Elections.” Africa Briefing No. 94, May 15. Mäkinen, Maarit and Mary Wangu Kuira. 2008. “Social Media and Postelection Crisis in Kenya.” International Journal of Press/Politics, 13 (3): 328–35. McGonagle, Tarlach. 2001. “Distinguishing freedom of expression from hate speech.” Metro Éireann, 2 (7): 15. McGonagle, Tarlach. 2012. “The troubled relationship between free speech and racist hate speech: the ambiguous roles of the media and internet.” UN Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, 81st Session, Palais des Nations, Geneva, August 28. Mendel, Toby. 2010. “Hate Speech Rules Under International Law.” Centre for Law and Democracy. Online, accessed January 20, 2014, available at: www.law-­ democracy.org/wp-­content/uploads/2010/07/10.02.hate-­speech.Macedonia-­ book.pdf.

246   J. Hoffmann La Mort, Justin R. 2009. “The Soundtrack to Genocide. Using Incitement to Genocide in the Bikindi Trial to Protect Free Speech and Uphold the Promise of Never Again.” Interdisciplinary Journal of Human Rights Law, 4: 43–66. Pauli, Carol. 2010. “Killing the Microphone: When Broadcast Freedom should yield to Genocide Prevention.” Alabama Law Review, 61 (4): 665–700. Post, Robert C. 1990. “The Constitutional Concept of Public Discourse: Outrageous Opinion, Democratic Deliberation, and Hustler Magazine v. Falwell.” Harvard Law Review, 103 (5): 605–84. Price, Monroe E., and Mark Thompson. 2002. Forging Peace: Intervention, Human Rights and the Management of Media Space. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Price, Monroe E. and Nicole A. Stremlau. 2009. Media, Elections and Political Violence in Eastern Africa: Towards a Comparative Framework. Annenberg-­Oxford Occasional Paper in Communications Policy Research. Online, accessed April 2, 2014, available at: http://global.asc.upenn.edu/fileLibrary/PDFs/PostelectionViolencereport.pdf. Price, Monroe E. and Nicole A. Stremlau. 2012. “Media and Transitional Justice: Toward a Systematic Approach.” International Journal of Communication, 6 (1): 1077–99. Puddephatt, Andrew, Dixie Hawtin, Laura Zommer, João Brant, Lina Attalah, Nagla Rizk, Ramnath Bhat, Merlyna Lim, Grace Githaiga and Rebecca Zausmer. 2011. “A New Frontier, An Old Landscape.” Report for the Ford Foundation about the impact of digital communications on media and communications and on human rights. Global Partners and Associates. Online, accessed April 2, 2014, available at: www.gp-­digital.org/wp-­content/uploads/pubs/A-­new-frontier-­anold-­landscape-FINAL.pdf. United States Institute for Peace. 2012. Communication for Peacebuilding Priority Grant Program Learning Group Report. Online, accessed February 15, 2014, available at: www.internews.org/sites/default/files/resources/CfP_Learning_Group_ Report_Internews_2012.pdf. Vollhardt, Johann, Marie Coutin, Erwin Staub, George Weiss and Johan Deflander. 2007. “Deconstructing Hate Speech in the DRC: a Psychological Media Sensitization Campaign.” Journal of Hate Studies, 5 (1): 15–35.

17 Media as watchdogs and election monitors in fragile states Marie-­Soleil Frère1

For the past ten years, international donors have devoted special attention to the role of the media in electoral processes in Africa, especially in the so-­called “post-­conflict” countries (Frère 2011a). Indeed, in unstable and politically tense contexts, the media is viewed as much as possible troublemaker as a committed civil society player able to guarantee the free and fair character of the election, and able to give a voice to the voiceless. Using the example of the presidential elections that took place in Burundi in 2010, and in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) in 2011, the present chapter analyzes the role of international media assistance programs in influencing and “shaping” a country’s local election coverage. It aims at identifying how the media sector was supported by the international community – mainly the UN agencies, the EU and some bilateral donors such as DfiD (UK), Sida (Sweden), the French Embassy and USAID – in order to encourage journalists to play their part in the electoral process. Two aspects are at the center of this analysis: first, the article addresses the implications of donor-­funded electoral assistance programs. Both in the context of democratic transition and consolidation, as well as for conflict prevention and peacebuilding, special attention has been devoted to the role of the media in electoral processes in Africa over the past two decades. Media assistance in post-­conflict societies has been tailored to support the growth of independent media able to promote both democracy and mutual understanding between warring parties (Kumar 2009). In particular, donors and media support-­oriented international non-­governmental organizations (INGOs) have funded and implemented a variety of activities aimed at reinforcing the capacities of the local media to cover very sensitive polls in a professional and responsible manner. However, what does the donors’ normative concept of an independent, balanced and apolitical media imply for a country’s local election coverage? Second, the chapter questions the relevance of current formats of foreign support when it comes to strengthening the capacities of the African media in countries that can neither be considered “post-­conflict” in the strict sense, nor as “democratizing.” Within democracy assistance,

248   M.-S. Frère the focus of the donors on electoral processes shows how international attention seems to concentrate on “procedural democracy” rather than on elaborating new forms of regimes that will question the former privileged and (often deeply unbalanced) economic status quo (Hearn 2001). Post-­conflict democracy assistance programs have been criticized as focusing on short-­term projects around elections, human rights or media, instead of paying attention to institution-­building which is crucial for democracy (De Zeeuw 2005; De Zeeuw and Kumar 2006). Moreover, these programs have been described as trapped in a “gap between the ideal and what can actually be accomplished with limited international resources and weak local governments” (Ottaway 2002: 314). Some studies have also underlined the tensions between peacebuilding and state-­building, and insisted on the deficiency of international interventions that are focusing on peacebuilding “from below,” aiming at fostering reconciliation between individuals and between communities but with little consideration for stakeholders at the top and for a global system which might bear much responsibility for ongoing violence (Hutton 2014; Lefranc 2007). In the first part of the chapter I will show in which national and general contexts the media assistance initiatives in Burundi and the DRC were framed. I will identify how the specific roles of the media were emphasized during these elections: informing citizens about the polls, monitoring the electoral process, circulating data complementary to that of the electoral commission, allowing equal access to candidates during the electoral campaign, controlling the regularity of the counting, and summing up the voting process. The second part will further interrogate the shortcomings of an approach based on a very idealistic (unrealistic) and short-­term view of the media’s possible contribution to the democratic debate in Africa. Indeed, I argue that the main concern about such programs is not the gap between the ideal and the available resources, but the gap between the media’s role as viewed and promoted by the media assistance implementers, and the reality of the media landscape and of the procedures of media support.

Media, elections and foreign assistance in Africa At the beginning of the 1990s, and alongside the democratic processes that were taking place on the African continent, democracy assistance became a key issue for donors and foreign aid practitioners in many countries. The aim of this support was to help in the building of a democratic system, including the adoption of a new constitution, the liberalization of the political and media sectors, as well as the organization of multi-­party elections. Within this frame, media assistance has been identified as an important component in supporting democracy-­building and consolidation (De Zeeuw 2005).

Monitoring fragile states   249 In some countries the emerging political pluralism and the competition for power led to conflicts, with some media becoming famous for their involvement in wars (Frère 2007). Hence, when peace agreements were signed, the media were also targeted as important players which could help to lower tensions, promote peace efforts and even reconcile belligerents in divided societies (Laliberté 2009). The media’s role was especially instrumental during the organization of “post-­conflict electoral processes” (usually defined as the first polls organized after a peace agreement is signed and a transition period is planned). The general elections which took place in Burundi in 2010, and in the DRC in 2011, could not be labelled as “post-­conflict” in a strict sense since both countries were going through their second cycle of elections after peace agreements. Krishna Kumar has proposed classifying media assistance into four categories related to different political situations: authoritarian states, democratizing countries, war-­torn societies and post-­ conflict societies (Kumar 2009). None of the polls under study can be considered as post-­conflict, or as representing a simple extra step in the context of democratic evolution. On the one hand, these regimes do not seem to be evolving toward democracy but rather toward what Marina Ottaway calls “semi-­authoritarian” states – defined as “ambiguous systems that combine rhetorical acceptance of liberal democracy, the existence of some formal democratic institutions, and respect for a limited sphere of civil and political liberties with essentially illiberal or even authoritarian traits” (Ottaway 2003: 3). On the other hand, they seem to remain trapped in the category of “fragile states,” characterized by weak, ineffective and unstable political institutions, poor governance, an inability to exercise effective jurisdiction, crisis of legitimacy and a torn social fabric (Osaghae 2007: 691). In such countries media assistance is facing specific challenges that Kumar’s classification does not encompass. In particular, media support during elections has to take into account the fragility of the state that may also be reflected in its media. This article argues for the necessity to enlarge the four categories proposed by Kumar to include at least one extra category: countries that have emerged from the post-­conflict definition but are often showing no signs of a willingness to evolve toward democracy. Such states are qualified by the donor community as “fragile states.” Elections in fragile states “Fragile state” is a broad and difficult to define concept which is mainly used by foreign policy practitioners and development stakeholders, and widely discussed in academia within political science (Zulueta-­Fülscher 2014). Interest in fragile states has increased since the beginning of the twenty-­first century, appearing within the debate about aid effectiveness. It has seemed at times that such fragility might have an impact on the

250   M.-S. Frère effectiveness of foreign assistance, especially democratic assistance and post-­conflict reconstruction. Moreover, after 9/11 fragile states were highlighted as a potential threat to global peace, prosperity and security, thereby making it necessary to “fix” them (Kaplan 2008: 65). Several dimensions of states fragility have been addressed since fragile states encompass a wide range of categories, including “weak,” “failed,” and “collapsed” (Chataîgner and Magro 2007; Osaghae 2007; Zulueta-­Fülscher 2014). Regarding elections, “the leaders of fragile states are reluctant, anyway, to compete in competitive elections, because they and their group or clique have far more to lose than in legitimate, cohesive states” (Kaplan 2008: 74). Yet elections have to be organized in order to preserve the “democratizing” façade of the regime. In Burundi, the free and pluralist elections that were organized in 2010 constituted the second general electoral cycle after the Arusha peace agreement and the transition period. They were considered as a true test for Burundi, which at the time was confronted by major security problems, a high degree of corruption, and was experiencing regular attacks on press freedom, civil liberties, political opposition and human rights (FIDH 2010). In the DRC, President Joseph Kabila Kabange, initially elected in 2006 following a five-­year long war and 40 years without democracy in the country, was to face the electorate again in 2011. The electoral campaign was tense, with several media outlets close to the opposition being shut down, and many journalists attacked or threatened (JED 2012). In both cases, even though the elections were not classified as taking place in a post-­conflict situation, financial and technical support was provided by the international community – mainly the EU – as a way of organizing the polls. In Burundi (a country whose national budget is dependent upon foreign support for more than 50 percent of its income), a major multi-­donor election assistance program (Appui au Cycle Electoral au Burundi), was established and managed by the UNDP (United Nations Development Program). The total budget of the program reached 28 million USD and was aimed at strengthening the organizational, technical, financial and practical capacities of the various stakeholders involved in the electoral process – including the CENI (National Independent Electoral Commission), the Burundian military, civil society organizations and the media. In the DRC the 2011 electoral process (in contrast to the 2006 election) was supported in the main by the Congolese state itself – but foreign support was still substantial. Here, too, efforts focused mainly on the CENI, the institution in charge of organizing the polls. The UNDP centralized and managed contributions gathered within the Programme d’Appui au Cycle électoral [PACE: Support Programme to the Electoral Cycle]. Contributions amounting to approximately 167 million USD came mainly from the EU and individual European countries. The US did not take part

Monitoring fragile states   251 in the PACE but provided support to civil society projects, including voter education. It also supported the main observatory mission, conducted by the Carter Center. Assistance to the media sector in fragile states Foreign media assistance has been important in Burundi and the DRC over the past years – the frailty of their democratic processes drove the donor community to become especially aware of the possible contribution that the media might play in strengthening the rule of law and civil freedoms. The implication of some media outlets in hate speech during the wars in both Burundi and the DRC, probably helped convince donors and INGOs that the media should be targeted as possible allies for peacebuilding efforts, or as potential enemies requiring neutralization. In a very difficult economic context the local media market could not guarantee the emergence of quality local coverage. Donors, therefore, have supported the creation of new media during the war. In Burundi, media support was so instrumental to the emergence of the private media sector that the main private media are even now dependent on foreign funding for up to 85 percent of their operating budgets (Frère 2013). The three main private radio stations (Radio Publique Africaine, Radio Isanganiro and Radio Bonesha), as well as the main private newspaper, Iwacu, were all created thanks to direct contributions from bilateral donors, foundations and INGOs – and all are still totally dependent on foreign media assistance (Nindorera et al. 2013). Regarding media support, three major specialized INGOs have been established in Burundi: the American Search for Common Ground (since 1995), which first created Studio Ijambo and then helped establish Radio Isanganiro; the Dutch La Benevolencija (since 2006), which produces programs aiming at reconciliation; and the French Institut Panos Paris (since 2002), working with a larger focus with all media actors. On the eve of the 2011 elections the DRC media landscape was strikingly different from the one of its smaller neighbour: more than 400 private radio stations were broadcasting in this huge country, as well as 150 television stations and hundreds of (mostly irregular) newspapers. Most of these outlets only broadcast or circulated locally, often belonging to politicians who used them as propaganda tools, especially at election time. Radio Okapi is among the few media that escaped political manipulation. It was established in 2002 by the UN peacekeeping mission MONUC (which turned into MONUSCO in 2010) with the support of the Swiss Foundation Hirondelle. Enjoying far better technical and financial working conditions than any other media outlet, Radio Okapi is viewed as the only true “public service broadcaster” at the national level in the DRC. At the local level, some community-­based radio stations do play an

252   M.-S. Frère important part in the circulation of local news, and give a voice to the people through participatory programs and debate. They are, however, under constant pressure from the local political elite, pressure which grows at around election time. In the DRC, two major long-­term programs have been established, and through which most media assistance is currently channelled (Frère 2011b). The PMDT “Media for Democracy and Transparency” (Médias pour la Démocratie et la Transparence) launched in 2008. Implemented by the French public organization France Expertise Internationale, it is mainly funded by DfID and has a total budget amounting to 25 million USD. The PMDT funds a wide range of local and international NGOs and projects that all aim to consolidate the contribution of the media in the pursuit of good governance. The PDSM “Programme for the Development of the Media Sector” (Programme de Développement du Secteur Médiatique) is a five-­year program supported by USAID and conducted mainly by the American NGO, Internews (in partnership with Fondation Hirondelle and Albany Associates). It started in 2011 and its budget reached 15 million USD. Its main purpose is to strengthen “public service broadcasting,” mainly through support to local community radio in four provinces. Special electoral media assistance The main donors involved in supporting both the electoral process and the development of the media sector in Burundi and the DRC (UK, US, EU, France and Belgium) are among those convinced that “the quality, character and behavior of media have always influenced electoral conducts and outcomes” (BBC World Trust 2010: 3). With upcoming elections on the horizon, all of them showed specific concern about media coverage several months before the polls were to take place. In Burundi in September 2009, the INGOs and the main donors interested in supporting the media’s role in the 2010 electoral process, mobilized a coordination mechanism called PACAM (Joint Action Plan for Media Support). Its main objective was “to allow the Burundian citizens to be prepared for the electoral cycle in serenity, peace and harmony” (PACAM 2010: 3). It also aimed at providing extra funding to support new activities within a coherent and commonly shared frame of intervention. Among these extra activities was the Synergy, a joint coverage mechanism based on shared human and technical resources across all newsrooms as a way of ensuring that information could be disseminated across the whole country, and that journalists could monitor electoral operations. The total budget coordinated within the PACAM reached 2.13 million USD. In the DRC, some coordination of media assistance was also achieved through the GIBM (Group of the Donors of the Media Sector – Groupe inter-­bailleurs du secteur des médias) – an informal coordination mechanism established in 2005. But strategy regarding elections remained

Monitoring fragile states   253 within the hands of the two main long-­term media assistance programs – PDSM and PMDT (which each earmarked approximately 1.88 million USD toward activities in the media sector that had an electoral context). Besides activities organized in the frame of these two programs, the French Minister of Foreign Affairs granted a 1.25 million USD budget to support activities related to the communications regulatory body CSAC (Conseil Supérieur de l’Audiovisuel et de la Communication) and hired an expert who was supposed to help implement such operations. An overview of activities implemented in the two countries allows us to identify common priorities that are often part of any media assistance program during elections. First, considerable budgets were allocated to short-­term training of media professionals. Training was provided to journalists, but also to technicians and staff members of the regulatory authority. A second major activity was the institutional support provided to the regulation authorities: the CSAC in the DRC and the CNC in Burundi. A third major activity was aimed at providing specialized media content (especially voter education). In the DRC the American organization IFES, and the British NGO Christian Aid, implemented programs devoted to electoral sensitization and mobilization. In Burundi several programs were devised especially for the electoral period, mainly by Benevolencija, IPP, and Search for Common Ground. Last, but not least, establishing new media collaborations was a major fourth type of intervention, through the establishment of Synergies. Indeed, “particularly in fragile post-­conflict societies, there is immense demand for fast, accurate reporting of election results, often at something approaching real-­time pace” (Kumar 2009: 31). Most media, however, do not have the required resources to be able to play such a role. In order to mitigate against this, Synergies was established, which allowed media outlets to combine their human and technical resources in order to jointly produce and broadcast more complete and accurate reports.

A critical perspective on media assistance As detailed above, media assistance amounted to several million US dollars in both the DRC and Burundi. Results have been achieved, and the elections themselves attracted no major violence, notwithstanding the fact that the political context became extremely tense between the ruling party and the political opposition. But that does not mean that some media did not throw oil on the fire: in both cases, some media did escalate tension by disseminating violent and intolerant discourses. Moreover, concerns can be expressed about the long-­term outcomes of such major foreign investment. What were the sustainable outcomes of these investments? Has the media landscape taken a step forward using this donor support as a leverage to consolidate a more viable and professional media sector? My argument is that despite substantial budgets, not much has changed for

254   M.-S. Frère the local media and most positive outcomes were short-­lived. Three major critiques can be formulated regarding the performance of media assistance in these two contexts, and they can probably be extended to many other fragile states. Practical modalities of support The first point that has to be made is that even though media assistance programs had been running for years in both countries, and despite the fact that major INGOs had been established in both countries for a long time, activities organized in the frame of the electoral process came too late. For instance, in the DRC the CVEMs (Commissions of Vigilance for Electoral Ethics in the Media) – local commissions made up of media actors and aimed at monitoring the content broadcast – were established by the CSAC in the provinces between one week and just a single day before the polls: in such a rush, how could they operate properly? In Burundi, the CNC staff also complained that training came too late. Regarding the Synergy, the 80 journalists who had to travel to the different locations inside the country were only given a day of training, which was insufficient. Journalists often became trapped in very factual or anecdotal reporting, and were unprepared to provide deeper analysis (a skill that cannot be absorbed within a few hours of training by a foreigner). Moreover, when foreign experts implement activities hastily, knowledge transfer becomes secondary compared to the necessity of producing radio or TV programs on time. This leads to a second issue about media assistance: the reason why most activities came late is linked to the slow and bureaucratic procedures of the donors, which made access to funding difficult. Despite the existence, in both countries, of a coordination mechanism, there were also problems associated with overlapping in the circulation of information, as each donor wanted to keep control on what was done with its money. A third critique, and one that is especially raised by the local media, was the fact that INGOs remained privileged channels for media assistance, which led to frustration among local media actors. In Burundi, media managers deplored the fact that too much money was spent on intermediaries. INGO implementers are viewed as costly go-­betweens whose intervention reduces the amount of money that will be allocated to local media and enable them to balance their budgets. However, indirect support (through INGOs) is viewed by donors as a risk-­reducing strategy which provides more guarantees that the activities will be completed in due course and according to the terms of agreement. Also, INGOs continue to play an essential role in implementing media assistance because of the growing administrative complexity of mechanisms of support, as they are less flexible than those established hastily during the period of post-­ conflict or transition.

Monitoring fragile states   255 Implemented as they were by foreign INGOs, most activities were organized with little input from local institutions (for instance, training institutions). The transfer of knowledge was not the core concern of many activities. For example, voter education programs, when produced and provided by an external agent, do not have a real impact on the capacity of local journalists. In Burundi, journalists found that most training provided by foreign NGOs lacked sufficient connection to the local context, and that a wide range of practical issues were not tackled (Toussaint and Kasmi 2010). A fourth critique relates to assessment procedures, both prior to and after the projects were implemented. Regarding prior assessments, local media actors complained that local needs and expectations were not taken into consideration. There was no real diagnosis made of the local capacities of the media, of the potential risks associated with electoral coverage (including the risk of an upsurge of hate speech in some media). Strategies were implemented on the basis of “one shoe fits all.” In the DRC there was no assessment of the specific needs of local journalists in terms of training, nor any real assessment of the state of the regulatory body (SEE 2012). The media’s role: whose priorities? What were the priorities of the donors and INGOs regarding the main mission of supporting the media during these polls? From the activities implemented, it appears that the main concerns for the donors were: the capacity of the local media to disseminate neutral and factual information; equal access to the airwaves for all candidates; the ability of the regulatory body to ensure control over media content; and voter education. All these aims are perfectly legitimate for the pursuit of a free and fair electoral process, but other objectives might have been neglected. The focus on the Synergy in Burundi reflected the main preoccupation of donors: monitoring of voting operations by an independent media; limiting possible ethical violations that might arise from each media operating separately; and encouraging an alternative circulation of results. But the joint mechanism proved to be too restrictive. Many people interviewed afterwards, mainly members of the press, felt that the Synergy had served to limit their analytical and editorial points of view by generalizing a very factual and commonly shared understanding of events. Moreover, the Synergy did not prevent radio stations that were politically committed from showing their political sympathies, except in their jointly broadcast programs. Nothing has been done to improve the rest of the programs. Indeed, one may regret that journalists have only been trained to stick to facts and not express opinions or deliver commentaries in a professional manner. The second motive of donors was equal access; all the programs aimed at providing a chance for all candidates and all parties to reach

256   M.-S. Frère the public. Once again, that intervention was much appreciated, but when looking at the final monitoring results provided by JED (Journaliste en danger, a Congolese organization defending press freedom), it appears that directives that stipulated equal airtime for candidates impacted little on the ground. According to the Monitoring Center of the Observatory Mission of the EU, “The public broadcaster RTNC did not play its role of a public service outlet, neglecting the fundamental principle of equal access and balance regarding information.” Kabila received 86 percent of airtime devoted to presidential candidates during TV newscasts, compared to 7 percent for Kengo, 3 percent for Kamerhe, and just 1 percent for Tshisekedi (EU-­EOM 2011: 16). Regarding the private channels, according to data from the media monitoring center established by JED, Digital Congo devoted 100 percent of its airtime to Joseph Kabila, Canal Futur devoted 100 percent of its coverage to Vital Kamerhe, and RLTV devoted 90 percent of its coverage to Etienne Tshisekedi. In Burundi, the national broadcaster RTNB (Radio Television nationale du Burundi) also appeared devoted to the campaign of the incumbent president and his party. Equal access was clearly not achieved by providing pre-­recorded political messages from different political parties: the whole team that makes up a country’s entire media, including top management, have to be committed to achieve sustainable results. The third priority of the donors was electoral education. In the DRC, the main donors financed a large campaign for voter education. In Burundi, several programs from INGOs aimed at raising electoral awareness among citizens. These are important objectives, of course, but the way the schemes were implemented kept the local media out of the production process: local media were merely paid to broadcast material that was produced elsewhere. According to Kumar, “Such programs have been beneficial to indigenous media as they are usually subsidized for broadcasting them. Moreover, they establish a tradition of public affairs programming” (Kumar 2009: 30). On the contrary, I am convinced that this way of operating does not contribute at all toward strengthening the capacity of the local media to play a part in voter education. It merely fosters a conviction that voter education is something that should be managed externally, and that the media should be paid for disseminating information of this kind. Local media realities Media assistance often follows a template, using the same protocols and ways of operating that are usual to a specific donor or INGO – sometimes with little consideration for local peculiarities. This behavior contributes to a gap between the ideal of what the media is expected to do by donors, how it is expected to behave, and the reality of what those media are.

Monitoring fragile states   257 First, assistance programs generally neglect the fact that they are dealing with financially unsustainable media outlets that will have little capacity to continue projects once foreign support linked to the electoral process has vanished. In Burundi, the local media has very little ability to sustain itself, and is foreign-­supported. In the DRC, journalists work in such poor situations that “paid-­for” reporting and advertorials are widespread (a practice called coupage in the DRC). As the final report on electoral coverage by a local NGO claimed: “Stop appealing to ethics and training! Training journalists is useless if they are thrown back afterwards in an environment where corruption and subjection are the only two options for daily survival. A well trained poor remains poor” (JED 2012: 5). Second, if media outlets are deeply committed, politically, media assistance should take into consideration the political positioning of each of the media involved. In Burundi, Rema FM (which is close to the ruling party), RPA (whose owner created a political party and ran for the presidency) and the RTNB (the national broadcaster) all raised specific issues that could not be erased merely by involving all three in the Synergy. Several observers have nevertheless noted that the programs produced and broadcast in the Synergy environment constituted a kind of protected space for the electoral process, with the media progressively endorsing the ethnic-­based discourse of the candidates – especially between the first and second rounds of voting. In the DRC, unfairness and inequality of access can simply be explained by identifying who the owner of each station is. A third characteristic of the media landscape which is underestimated is the geographical scope of the media. Training has focused on urban media professionals, largely based in the capital city – whereas the citizens needing to be informed the most were out of reach of such media. In the DRC, the pre-­recorded messages of candidates and parties were elaborated under the supervision of the CSAC for broadcast on television – a medium that is limited to Kinshasa. Moreover, such messages were recorded in French, a language that only a minority understands. The more marginalized part of the population could therefore not, in reality, access the recorded messages of each candidate. In Burundi, while journalists from the provinces represented a third of the journalists deployed within the Synergy, they did not benefit from any previous training. The Synergy also put a lot of effort and resources into broadcasting in four languages – but the final assessment shows that more than 90 percent of listeners were listening to the Kirundi news only (Helbig de Balzac 2011). In general, the assistance projects did not pay any attention to feedback data about media consumption; and they did not focus on the most popular media, shows or journalists in their bid to try to reach the widest range of citizens. Nor did they used targeted messages designed to suit each category of voter according to age, gender or geographical location.

258   M.-S. Frère Fourth, media assistance has neglected a major concern of local journalists: security. When attacks on the press increase during electoral periods, personal safety and protection become a major concern. Absence of protection can explains some professional malpractices that can arise, such as self-­censorship or unbalanced reporting. Last, but not least, donors and INGOs systematically underestimated the lack of democratic commitment of the local authorities and public institutions to the whole process. Media assistance was conceived and implemented as if institutions were really concerned by democratic modes of operating. The case of the regulatory bodies is significant here. The CSAC appeared to be a politically committed institution when it was created in the DRC. But its subsequent actions proved it had no concern for balance, and immediately it started to threaten media close to the political opposition. Nonetheless, the French Embassy provided a million euros to support it, and it was only in December, after the election results were published, that the donor organizations decided to withdraw their support for the institution. In Burundi, the CNC also lacked credibility among journalists and the general population. During the election, the president of the institution ran as a candidate for the senate – indeed she mounted her political campaign while remaining at the head of the regulatory body. But in spite of such a glaring anomaly, consistent support was provided to the CNC. In both countries it is as if donors were hoodwinked into taking seriously the institutions that “semi-­authoritarian” regimes were establishing in order to fit the democracy template, even though there was enough evidence to suggest a lack of political will to have them operate efficiently or effectively.

Conclusion In 2010, the BBC World Trust had organized a workshop on Support to Media in Electoral Processes, from which it had concluded that “current policies regarding media support during elections are characterized by a lack of strategy and coordination, a predominance of ad hoc and short-­ term support, and inadequate lesson learning across elections, organizations and countries” (BBC 2010, 5). After analyzing the way media assistance was organized in two African countries, the DRC and Burundi, one can conclude that another parameter seems to be important: the lack of real consideration for local situations and capacities. The same recipes have been implemented in a country (DRC) with a huge number of anarchic media, totally out of any regulation and highly politicized (most of them belonging to politicians), and another country (Burundi) with a limited number of media but demonstrating higher level of independence and professionalism thanks to long term massive foreign support. I argue that media assistance during elections should be much more entrenched in the local peculiarities of each country. When the money

Monitoring fragile states   259 invested for electoral coverage equals the operating budget of all local private media for one year (which was the case for PACAM in Burundi), more attention should be paid to local needs and expectations. The aim of media assistance should not be limited to concerns of equal access, voting operation monitoring or dissemination of externally produced voters’ education messages. It should consider how to consolidate professionalism on the long term so that quality is maintained in all newsrooms after the polls. The private media (press and broadcasters), that were established mostly during the past decade, have contributed to create new spaces for expression, debate and participation. But, as private business or state-­ funded outlets, they are not “independent,” still they are expected to act as the impartial referee of electoral processes and get foreign support in order to do so. Moreover, more attention should be paid to the peculiarities of the fragile states in which these polls were organized. In a fragile state, institutions are unable to provide basic services and security to the citizens (including journalists); they are weak, ineffective and characterized by bad governance and prebendal politics (shortcomings that cannot be compensate by the media in order to insure free and fair polls); they lack legitimacy (which is problematic for national cohesion and makes elections especially dangerous episodes); corruption is widespread and the economy informal (which raises an issue of sustainability in the media sector). As Carothers has underline, these countries do not conform any longer to the “transition paradigm” (2012, 6): they should not be considered as “in transition to democracy” anymore, but taken for what they are: weak and poorly performing states, stuck in a “gray zone.” And their media landscape is reflecting that situation: financially dependent, politically polarized, geographically limited, and regularly threatened. Therefore, the usual pattern of media assistance that is usually mobilized in times of elections should be adapted to the main political and media peculiarities of each country.

Note 1 The author wishes to thank Anke Fiedler for her priceless assistance; as well as Florence Le Cam and Marie Fierens for their comments.

References BBC World Trust. 2010. “Support to Media in Electoral Processes.” London. Online, accessed March 27, 2014, available at: http://downloads.bbc.co.uk/ worldservice/trust/pdf/support_to_media_in_electoral_processes_full_worskshop_report.pdf. Carother, Thomas. 2012. “The End of the Transition Paradigm.” Journal of Democracy, 13 (1): 5–21.

260   M.-S. Frère Chataîgner, Jean-­Marc and Hervé Magro (eds). 2007. Etats et sociétés fragiles. Entre conflits, reconstruction et développement. [Fragile States and Societies. Between Conflicts, Rebuilding and Development] Paris: Karthala. De Zeeuw, Jeroen. 2005. “Projects Do not Create Institutions: The Record of Democracy Assistance in Post-­Conflict Countries.” Democratization, 12 (4): 481–504. De Zeeuw, Jeroen and Kumar, Krishna (eds). 2006. Promoting Democracy in Post-­ Conflict Societies. Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers. EU (European Union). EOM (Electoral Observatory Mission) 2011. “République Démocratique du Congo. Rapport final. Elections présidentielles et législatives du 28 novembre 2011.” [Democratic Republic of Congo. Final Report. Presidential and Parliamentary Elections of November 28, 2011.] Kinshasa. FIDH [International Federation of Human Rights]. Burundi. Les élections de 2010. Un test à ne pas rater pour consolider la paix. [Burundi. 2010 Elections. A test that should not be failed for strenghtening peace.] Paris. Online, accessed April 12, 2014, available at: www.fidh.org/fr/afrique/burundi/Burundi-­Les-elections-­de-2010-un. Frère, Marie-­Soleil. 2007. The Media and Conflicts in Central Africa. Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Frère, Marie-­Soleil. 2011a. Elections and the Media in Post-­Conflict Africa. Votes and voices for peace? London: Zed Books. Frère, Marie-­Soleil. 2011b. The Media Map Project. The Democratic Republic of Congo. Case Study on Donor Support to Independent Media (1990–2010). Washington: Internews/Annenberg School for Communication. Online, accessed March 28, 2014, available at: www.mediamapresource.org/research-­and-resources/. Frère, Marie-­Soleil. 2013. “Media sustainability in a Post-­Conflict Environment. Broadcasting in the DRC, Burundi and Rwanda” in Tricia Redeker Hepner and Kenneth Omeje (eds), Conflicts and Peacebuilding in the African Great Lakes Region: 161–78. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Hearn, Julie. 2001. “The ‘Uses and Abuses’ of Civil Society in Africa.” Review of African Political Economy, 28 (87): 43–53. Helbig de Balzac, Hélène. 2011. “Rapport de recherche. Médias pour une responsabilité citoyenne. Utilité, efficacité et impact.” [Research Report. Media for Citizen Responsibility. Usefulness, efficiency and impact] Bujumbura: La Benevolencija, SFCG, UKaid. Hutton Lauren. 2014. Internal and External Dilemmas of Peacebuilding in Africa. ISS Paper (Institutre for Security Studies) 250. Online, accessed March 27, 2014, available at: www.issafrica.org/publications/papers/internal-­andexternal-­dilemmas-of-­peacebuilding-in-­africa. JED (Journaliste en danger/Journalist in Danger). 2012. Rapport 2011. La liberté de la presse pendant les élections. Des médias en campagne. [2011 Report. Press Freedom During Elections. Media Campaigning.] Kinshasa. Kaplan, Seth. 2008. “Fixing Fragile States.” Policy Review, 152: 63–77. Kumar, Krishna. 2009. “One Size Does Not Fit All. Objectives and Priority Areas for Media Assistance in Different Societies.” Washington: CIMA (Center for International Media Assistance) and NED (National Endowment for Democracy). Online, accessed April 6, 2014, available at: http://cima.ned.org/publications/research-­reports/krishna-­kumar%E2%80%99s-one-­size-does-­not-fit-­all. Laliberté, Annie. 2009. “Autoritarisme et démocratie. Un journalisme de paix dans le Rwanda de l’après-génocide?” [Authoritarianism and Democracy. Peace journalism in post-­genocide Rwanda], PhD. Dissertation. Université Laval.

Monitoring fragile states   261 Lefranc, Sandrine. 2007. “Convertir le grand nombre à la paix . . . Une ingénierie internationale de pacification.” [Convert the biggest number to peace . . . International Engeneering for Peacebuilding.] Politix, 4 (80): 7–29. Nindorera, Willy, Capitant, Sylvie and Ndarugirire Tharcisse. 2013. Audit des médias par les médias. [Audit of the Media by the Media] Bujumbura: Association Burundaise des Radiodiffuseurs. Osaghae, Eghosa E. 2007. “Fragile States.” Development in Practice, 17 (4–5): 691–9. Ottaway, Marina. 2002. “Promoting Democracy after Conflict: The Difficult Choices.” International Studies Perspectives, 4: 314–22. Ottaway, Marina. 2003. Democracy Challenged. The Rise of Semi-­Authoritarianism. Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. SEE/Ministère français des Affaires étrangères [French Ministry of Foreign Affairs]. 2012. Evaluation du soutien de la coopération française aux médias d’Afrique subsaharienne francophone en période électorale au travers de trois programmes géographiques et d’un programme transversal de formation des médias.” [Assessment of the French foreign aid support to media in French-­speaking Subsaharan Africa, through three geographical programmes and a global training programme for the media]. Luxembourg. Toussaint, Luc and Kasmi, Djamel. 2010. Evaluation PACAM – Plan d’Action Commun d’Appui aux Médias – Burundi Elections 2010. [PACAM Assessment – Burundi Elections 2010.] Bujumbura. Zulueta-­Fülscher, Kimana. 2014. “Democracy-­support Effectiveness in Fragile States: A Review.” International Studies Review, 16: 29–49.

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Part III

Enacting and communicating peace

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18 The role of the media in transitional justice Lisa J. Laplante

Introduction The media never plays a purely neutral role in situations of conflict or conflict recovery, even when it claims or aspires to do so. No matter what, the information and ideas it communicates will have some kind of impact. In situations of polarized politics, the media – whether it be radio, newspapers, or social media – can just as easily spark the escalation of conflict as it can enable its resolution. For example, a newspaper might willingly publish the propaganda of a corrupt and repressive regime and, in effect, help to persuade the general population to support otherwise unconstitutional policies and practices. At the same time, an investigative broadcast aired on television might help to expose this same egregious conduct. At the end of the day, even when the media merely “reports” the news it can impact a society’s response to atrocity and ultimately influences the rejection of or tolerance of human rights violations. This inevitable influence continues even when abusive governments and wars come to an end and a country transitions toward peace. For this reason, the media cannot be forgotten when governments opt to undertake a process of transitional justice to redress the past through a variety of justice mechanisms like truth commissions, trials and institutional reform. Indeed, these accountability mechanisms will be reported on by the same media outlets that operated during times of repression and violent conflict. For that reason, there is no guarantee as to the manner in which the media will choose to cover the day-­to-day developments of transitional justice. Yet their reporting can influence society’s acceptance of these initiatives and the goals they promote. Remarkably, despite this power of the media, only a few scholars have reflected upon its role in transitional justice projects (Price and Stremlau 2012). This lack of attention may merely reflect the fact that countries taking the path of transitional justice often overlook the need to design a thoughtful strategy for “dealing with” the media as part of the overall plan for redressing the past. They neglect to self-­consciously

266   L.J. Laplante address how the media is both a direct actor in a transitional justice setting as well as its subject, requiring some sort of reform. Yet this lack of attention does not in any way mean that the media does not have significant influence over a transitional justice project, and it thus merits serious attention. For that reason, this chapter offers a preliminary discussion of the role of the media in transitional justice in order to frame some preliminary considerations and issues that could open up future dialogue among practitioners and researchers, with the goal of encouraging nascent efforts to bring more coherence to policy guidelines for managing the media in countries undergoing these justice processes.

The media as an actor in transitional justice Generally speaking, transitional justice concerns itself with the issues and dilemmas of how to redress a violent and repressive past that caused devastation and widespread human rights violations (Bukley-­Zistel et al. 2013). Usually, countries begin to discuss transitional justice policies during some type of political change where a former regime or war ends, thus creating an opening for political and legal change (Teitel 2003; Author 2009). At a practical level, transitional justice involves judicial and non-­judicial processes and mechanisms designed to address the needs of victims and society. For example, a transitioning country may resort to vetting, lustration, trials, testimony-­giving, institutional reform and reparations (Hayner 2011). The goals attached to transitional justice are ambitious and include establishing peace, the rule of law, democracy and a culture of rights (United Nations 2010). Perhaps the most touted goal is reconciliation to prevent new cycles of violence and human rights violations, as symbolized by the refrain nunca más [never again], the title of many truth commission reports. To reach these goals, judicial and non-­judicial mechanisms seek to expose the truth and raise common awareness of the existence and unlawfulness of past human rights violations. This process is supposed to lead to the formation of a collective memory that prompts society to demand accountability as well as move forward as a peaceful liberal democracy (Chapman and Ball 2001). Yet the work and findings of transitional justice mechanisms do not necessarily reach the local population directly, but rather are disseminated and discussed through some kind of medium, most notably the media. The transitional justice experience in South Africa exemplifies the critical role that the media can play in assuring that a truth commission’s work enters the public domain for full debate and discussion. South Africa undertook its transitional justice process to address almost 50 years of apartheid (1948–1994) by establishing its Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) in 1995. The TRC’s public hearings, where victims publicly

The media in transitional justice   267 gave testimony, enjoyed both extensive media coverage and ample public interest. Truth Commission deputy chairman Alex Boraine wrote: Unlike many other truth commissions, this one was center stage, and the media coverage, particularly radio, enabled the poor, the illiterate, and people living in rural areas to participate in its work so that it was truly a national experience rather than restricted to a small handful of selected commissioners. (Cole 2007: 172) International trials have also sought to enlist the help of the mass media to help disseminate their work, as was done with the Nuremberg trials as well as later special courts like the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. The prosecution’s office in both cases realized that the media “may affect what narratives of history prevail and are communicated to the broader public” (Savelsberg and King 2007). Where transitional justice experiences left coverage to chance, it often meant its work did not captivate the interest of the general public. For example, a study conducted by the Research and Learning Group of the BBC World Service Trust and Search for Common Ground surveyed public knowledge and perceptions of transitional justice in Burundi, and concluded that “both the local media and the authorities need to do more to explain the process and ensure public buy-­in” (Crawford and Pauker 2008). These experiences reveal that the work of transitional justice occurs in a vacuum without the involvement of the media. To achieve the sustained attention of society the media must keep it informed. Ultimately, the press helps transitional justice mechanisms reach their stated goals of raising societal awareness of past atrocities, which, in theory, will solidify widespread commitment to institutional reforms that go toward preventing new cycles of violence (Bennett 2007: 2). Yet commentators often assume that the media will automatically create a healthy level of constructive dialogue and debate about the past. On this point, a report on media and conflict prevention issued by the United Nations Economic, Social and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) contends that the media has the opportunity to provide a safe battleground to help “transform destructive conflicts into non-­destructive debates” (James 2004: 22). However, this transformation becomes especially challenging in the polarized environments that typify post-­conflict recovery. Given this reality, it is important to examine what should be expected of the media in these situations. Should the media be trained to actively promote transitional justice mechanisms and help shape public opinion and perceptions on justice, human rights and democracy? Or is it better to allow them to do business as usual, presumptively through objective and neutral reporting? The next section explores some initial answers to these questions.

268   L.J. Laplante

Media as subject of reform The same media outlets that existed during repressive or violent regimes do not usually change when those regimes end (Tironi and Sunkel 2000). Media systems are not “blank slates” ready to accommodate the new political order, but often still operate according to customs and political allegiances carried over from the previous one (O’Neil 1998: 7). This fact leads to a few important considerations. First, certain outlets or members of the media who acted as key protagonists to encourage or incite violence in the past may become subject to accountability measures like trials and truth commissions (Thompson 1999). For example, the Nuremberg Court scrutinized the role of Joseph Goebbels in devising propaganda during the period of the Third Reich while Minister of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda. Although he committed suicide before he could be brought to trial, the Nuremberg Court nevertheless closely analyzed his role in using a media strategy to facilitate genocide (Sandford 1976). More recently, the conviction of three Rwandan journalists in December 2003 by the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda because – of their participation in a media campaign that provoked Hutus to attack Tutsis – reminded us of the power of journalists to foment violence. Specifically, the private broadcast company Libre des Mille Collines (RTLM), as well as the national Radio Rwanda, took an active role in encouraging ethnic hatred among citizens, driving the Hutu people to kill at least half a million of the Tutsi population in 1994 (Des Forges 2002). Second, even if it does not, per se, reach a level of criminality, the media still may have played a polarizing role in conflict – a tactic they may continue to use in transitions to peace. This fact became evident in the civil war in Sri Lanka which led to the death of approximately 80,000 civilians over the course of three decades (Laplante and Phenicie 2009: 257). The war between government forces and the separatist group Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) managed to extend to the press. Sinhalese media mainly backed the Sri Lankan military and its push to destroy the LTTE, whereas the Tamil media covered the effects of the war on the Tamil population, and in some cases supported the LTTE. The English language media was divided between the state-­owned media house which produced mainly pro-­government propaganda, and a handful of independent papers which often self-­censored for fear of repression. The Center for Policy Alternatives (CPA), a Sri Lankan think-­tank, released a media monitoring report looking at coverage during the final months of the war and found that due to polarized media coverage Sri Lankans learned very different things about the war, thus forming very different perceptions depending on the media coverage available to their ethnicity and language. This biased reporting may be the result of political allegiances or outright corruption and manipulation. Either way, the reality of conflict

The media in transitional justice   269 reporting counsels that countries embarking on the path of transitional justice may need to consider how to address long-­standing problems with national media institutions and cultures (Price 2000: 31). Yet past transitional justice projects often appear to assume that the media will automatically perform in a way consistent with the “canons” of the journalistic profession and, moreover, that traditional peacetime approaches to journalism are the best suited to transitioning societies – ideas that until recently attracted minimal academic scrutiny. This tendency to ignore the role of the media may be attributed to the claim made by social scientists for many years that it has had little impact on politics and polemical social issues. In more recent times, communication scholars have helped to challenge this erroneous assertion by pointing out that “the whole package of journalistic rules – the routines of collecting information, criteria of selection and the style of presentations” – is never a neutral endeavor (Voltmer 2006). Rather, journalists can shape public opinion based on how they choose to “frame” the news they report and how they promote certain problems, interpretations and evaluations (Entman 1993: 52). Even the choices with regard to words, phrases and images convey a particular “angle” of a controversy that results in very different portrayals of the very same event and the controversy it represents and exerts significant influence on the perceptions and opinions of citizens (Nelson et al. 2011: 4). In essence, professional communicators mediate public deliberation. Thus, whether intentionally or not, the way a journalist frames the information he or she receives can drastically shape collective sentiments in tense environments, and may either ease longstanding strife or exacerbate it. Ultimately, mass media contributes to the construction, contestation and reconstruction of individual and collective memories (Assman and Shortt 2011). In particular, the media exerts great influence as the gatekeeper of information in that it decides which voices and messages get into the news (Bennett 2007: 5; Waisbord 2006). In post-­conflict settings, even if journalists give equal airtime to all perspectives on an issue, they may invite views that incite new tension and conflict by aiding suspected perpetrators and their supporters to promote a distorted, false or sensationalist version of the truth (Price and Stremlau 2012: 1080). Scholar Gadi Wolfsfeld refers to this dynamic as a “political contest model” in which antagonists compete over access to “media frames” to promote their interpretation of a conflict (Wolfsfeld 1997). While the media merely covers what is being said by different sides, it may inadvertently become a tool for diversion – distracting the public from the real issues at hand. The media turns from a space of constructive debate about the past into a “tug of war” over whose version of the past takes precedence. Even when journalists strive to adhere to the classic professional standard “as defined by fairness, accuracy, balance and detached, fact-­based reporting” they may fail to mediate facts and may

270   L.J. Laplante actually contribute to a media warfare that challenges a country’s attempts to foster peace (Bennett 2007: xxiii). For example, in 2002, Slobodan Milosevic, ex-­president of the former Yugoslavia, was placed on trial in The Hague for alleged war crimes and crimes against humanity – including the ethnic cleansing of approximately 250,000 people. Yet despite such grave charges he was able to captivate Serbian society with accusations that his trial signified political prosecution. Milosevic was able to “transform his identity as the accused and a prisoner into that of a hero” (Tosic 2007). It was through the transparency of his trial’s media coverage that Milosevic managed to reanimate past conspiracy theories and present himself as a hero. The fact that the media served as a medium for Milosevic to broadcast his allegations, in the end strengthened support among his followers and kept societal divisions in Serbian society alive. Arguably, the media’s failure to screen some of Milosevic’s statements, on the grounds that they were merely reporting “the facts,” directly impacted the success of raising society’s awareness of the atrocities perpetuated by him. The role of the media in communicating the processes and decision-­ making of trials as a component of transitional justice has been challenging for the ad hoc tribunals as well as the International Criminal Court. The media’s lack of understanding of trial procedures, and its distortions of fact, can influence how local views develop – and this has important implications for the “outreach programmes” of these courts as well as for local courts hearing similar cases, reinforcing the critical contribution that these programs can play in the formation of collective memory (Pham et al. 2005). This dynamic occurred in Peru during the trial of its former president, Alberto Fujimori, who was put on trial in 2009 for human rights crimes and corruption occurring during his decade-­long rule (1990–2000). The media sympathetic to Fujimori inflamed tensions and often printed sensationalist headlines to distract the country from the actual evidence being introduced at trial (Laplante and Phenicie 2010). Similarly, in 2013, the media in Guatemala engaged in a type of “memory battle” which deepened societal divisions when former leader General José Efraín Ríos Montt was tried for genocide and crimes against humanity and for his leading role in the massacre of hundreds of indigenous communities in 1982 (Laplante, forthcoming). Despite claims that the media helped to assure widespread reception of the work of the South African Truth Commission, there are still critical examinations of the role of the press. For example, it sensationalized certain victim testimonies into “trauma spectacles,” distracting from the fact that these occurred within a policy of terror (Verdoolaege 2005). Similarly, Kristin Sorensen confirms the important role of the media in Chile’s transitional justice experience, noting that it served as an agenda-­setter by either raising awareness that supported accountability measures or,

The media in transitional justice   271 alternatively, aided the nation “in continuing along a path of avoidance, apathy, and impunity” (Sorensen 2009). Yet the claim that journalists subjectively shape the news seems to contradict the long-­held belief that all professional journalists are objective in their reporting. But even if many journalists are trained to “just report the news” they may not appreciate how they influence national dialogue. They may fail to understand how the traditional “witness role” in reporting (what is said and done by all parties involved in a story) may have unexpected outcomes that undermine a transitional justice project (Street 2001: 155; Bennett 1998). This tension reflects a common dilemma in transitional justice settings in which societies may be pressured to emulate what some call “the American model of free speech libertarianism” even if they do not enjoy the conditions that support it (Palmer 2001: 180–1). For example, the Organization for Security and Co-­operation in Europe (OSCE) recognized that “building a free and independent media is integral to creating an open and civil society as well as fostering peace and reconciliation” (Price 2000: 31). Yet this model of “neutrality and objectivity” has been critiqued for not easily transferring to countries with “checkered experiences with democracy, or deep conflict between segments of a population” (Voltmer 2006: 250). It cannot be assumed that Western models and assumptions about journalism “can be grafted onto these societies with no concern for the legacies of the social order” (O’Neil 1998: 7). Instead, leaders of a country’s transitional justice project may need to take a different vision of local media in their efforts to create a new political-­legal reality. Ultimately, the reality of post-­conflict recovery requires a new consciousness that the press does not merely present the facts, but instead shapes the parameters for interpreting facts and events published for mass consumption (Nelson et al. 1997: 567). This paradigm shift fits in with the “social construction of reality theory” which posits that the meaning of events is not inherent; rather, it is created by the press (Wolfsfeld 1997: 32). This baseline understanding justifies the inclusion of the media on the roster of issues that a transitional justice project must address.

An approach to media in transitional justice processes The importance of the media in democracy-­building requires a proactive discussion of how it fits into transitional justice projects – both as a direct actor in the process and as a subject of its reforms. Those who design transitional policy may need to ask whether the media should be expected to promote the transitional justice agenda as well as censor divisive and potentially misleading statements from those opposing the transitional justice process. Clearly, this approach requires that we abandon the ideals of complete neutrality, which as discussed above may lead to unplanned and sometimes

272   L.J. Laplante harmful obstacles to a peaceful transition. Essentially, transitional justice creates an extraordinary need to balance competing values. Complete freedom of the press cannot exist as an absolute value but may need to be temporarily limited to assure the goals of transitional justice – which includes raising awareness of the harmful and unlawful human rights violations that mark the past. Yet the attempt to limit speech may seem to contradict the international norms preserving the freedom to receive and impart information as recognized in most international human rights treaties. For this reason, the UN’s Media Regulatory Commission provoked international controversy when it sought to impose standards for reporting on transitional justice activities – in doing so its actions appeared “tantamount to censorship” (Price 2000: 31). This tension reveals a fundamental contradiction in the goals of transitional justice. On the one hand, transitional justice seeks to promote a culture of respect for human rights and democracy – which necessarily includes free speech – and the right to informational and objective journalism that includes tolerance for public debate and disagreement (James 2004: 9). Yet transitional justice projects also seek to promote a single version of the past that acknowledges human rights violations occurred, and that these were morally and legally wrong. Transitional justice processes therefore theoretically require restrictions on the full application of free speech, at least in the short term, in order to ensure that delicate democracies are able to take root until such time as they are able to withstand more vigorous dissent and disagreement. Germany took this route following World War  II, seeking a balance between free speech and mutual respect and equality through various regulations and the criminalization of hate speech (Palmer 2001). Even “mature democracies” like the US “display various regulatory policies and mechanisms aimed at introducing some degree of social responsibility in the media and some fit between communication processes and political institutions” (Bennett 1998: 206). Yet this restriction requires a very delicate and careful balance of rights to avoid the danger of a post-­conflict government assuming an authoritarian stance and control of media reporting, as exemplified by post-­genocide Rwanda where any questioning of the government’s line of reconciliation met with accusations of “divisionism” and possible civil or criminal sanction (Armijo 2008). Transitional justice projects may need to actively prepare a “more responsible” media to accompany their work (Waisbord 2006). This approach might require instituting training to better prepare journalists to report effectively on transitional justice mechanisms (Pauli 2008). In Liberia, for instance, extensive resources were invested in training journalists covering the work of that country’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Local journalists and editors were instructed to cover the Commission process to minimize polarization and blame (Randall and Pulano 2008: 4).

The media in transitional justice   273 This project attempted to develop an independent and professional media to avoid the possibility of it publishing misleading information. Yet, even with training, it can prove challenging to change the professional culture of the media. For example, despite the significant investment of resources in training journalists in Liberia, the coverage of the transitional justice experience still resulted in biased reporting of both the truth commission and the Charles Taylor trial. Similarly, in Cambodia, the United Nations Transitional Authority for Cambodia (UNTAC) attempted to rebuild the media after the Khmer Rouge regime collapsed in 1998 – only to encounter many challenges. It was difficult to change a professional culture after years of a state-­controlled media which had instilled a culture of obedience, prohibited the development of an independent journalists’ association, killed journalists, and generally discouraged a free press guided by codes of professional ethics. With minimal effective redress for libel and other civil offences, local journalists lacked professional restraint, and newspapers subsidized by powerful individuals would run “wild headlines and unsourced stories” which led to political tension and fractionalization (Price 2000: 20). Liberia and Cambodia’s experiences press us to explore what type of protocols or guidelines should be established for post-­conflict media practice. Overall, these experiences suggest that rebuilding the media environment in post-­conflict societies requires a sustained long-­term commitment (James 2004: 26). Moreover, country and conflict diversity presents one of the greatest challenges in that it would mandate a flexible approach that would be sensitive to local contexts. Emerging initiatives are paving the way toward some global standards for media reform that also adapt to local realities. For example, a whole new area of Peace Journalism or “Conflict-­Sensitive Journalism” has been developed “to positively influence behavioral responses to conflict and shepherd in a new era of understanding, harmony and security in conflict regions and broken societies across the world [and] . . . foster tolerance and reconciliation” (Yamshon and Yamshon 2006: 422; Howard 2003) Arguably, these norms could be extended to post-­conflict settings. Ultimately, this approach requires what communication scholar Bennett describes as “a duty of social responsibility” that is guided by moral standards, codes of ethics and professional norms to guide journalists in emerging democracies (Bennett 2007: 156). Other training initiatives are being spearheaded by the BBC World Service Trust, the United States Institute of Peace and the International Center for Transitional Justice through its “Communicating Justice” initiative which works with local partners in five post-­conflict African countries to raise awareness on how to report on transitional justice issues in order to improve the quality and quantity of coverage of such matters. This project includes a useful, quick-­reference handbook on key issues in transitional justice to help increase journalists’ knowledge of this subject area so as to provide better information to the public.

274   L.J. Laplante

Conclusion It cannot be denied that the media plays a central role in both conflict and conflict recovery. This fact urges us to take a more deliberate and thoughtful approach to incorporating the media into the design of transitional justice projects, both as key actors as well as possible subjects of accountability and reform. Those countries which have already begun to take this path of “managing” the media as part of their conflict recovery experience, contribute to our evolving understanding of how to work with the media in order to promote the goals of transitional justice, and, most importantly, lasting peace.

References Author, Paige. 2009. “How ‘Transitions’ Reshaped Human Rights: A Conceptual History of Transitional Justice.” Human Rights Quarterly, 31 (2): 321–67. Armijo, Enrique. 2009. “Building Open Societies: Freedom of the Press in Jordan and Rwanda.” Journal of International Media and Entertainment Law, 2 (2): 105–32. Assman, Aleida and Linda Shortt (eds). 2011. Memory and Political Change. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Bennett, W. Lance. 1998. “The Media and Democratic Development: The Social Basis of Political Communication” in Patrick H. O’Neil (ed.), Communicating Democracy: The Media and Political Transitions: 195–208. Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Bennett, W. Lance. 2007. News: The Politics of Illusion. New York: Longman. Buckley-­Zistel, Susanne, Teresa Koloma Beck, Christian Braun and Friederike Mieth. 2013. Transitional Justice Theories. New York: Routledge. Chapman, Audrey R. and Patrick Ball. 2001. “The Truth of Truth Commissions: Comparative Lessons from Haiti, South Africa and Guatemala.” Human Rights Quarterly, 23 (1): 1–43. Cole, Catherine M. 2007. “Performance, Transitional Justice, and the Law: South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission.” Theatre Journal, 59 (2): 167–87. Crawford, Julia and Ed Pauker. 2008. Ready to Talk About the Past: A Survey of Knowledge and Attitudes toward Transitional Justice in Burundi. London: BBC World Service Trust. Des Forges, Alison. 2002. “Silencing the Voices of Hate in Rwanda” in Monroe E. Price and Mark Thompson (eds), Forging Peace: Intervention, Human Rights and the Management of Media Space: 236–58. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Hayner, Priscilla B. 2011. Unspeakable Truths: Transitional Justice and the Challenge of Truth Commissions. New York: Routledge. Howard, Ross. 2003. Handbook on Conflict Sensitive Journalism 2003. Online, accessed May 2, 2014, available at: http://ict4peace.org/handbook-­on-conflict-­sensitivejournalism-­ross-howard-­2003/. James, Barry. 2004. Media, Conflict Prevention and Reconstruction. Paris: United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. Laplante, Lisa J. “Guatemala’s Memory Battles: Public Debates and the Genocide Trial of Jose Efrian Ríos Montt.” Quinnipiac Law Review (forthcoming). Laplante, Lisa J. and Kelly Phenicie. 2009. “Mediating Post-­Conflict Dialogue: The Media’s Role in Transitional Justice Processes.” Marquette Law Review, 93 (1): 251–84.

The media in transitional justice   275 Laplante, Lisa J. and Kelly Phenicie. 2010. “Media, Trials and Truth Commissions: ‘Mediating’ Reconciliation in Peru’s Transitional Justice Process.” International Journal of Transitional Justice, 4 (2): 207–29. Nelson, Thomas E., Rosales A. Clawson and Zoe M. Oxley. 1997. “Media framing of a civil liberties conflict and its effect on tolerance.” American Political Science Review, 91 (3): 567–83. O’Neil, Patrick H. (ed.). 1998. Communicating Democracy: The Media and Political Transitions. Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Palmer, Laura R. 2001. “A Very Clear and Present Danger: Hate Speech, Media Reform, and Post-­Conflict Democratization in Kosovo.” Yale Journal of International Law, 26 (1): 179–218. Pauli, Carol. 2007. “News Media as Mediators.” Cardozo Magazine of Dispute Resolution, 8 (2): 717–34. Pham, Phuong, Patrick Vinck, Marieke Wierda, Eric Stover and Adrian di Giovanni. 2005. Forgotten Voices: A Population-­Based Survey on Attitudes about Peace and Justice in Northern Uganda. Berkeley: Human Rights Center/International Center for Transitional Justice. Price, Monroe E. (ed.). 2000. “Restructuring the Media in Post-­Conflict Societies: Four Perspectives the Experience of Intergovernmental and Non-­governmental Organizations.” Background Paper presented at the UNESCO World Press Day Conference, Geneva, Switzerland, May. Price, Monroe E. and Nicole Stremlau. 2012. “Media and Transitional Justice: Toward a Systematic Approach.” International Journal of Communication, 6: 1077–99. Randall, Lawrence and Cosme R. Pulano, Jr. 2008. Transitional Justice Reporting Audit: A Review of Media Coverage in the Truth and Reconciliation Process in Liberia. Monrovia: Liberia Media Center. Sandford, John. 1976. The Mass Media of the German-­Speaking Countries. London: Oswald Wolff. Savelsberg, Joachim J. and Ryan D. King. 2007. “Law and Collective Memory.” Annual Review of Social Science, 3: 181–211. Street, John. 2001. Mass Media, Politics and Democracy. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Teitel, Ruti. 2003. “Transitional Justice in a New Era.” Fordham International Law Journal, 26 (4): 893–906. Thompson, Mark. 1999. Forging War: The Media in Serbia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina. Luton: University of Luton Press. Tironi, Eugenio and Guillermo Sunkel. 2000. “The Modernization of Communications: The Media in the Transition to Democracy” in Richard Gunther and Anthony Mughan (eds), Democracy and the Media: A Comparative Perspective: 165–94. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tosic, Jelena. 2007. “Transparent Broadcast? The Reception of Milosevic’s Trial in Serbia” in Marie-­Bénédicte Dembour and Tobias Kelly (eds), Paths to International Justice: Social and Legal Perspectives: 83–110. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Waisbord, Silvio. 2006. “In Journalism We Trust? Credibility and Fragmented Journalism in Latin America” in Katrin Voltmer (ed.), Mass Media and Political Communication in New Democracies: 76–91. New York: Routledge. Wolfsfeld, Gadi. 1997. Media and Political Conflict: News from the Middle East. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

276   L.J. Laplante United Nations Secretary-­General. 2010. Approach to Transitional Justice: Guidance Note of the Secretary. Geneva: United Nations. Voltmer, Katrin. 2006. Mass Media and Political Communication in New Democracies. New York: Routledge. Verdoolaege, Annelies. 2005. “Media Representations of the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission and their Commitment to Reconciliation.” Journal of African Cultural Studies, 17 (2): 181–99. Yamshon, Ellen and Daniel Yamshon. 2006. “Comics in Conflict Resolution Programs: Are They Effective in Promoting and Sustaining Peace?” Harvard Negotiation Law Review, 11: 421–52.

19 Communication for memory and peace Articulating violence in post-­ repressive contexts Kristin Sorensen Introduction In order to be healthy as individuals and as societies, we need to see and hear our historical memories represented and validated so that they can be taught to younger generations. Virginie Ladisch and Clara RamírezBarat argue (2014: 182), Youth need to hear the message ‘never again,’ see institutions responsible for violations acknowledge the harm caused, hear firsthand accounts of past violations, understand what led to that situation, and have a sense of how to prevent its recurrence in order to be able to envision a new future and contribute to that vision of peace. As we shall see below, erasing the memory of human rights violations through the absence of its representations and discourses in the media, schools and government institutions never works, but it is a strategy frequently tried by those in power who see no benefit in (and indeed may have much to lose by) addressing this traumatic past. In many national contexts, violence is a tool that has been used repeatedly by the state and often on behalf of international economic interests; yet this violence is often covered up systematically from official national and international discourses. This chapter will discuss the techniques of official forgetting and oblivion utilized by the state and its various apparatuses. This chapter also will show how state-­suppressed historical memories can be maintained and recovered despite official attempts to remove them. Finally, this chapter will demonstrate how the manner in which language gets used (such as how people and events get named and described) can have a significant impact on the framing of these historical memories and the degree to which these memories can be utilized for forging peace, justice and understanding, rather than division, hatred and more violence. First I would like to state my position in relation to communication for peace. I agree with many human rights activists and survivors of violence who argue that nations and communities cannot work productively toward

278   K. Sorensen a peaceful future if they do not also confront their traumatic past and hold those responsible for the violence accountable. To “forgive and forget,” as survivors of violence are often advised, simply reinforces impunity, and, as many survivors have pointed out, is impossible to do when no one has even approached them to ask for forgiveness. As Joanna Santa-­Barbara (2007: 184) has indicated, If one party is so strong in a military or economic sense that it can continue to derive benefit from a relationship it has harmed (that is, exploit the other party) without acknowledging or in any way processing the harm it has caused, it may do just that. It will avoid adopting the supplicant position of making an apology. So when I describe communication for peace, I associate justice with peace; for me, they are inextricably linked. Justice is achieved when competing historical memories have an opportunity to be aired freely, debated, and confirmed or denied with testimonies and evidence; ultimately, those responsible for the violence must be prosecuted, convicted and punished for their crimes. There may be national contexts where it appears that this is not the case; however, I would contend that surface appearances can be deceiving. Santa-­Barbara points out, “The South African Truth and Reconciliation process was a remarkable moral invention in which amnesty from state punishment was granted for full disclosure of truth about wrongs committed. Genuine remorse at times elicited forgiveness” (2007: 182, emphasis added). When truthful disclosures are given in good faith, this is an important first step for the healing of victims and their families, but for many, it will not be enough. Johan Galtung explains, “The underlying problem is trauma, wounds to the body, mind and spirit, of both victims (V) and perpetrators (P), including the wounds to the community, the togetherness whose wholeness has been wounded by the P–V rift and has itself become a victim” (2007, 30). Without truth and justice the rift will not be healed: “Shattered trust is rebuilt by experiencing benign, trustworthy behavior over time. . . . Exposure to each other’s humanity revises dehumanization and joint accomplishment increases trust.” (Santa-­Barbara 2007: 183) In this chapter I will make reference to the cases of Chile, Cambodia and Rwanda, but what I describe can be applied to other national and international contexts.

Communicating forgetting: the ineffective method for creating peace According to Joanna Santa-­Barbara, “[a]nother cultural element that may hinder the process [of reconciliation and peace] is that of suppression of painful memories” (2007: 184). In 1907, at a Catholic school in Iquique, Chile, thousands of striking nitrate miners and their families were

Communication for memory and peace   279 slaughtered by the Chilean armed forces, following orders carried out by the country’s president in consultation with the primarily English owners of the mining industry (Durán Sepúlveda 2008; Graña 2007: 2; Guerrero Jiménez 2007: 16–21; Marín 2007: 48–60; Vera and Riquelme 2007: 81–149; Zolezzi Velásquez 2007: 4–7).1 As soon as their bodies were buried and made to “disappear,” official national records forgot the event. Chile’s annual almanac for 1907 makes no reference to the massacre on December 21 of that year.2 In Chile’s history textbooks there was little to no mention of the event for the following 100 years. Instead, smaller scale strikes and state-­sanctioned violence continued to occur throughout the following century up to the election of socialist president Salvador Allende in 1970 – whose regime ended abruptly on September 11, 1973 in a bloody military coup which resulted in 17 years of lies and omissions during the Pinochet dictatorship (Soza Vicentelo 2008: 169–327; Carmona 1997; Escalante 2000: 15–289; Oppenheim 2007; Rector 2005: 113–211; Santibáñez 2003: 13–377).3 When democracy was restored in 1990, the culture and practice of officially forgetting continued (Gómez-Barris 2009; Stern 2004, 2006; Sorensen 2009: 1–158). Beginning in the earliest days of the dictatorship, civilians were apprehended by security, intelligence, police and military personnel – who would then “forget” that they had detained these individuals. Indeed, this must be the case, for when loved ones tried to locate and visit their arrested and missing family members, they were often told that they were not in custody. The Vicariate of Solidarity, a human rights organization in Chile that was protected within the institution of the Catholic Church, kept copious notes on every individual about whom they were informed was a disappeared victim of the regime – and then submitted each case to the Chilean courts. Every single case was denied a review by the courts under the pretext that these individuals had never been apprehended by the state. When Pinochet stepped down from his position as “president” in 1990, he still remained the commander-­in-chief of the armed forces and a “senator for life,” a new position created by the revised constitution which had been written during his regime. Subsequently, little progress was made in addressing the violence of the Pinochet regime directly. The first civilian president, Patricio Aylwin, set up a commission to investigate the cases of the dead and disappeared – the Commission for Truth and Reconciliation, more commonly known as the Rettig Commission (Chilean Commission of Human Rights 1999). However, there was a tacit agreement to not discuss and investigate the exponentially larger number of cases of people who were tortured and survived. By the late 1990s, in recognition that little progress had been made in confronting the human rights violations head on, a Mesa de Diálogo [roundtable discussion] was convened to bring government officials, human rights advocates and military personnel together in the spirit of sharing information. Military personnel shared

280   K. Sorensen information about some civilians who were killed and disappeared, but in subsequent years forensic evidence suggests that a lot of the information shared was not true. When the Khmer Rouge came to power in Cambodia in 1975, Cambodians were told to forget history; they were beginning, at that moment, at “year zero.” Families were split up. The rulers attempted to sever familial bonds, and children were taught to be soldiers and that their elders were their enemies (Ung 2000: 129–43). Memories prior to the rule of the Khmer Rouge officially did not exist; although remembering one’s history prior to April 1975 if that individual was a teacher, doctor or employee of the previous government, or, for that matter, anyone educated or of a certain socio-­economic class standing, was acceptable – since that would allow the regime to eliminate them in their assumed capacity as enemies of the state. Traditional national arts, including Cambodian folk music, were banned. Only new, pro-­Khmer Rouge art and music were allowed (Glatzer 2003). In the aftermath of the Rwandan genocide, Rwandans were encouraged to stop using the words Hutu or Tutsi. Now, all Rwandans were simply Banyarwanda – Rwandan (Parkin 2010: 104). The government hoped that eliminating the previous ethnic identity terms would encourage forgetting of the ethnic divisions. Hence, borrowing from South Africa’s policy of “truth and reconciliation,” Rwanda promoted its policy of “unity and reconciliation” (Parkin 2010: 252). Clearly, however, the Rwandan government’s policies have not brought its goals to fruition – ethnic identities and the memories associated with them still play a role in local communities, and survivors describe the agony of seeing those who killed their loved ones on a daily basis. In such communities, consequently, trust does not exist (Aghion 2009).

Communicating memory In post-­repressive contexts, communicating historical memories more often than not must happen through unofficial channels. In Chile in 1907, not only were there survivors of the massacre, but the entire city of Iquique bore witness to the events; indeed, many residents ended up offering refuge to wounded survivors in their homes. The story may have been buried in history books and the censored media, but it lived on through oral testimony. That is why, even today, if you chat with Iquique residents whose families have lived there since 1907, they can tell you in vivid detail exactly what their ancestors witnessed as it continues to be passed on to the younger generations more than 100 years later.4 Likewise, the experiences of torture survivors and relatives of the disappeared and killed during the Pinochet regime are still experienced as if they happened yesterday. Many torture survivors have visible marks on their bodies which constantly remind them of their experiences, and for

Communication for memory and peace   281 the loved ones of people who were disappeared or killed, they often still hold on to the favorite objects of their departed – in some cases their bedrooms have been preserved exactly as they were at the time that they left. Adapting traditional folk music to include lyrics of protest and denunciation has been one method of communicating memory which has been used by relatives of the disappeared (Bannister 2004). Books have been published, even during the Pinochet regime, in memory of those who disappeared and were killed. Survivors of concentration camps have published their own books. And thanks to the documents preserved by the Vicariate of Solidarity, decades later, many of those responsible for the violent crimes are now being prosecuted. The younger generation, the children and grandchildren of those who suffered during the Pinochet regime, are often on the frontlines of memory recovery. In Chile, an organization which calls itself “Funa” takes to the streets and to the outside of homes and workplaces of known human rights violators who have not been brought to justice with the purpose of denouncing targeted individuals publicly for what they did during the Pinochet regime. And until the former torture center “Londres 38” was declared a house of memory and handed over to the survivors and relatives of the disappeared and killed, activists would hold a vigil outside the building every Thursday night in memory of those who suffered. They would tag the building with spray paint and glue posters to the outside walls which read “here they tortured and killed.” The graffiti would be removed by Friday morning, but if passers-­by looked carefully they would still be able to detect the writing under fresh coats of paint (Sorensen 2009: 137–41). Sometimes, eventually, official memories begin to change after a critical mass of grassroots memory recovery. For example, the government of Chile published a book in 2010 which documented all of the memorials built in honor of the disappeared of the Pinochet regime across the country (Ministerio del Interior del Gobierno de Chile 2010: 8–263). Likewise, thanks to grassroots memory work, the government of Chile finally acknowledged its role in the 1907 massacre of miners on the 100th anniversary of the event in 2007 (Guerrero Jiménez 2007: 9–15).5 Inside and outside Cambodia, survivors share oral and written testimonies of what they experienced and what they witnessed. The traditional arts and music are being revived. Arn Chorn Pond, who survived the genocide because of his musical talents, is now playing a key role in bringing the elder musicians of traditional music together and teaching the younger generations (Glatzer 2003). Indeed, playing and reviving the music is a form of healing for many survivors. In Rwanda and neighbouring conflict zones it is only through talking about their experiences, and what they witnessed during the genocide, that many survivors are able to function and maintain their sanity under a present system where survivors are encouraged to forgive those who were responsible for the violence in their communities and welcome them back.

282   K. Sorensen

Building frames for peace: the power of language During the 2010–2014 administration of center-­right president Sebastián Piñera, Chile’s minister of education announced that Chilean history textbooks would be revised. The word dictatorship would be removed from all references to the Pinochet regime. Instead, this 1973–1990 time period would be called the time of the military government. The word choice was not a new concept. That was the commonly used phrase to describe the Pinochet regime within Chile for many years after the return to democracy. After textbook authors and editors had finally felt the freedom to call the regime a dictatorship, that right was reversed 22 years after the end of said dictatorship. Incidentally, this historical edit occurred after Michelle Bachelet, whose father was killed and who, along with her mother, survived torture during the Pinochet regime, had been president for the first time and prior to her second elected term as president. While many conservative Chileans supported this move, the majority, especially the younger school-­going generation, protested. Ultimately, the minister’s attempt to censor the word “dictatorship” was unsuccessful and he had to reverse his decision. How people choose to name and describe people, places, things and time periods is not arbitrary. These choices are layered with meaning and are politically charged (Agar 1994: 61–72, 192–210). During the democratically elected socialist government of President Salvador Allende, conservatives who did not agree with the platform of the Popular Unity coalition were described as momios – mummies who could not change with the times, stuck in outdated lifestyles and paradigms. Meanwhile, those who supported Allende and the multi-­party Popular Unity government were labelled as marxistas – Marxists, regardless of their exact political identification. By the time of the military coup, the marxistas and comunistas were also being described as terroristas internacionales – international terrorists. They lost their Chilean identity and dubbed international infiltrators – “true” Chileans were those who worshipped the “fatherland” and General Pinochet. Chileans who became political prisoners were labelled variously as “children of prostitutes,” “children of dogs,” “shit.” Such labels would have encouraged individual soldiers and intelligence agents to see their victims as less than human, thus justifying their violent acts. In Rwanda, those inciting the violence toward Tutsis and moderate Hutus called their targets Inyenzi – cockroaches. The term then was used repeatedly in the hate speech that spread over the radio and encouraged the bloodshed (Power 2002: 330; Hall 2014: 283; Barker 2004). “Language carries with it patterns of seeing, knowing, talking, and acting. Not patterns that imprison you, but patterns that mark the easier trails for thought and perception and action” (Agar 1994: 71). In order for a society to heal, its leaders, educators, media outlets and individual citizens need to encourage truthfulness and humanity when calling

Communication for memory and peace   283 something or someone by a name. This practice will be further encouraged when there are opportunities for people with diverse experiences and perspectives to get to know and interact with one another in a genuine way. Eliza Tanner demonstrated the significance of this in her research on how Chileans from across the globe communicated via the Internet during the detention of General Pinochet in the United Kingdom (Tanner 2001). She showed that the venue offered to these individuals by the newspaper La Tercera’s chat room was allowing Chileans, living inside and outside Chile, and from various walks of life, to engage in a dialogue with people with whom they would normally not engage (since Chile is a deeply segregated society and there is further segregation between those who live within the country and those who live outside it, especially those who are exiles and children of exiles). One could argue, then, that these opportunities for fostering communication and relationships across traditional societal divides are expanding thanks to new platforms such as social media and networking sites (Hamdy and Gomaa 2012: 207–9; Hassid 2012: 225–6; Lim 2012: 244; Nisbet et al. 2012: 257–63; Papacharissi and Oliveira 2012: 278–80; Pearce and Kendzior 2012: 295–6; Valenzuela et al. 2012: 308–12; Lafi Youmans and York 2012: 324–6; Snow Bailard 2012: 341–2; Seo and Thorson 2012: 354–6; Howard and Parks 2012: 359–62; Tufekci and Wilson 2012: 374–7).6 In the context of Chile, an example of how a diverse set of social actors are able to unify on a path toward improving society and creating peace is the national student movement – known commonly as the “March of the Penguins” since so many students wear black and white uniforms. This movement has brought high school and university students from all socio-­ economic class backgrounds together, across the country, to fight for a complete overhaul of the Chilean education system. The fact that students from diverse socio-­economic classes and geographic backgrounds are working together promotes peace; these students have not traditionally had opportunities to interact with each another. However, they are also fighting for a more peaceful society in which all students are given equal opportunities for a quality education and the benefits that come with it. Indeed, this has been the largest grassroots movement in Chile in over 40 years. Students often organize through social media before taking to the streets – or to the doors of the Presidential Palace, Congress or the Ministry of Education – staging “kiss-­a-thons” and other attention-­grabbing stunts. They even barricade themselves inside schools – all to promote a more equitable, high quality education system which will be able to promote a more peaceful society (Valenzuela et al. 2012: 300–3). The price is high; many students have been hurt in the violent repressions of the military police, and they have foregone holidays and promotions to the next grade level. But these students, whose own teachers and parents are often among their allies, believe it is worth the sacrifice. Indeed, President Michelle Bachelet probably has young people and other protesters to

284   K. Sorensen thank for her re-­election (after her 2006–2010 term) – since most activists felt she was the best option available for moving the country closer to peace and social justice. In Cambodia, youth are targeted as part of a comprehensive educational campaign to teach recent history, especially the years of the Khmer Rouge regime. Virginie Ladisch and Clara Ramírez-Barat (2014: 182) explain: “Understanding the full dimension of Khmer Rouge history will help enable young generations of Cambodians to physically, emotionally, legally, morally, culturally, and psychologically engage in solving social problems and participate in the process of national development.” Timothy Longman (2014: 263–4) has illustrated how the Rwandan media played a significant role in fostering a climate of fear and hatred prior to the 1994 genocide. He also highlights the problems with post-­ genocide Rwandan media: Ironically, although the regime has recognized the power of the media to influence the population, it has focused more on limiting and controlling the media to prevent them from doing harm than on exploiting the media’s potential to promote social reconstruction. While the government has effectively used the media to inform the public of government policies and official positions, the failure to use the media to build real national unity represents a missed opportunity. In the case of Rwanda, building frames for peace is still a work in progress. Some progress is being made, though, especially with support from NGOs such as the Dutch organization Radio La Benevolencija Humanitarian Tools Foundation – which has developed a radio soap opera that broadcasts on Radio Rwanda. The program Musekeweya [New Dawn] educates listeners on themes such as justice, empathy and trauma (Longman 2014: 264–5; Hall 2013: 289).

Conclusion This chapter has considered the role of forgetting and remembering in creating a path toward communicating peace in a post-­repressive society. In short, official forgetting must stop, and historical memories must be embraced and discussed, along with the prosecution of those responsible for human rights violations. Such actions will communicate true peace (Jelin 2003: 89–105). To create “positive peace,” as defined by Johan Galtung, one which “denotes the simultaneous presence of many desirable states of mind and society, such as harmony, justice, equity, etc.” (Webel 2007: 6), or a “strong, durable peace,” as defined by Charles Webel (2007: 11), there needs to be respect for human rights and accountability for human rights violations. “Peace without human rights would be a weak

Communication for memory and peace   285 and flawed peace” (Ife 2007: 160). Indeed, the most productive method for communicating peace may be to allow the younger generation of global citizens to continue to do what they are already doing. The young are at the heart of the student movement in Chile; the “Arab Spring,” and other similar movements, are being led – through social media and on the ground – by a younger generation of people whose perspectives are more inclined toward cross-­cultural, heterogeneous identities which leave little room for antiquated, traditional divisions within and across national borders (Kaiser 2005: 1–22, 183–99; Hamdy and Gomaa 2012: 207–9; Lim 2012: 234–5; Valenzuela et al. 2012: 301–2).7 This chapter also highlighted the role of language in framing perspectives and the potential that language has to communicate peace. As explained by socio-­linguist Michael Agar (1994: 66): “The world can’t be separated from the language used to talk about it.” Perhaps paying closer attention to how communicating memory can lead to peace – in various local, national and international contexts – will illustrate both the nuances and the more universal phenomena associated with any theoretical or practical applications of working toward healthier, more transparent, and socially just societies.

Notes 1 Personal interview with Guillermo Ross Murray, Director of Archives, Museum of Regional History, Iquique, June 3, 2011, in Iquique, Chile. 2 Personal interview with Juan Araya, former political prisoner and human rights activist, June 6, 2011, in Iquique, Chile. 3 Personal interview with Héctor Marín, President of Association of Relatives of Political Prisoners Executed and Disappeared, May 26, 2011, in Iquique, Chile. 4 Observed by the author while conducting fieldwork in Iquique in May and June 2011. 5 Personal interview with Juan Araya, June 6, 2011 in Iquique, Chile. Personal interview with Anyelina Rojas, journalist and human rights activist, June 1, 2011, in Iquique, Chile. Personal interview with Guillermo Ross Murray, June 3, 2011 in Iquique, Chile. 6 Of course not all new platforms for communicating memory foster greater understanding and peace; plenty of blogs, tweets and Facebook messages promote misunderstanding, hatred and violence. 7 While this author believes that the younger generation brings new capacities for peacebuilding, she acknowledges that many members of this same generation give much cause for concern.

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20 Community media as performers of peace1 Clemencia Rodríguez

Introduction The clear night and a warm evening wind surrounded us on the verandah of a small café in the city of Mompox in Colombia. We pulled together several tables to accommodate our group, a combination of Colombian community media practitioners, academics and students. After a long work session it was time for us to enjoy ourselves for a couple of hours before bedtime, as work on a research project would resume early the next morning. Working with Colombian community radio practitioners taught me that they always travel with a couple of microphones and a sample of their music – “just in case” an opportunity emerges to produce a radio program. Sure enough, that night their CDs were put to good use after the café owner agreed to let us play our own music. Some of the best salsa music from the ’70s accompanied our conversation. Suddenly, a couple of large SUVs with tinted windows parked next to the café. Several men emerged and immediately the music stopped. The atmosphere grew tense, my friends collected their CDs, and someone in our group paid the bill saying, “It’s time to go.” As we gathered our things and left, I could hear that vallenato music had replaced our salsa. Surprised by our sudden, premature departure, I asked for an explanation as we walked back to the hotel. This was one of those times, like numerous others during my fieldwork in Colombia, when I learned important lessons: the SUVs clearly marked their owners as paramilitary; Mompox, and the surrounding Magdalena Medio region, was experiencing a major expansion of right wing paramilitary groups; local paramilitary had declared war on anything that “smelled” leftist: long hair in men, non-­heteronormative sexualities, and ’70s salsa music – known for its politicized lyrics. In the months to come I would learn to revise my taken-­for-granted understanding of what it is like to live in the midst of armed conflict. I learned how co-­existing with armed groups impacts civilian communities and how these communities use communication and media to resist this impact. Coming into the café and replacing our salsa music with their vallenatos was clearly an act of intimidation and reappropriation of a social space. This

290   C. Rodríguez is how armed groups intrude into the everyday life of civilian communities, how war progressively permeates the social and cultural fabric of a community. It is important to understand the particular ways in which the violence of armed conflict affects civilian communities. Johan Galtung’s (1996) notions of negative peace as the absence of war, and positive peace as “the integration of human society” (Galtung 1964: 2) were key for questioning limited understandings of violence. Galtung’s redefinition of violence led to an extended definition of peace, where peace is not merely the absence of an act of direct violence (negative peace) but also an absence of structural violence (positive peace). Structural violence stems from the structure of society, rather than the actor-­generated personal and direct violence. (Grewal Singh 2003: 2) Understanding how different types of violence impact community life is necessary to determine how media and communication can be used to resist this impact. More contemporary examinations of violence, such as Kalyvas’s (2000, 2003) analysis of violent conflict and civil war, shed light on the very complex processes that develop when the violence of armed groups spills over into civilian communities. This chapter explores how, in contexts of armed conflict, community communicators use citizens’ media to shield civilian communities from the negative impact of war. I define “citizens’ media” as instances in which people use media technologies to name and shape the world on their own terms. Citizens’ media trigger processes that allow communities to recodify their contexts and restructure their identities into empowered subjectivities strongly connected to local cultures and driven by collective agency (Rodríguez 2001). Used wisely, media technologies have the potential to disrupt the intrusion of war in the social and cultural fabric of communities. The role that mass media can play in de-­escalation of conflict has been well documented by Peace Journalism scholars (Lynch and McGoldrick 2005; Howard 2003, 2002). Less well documented, however, is how citizens’ media can play key roles in processes of peace formation in contexts of armed conflict. The uses of citizens’ media presented in this chapter resonate with the concept of “peace formation” – defined as processes led by local agents and strongly rooted in local conditions, local cultures, and local understandings of politics (Richmond 2013). Peace formation refers frequently to “small-­scale and often low-­level efforts made beneath state, often in hidden or marginal spaces” (Richmond 2013: 10) that strengthen local processes of good governance, accountability, resource redistribution, sustainable economies and peaceful interactions among different identities.

Community media as performers of peace   291 Colombian citizens’ media thrive right alongside mainstream commercial media and government-­controlled media, thanks in part to media regulation that guarantees community broadcasting licences. In 2008, the Colombian mediascape included 651 community radio stations, 553 community television stations, and 26 indigenous radio stations (Rodríguez 2011: 28–9). My fieldwork documents how savvy grassroots communicators use citizens’ media to buffer the negative impact of war. Strongly rooted in their local communities, experienced communicators profoundly understand the specific ways in which war impacts their communities’ everyday life. Detecting communication and information needs in times of war, community communicators use media to buffer war’s intrusion into the social fabric of communities. During my fieldwork I have learned to see how they operate as relentless ethnographers, continuously exploring every nook and cranny in their communities as they determine ways to use media technologies to address communication needs caused by war.

Media and armed conflict Colombian community communicators know well the complexity of contemporary wars. In contexts of armed conflict such as Colombia, in which armed groups co-­exist with civilian communities, nothing is clear-­cut. Doing fieldwork in these places I was always reminded that war and conflict do not exhaust life in the community. Despite walking by sandbag barricades set up on the central plaza to protect the court house, bank and police station; despite witnessing freshly washed military uniforms drying on clothes lines in people’s backyards; and despite listening to locals recount the last guerrilla attack on the town – there are always other aspects of community life not permeated by armed conflict. War is rarely able to colonize all aspects of everyday life in a community. In parallel to the fear and uncertainty that war and armed groups bring into a community, people continue living and interacting – children play, families and neighbours gather, business owners deal, teenagers flirt. These pockets of sociality not colonized by war are important because they contain the seeds of agency and empowerment. It is here, in these sometimes-­frail threads of social fabric, that a community can feel kernels of hope, solidarity, and peaceful co-­existence. Media technologies have an immense potential to move these moments from the margin to the center. A video focusing on a local grandmother who, for the last 30 years has woken up every morning at 5 a.m. to grill corncakes for her family, can move this slice of everyday life from the margin of the private sphere to the center of public life. The video, projected on a large wall in the central plaza, can remind every resident in town that, despite their high visibility, barricades and guns are not all that goes on in the community. In contemporary wars boundaries blur between unarmed communities and armed groups; between times of crisis and times of “normalcy,” or

292   C. Rodríguez peace. The Colombian context during the 1980s and 1990s fits Kalyvas’s (2000) description of “civil war violence,” defined as fragmented and antagonistic armed groups that compete for a monopoly on violence. The result of opposed armed groups competing to secure resources to do violence and impose fear is an unstable, fragmented and shifting social terrain of alliances and clashes. In this type of armed conflict the territory and social fabric of civilians becomes a battleground for armed groups, as “the key to defeating an opponent in a civil war is to control access to the civilian population – and, hence, deny one’s opponent access to civilians” (Kalyvas 2000: 8). Armed groups recruit informants among local residents. They frequently disrupt local elections. Local municipal budgets are rigged. Intra-­communal conflict, and family or individual feuds, become tangled with war. The militaristic logics of armed groups permeate social fabrics; resolving conflict by violent means becomes normalized, as does the presence of weapons and military uniforms in the community. Young women compete to seduce male members of armed groups as the warrior rises as an idealized image of masculinity. These are the specific dynamics in which civil war violence intrudes into communities. In regions of armed conflict in Colombia, right wing paramilitaries, leftist guerrillas, the Colombian armed forces, and drug cartels vie for territorial and political control. Civilians find themselves in the crossfire, witnessing war, sectarian ideologies, and how militaristic logics permeate their communities’ social, cultural, and political fabric. War is a strong media magnet. National and international media show up in contexts of armed conflict, their cameras and microphones fixated on war, seduced by narratives of warriors, weapons and the immense semiotic arsenal of militaristic signifiers. In general, media respond to the pull of war and those who bear arms – turning their backs on anyone else.

Audio-­visual media in contexts of armed conflict In Colombia, isolated rural areas only make it into the national and international news when armed violence attracts reporters and TV crews. Years of built-­up war narratives disseminated by the media represent these regions as violent places inhabited by “savage” communities, and this portrayal suffocates any alternative version of place and people. Conversely, Colombian community communicators living in contexts of armed conflict have learned to shift their gaze from the traditional perspective focused on “the armed ones” toward a new point of view that favors “the unarmed ones.” Only media able to shift the focus away from the pull of war will be able to detect and meet the information and communication needs of unarmed communities living in the midst of armed conflict. Colombian community communicators have learned to resist the pull of violence and instead develop clever strategies to use media technologies to strengthen local processes of peace formation.

Community media as performers of peace   293 In these contexts, audio-­visual media play key roles in destabilizing meanings ascribed to a region and its people. I would like to showcase two initiatives that use media to counter war’s impact on the cultural fabric of local communities: the Communication Collective of Montes de María in the Colombian Caribbean, and the Children’s Audiovisual School of Belén de los Andaquíes (CASBA) in southern Colombia. Both of these initiatives use media to explore alternative versions of local life that may be suffocating under the weight of ascribed identities imposed by mainstream media. Using video, local residents produce narratives based on their own experiences. The lives of people in these communities are complex, and much actually happens that has nothing to do with war or armed groups. The narratives produced by community groups at the Collective and CASBA shift the gaze, focusing cameras and microphones on those aspects of social life not yet colonized by armed groups and their violence, bringing these alternative versions of place and self to local public spheres. For example, the opening sequence of De Cochero a Piloto [From Driver to Pilot] – a 20-minute video drama about a rickshaw driver with a dream of becoming a pilot – playfully captures a series of everyday life in the small Colombian town of Marialabaja. Positioned in the place of a rickshaw driver, the camera sways over typical street scenes – a road lined with homes painted in the traditional pastel colours of Caribbean towns, moving on to the nearby river where someone takes a dip, and then to the front patio of a local shop where three men play Parcheesi. Layered with the intense drumming of the soundtrack, each shot captures subtle features emblematic of the region’s local cultures – such as trees trimmed in the typical Caribbean style, in which the canopy is made to look like a perfect cube; the inevitable beer posters featuring sexy women exhibited on store fronts; the vivid colours of tropical fruit. The shots reflect a rainbow of colours and people interacting around Parcheesi, buying and selling fruit, or simply “hanging out” (Equipo de Producción Audiovisual de Marialabaja 2007). Military trucks are visible, a reminder of the presence of war and armed groups, but their presence appears at the margins of a narrative that refuses to be co-­opted by war. Also produced by the Collective, Ciclistas en el Atardecer [Cyclists in the Sunset] is a one-­minute video featuring two boys playfully riding their bicycles. The sequence is shot on the soccer field of Las Margaritas, a recently erected neighbourhood for internally displaced people in the region. Against the backdrop of the exquisite blues, oranges and yellows of a Caribbean sunset, the boys enjoy playing with their bicycles as local characters walk by, including a man with his machete, overburdened by a load of feed for his cattle, and a girl followed by a small white dog (Colectivo de Comunicaciones de Montes de María 2006). Here too, the filmmakers opted to capture the parallel realities as experienced by the local community, where the impact of armed conflict is felt side-­by-side with the joy of everyday life.

294   C. Rodríguez These participatory video initiatives invite children, youths and adults to relearn how they see their local environment. Video producers are encouraged to use communication and information technologies as tools for detecting and capturing those images and sounds that make up their local environment and their place in the world. Focusing on local lifestyles and natural environments, the videos capture the texture of everyday life as it is experienced by civilian communities. Local people, cultures, and places are showcased in all videos. Seen through their cameras, these are not just places where armed groups wage war; these are regions of beautiful landscapes, populated by warm and friendly people who love music; places where neighbours hang out and help each other; places where kids ride on bicycles; these are urban and rural communities living a fairly good life even in the middle of difficult conditions of poverty and the sly presence of armed groups. The videos insist on the notion that not everything has been permeated by armed conflict. The social fabric left untouched by violence is precisely where the film-­makers focus. The videos cultivate a strong sense of self, a sense of pride and self-­esteem deeply rooted in local cultures, languages, art and life-­worlds. The videos serve as “electronic mirrors” in which local communities can see who they are and appreciate how their social fabric has not been entirely colonized by armed conflict. The films resist notions imposed by the mainstream media’s insistence on focusing on actions of war, in which the region and its people are portrayed as inherently violent. During my fieldwork with CASBA, I frequently participated in excursions to the river, part of the video production training. I saw children “playing” with digital recorders and microphones, trying to capture the sound of a pebble falling in the water or the quality of a bird song. As CASBA teachers implement their participatory methodologies, they invite children to use media and see their place from an entirely new perspective. Mariana García, who began participating in CASBA when she was ten years old, remembers how local everyday life entered her field of vision: “Every time I hear the clear sounds of the river I remember how we used the songs of the birds, a rooster’s crow, a dog barking, or the sounds of my neighbor’s pigs to color our productions” (García 2006). Alirio González, one of the brilliant community communicators who leads CASBA explains: “What we need is for this territory to rethink itself as a subject, as an actor. The people here need to rethink their identities, their goals, and who they want to be” (González 2004).

Radio used in contexts of armed conflict In times of crisis, when civilian communities are under attack or paralyzed by armed groups, Colombian citizens’ media, and especially community radio, are used to share information, take action and make collective decisions. During a particularly bad year, when the FARC guerrillas mandated

Community media as performers of peace   295 a general strike that brought the entire region of Putumayo to a halt, five community radio stations in the region joined forces to serve the information and communication needs of their communities. The stations maintained open phone lines for people to call in with information and questions. They played key roles in helping relatives find each other; prevented price gouging on food and other basic necessities by publicly disgracing those store-­owners who were hiking prices; and facilitated on-­air public conversations. For example, school teachers in different parts of the region used the stations to conduct a collective discussion about what to do about the school year, as they considered different alternatives and made decisions collectively. Local public spheres are among the first casualties when unarmed communities are caught in the fighting of warring groups. People witness their streets, plazas and markets being invaded by heavily armed groups. In this kind of war, local geographies become sites of surveillance, sometimes through the actvities of informants recruited by armed groups from within the local population. When public places are permeated by suspicion, surveillance and threats, people desert them and retreat to their private spaces – with an ensuing erosion of the social fabric. To counter this type of impact of war on the everyday life of its community, Radio Andaquí, a community radio station in southern Colombia, designed a Christmas decorating contest. The station defined the guidelines for the contest: a neighbourhood block could enter the contest, but not individual households. I’d like to draw attention to how this communication is deliberately designed to encourage neighbours to talk and interact. Soon, doors were being left open, people on the same block came and went between one home and another, fetching tools, a can of paint, or a roll of masking tape. The station then used its radiocycle, a mobile unit mounted on a tandem bicycle, to transmit from a different block every night. Radio announcers described how the block on 13th Street made Christmas lights using egg cartons. Little by little, people from all over town came strolling by 13th Street to see the lights. Neighbours talked to each other, commented and circulated. Radio Andaquí knew that each of these conversations was a thread in the social fabric that would sustain the community and keep the terror of war at bay. On December 23, Radio Andaquí announced the winner, the prize being all the necessary supplies for the winners to throw a block party and invite everyone in town. Even the prize was designed to trigger and cultivate communication and interaction, not between the medium and its audience, but away from the medium, among the community. Today, 20 years later, the custom of collectively decorating the entire town, block by block, has become a tradition – part of the collective imaginary. The community communicators behind the medium carefully designed ways to use media technologies to trigger communication processes among the community. The talent for designing these communication events develops over years of experimenting with technology, sharing

296   C. Rodríguez of know-­how with other community communicators, and cultivating immense doses of creativity. Media technologies have great potential to move already-­existing communication processes from the isolated margins to central positions in local public spheres. For example, in 2001 a small town in southern Colombia was terrified when 200 heavily armed guerrillas stormed the central park. In a matter of minutes this town of 6,000 people was transformed into a terrorized and silenced community – except for a small group which was just getting off an inter-­municipal bus when the attack began. Waving white t-­shirts and screaming, “Don’t shoot! We are civilians! All we want is peace!” these newcomers broke into an impromptu demonstration for peace. A few others trickled in. Radio Andaquí, the community radio station, immediately jumped into action, and minutes later the station’s radiocycle was transmitting the voices of the demonstrators. The local priest used the church’s loudspeaker system to transmit the station’s signal. Soon this collective voice was loud and clear, expressing civilians’ rejection of the armed group’s invasion of their town. In this case, media technologies were used to heighten a frail expression of solidarity and resistance that emerged unexpectedly. Detecting these dynamics, community media use technology to strengthen precarious expressions of collective agency. Citizens’ media are used to help move the community from being mere victims of armed groups, paralyzed and silenced, toward a collective of active agents with a voice. In Colombia illegal armed groups inject immense doses of corruption into local communities. Guerrillas and paramilitaries threaten local governments and democratic processes. Local communities resist this disruption by implementing good governance and transparency initiatives. Community media are then used to strengthen such initiatives. One hot day in October 2004 I was hanging out at Puerto Wilches Estéreo, a community radio station in the region known as Magdalena Medio. The station’s radio producers were busy packing up microphones, earphones and cables. They were preparing for the transmission of what is known in the region as a Rendición de Cuentas (loosely translated as “presentation of the accounts”). The Redición de Cuentas is a public event in which local authorities, led by the mayor, explain how they have spent the municipal budget over the past six months. Puerto Wilches Estéreo’s mobile unit was under a large tree on the school’s central patio. About a dozen local government authorities sat around a long table on a stage, with the mayor sitting in the middle. The table faced an audience of approximately 300 people, who came to listen to the mayor’s explanation of his fiscal management over the last six months. Rendiciones de Cuentas have sprung up in communities like these to counter corruption within local government. Community communicators, aware of how important these initiatives are, have made them a priority. They use the radio station to amplify the Rendición de Cuentas to the entire

Community media as performers of peace   297 municipality. Farmers in their fields, fishermen on their boats, health practitioners, teachers, mothers caring for their children – all can listen to the mayor and his cabinet. Bloh and Rolt (2007) document similar initiatives in Liberia, where community media are used to improve communication between local government officials and citizens as part of post-conflict reconstruction efforts A recent study developed by the World Bank’s Communication for Governance and Accountability program in post-­conflict contexts found that nurturing positive relationships between citizens and the state is a key element of sustainable peace. The study states that the nature of post-­conflict environments poses unique governance challenges. As a consequence of state abuse and exclusion, people have little or no trust in the fair functioning of state institutions and rely on personal networks: tribe, clan, family, religious groups. The fabric of society is torn by displacement and fighting, with non-­state actors playing an important role in the absence of a functioning state. (Von Kalternborg-­Stachau 2008: 5) Since the late 1990s, one of the war strategies of Colombian guerrillas has been to sabotage regional and local electoral processes in order to erode any type of state or institutional presence in their areas of influence, thus consolidating a kind of “parallel power” (Vázquez 2006: 366) for themselves. Guerrillas send out the message that voting is prohibited, and that anyone seen voting faces reprisals. Both leftist guerrillas and right-­wing paramilitaries threaten local and regional candidates. In 2000, during local and gubernatorial elections, 20 mayoral candidates were assassinated. Gilberto Toro, director of the Colombian Federation of Municipalities, stated that half of the 1,093 mayors faced real threats that year (LaFranchi 2000). In an attempt to reappropriate local elections from the control of armed groups, community radio stations implement multi-­pronged strategies: first, they opt out of paid political advertisements; second, they cover elections in ways that guarantee equal time for all candidates; and third, adamant about preventing violence and aggression arising from the “stealing” of their local elections, radio producers commonly act to defuse conflict between political candidates, as the following testimony from the municipality of Gamarra narrates: every time the three candidates in the forthcoming election for mayor in our municipality met in a public space, they began insulting each other. The situation was becoming a time bomb in our community. Seeing this, the youth collective at our radio station decided to organize what became known as the First Forum for Democracy. We wanted to find ways to enhance peaceful coexistence in the

298   C. Rodríguez municipality. The three candidates agreed to come to the station and the forum began at nine in the morning. It was supposed to end at ten, but the conversation was so exciting that the forum kept going until twelve thirty, and the three candidates, who had insulted each other just ten minutes before the forum started, left the station arm in arm. How did we accomplish this? Well, as the dialogue began, we realized that the three candidates had all gone to high school together, so they began remembering all their escapades, like when they skipped school together to go to the river, or to play pool; this changed the mood of the conversation. They felt at ease with each other, they began looking at each other as human beings, and not just as rivals in a political race. We managed to lower the violent tone among them and cultivate a more fraternal relationship. (Gamarra Radio Producer 2004) In this case, the program’s director made impromptu decisions as the interview was developing. Originally, the station’s youth collective was supposed to begin interviewing the three candidates with soft questions and then pass the baton to senior producers responsible for asking more serious questions about the candidates’ political platforms. However, once the director detected how the candidates were finding common ground around their responses to the soft questions, she decided to let the young interviewers continue conducting the entire program. The senior producers never came on the air. The director used her communication competence to nurture the emerging threads of peace formation and rehumanization. Clearly this type of community communicator has moved beyond predesigned formulas and thoroughly understands how communication can strengthen subtle processes of peace formation.

Performative uses of media One of the most interesting aspects of Colombian citizens’ media is their understanding of communication’s performative potential. They know that media technologies can be used to make things happen in a community. Media are used not just to inform, transmit messages, or empower – they literally make things happen, moving into the realm of performative communication. For example, in Puerto Wilches a local conflict centered around the central park threatened to spiral into violence. Street vendors had invaded the park for the purpose of selling their merchandise; local residents resented the fact that their park was overtaken, preventing them from using this public space. Puerto Wilches Estéreo, the local community radio station, decided to intervene. Instead of transmitting messages about the virtues of non-­violent conflict resolution, the radio station triggered a process of non-­violent conflict resolution in the community. The station provided a forum for the street vendors, who publicly explained that putting food on

Community media as performers of peace   299 their families’ tables depended solely on their being able to use the park as a public market. Next, the station opened its microphones to the residents, who explained that their park was like a public living room, and not being able to use it was impacting their community. During the process, the station invited listeners to call in with questions, suggestions and comments. A suggestion to use an abandoned building as a market came out of this public conversation. Callers began asking the mayor to help resolve the problem. Others volunteered to help refurbish the old building. Finally, in response to local pressure, the mayor stated that he would buy the building and make it available for the park vendors. The vendors moved to their new marketplace and the park returned to its original use. The station did not send messages describing non-­violence or trying to persuade people to live non-­violently. Instead, the medium triggered a communication process in which people experienced the resolution of the conflict around the park in a non-­violent manner; locals were able to experience what non-­violent conflict resolution feels like; the medium subjected people to the lived experience of non-­violent conflict resolution. The performance spaces that “subject” people to peace formation are crucial because, as one of Carolyn Nordstrom’s informants says: So is the war really over? Is the violence of war gone suddenly with declarations of peace? No, violence lives in the belly of the person and ruins society, unless peace is taught to the violent. And peace must be taught just like violence is, by subjecting people to it, by showing them peaceful ways to respond to life and living, to daily needs and necessities, to political and personal challenges. (Nordstrom 2004, 179–80)

Conclusion My fieldwork in Colombia revealed how citizens’ media are used to improve governance; monitor local governments to increase transparency; monitor local elections; de-­escalate potentially violent conflicts within the community; strengthen peacebuilding community initiatives; rebuild trust in post-­conflict situations; counter the disintegration of life-­worlds caused by war; resignify social and cultural spaces hijacked by armed groups; negotiate and mediate with armed groups; assist refugee families; and coordinate food distribution and other logistics. The Colombian community communicators I met during my fieldwork have developed heightened skills to detect how war intrudes their communities and how this intrusion creates specific information and communication needs. They are always putting media technologies at the service of unarmed civilians, addressing their needs. As they design media uses to trigger, activate or encourage specific processes, community communicators understand that they need to use the full battery of forms of

300   C. Rodríguez communication: persuasive communication along with diffusion of information; participatory communication and performative communication; communication that empowers; communication that mobilizes; and citizens’ journalism. Each of these communication processes strengthens local dynamics of peace formation – the notion that peace emerges from initiatives with strong local legitimacy and “local forms of political institutions, accountability, prosperity, security and law” (Richmond 2013: 19). Citizens’ media, by definition grounded in local agency, become key communication tools in processes of peace formation. For international donors and peacebuilding organizations committed to processes of peace formation, the implications are clear: formulas do not work and nor does dumping media technologies on communities – peace formation is much more about communication than it is about access. Current enthusiasm around social media is much more promising for corporations seeking new markets than it is for communities in contexts of war. Instead, local capacity-­building is the best possible investment when it comes to citizens’ media and peace formation. Excellent community communicators exist in every community. Donors and agencies need to figure out how to identify those individuals who are brilliant local story-­tellers, creative artists committed to their communities, elders who know everyone, and/or networkers – and shower them with communication and media skills and experience. Ideally, we should identify future communicators by the time they are nine or ten years old. Later in life, they will figure out how to transform this know-­how into communication that strengthens peace formation. Savvy local community communicators are the only ones able to detect and figure out how to plug media technologies into subtle peace formation processes in specific local contexts. In my experience, one of the least funded forms of action is knowledge-­ sharing, in the form of well-­funded spaces in which local community communicators can meet and share best practices, lessons learned, and strategies used in particular contexts and situations. And yet, the knowledge growth that results from this type of encounter is exponential (for a specific initiative see Chapter 4 in Rodríguez 2011). Instead, donors prefer to send first world experts to impart knowledge to communities in the global South. Perhaps this is easier to justify when working in restrictive and rigid institutional frameworks, but typically, this type of knowledge is formulaic and detached from local contexts. The role of citizens’ media in contexts of armed conflict is under-­ researched, since most examinations of media and war are limited to how the mass media covers war, or how strategic communication can be used to send persuasive messages about peace and non-­violent conflict resolution to massive audiences. However, as we all know, the mass media tend to be a rigid institutions without much flexibility. Compared to the mass media, citizens’ media tend to be much more malleable, making them invaluable tools when it comes to responding to specific local needs with

Community media as performers of peace   301 customized communication strategies. The field of “Communication for Peace” (Hoffmann 2014) needs to widen its scope beyond mass media to incorporate community/alternative/citizens’ media. It needs to think about the ways communication far surpasses information and persuasion. It needs to explore what is possible beyond mere formulas.

Notes 1 Portions of this chapter were previously published in my book Citizens’ Media Against Armed Conflict. Disrupting Violence in Colombia (University of Minnesota Press, 2011).

References Atton, Chris. 2006. Alternative Media. London: Sage. Bloh, Oscar and Francis Rolt. 2007. “Media Sector Mapping in Liberia.” Unpublished paper. Washington, DC: Search for Common Ground/Talking Drum Studio Liberia. Colectivo de Comunicación de Montes de María. 2006. Ciclistas en el Atradecer. Video. El Carmen de Bolívar. Downing, John, Tamara Villarreal Ford, Genève Gil and Laura Stein. 2001. Radical Media: Rebellious Communication and Social Movements. Thousand Oaks: Sage. Equipo de Producción Audiovisual de Marialabaja, Colectivo de Comunicaciones de Montes de María Línea 21. 2007. De Cochero a Piloto. Video. El Carmen de Bolívar. Galtung, Johan. 1964. “An Editorial.” Journal of Peace Research, 1(1): 1–4. Galtung, Johan. 1996. Peace by Peaceful Means. Peace and Conflict, Development and Civilization. Oslo: Sage and PRIO (International Peace Institute). Gamarra Radio Producer. 2004. Interview by Clemencia Rodríguez at Memory Workshop. Tape recording. Bucaramanga, Colombia, August 15–18. García, Mariana. 2006. Interview by Clemencia Rodríguez. Tape recording. Belén de los Andaquíes, Colombia. May 15. González, Alirio. 2004. Interview by Clemencia Rodríguez. Tape recording. Belén de los Andaquíes, Colombia. October 15. Grewal Singh, Bajit. 2003 “Johan Galtung’s Positive and Negative Peace.” Online document, accessed March 31, 2014, available at: www.activeforpeace.org/no/ fred/positive_negative_peace.pdf. Hoffmann, Julia. 2014. “Conceptualizing Communication for Peace.” Peacebuilding, 2 (1): 100–17. Howard, Ross. 2002. An Operational Framework for Media and Peacebuilding. Vancouver: Institute for Media, Policy, and Civil Society (IMPACS). Howard, Ross. 2003. Conflict Sensitive Reporting: A Handbook. Vancouver: International Media Support/IMPACS. Howley, Kevin. 2005. Community Media: People, Places, and Communication Technologies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Huesca, Robert. 2008. “Youth-­produced radio and its impacts: From personal empowerment to political action” in Nico Carpentier and Benjamin De Cleen (eds), Participation and media production: Critical reflections on content creation: 97–111. Newcastle, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.

302   C. Rodríguez Kalyvas, Stathis N. “The Logic of Violence in Civil Wars: Theory and Preliminary Results.” Working Paper March 2000. Online, accessed April 22, 2014, available at: www.yale.edu/macmillan/ocvprogram/licep/1/kalyvas/kalyvaspaper.pdf. Kalyvas, Stathis N. 2003. “The Ontology of ‘Political Violence’: Action and Identity in Civil Wars.” Perspective on Politics, 1 (3): 475–94. LaFranchi, Howard. 2000. “Elected Office: A Post Too Perilous to Occupy.” Christian Science Monitor, 25 October. Langlois, Andre and Francois Dubois. 2005. Autonomous Media: Activating Resistance and Dissent. Montreal: Cumulus Press. Lynch, Jake and Annabel McGoldrick. 2005. Peace Journalism. Stroud: Hawthorn Press. Mouffe, Chantal. 1992. Dimensions of Radical Democracy: Pluralism, Citizenship, Community. London: Verso. Nordstrom, Carolyn. 2004. Shadows of War: Violence, Power, and International Profiteering in the Twenty-­first Century. Berkeley: University of California Press. Rennie, Ellie. 2006. Community Media: A Global Introduction. Boulder: Rowman and Littlefield. Richmond, Oliver P. 2013. “Failed Statebuilding versus Peace Formation.” Cooperation and Conflict, 48 (3): 378–400. Rodríguez, Clemencia. 2001. Fissures in the Mediascape. An International Study of Citizens’ Media. Newbury Park: Hampton Press. Rodríguez, Clemencia. 2011. Citizens’ Media Against Armed Conflict. Disrupting Violence in Colombia. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Vázquez, Teofilo. 2006. “Dinámicas, Tendencias e Interacciones de los Actores Armados en el Magdalena Medio 1990–2001” in Mauricio Archila and Ingrid Bolívar (eds), Conflictos, Poderes e Identidades en el Magdalena Medio 1990–2001: 313–72. Bogotá: CINEP. Von Kalternborg-­Stachau, Henriette. 2008. The Missing Link: Fostering Positive Citizen-­State Relations in Post-­Conflict Environments. Washington, DC: International Bank for Reconstruction and Development/World Bank Communication for Governance and Accountability Program (ComGAP). Online, accessed March 31, 2014, available at: http://siteresources.worldbank.org/EXTGOVACC/ Resources/CommGAPMissingLinkWeb.pdf.

21 Communication toward a negotiated peace Conflict, contestation and the media Pradip Thomas

I would like in this chapter to deal with communication, peace and reconciliation in the context of conditions characterized by contemporary forms of primeval conflict and traditions of humiliation. Hamelink (2011) in his book Media & Conflict: Escalating Evil, refers to the many acts of humiliation in our contemporary world, including de-­individualization, discrimination, disempowerment and degradation. When an entire group of people have, since time immemorial, been humiliated ritually, socially and culturally as a matter of course, that humiliation is not an episodic instance of “evil” as, say, the treatment of inmates at Abu Ghraib or Guantanamo Bay; rather it is an experience that is constant, cumulative in its impact, and one that accompanies entire communities from birth until death. Dalits (Untouchables in India) are discriminated against even in death.

Peace as a continuous project From the outset, the context that I will describe is not the canvas of conventional war, genocide or episodic conflict, but rather a permanent situation that has not been drastically altered by the forces of legislation, education and political mobilization. Having said that, it is true that Dalit identity politics is widespread and that their power as a political grouping cannot be ignored in the context of electoral politics of contemporary India. However, such successes have fuelled counter-­caste consciousness, and the struggles for Dalits to live with human dignity remains a continuing struggle. These struggles place in relief the fact that the global representation of India as a “democracy” is flawed – primarily because the country’s key institutions function, for the most part, within a framework that political scientists would characterize as closer to “competitive authoritarianism.” While the agonistic public sphere is the basis for many dialogues in India, caste does not invite dialogue and is arguably anti-­dialogic. Peace and reconciliation in the context of this chapter is not about mainstream media reporting of caste in ways that contribute to caste harmony; but rather Dalit reporting and access to information and voice-­making

304   P. Thomas that are engendering and establishing of “Dalitness” and Dalit identities. I argue in this chapter that peace in the context of the Dalit situation in India cannot be seen in terms of a radical change from a situation characterized by conflict to another characterized by its absence, but rather as a permanent struggle that is fought on many fronts. These fronts include the need for Dalits to access legally guaranteed “entitlements” within enabling environments; the strengthening of Dalit representations and Dalit media; and Dalit access to justice in the law courts. In a highly polarized and competitive caste environment – accentuated by the turn toward neo-­liberalism – Dalit struggles are constantly being countered by a number of other caste-­based struggles for entitlement and equity.

The Dalit situation How to understand communication for peace in contexts characterized by social hierarchies and traditional markers of identity – such as caste – is important precisely because such categories of identity are deeply rooted and impervious to change. In spite of a volume of state and central legislation – including the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act (POA Act) that came into effect in January 1990 – the incidence of violence against Dalits (Untouchables) has increased over the years. National Crime Record Bureau statistics reveal that between 2010 and 2011 there was a slight increase in such crimes – there were 33,712 incidences of rape, murder and kidnap in 2010, rising to 33,719 in 2011. Smriti Sharma (2012) concludes her report on hate crimes in India with the following observations: Attacks often take the form of collective punishments whereby entire communities are punished for the perceived transgressions of individuals who seek to alter established norms or demand their rights. Dalit women, occupying the bottom of both the caste and gender hierarchies, are uniquely susceptible to violence. Over and above the occurrence of such crimes, the working of the criminal justice system perpetuates the problem. There is flagrant violation of justice in the form of police resistance if filing complaints; low conviction rates leading to easy acquittals for perpetrators; high pendency owing to only a few special courts operating; and poor implementation of economic relief to victims. Not only are Dalits under-­represented in India’s media sector, the reporting of Dalit issues is routinely devoid of background information and under-­reporting plays a role in keeping the scale of the problem off the public radar. The scale of the problem is best illustrated by the fact that Dalits in India number close to 170 million – yet this enormous group faces routine discrimination in every walk of life: economic, ritual, cultural and social (Jodhka 2008).

Communication towards a negotiated peace   305

Making sense of “Dalitness” The specific issue that I would like to explore in this section is the meaning of communication as peace in a context in which the caste-­based framing of life is an everyday practice now transcends the specificity of any religion. Christians as well as Muslims practice caste. The Syrian Christian community that I belong to proudly claim without a shred of evidence to back them up that when one of the Apostles – St. Thomas came to India after the death of Christ, he baptised seven Brahmin families to Christianity, not seven Dalit families as was more likely what happened, if it happened at all. Given the fact that one ancient Hindu religious text, the Manusmrithi, sanctifies the Shudra (Dalit) as the lowest of the low within a caste framework that works on the principle of purity and pollution, it remains difficult to contest this categorisation through constitutional and legal means, including a plethora of laws that have criminalised casteism. In such a context, communication as peace cannot be achieved through a macro framework of inter-­subjectivity that Mahatma Gandhi once tried through a form of volunteerism – the upper castes voluntarily and spontaneously giving up their caste-­based restrictions related to inter-­ commensurability, or by effecting positive discrimination strategies improving the quality of media reporting, but by Dalits telling their story and by doing so making claims on the validity of their public spheres within the narrative of the Indian nation. I am putting forward the idea that caste as a category that has existed for hundreds of years is here to stay. No amount of education has dislodged the idea of caste and in fact arguably education has merely reinforced this system. While the history of the Enlightenment in Europe is in part characterised by the progressive supplanting of “custom” by “contract,” the two co-­exist perfectly well in India and is the basis for the materiality of caste within globalising India. As the Dalit scholar Anand Teltumbde (2010) has observed “Today, castes have transcended their feudal boundaries and have become an integral part of the capitalist economy.” As someone who had been brought up in India, I was aware of caste as a social, cultural and material category that worked on the principle of hierarchy and that was very effectively based on a complex narrative of fate in this life as a result of actions in a previous life tied up with religion – in this case dominant Hinduism. Caste is for the most part, an immutable system in the sense that if you were born into a caste you pretty much died in the same caste. The well-­known Indian social anthropologist M.N. Srinivas introduced the notion of “Sanskritisation” – the possibility for lower castes to progressively work toward becoming a “higher” caste although this remains a highly contested concept given that this process arguably maintains the functionality and integrity of caste as a system and examples of such intra-­caste movements are often based on political considerations and rarely involve an improved ritual status. The inability of scholars from

306   P. Thomas a Marxian persuasion to ignore caste and privilege class in their writings is just one example of the failure of theorists to adapt theories to the local and for theory itself to be informed by the local. Recent conversations mainly in the Economic & Political Weekly on the nature of “Dalit intellection” by Dalit scholars Gopal Guru (2013), Sarukkai (2007) Dilip Menon (2013) and point to the limitations of theory solely informed by the project of mimesis and that discounts experience and the need for another theorising based on experience (see also, Guru and Geetha 2000; Guru 2009; Gurukkal 2013). “Humiliation studies” represents one attempt to generate a “new conceptual language” capable of capturing “complex dimensions of social reality” that do not fall within the purview of established social and political theorising (Guru 2009, 19). Such interventions expose the fault-­lines in the social sciences in India that are caught between the doxa of the academy and the perceived universality of received theory.

Dalits and the media Surveys in newsrooms in India on the caste composition of journalists have consistently found that the lower castes are disproportionately represented in, and that Dalits are not represented at all. It is about Dalit journalists creating and celebrating Dalit consciousness and Dalit rights through a type of niche reporting that acknowledges all news that affects this community. When a rape is acknowledged, routine humiliations exposed, and the identity of murderers unmasked, Dalit self-­belief and dignity is strengthened – their collective consciousness enhanced. However, this change is by no means transformative given that these are acts that are routinely contested by the dominant castes who control the means of mediation. This is, in other words, a situation characterized by a permanent state of contestation. Reconciliation here is not between castes but between Dalit human dignity and self-­worth. In the context of communication for peace – and in particular its theorization – I am not sure if sufficient attention has been given to understanding contexts such as caste-­based conflict, which is expressed every day through age-­old social modalities; or the ways in which these modalities have been reinvented in the context of modernity and globalization; or indeed the ways in which these markers of identity continue to structure contestations over the ritual, the social and the material. Similarly, mobile communities like the Roma in Europe have habitually attracted primeval prejudices, and any possibility for reconciliation seems remote. One can argue that peace as a necessary condition for communication is dependent on the state and status of prevalent communication. Here I am referring to communication as the environment for inter-­subjectivity and inter-­subjective affirmations of mutuality. A strong communication environment is one that is based on a culture of rights and that is

Communication towards a negotiated peace   307 affirmative of mutuality. Often-­times the rule of law provides the framework for this mutuality, although as we know only too well, the rule of law provides an insufficient guarantee for the cultivation of basic attitudes such as the need to respect one another. In response to their lack of presence in the dominant public sphere, Dalits have carved out their own counter-­public spheres via their own media. Media scholar Pramod Nayar (2011) believes that cyberspace offers Dalits the means to create counter-­publics and the means for creation of cultural memory, such as the online Sudra Holocaust Museum (see also Chopra 2006) hosted by the radical Dalitistan.org that has since been banned by the Indian government. The following two cases illustrate Dalit attempts at peacemaking. Peacemaking here specifically refers in the first case study to “just” representations and mediated actions that affirm Dalit dignity and self-­respect. In the second case study, peace needs to be seen as an economic and social condition that offers Dalits the prospect of a better quality of life through their access to entitlements, in this case through the Right to Information movement.

Khabar Lhariya and public journalism in rural India One of the most interesting accounts of alternative journalism in India is contained in Farah Naqvi’s (2007), Waves in the Hinterland: The Journey of a Newspaper. The narrative describes the stories of two publications run by women in Chitrakoot and Banda, in Bundelkhand region, Uttar Pradesh – the now-­defunct Mahila Dakiya, and the thriving Khabar Lhariya. Both are in the local dialect, Bundeli. Started by a group of poor, rural, low-­caste women, these publications managed to break down the myths and barriers related to women in journalism and, most importantly, contributed to the creation of awareness among the doubly disadvantaged Dalit women who occupy the lowest rung of society in the entire country. Naqvi (2007, 20) describes Chitrakoot as the “war-­zone of feudal India” where gender-­based violence is commonplace and caste-­based atrocities are an everyday occurrence. A World Bank report on poverty in Uttar Pradesh (UP) notes that the deprivation linked to gender and caste is a deeply rooted reality in the UP countryside, and any comprehensive effort to reduce poverty must confront that reality and its consequences. . . . Deprivations linked to caste and gender create tensions in the society, and these tensions are exacerbated by low growth and limited opportunities. (World Bank 2002) Peace and security, in other words, are in short supply. These journalists, as Kalpana Sharma (2008) describes them,

308   P. Thomas have struggled to understand politics, economics, history, have trudged hundreds of kilometers in their districts to see for themselves what is happening on the ground, have learned through mistakes how to double check all the facts before committing to print – in other words, everything that a journalist must learn. The result of all this is evident in the confidence in these women journalists. When we met them in Mumbai, they spoke of the different stories that they investigated, of how they decide each fortnight which story should come on page one, of how district reporters from major Hindi newspapers initially ignored them but now try to steal their information without giving them the credit, of how they have learned to hold their own at press conferences, and why today even district officials, who did not earlier give them the time of day, are willing to speak to them on the phone. These women write, edit, and take photographs for this newspaper, and circulate it to 30,000 readers in 700 villages in the districts of Chitrakoot, Banda and Mahoba, in Up and Sitamarhi in Bihar. While Khabar Lhariya has definite feminist objectives, it is also read by men and has made critical contributions toward the empowerment of poor communities, and in particular women. While most local papers continue to portray women either as pin-­up girls or, at best, as sorry subjects of the latest sensational rape story, this publication is about women and human rights. While mainstream Sankritised Hindi is considered the language of the educated and powerful, it chooses to write in a dialect. It writes for people with low levels of literacy when the rest of the world writes for the literate few. Unlike most media products, which even as they go regional and local, continue to cater to a target audience with purchasing power, Khabar Lhariya writes specifically for the poorest of the poor . . . while most publications are written by “others” for a target audience, Khabar Lhariya is written by the target audience itself. (Kalpana Sharma 2008: 14) The most important impact of Khabar Lhariya is that it has contributed to the creation of “interpretive communities” within Dalit, Kol, Muslim and lower-­caste/tribal households – communities that are habitually ignored, their peoples unrecognized. Khabar Lhariya has empowered these communities, provided education and created awareness on issues such as governance, transparency, accountability and citizenship. In turn, local exercise of power by such empowered communities has led to recognition of the worth of the narratives that define locality. There has also been a recognition of individual identities. As noted on the website run by Nirantar, the organization that produces Khabar Lhariya:

Communication towards a negotiated peace   309 all the members of the team have become reflective about their gender, class and class identities, and the way in which this moulds their lives and work. Take for example Kavita, who was married at 14. In spite of much resistance to her studying, and financial constraints, she studied at a residential school and completed her education. After almost ten years of being in a marriage where she had no support or respect, she was able to make the decision to leave and live independently. Shanti, another senior member of the team, is from the Kol community, a scheduled tribe. She had had no access to education as a child, and began to study in her mid-­thirties. This had a huge impact on her life: it gave her a confidence she never had before, and allowed her to take up a job, become informed and articulate and give her a mobility that she had never experienced. The case of Khabar Lhariya does suggest that peace is a multi-­accented term that should not denote an absence of conflict, but rather that it should be treated in a relative sense as a condition within public spheres characterized by multiple manifestations of a wide range of legitimacy claims brought forward by hitherto marginalized communities contesting cultural, economic and political hegemons. When confronted with unchanging markers of identity – such as caste – that have real cultural and material consequences for millions of people, one cannot expect the dominant media to report conflict in an even-­handed manner. V.S. Naipaul, a writer of Indian origin, has characterized India as the “land of a million mutinies” – and, in a real sense, this descriptor captures the nature of a society in which the battle lines have been drawn precisely because of the deep-­rooted cultural, economic and political divides that have been impervious to constitutional and legal visions of “another India” based on equality and justice for all. These movements only marginally contribute to the “agonistic” public sphere precisely because traditions of agonism have been found wanting. In fact, in a context characterized by multiple divisions, it is arguable that the telling of a conflictual story from the bottom, up, is potentially liberating precisely because it gives marginalized communities, such as Dalit women, the right to speak up and have their voices heard. For such a group to be heard when it comes to reporting a hitherto covered-­up story of rape, a story about wages being withheld, or a story about deficits in the public welfare system, is no mean feat in a country that continues to practise caste-­based humiliation as a way of life. When an errant landlord is exposed for his habitual ill-­treatment of lower castes, or when a local temple is exposed for not allowing entry to the lower castes, conflict feeds into strengthening demands for justice – and this can result in a bounded peace. I have argued in this chapter that peace is a consequence of the presence of multiple voices in the public sphere, and that voice-­ making contributes, in some ways, to a levelling and to possibilities for “leveraging” that can result in a negotiated or forced peace that, in turn, contributes to the strengthening of democracy.

310   P. Thomas The right to voice, listen and to be understood, provides a framework for the validation of “recognition.” Nick Couldry (2010), in his book Why Voice Matters, issues an impassioned plea for the validation of voice – the right to give “an account of oneself ” – within a critique of neo-­liberalism which routinely undervalues voice and in which the market determines which voices are heard and which are marginalized. While this book is an important contribution to our understanding of communication rights, the validation of voice within welfare economies in the West, is arguably different from the validation of voice in the context of India where frameworks for human freedom are shaky or non-­existent, and where the weight of culture and tradition continues to reinforce the fault lines that exist between communities. This brings me to my key concern: do the concepts and theories that are habitually used by communication rights (CR) theorists (and this includes myself ) have universal applicability, or do we need to adapt and add to them; if they do not fit do we need to discard them and use indigenous categories to understand what is happening to people and to gain an understanding of why and how people are engaging with communication rights at local, regional and national levels?

Valorizing communication rights: the jan sunwai and empowerment An important recent contribution to understanding CR is the theorizing of voice, including, in particular, the works of Nick Couldry (2009, 2010), but also the work of Charles Husband (2009) – who has made a case for the “right to be understood.” In their way of conceptualizing voice, its validation is linked to the human imperative to deepen freedoms while at the same time fulfilling the potential to respect, listen and understand the “other” through inter-­subjectively defined projects. As Couldry points out, neo-­ liberalism plays down the need for people to give an account of themselves and instead devalues voice while privileging the voices of power. In this context Couldry’s (2010: 2) definition of voice as value and process goes beyond the traditional understanding of voice as simply the right to speak: voice as a value . . . refer(s) to the act of valuing, and choosing to value, those frameworks for organising human life and resources that themselves value voice (as a process). Treating voice as a value means discriminating in favor of ways of organising life and resources that through their choices, put the value of voice into practice, by respecting the multiple interlinked processes of voice and sustaining them, not undermining or denying them. . . . Valuing voice then involves particular attention to the conditions under which voice as a process is effective . . . “voice” as used here, is a value about values or what philosophers sometimes call a second-­order value. (Author’s emphasis)

Communication towards a negotiated peace   311 Voice, then, is a rhetorical act that can potentially be liberating provided that it is supported by enabling structures within a pragmatic approach to voice-­making. The validation of voice in India is best illustrated by the public hearings related to the RTI movement in which an attempt was made to value voice as both value and process. The jan sunwai, in certain contexts, became an important indigenous means and pedagogical device used by this movement to mobilize, radicalize and give voice to marginalized people who have traditionally been expected to remain silent – even in the face of the sickening atrocities committed by forward castes and the wealthy. In other words, these public hearings offered many communities the means – for the very first time – to articulate their understanding of peace, based on access to information. Vital information on entitlements enabled collectives to contest the everyday violence of corruption, and gain dignity and a quality of life that was relatively peaceful. As Jenkins (2007: 60) describes it: The MKSS’s key innovation . . . was to develop a novel means by which information found in government records could be shared and collectively verified: the jan sunwai [public hearing]. A jan sunwai is a publically accessible forum, often held in a large open-­ sided tent pitched on a highly visible spot, at which government records are presented alongside testimony by local people with firsthand knowledge of the development projects that these records purpose to document. Key pieces of information from project documents are read aloud. Those with direct knowledge of the specific government projects under investigation are invited to testify on any apparent discrepancies between the official record and their own experiences as labourers on public-­works projects or applicants for means-­tested antipoverty schemes. The jan sunwai as a local public sphere stands in stark contrast to the “rational,” bourgeois, and rather exclusive public sphere that Habermas had highlighted. The jan sunwai is deliberately inclusive in that its strength is drawn from local people giving an account of their experiences with development and non-­development. No voice is considered unworthy at a full public hearing. This kind of public sphere can be contrasted sharply to those other public spheres in India that are shaped by the literate, associational caste groups, and catholic, cross-­caste and religious public spheres which evolved in India as a response to colonial projects during the British Raj. Bayly (1999: 204), in his classic study Empire & Information, has a chapter on “The Indian Ecumene,” in which the attempts to describe indigenous public spheres in north India where respectable, literate men played an important role in contesting colonial excesses and providing moral moorings. But he also attempts to describe “dense networks of social communication” that brought “butchers, flower-­sellers, bazaar

312   P. Thomas merchants and artisans into political debates and demonstrations.” Such correspondences do indicate that public spheres were inclusive, although Bayly also observes that these relational continuities were by no means seamless and that they were also characterized by discontinuities – most notably between the Brahmanic elite, whose ecumenism and dialogue was bounded, and the Hindu noblemen, who were open to writing in Persian and Urdu and to the challenges posed by dialogue (p. he rhythms of locality, animated by ordinary people who are the agents of a collective, shared memory that refuses to be erased or forgotten. In other words, the jan sunwai fundamentally provides a spatial framework within which the simultaneous recognition of individual voices and that of the collectivity is highlighted and reinforced. This tradition is consonant with public sphere traditions in India that have deliberately been shaped by the idioms of locality and that went beyond literate cultures of the “word.” Susanne Rudolph and Lloyd Rudolph (2003) have explored the Gandhian ashram [meditation retreats] as a public sphere, and the repertories of protest that were intentionally linked to make mass movements associated with civil disobedience a dynamic public sphere. The problem of creating a public sphere, a self-­automating civil society, among non-­literates propelled Gandhi and his ashram associates to enact, exemplify, amplify political goals in theatrically visible forms, and to create participatory contexts – marches, sit-­ins, boycotts – which required political understanding and commitment to goals more than the word. (Rudolph and Rudolph 2003: 399) This need for political understanding and appropriate repertories of protest is clearly illustrated in the Right to Movement’s support for, and enabling of, voice. However, the information that people access in the context of the Right to Information (RTI) is information that can make a difference to their lives; in this sense this is information that is vital to the leveraging/facilitation/knowledge of change processes. In other words, this “knowing” can result in empowerment, and empowerment on a national scale can have a major impact on the project of substantive democracy and citizenship. Empowerment, even on a local scale, can be powerful, simply because submerged/marginalized voices can now be heard. One of the fundamental contributions of the RTI in India is the valorization of voice. Voice needs to be seen not simply in terms of the human capacity to create sounds, but as the politics of speaking in contexts in which the right to speak is a privilege associated with the structures of domination undergirded by caste, class and gender. Taken in this sense, the spoken voice, in the context of the public hearings popularized by the RTI movement in India, is an invitation to listen and engage in dialogue. The empowerment that results

Communication towards a negotiated peace   313 from “naming” corruption and non-­accountability is an act of freedom precisely because that act connects self – and the obligations of self – to the community, thus strengthening the larger environment of a communicating public. Eric Watts (2001: 185) has argued that “voice” is a particular kind of speech phenomenon that pronounces the ethical problems and obligations incumbent in community building and arouses in persons and groups the frustrations, sufferings and joys of such commitments. Rhetorical “voice” is not a unitary thing that inhabits texts or persons either singly or collectively. It is itself a happening that in invigorated by a public awareness of the ethical and emotional concerns of discourse. Saying that persons or groups have “voice” does not offer it as a unidirectional, primordial and autonomous projection out of the body, nor does it become a semiotic project. Rather, speakers can be endowed with “voice” as a function of a public acknowledgement of the ethics of speaking and emotions of others. This recognition is often intertextual and mediated. “Voice,” then, is the sound of specific experiential encounters in civic life. (Author’s emphasis) In the context of these public hearings there is always a public acknowledgement of voice, leading to the valorization of agency. These public hearings demonstrate, in a profound manner, ideal environments for communication rights – environments in which any given person’s right to speak is no less than the right of others. These are also environments that are conducive to listening. Ananda Mitra (2002: 483–4), in an article on voice on the Internet, observes that “an examination of voice extends well beyond the intentions or motives of a speaker. Voice calls upon us to consider how a particular act of public discourse or how rhetoric in general constitutes the ways in which a community sustains or reinvents itself.”

Conclusion In this chapter I have highlighted two situations in which communication for peace and reconciliation cannot be engendered through traditional means. The chapter makes a case for communication and peace scholars to also deal with peace in the context of communities that are caught up within a framework of permanent conflict. What kind of a peace can be engendered through communication in such contexts? The two case studies that I have highlighted need to be read against the background of an epistemic and ontological violence that is rooted in the social fabric of India. Khabar Lhariya clearly illustrates an attempt by low-­caste women to create epistemic communities grounded in the norms of respect, justice and peace. The Right to Information movement has enabled Dalit communities to access basic entitlements, which has, in turn, contributed to a

314   P. Thomas peace based on the relative absence of want. Peace, in the situations described in this chapter, is the product of collectives and individuals being able to tell their story, validate their counter-­narratives, and live in a context in which their basic needs have been met. Having said that, we as journalists, storytellers, communicators and interlocuters, need to be mindful of the fact that there are global situations – such as the one described in this chapter – in which peace is never complete and always in process.

References Bayly, Christopher A. 1999. Empire & Information: Intelligence gathering and social communication in India, 1780–1870. New Delhi: Cambridge University Press. Chopra, Rohit. 2006. “Global Primordialities: Virtual Identity Politics in Online Hindutva and Online Dalit Discourse.” New Media & Society, 8 (2): 187–206. Couldry, Nick. 2009. “Rethinking the Politics of Voice.” Continuum, 23: 579–82. Couldry, Nick. 2010. Why Voice Matters. London: Sage. Gopal, Guru (ed.). 2009. Humiliation. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Guru, Gopal. 2013. “Freedom of Expression and the Life of the Dalit Mind.” Economic & Political Weekly, XLVII (10): 39–45. Guru, Gopal and V. Geetha. 2000. “New Phase of Dalit–Bahujan Intellectual Activity.” Economic & Political Weekly, 35 (3): 130–4. Gurukkal, Rajan. 2013. “On Mirroring the Social: Can Felt Ontology Alone Inform the Theory?” Economic & Political Weekly, XLVIII (14): 27–31. Hamelink, Cees J. 2011. Media and Conflict: Escalating Evil. Boulder: Paradigm Publishers. Husband, C. 2009. “Between Listening and Understanding Continuum.” Journal of Media and Cultural Studies, 23: 441–3. Jenkins, Rob. 2007. “Civil Society Versus Corruption.” Journal of Democracy, 18 (2): 55–68. Jodhka, Surinder S. 2008. “Caste and the Corporate Sector.” Indian Journal of Industrial Relations, 44: 185–93. Menon, Dilip M. 2013. “Minding Ones Words.” Economic & Political Weekly, XLVIII (16): 58–9. Mitra, Ananda. 2002. “Theorising Cyberspace: The Idea of Voice Applied to the Internet Discourse.” New Media & Society, 4 (4): 479–98. Naqvi, Farah. 2007. “Waves in the Hinterland.” The Journey of a Newspaper. New Delhi: Nirantar/Zubaan. Nayar, Pramod K. 2011. “The Digital Dalit: Subalternity and Cyberpsace.” The Sri Lanka Journal of the Humanities, 37 (1–2): 1–6. Rudolph, Susanne H. and Lloyd I. Rudolph. 2003. “The Coffee House and the Ashram: Gandhi, Civil Society and Public Spheres” in Carolyn M. Elliott, Civil society and democracy: 377–404. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Sarukkai, Sundar. 2007. “Dalit Experience and Theory.” Economic & Political Weekly, 42 (40): 4043–8. Sharma, Kalpana. 2008. “A Trailblazer by Dalit Women Scribes.” OneWorldSouthAsia. Online, accessed December 10, 2013, available at: http://southasia.oneworld.net/Article/a-­trail-blazer-­by-dalit-­women-scribes.

Communication towards a negotiated peace   315 Sharma, Smriti. 2012. “Hate Crimes in India: An Economic Analysis of Violence and Atrocities against Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes.” Centre for Development Economics, Delhi School of Economics: 1–28. Online, accessed October 16, 2014, available at: www.cdedse.org/pdf/work213.pdf. Teltumbde, Anand. 2010. “Globalisation and Caste.” Voice of Dalit, 3 (2): 101–37. Watts, Eric K. 2001. “ ‘Voice’ and ‘Voicelessness’.” Rhetorical Studies: 179–96. World Bank. 2002. “Poverty in India: The Challenge of Uttar Pradesh.” World Bank Report No. 22323-IN: 1–146. May 8. Online, accessed October 16, 2014, available at: www-­wds.worldbank.org/servlet/WDSContentServer/WDSP/IB/20 02/07/02/000094946_0206190400469/Rendered/PDF/multi0page.pdf.

Index

Page numbers in italics denote tables, those in bold denote figures. 9/11 attacks 94, 250 ABI Research 196 Actionaid 186 advocacy 7, 66, 219; of hatred 235; online 189; peace 64; US group 103 Afghanistan 52, 56, 94, 155, 159 Africa 1, 57; Central 194, 241; communication campaigns 148; electoral processes 247–8; Great Lakes region 142, 150, 156, 158; guerrilla attacks 192–3; land grabs 94; leaders 205; mobile telephony 196; North 193; Panos Institute 151; peace coverage 58–9; private security firms 194; Radio for Peacebuilding Africa 69; radio station 164; subSaharan 193; Trust Africa 185; West 151 African 69, 81; continent 69, 248; countries 81, 258; journalism 8; leaders 211; media 247; post-conflict countries 273; savannahs 39; Union 81 Agar, M. 282, 285 Al Jazeera 51, 97–8, 102 Allen, T. 211 Allende, S. 279, 282 American 109; Al Jazeera 97; blockbuster films 107, 117; British/ American origin 42; business leaders 181; Central 100, 111; channels 97; cinema 109, 111; conflicts 120; culture 109, 115; exceptionalism 94; imperialism 102; INGOs 251; journalist 65; lawyers 141; militarism 112; military 108; minds 120; model 271; Navy 113; NGO 252;

organization 68, 253; side 130; society 128; soil 127; soldiers 111–12, 117; wars 125; see also United States Amnesty International 196, 216n2, 237 Annan, K. 135, 137, 234 Arab League 210 Arab Satellite Broadcasting Charter 210 Arab Spring 7, 81, 94, 285 Arusha Accords 9 Asante, M.K. 42 assassination 102, 297 Australia 81, 82; ANZAC Day 20; Australian diplomat 19 Bahador, B. 10, 120–1 Bailard, C. 198 Banda 307–8 Bandura, A. 149–50 Ban Ki-Moon 80, 140–1 Baumann, M. 67 Bayly, C. 311–12 BBC 51, 152, 195; Media Action 186, 221; News 142; reporter 65, 97; World 155; World Service 70; World Television 96; World Trust 252, 258, 267, 273 Becker, J. 4, 36, 179–80, 185 Becker, L. 179–80, 185 Bell, M. 65 Benesch, S. 233, 236, 242, 243n6, 244n14 Bennett, W.L. 95, 192, 267, 269–73 Berger, P. 22 Betz, M. 6, 10, 173 Bonde, B.N. 66, 69, 121–2 Bosnia 5, 9, 156–8, 186–8, 214; Croat–Bosniak conflict 53, 212; media interventions 187, 189

Index   317 Bosnia and Herzegovina 160n1, 187, 213 Bosnian 157–8; Muslim 65 Boyd, C. 198 Boyd-Barrett, O. 9, 35, 94, 96–9, 103 Bratić, V. 6, 10, 66, 68, 124 Brazil 93; uranium 101 Brinkerhoff, D. 228 British 42; British/American origin 42; Crown 94; Empire 103; imperialism 102; journalists 65; NGO 253; prime minister 207; Raj 311; see also UK broadcast 98, 142, 153, 155, 168–9, 242, 253–4, 257; agreements 163; allegations 270; Arabic-speaking service 97; facilities 163; International Criminal Court proceedings 215; joint 255; live 186; local 251; material 256; media 55; partners 177; of political material 165; private company 268; satellite 210; television 257, 265; television news 87; US networks 52 broadcasters 211; African 69; American 95; Central and South American 98; Chinese 97; local 174; national 173, 256–7; private 259; public 72, 152, 238, 256; public service 167, 172, 214, 251; Russian international 97; state 175, 238 broadcasting 65, 172, 211, 242, 256–7; Arab Satellite Charter 210; capacity 174; community licences 291; local company 151; networks 173; primary language 98; private radio stations 251; proto-genocidal uses 212; public service 214, 252; radio 142; Radio UNTAC 165; Rwanda Bureau of Information 238; vernacular 70 Bryant, J.A. 152 Burton, J.W. 19 Burundi 153, 158–9, 238, 252; CNC 241, 253–4, 258; elections 233–4, 242, 247, 249–50; foreign media assistance 251; journalists 255; justice 267; local media 257; media assistance initiatives 248; multinational workshop 69; PACAM 259; refugees killed 88–9; RTNB 256 Burundian 151, 250; border 88; citizens 252; journalists 238; media team 242; regulator 241 Cambodia 77, 171, 278, 280; educational campaign 284; mass killings 235; radio station 164–5;

UNTAC 165, 166, 213, 273; see also Khmer Rouge Cambodians 164, 166, 280, 284; survivors 281 Caplan, G. 238 Castells, M. 2, 21–3, 27, 240 Center on International Cooperation 139 Central African Republic 166, 169, 196–7; media sector 223, 226 Centre for International Media Assistance (CIMA) 63 Chesterman, S. 136 Chile 11, 94, 199, 278; Funa organization 281; government 281; minister of education 282; Pinochet regime 11, 279–82; segregated society 283; survivors of massacre 280; transitional justice experience 270; Vicariate of Solidarity 279, 281 Chilean 282–3; armed forces 279; Commission of Human Rights 279; courts 279; education system 283; student movement 285 China 93, 98, 210; Cultural Revolution 235; non-interventionist stance 97; People’s Republic of China Information Office 211 Chitrakoot 307–8 Chomsky, N. 9, 77, 92–3, 95–6, 98–100, 104 Cisco 192 Clinton, H. 179, 214–15 CNN (Cable News Network) 96–8; effect 2, 51 Cold War 1, 3–4, 52, 57, 93, 125, 163, 219 Colectivo de Comunicación de Montes de María 293 Colombia 11, 289–92, 299; southern 293, 295–6 Colombian armed forces 292; citizens’ media 291, 294, 298; Communication Collective of Montes de María in the Colombian Caribbean 293; community communicators 289, 291–2, 299; Federation of Municipalities 297; guerrillas 297; soap operas 240 colonial 311; colonialism 44; displacement 70; post-colonialism 98 conflict escalation 4­–5, 9, 64 Conflict-Sensitive Journalism 9, 64, 66–8, 71–2, 273; initiatives 64, 69–70, 72; training 64, 69, 71

318   Index Connell, R.W. 108, 111, 115–16 Cottle, S. 6, 9, 76, 78, 80, 86, 87, 89 Couldry, N. 310 crime 38, 78, 113; architects of 208; of genocide 236–7, 243n11; hate 304, 315; against humanity 76–8, 234, 270; human rights 270; international 234; National Crime Record Bureau statistics 304; past 222; rate 194; responsible for 278, 281; war 29, 76–7, 270 D’Addario, D. 113 Dalit 303, 308; communities 313; scholar 305–6; women 304, 307, 309 Darfur 77, 80, 89, 215 Davis, H. 38 Dayton Accords 213 Deane, J. 69, 76 decolonization 92–3 De la Brosse, R. 233 Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) 10, 58–9, 88, 142, 164, 168, 172–3, 175, 185, 192, 215, 247–50, 252–6, 258; CENI (National Independent Electoral Commission) 250; CSAC (Conseil Supérieur de l’Audiovisuel et de la Communication) 253–4, 257–8; media landscape 251 De Rivera, J. 108 destabilization 142; campaigns 103; covert 93; internal 96; of Pakistan 94; violent 214 de Zeeuw, J. 248 DiMaggio, A. 96 Donald, R. 113 Dower, J.W. 121–2 Doyle, J.A. 109 du Toit, P. 63–4 East Timor 77, 167, 212 Egleder, J. 135, 137–8 Egypt 94, 98, 214, 223, 231; Egyptian legal system 228 Eisenhower, D.D. 20 elections 53, 198, 221, 248, 252, 258–9, 279, 297; assistance program 250; Burundian 233, 242, 247, 249, 253; Cambodian 164–5, 166, 213; campaign 186; competitive 250; coverage 9, 100, 234, 247; DRC 250–1, 253; East Timor 167; in fragile states 249–50; Guatemalan 100; Haitian 139; Iran 96, 103; Iraq 96; in Kenya 70–1, 80, 234, 239; Liberian

presidential 186; local 170, 292, 297, 299; media support 258; monitoring 197, 242, 247, 299; multi-party 199, 248; post-election interviews 186; presidential 57, 80, 243n12, 247; propaganda 251; proximate 214; re-election 103, 284; related killings 195; reporting 69; results 71, 103, 186, 239, 253, 258; Rwandan 243n12; Third World 96; time 251–2; violence 71, 80, 239 Entman, R. 11, 85, 95, 269 Equipo de Producción Audiovisual de Marialabaja 293 ethnic 138, 153, 257; antagonism 233; cleansing 64, 70, 76–7, 270; communities 69; conflict 89, 136, 185, 210; ethnicity 237; federalism 208; groups 154, 194, 212, 243n11; hatred 241, 268; identity terms 280; interethnic cooperation 137, 151; media 144; nationalism 108; origin 235; tensions 186; turbulence 206; violence 88, 234, 238; see also multi-ethnic Euro-American 42; ideas 43 Europe 12, 20, 59, 193, 306; Council of 241; Eastern 189, 219; Enlightenment 305; Organization for Security and Cooperation (OSCE) 136, 213, 271; Radio Free Europe 214, 219; Western 92, 95, 142 European 94; Commission 63; Community 63; Convention on Fundamental Freedoms and Human Rights 243n8; countries 250; development 42; Parliament 243n12; power 94; Union (EU) 184, 188, 215, 247, 250, 252; EU-EOM (Electoral Observatory Mission) 256; EU Monitoring Center of the Observatory Mission 256 Evans, G. 78, 83 famine 38, 199 Farmer, P. 139, 141 farmers 150, 297; farming improvements 148; see also land focus group 155; discussions (FGDs) 187; testing 71 Fondation Hirondelle (FH) 1, 142, 158, 166–9, 172, 174–5, 177n5, 215, 252 former Yugoslavia 4, 25, 63–6, 77, 159, 215, 233, 267, 270 Foucault, M. 21 Fraser, C. 154

Index   319 Freire, P. 29 French 98, 257; Embassy 247, 258; France Expertise Internationale 252; Institut Panos Paris 251–2; investigation team 140; media 220; Minister of Foreign Affairs 253; Revolution 44; SEE 255 French, H. 144 Frère, M.-S. 237–9, 241–2, 243n9, 244n20, 247, 249, 251–2 Galtung, J. 2, 16–22, 24, 29, 36–7, 53, 65, 67, 122, 278, 284, 290 Gamarra Radio Producer 298 García, M. 294 gender-based violence 143, 307 genocidal 212; violence 4; war 151 genocides 76, 122, 142, 243n1, 243n3, 268, 270, 303; Cambodia 77; Convention 235; genocidaires 142; ideology 210, 234, 237–9, 243n11; incitement to 170, 234, 236–7; Prevention of 241; Rwanda 1, 29, 62, 65, 77, 220, 237, 272, 280, 284; survival 281; UN Genocide Prevention Committee 234 Gilboa, E. 51, 65 Glatzer, J. 280–1 Goggin, G. 23, 27 Golan, G. 36, 54, 57–8 González, A. 294 Gopal, G. 306 Grewal Singh, B. 290 Guerrero Jiménez, B. 279, 281 Gurr, E.R. 19 Hackett, R.A. 24, 28–9 Haiti 139; cholera crisis 136, 139–42, 144; destabilization 94; public response 198; scapegoating 145; UN peacekeeping operation 10, 168, 170 Hall, W. 282, 284 Halpern, J. 122–3 Hamdy, N. 283, 285 Hamelink, C. 28, 239, 243n2, 303 Hamilton, J.M. 52, 58 Hanitzsch, T. 25, 27 hate speech 10, 64, 67, 68, 136, 170, 210, 224, 233–7, 239–42, 243n6, 244n19, 251, 255, 272, 282 Hawkins, V. 9, 17, 52, 57–8, 192 Heidelberg Institute for International Conflict Research 193, 200n2 Herman, E. 9, 92–3, 95–6, 98–100, 102–4 Hoffmann, J. 7, 10, 28, 76, 92, 234, 301

Holocaust 77; Denial statutes 210; Sudra Holocaust Museum 307 Howard, R. 5, 9, 37, 64, 66, 68–9, 148, 273, 283, 290 Huesca, R. 181 human rights 165, 166, 168, 241, 248, 265, 267, 308; absence of respect for 195; abuses 6, 10, 198, 200; activists 143, 277, 285n2, 285n5; advocates 279; Burundian 250; Chilean Commission 279; crimes 270; denial of 122; European Convention 243n8; International Federation (FIDH) 250; international law 235; judicial recognition 78; law 243n8; norms 205; Rwandan obligations 243n11; South African Council 210; transnational activism 200n3; treaties 240, 272; UN Commission 88; UNTAC officer 165; violations 196, 266, 272, 277, 279, 284; violators 281; Watch 62, 197, 237 human rights organization 195, 279; international 237 humiliations 40, 303, 306, 309 imperial 93–4; center 92; US practice 95; US regime 102; violence 103 imperialism 43–4, 102; American cultural 8; free trade 94; imperialist interests 96; liberal 77; Southeast Asia and Central America 111; US media 98 imperial nations 8; ex-imperial 96 India 214, 228, 306, 309–10; alternative journalism 307; capitalist road 93; caste system 11, 305; electoral politics 303; hate crimes 304; nuclear resources 101–2; prime minister 101; public spheres 311–12; social fabric 313; US–India nuclear deal 101; validation of voice 311–12; violence 210; women 150; see also Dalit Information Office of the State Council of the People’s Republic of China 210–11 in-group see out-group/in-group Institute of Development Studies 229 International Center for Transitional Justice 215, 273 International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS) 77–8, 80, 83 International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (ICEARC) 235–6

320   Index International Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide 236 International Criminal Court 65, 237, 243n4, 270; proceedings 62, 215 International Crisis Group 239 international media 2, 17, 36, 141, 144, 215, 292; assistance programs 247; coverage 96; development 179; Media Alert System 243n2; Support (IMS) 64, 69, 70, 72 International Peace Research Association 18; Peace Journalism Commission 16 Internews 64, 70–1, 180, 185, 252 intervention 2, 7–8, 28, 139, 171, 181–2, 184, 205, 211, 221–3, 252–4, 256, 306; communications 189, 212; crisis 5, 9; decisions 2; development 30; foreign 95; humanitarian 83, 165; illconceived 213; information 5, 10, 165, 171, 180, 184, 212, 233–4; international 248; media 5, 10, 68, 180, 182, 187–9; media development 220, 222, 225; militarized 83–4; military 28, 84, 85; onsite 189; preventive 212; pro-democracy 94; UN 174; US 93–4; US military 55 interventionist 92; policies 81 Iran 103; aggression against 99, 102; elections in 96; Guardian Council 103; media coverage 104; nuclear weapons 100–1; scapegoating 101; threats against 94; uranium 101; US media coverage 100 Iranian Parliament 101; police state 102 Iraq 9, 128; Coalition Provisional Authority 28; Communications and Media Commission 213; conflict 56; elections in 96; invasion of 55, 93–4, 96; media 130; reconstruction 212; war 10, 52, 66, 102, 120, 126, 127, 129, 130n1; weapons of mass destruction 99 Iraqi government 210; Media Network (Iraqiya) 213; people 125, 129 Israel-Hezbollah conflict 54–6 James, B. 267, 272–3 JED 250, 256–7 Jeffords, S. 109, 111–12 journalism 27, 34, 51, 56, 88–9, 95, 148–9, 236, 242, 269, 271; of attachment 63, 65; capacity-building 72; citizen 68, 300; conventions of 16;

curriculum 67; development and reform 159; enabling environment 10; event-based 53; independent 177n3; influence on peacebuilding 71; institutions 224; libertarian 71–2; news 30; norms 66; objective 272; parachute 59; professional 8, 24, 66, 71; professional standards 183; public 307; responsibility to report 90; role of 27, 29; schools 223; training 8, 64, 179, 215; war 24, 26, 65; Western 96; women in 307; see also ConflictSensitive Journalism, Peace Journalism journalistic 269; attention 17; behavior 215; coverage of conflicts 6; ethics 171; peace approach 25; practice 99–100; precedents of value 79, 87; principles 159; profession 269; representation of conflict 24, 29; triage 58 journalists 2, 17, 25, 37–8, 52, 59, 71, 80, 136, 139–40, 145, 159, 172, 174, 247, 252, 254, 259, 314; attacks on 250; British 65; Burundian 238, 255, 257; Cambodian 273; citizen 189; conflict sensitivity 66, 69; conventional 67; critical 95; DRC 257; foreign 57–8, 143; Indian 306–7; informed 163; legislation 223; local 69, 174–5, 255, 258, 272–3; local language 70; network 244n20; obligation 89; professional 271; professional autonomy 27; Reporters Without Borders 180; Rwandan 268; seasoned 138; self-censorship 238; shape public opinion 269; southern Philippines 30n1; trained 183, 255, 271–2; training 8, 10, 64, 70, 219, 224, 229, 253, 257, 272–3; TRC Journalists’ Code of Conduct 215; Western 65, 97; women 308 Kalathil, S. 4–6 Kalyvas, S. 290, 292 Kaplan, S. 250 Katz, E. 149 Katz, J. 139–41 Keen, S. 121–2 Kelly, T. 156 Kempf, W. 16, 24–6, 66, 137, 148 Kent, G. 18 Khmer Rouge 235, 273, 280, 284 kidnap 113, 304 Kinzer, S. 100, 198 Kodama, K. 17, 18

Index   321 Korzenny, F. 3, 36 Kosovar 137, 144, 213; multi-ethnic press council 136; Riinvest Institute 138 Kosovo 10, 28, 145; Focus Kosovo 137; KFOR 138; post-war 137; Radio Kosovo 167; Temporary Media Commission 213; UN Development Program 138, 142; UNMIK 136–8, 144, 167 Kraidy, M. 43, 152 Krause, K. 221, 230–1 Kumar, K. 5, 62, 66, 247–9, 253, 256 Ladisch, V. 277, 284 land 18, 70; conflict 151; land grabs 94 Laplante, L.J. 11, 268, 270 Latin America 148, 150; see also South America Lederach, P. 22 Lee, S.T. 27 Lehmann, I.A. 10, 135, 139, 164 Lerner, D. 28 Lesser, G. 153 Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) 54, 55, 268 Liberia 153, 164, 167; armed conflict 54; community media 297; journalist training 272–3; Media Center (LMC) 185; media coverage 55–6, 171, 185; Truth and Reconciliation Commission 215; Women Democracy Radio (LWDR) 186; Women Media Action Committee (LIWOMAC) 186 Libya 77, 81, 94, 98 Lim, M. 283, 285 Livingston, S. 10, 196 Loewenberg, S. 68, 135, 137, 163 Longman, T. 284 Lukes, S. 20–1 Lynch, J. 4, 8–9, 23–6, 29, 37, 51, 65–7, 76, 100, 137, 290 MacGinty, R. 3–4 McGonagle, T. 235–6, 242 McQuail, D. 35, 41 Mahoba 308 Mansell, R. 27 Manuel, S. 142, 177n1 Maslow, A. 18 media 1, 6, 11, 16, 22, 62; abuse 4–5, 64; activities 4, 213, 216n3; actors 229, 251, 254–5; alternative 7, 23, 93, 104; BBC Media Action 186, 221; commercial 8, 291; coverage 2, 10, 51, 54, 57, 65–6, 71, 95, 104, 125,

156, 252, 267–8, 270; effects 149, 158; entertainment 9; global 2, 96–7; independent 5, 8, 171, 182, 186, 214, 247, 255, 271; Liberia Women Media Action Committee 186; local 6, 64, 72, 136–8, 174, 179, 228–9, 247, 251, 254–7, 267, 271; mandates 28; Media Map Project 184; monitoring 168, 180, 185, 224, 256, 268; multimedia campaigns 149, 156; news 6, 9–10, 34, 37–8, 46, 51–2, 54–5, 62–5, 67, 71, 88, 98–9, 173; online 23, 244n13; postconflict 5, 213, 223–5, 227, 234, 273; projects 6, 175, 189; reporting 17, 135, 137, 140, 144, 272, 303, 305; social 7, 34, 68, 89, 186–­7, 189, 265, 283, 285, 300; US coverage 96, 100; US imperialism 98; see also international media media assistance 63, 159, 179, 249, 252–3, 256–9; campaigns 155–6, 268; community 180, 183; foreign 251; initiatives 248; programs 10, 182–3, 185–6, 189, 247, 253–4; strategies 219 media development 8, 64, 68, 136, 171, 189, 211, 221, 223–4, 228; academic side 184; activities 229; in conflict zones 71, 148; evolution of 10, 219; failure of 72; initiatives 62–3, 66, 69; international 179; interventions 220, 222, 225; organizations 172, 180, 185; post-conflict 10, 172, 175–6, 226–7, 230–1; practitioners 164, 174, 220; programs 183, 189; projects 188, 230; scholarship 180; sector 220, 222, 224, 230; specialist 177n4; strategies 204, 242 media interventions 5, 68, 182, 188–9; post-conflict 180, 187; tool 10 media monitoring and evaluation (M&E) 10, 70–1, 180–2, 184; data 187–9; in post-conflict environments 177n2; tool 185–6 Merskin, D. 121 Mertus, J.A. 136 Metzl, J. 5, 165, 212, 233 militarism 20, 111, 113, 117; American 112 militaristic 21, 292 military 4, 113, 222; American 108; arrangements 53; Burundian 250; contractor 114; coup 279, 282; developments 163, 167; female observers 144; forces 37, 234; government 282; Guatemalan 100;

322   Index military continued investment 94; junta 139; machinery of defense 20; measures 26, 81; nuclear development 102; operations 23, 83; paramilitary 289; peacekeepers 139, 142; police 283; Prussian theorist 120; raid 197; responses 20, 82; Serbian 198; Sri Lankan 268; states 95; strength 278; third party units 135; training 108; trucks 293; uniforms 291–2; US bases 101; US Information Support Team 139 military-industrial 46n2; complex 2, 20; security complex 100 military intervention 84; humanitarian 28, 83; R2P 85; US 55 MINUSTAH 139–42, 168 Moïse, D. 40 Mosse, G.L. 110–11 Moyer-Gusé, E. 150 multi-ethnic 144, 151; press council 136; tolerance 153; youth centers 137 Muqtada al Sadr 213 murder 78, 100, 102, 121, 198, 304; intentional 195; mass 62; murderers unmasked 306 Naqvi, F. 307 NATO 100; bombing 28, 136; propaganda techniques 29; SFOR (the NATO-led Stabilisation Force) 213 navy Brazilian 101; US 113 Nelson, T.E. 269, 271 Nepal 69; Nepalese UN soldiers 139–40 new media 189, 251; collaborations 253; ecology 23; law 244n13; technologies 3, 7, 28 New World Economic Order (NWEO) 93 New World Information and Communication Order (NWICO) 92–3 New York Times 54–8, 99, 103, 126, 130, 141; correspondent 100; readers 96 NGOs 70, 89, 141, 152, 158, 172, 174, 176, 179, 188, 212–13, 215, 222–3, 242, 257, 284; American 252; British 253; foreign 228; international (INGOs) 64, 158, 228, 231n1, 238, 247, 251–2, 254–6, 258; local 228, 231n1, 257; networks 234; Swiss 1, 166, 172 Non Aligned Movement (NAM) 93

non-state actors 192, 297 Nordstrom, C. 299 Norris, C. 107, 109, 111 Norris, P. 5, 63 nuclear ambitions 102; disarmament 3; energy program 94, 101–2; NonProliferation Treaty (NPT) 101; threat 100, 104; warheads 101; weapons 94, 100–2, 200 Nussbaum, M. 199 NWICO debates 92–3 Nyerere, J.K. 206 Odinkalu, C. 195 O’Neil, P.H. 268, 271 Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) 136, 271; Office of the High Representative 213 Orme, B. 171, 174–6, 177n3 Osaghae, E. 249–50 Ottaway, M. 248–9 Ottosen, R. 29, 121–2 out-group/in-group 121–3 Pakistan 56, 94, 187, 214 Palmer, L.R. 271–2 Paris Agreements 213 Parkin, G. 280 Pauli, C. 234, 272 Pax Americana 92, 94–5, 98, 103 Peace Journalism 4, 16, 21, 24–8, 30n1, 37, 51, 64–6, 68, 76, 100, 136–8, 144–5, 273, 290; Commission of the International Peace Research Association 16; movement 9, 24, 28, 30; training programs 29 peace research 16, 18, 24; First and Second Wave 20–1; International Peace Research Association 16, 18 peace researchers 17, 19, 65 Pentland, A. 197 Pinochet, General 282; detention in UK 283; regime 11, 279–81 Piotrow, P.T. 148–9 police 113–14, 279, 291; Kenyan 194–5; KFOR and UNMIK 138; military 283; Nigerian Presidential Committee on Police Reform 195; resistance 304; shoot to kill 195; state 102; UN 144 post-Millennium Development Goals 221 post-war 121, 126, 128–9, 130n2; Bosnia 188; developments 25; Kosovo 137; occupation 212; phase 127–8, 130n3

Index   323 poverty 19, 62, 113, 115, 294; alleviation 69, 127, 148; antipoverty schemes 311; in Uttar Pradesh 307 Price, M.E. 5, 7, 10, 76, 180, 185, 212, 223, 233–4, 241–2, 265, 269, 271–3 private security 195; officers 194 Private Security Industry Regulatory Authority of South Africa 194 Puddephatt, A. 63, 66, 180, 185 Putzel, J. 8, 221 racial 236; assumptions 210; hatred 235 racism 34, 128, 234; subliminal 210 racist 108, 233, 236 radio 4, 11, 68, 124, 138, 157–8, 166, 215, 226, 265, 267, 282; airtime 70; broadcasting 142, 214; community 252, 289, 294; cycle 295–6; dramas 10, 150–1, 155; hate 1, 165; independent 174; listeners 152, 185; local 164; manager 177; output 215–16; monitored 168–9; producers 296–8; programs 137, 168, 174, 186, 254, 289; propaganda 233; role 239; soap operas 6, 68, 151, 284; spot 171, 188; unit 163; United Nations Radio 167–8; UN peacekeeping 10, 170, 172, 176; UN producer 170 radio stations 1, 157, 296–8; CL 215; community 170, 185, 291, 295–7; domestic 165; DPKO 173–4; executives 29; indigenous 291; Kass FM Radio 237; local 158, 164; LWDR 186; partners 142, 185; politically committed 255; private 238, 251; Radio Agatashya 158; Radio Andaqui 295–6; Radio Bar Kulan 172; Radio Blue Sky 167; Radio Bonesha 238, 251; Radio Free Europe 214, 219; Radio Isanganiro 238, 251; Radio Kosovo 167; Radio Milles Collines 62–3, 70, 170, 212, 233, 268; Radio MINURCA 166; Radio Miraya 169, 171–2, 175; Radio Mogadishu 165; Radio Ndeke Luka 166; Radio Netherlands 151, 284; Radio Okapi 142–3, 172–3, 175, 251; Radio for Peacebuilding Africa 69; Radio Publique Africaine 238, 251; Radio RTLM 234; Radio Rwanda 268, 284; Radio Television nationale du Burundi (RTNB) 256–7; Radio-Television Serbska 64;Radio UNTAC 165, 166; Radio UNTAET 167; Radio UNAMSIL 167; tribal language 70;

UNOCI Radio 173; UN peacekeeping 158, 163–5, 166–9, 170–6 Rambouillet Accord 28 Randall, L. 272 rape 38, 240, 304, 306, 308–9; rape capital of the world 142 Reese, S. 85, 95 Reese, T. 110 Reeser, T.W. 110 refugees 55, 89, 151, 156; Burundi Banyamulenge 88; communities 223; families 299; Hutu 142; return home 157–8, 222; Rwandan 158; transit camp 88 Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty 78, 80 Responsibility to Protect (R2P) 9, 28, 76–9, 234, 241; doctrine 76, 79, 82, 84, 86, 88; events 80, 85; International Coalition 83; military interventions 85; political implementation 84; press coverage 81, 82–3, 87; press reports 81, 83–6; principles 81–2; reporting 79–81, 86, 87, 88–9; situations 82–7 Richmond, O.P. 3–4, 290, 300 Rodríguez, C. 11, 121, 290–1, 300 Rudolph, S. 312 Russia 1, 97, 102, 198, 228; see also Soviet Union Rwanda 63, 66, 88, 159, 212, 236, 238, 243n12, 278; Arusha Accords 9; Bureau of Information and Broadcasting 238; conflict 135; conflict zones 281; genocide in 1, 4, 29, 62, 65, 77, 142, 220, 234, 237, 280; human rights obligations 243n11; inciting violence 282; International Criminal Tribunal 236, 243n5, 268; laws 210; post-genocide 260, 272; post-genocide media 284; refugees 158; UN Peacekeeping Mission 166 Rwandan 280; genocide 65, 77, 234, 237, 280; journalists 268; media 284; opposition parties 243n12; refugees 158 Rwandan radio station 62, 70, 170, 233, 284; Radio Libre des Mille Collines (RTLM) 212, 233–4, 237, 268 Rwandans 280 Safeguards Agreement 101 Santa-Barbara, J. 278

324   Index Schaefer, C.D. 25–6 Schramm, W. 35–6, 180 scapegoats 121, 138; scapegoating 101, 145 Seaga Shaw, I. 16, 51 Search for Common Ground (SFCG) 68, 150–3, 158, 215, 238, 251, 253, 267 Sen, A. 199 Servaes, J. 154 Sesame Street 153 Severin, W.J. 149 Sharma, K. 307–8 Sharma, S. 304 Shinar, D. 16, 25, 57 Sierra Leone 156–7, 166–7, 173, 175 Snow Bailard, C. 283 Somalia 93–4, 135; Radio Bar Kulan 172; UN Peacekeeping mission 166; United Somali Congress/Somali National Alliance (USC/NSA) 165; US debacle 234 Sorensen, K. 11, 270–1, 279, 281 Soros Open Society Institute 188 South Africa 81; apartheid 19; postapartheid 209; Private Security Industry Regulatory Authority 194; Rhodes University 64; transitional justice experience 266 South African Human Rights Council 210; researchers 67; television drama 150; Truth Commission 270; Truth and Reconciliation process 278, 280 South America 94; broadcasters 98 sovereign nations 77, 101 sovereignty 127; responsible 89; state 77, 78, 80, 211 Soviet Union 94, 207, 219; former 72, 94, 219 Spencer, G. 54, 57, 76 Spillman, K.R. 121 Sri Lanka 56, 81, 89; armed conflict 54–5; civil war 80, 268 Stallone, S. 107–8, 112, 117 state authority 96; backed 97; power inequalities 77; violence 95, 194 state building 5, 136, 222, 248; institution 213; multi-ethnic 137 state media 70; non-state outlets 183; Serbian 65 state sovereignty 77, 211; Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty 78, 80 Stremlau, N. 7, 10, 180, 211, 233, 241–2

Studio Ijambo 238, 251 superpower 96, 103; authority 10; conflicts 4, 92; state 95; tactics 94 Susman-Pena, T. 63, 227 Synergy 6, 242, 252–5, 257 Syria 77, 81, 89, 94, 98; Syrian Christian community 305 Tanner, E. 283 Taylor, C. 55, 273 Taylor, M. 10, 177n2, 186–7 Tehranian, M. 6, 16, 25, 37 television 68, 157, 164, 188, 257, 265; advertisements 157; Associated Press Television News (APTN) 96; BBC World 96; CCTV/CNTV 97; children’s 153; CNN 96; commercials 152, 158; community stations 291; crews 55, 292; educational programming 153; entertainment 68; Georgian Public 214; Japan 52; Jordanian 153; Macedonian 153; media 138; Mexican writer 150; news 26, 52, 55, 87, 135, 256; programming 152; programs 137, 254; Radio-Television Libre des Milles Collines (RTLM) 212; Radio Television nationale du Burundi 256; Radio-Television Serbska 64; reality 149, 152; Reuters 96; shows 109; skit 16; soaps 10, 68, 150; South African 150; stations 153, 214, 251; Western sex role models 117 terrorism 295–6; threat 39; War on Terror 97, 125 terrorist 126; acts 39; attacks 38; international 282 The Day Today 16, 17 The Economist 175 The Mobile Platform 186 The Times 78 Thindwa, J. 228 Thomas, P. 7, 11 Thompson, M. 64, 76, 136, 212, 234, 268 threatening 7, 82, 102; actions 122; elements 124; world 65 threats 30, 40, 121, 123, 125–7, 129, 165, 187, 258, 295, 297; external tensions 89; of force 171; genocide 243n1, 243n11; guerrilla and paramilitary 296–7; against Iran 94; nuclear 100, 104; to peace 250; of prosecution 239; terrorism 39; to the US 100

Index   325 transitional justice 10, 208–9, 211 Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) 53, 208; Canada 25; Liberia 215, 272; post-apartheid South Africa 209, 266; public hearings 266–7 Tunstall, J. 35, 98 Tyndall Report 52 UK 63, 82, 207; Christian Aid 253; coup 102; Department for International Development (DFID) 188, 247, 252; detention of General Pinochet 283; government 23; inequality of access 19; journalists 97; media consultancy 172; media networks 96; oil companies 102; R2P press coverage 81–7; TV programs 150, 152; UNAMIR 166, 170 UNAMSIL 166–7 UNHCR 157–8 United Nations 1, 79, 135–6, 138, 141, 143–5, 167–8, 171, 177n1, 179, 184, 266; agencies 188; Brahimi Report 135, 164; Commission on Human Rights (UNCHR) 88, 158; Conference on Trade and Development 27; Educational Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) 93, 224; Environmental operation MINUSMA 145; institutionalization 78; International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) 100–1; Outcome Document 76; Public Information Office (PIO) 163; Security Council 81, 101; Special Rapporteur 195; Transitional Authority in Cambodia (UNTAC) 165, 213, 273; World Summit 76, 80 United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) 5, 175, 250; office 166; report 181 United Nations Economic, Social and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) 3, 34, 36, 64, 93, 107–8, 124, 145, 224, 267; media projects 175 United Nations peacekeeping 144–5, 164; operations 135, 141–2, 164; presence in DRC 142 United Nations Peacekeeping missions 28, 143, 166, 168, 171; in Haiti (UNMIH) 139; MINUSTAH 139–42, 168; MONUC/MONUSCO 168, 251; in Sierra Leone 166 United Nations Secretary-General 80, 135, 137–8, 140–1, 145, 243n1;

Special Representative to the Secretary-General’s office 163 United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia (UNTAC) 165, 213, 273; Radio UNTAC 165, 166 United States (US) 29, 126–7, 152; activism movements 20; activist 30; advocacy group 103; Agency for International Development (USAID) 70, 155, 182–4, 188, 214, 247, 252; attack on Iraq 130; Congress 153; Department of State 28; foreign policy 126; government 57, 128, 179; hegemony 92; imperial practice 95; Institute of Peace (USIP) 66, 12n3, 143, 244n14, 273; interventions 93–4; Iran offensive 100–1; lack of involvement 56; mainland attack 128; migrants 139; military 139; military intervention 55; Navy SEAL squad 113; newscasts 52; nuclear deal with India 102; Occupations 212; R2P press coverage 81, 82; regulatory policies 272; response to 9/11 attacks 94; secretary of state 214; social marketing 154; in Somalia 234; spending 141, 158, 250, 252–3; State Department 28; Tet Offensive 99; US-installed dictator 101 United States-led 139; invasion 28, 96; wars 23 United States media 58, 97, 220; assistance 63; coverage 95–6; development 252; education programs 152; imperialism 98; systems 92 Valenzuela, S. 283, 285 Varis, T. 3, 7, 34, 36–7 Vietnam 93, 128, 129–30; North Vietnamese 112, 125; syndrome 120; Tet Offensive 99; Veterans 109; War 10, 109, 111–12, 125, 127, 129, 130n1 violations 277; ethical 255; human rights 196, 265–6, 272, 279, 284; of justice 304; of the NPT 101; of R2P principles 81 violence 2, 16, 18, 24, 34, 70, 76, 89, 111, 113, 115–16, 128, 135, 193, 212, 277, 290, 293–4, 298, 304; absence of 5, 17, 29, 53; civil war 292; of corruption 311; criminal 194; cultural 20, 25, 122, 240; cycles of 227, 266–7; deadly 236; election 71, 80, 186, 239; endemic 192; epistemic

326   Index violence continued and ontological 11, 313; erupted 170; ethnic 88, 234, 238; extra-state 194; extreme 221; genocidal 4; glorified 107; imagined 10, 107–8, 112–13, 115–17; imperial 103; incitement to 100, 137, 168, 209, 213, 235, 268, 282; inspire 243n6; inter-communal 80; large-scale 237, 239; major 253; mass 233–4, 237, 240; media 41; modalities of 38; necessary 129; nonviolence phase 52, 55–6; ongoing 196, 248; organized 233, 241; outbreaks of 241; phase 9, 52, 55–7; political 122, 194, 197; post-violence environment 54; post-violence phase 53–7, 59; prevention 5, 159, 204, 216, 242, 297; promotion of 285n6; reduction of 8, 29, 117, 210; renewed 214, 239; reports of 195; representations of 108, 117; responsible for 278, 281; sexual and gender-based 142–3, 307; as solution 122, 125, 127, 129; state 95; statesanctioned 279; street 37; structural 19–20, 22, 53, 67, 290; subsides 52; support 29; suppression of 165; survivors of 278; unrelenting 112; vocabulary of 209; of war 299 Vogel, I. 225 Voltmer, K. 269, 271 von Clausewitz, C. 120 Waisbord, S. 269, 272 Walters, H. 219, 222–3, 226 Wang, G. 42 war 2–3, 21, 23, 34, 44, 88–9, 111, 120, 122, 125–9, 142, 192, 243n11, 250, 269, 290, 293–5, 299, 303; absence of 5, 36, 40, 194, 199, 290; Balkans 220; causes of 20; civil 38, 80, 140, 198, 238, 268, 290, 292; class 114; coverage 37–8, 52, 300; crimes 29, 76–7, 270; criminals 138; culture of 108; declared 289; ends 266; films 113; fixated on 76, 292; genocidal 151; graphics 17, 78, 89; Gulf 29; impact of 11, 290–1, 295; Iran –Iraq 102; Iraq 10, 66, 120, 125, 129,

130n1; against Japan 130n1; journalism 24, 26, 65; media 251; mobilized for 20, 23, 29, 92, 123; narratives 96, 292; not formally at 18; oriented 7; outbreak of 17, 157; propaganda 37; ravaged 171; reporting 16; strategies 297; on Terror 97, 125; torn 69, 249; Vietnam 10, 99, 109, 111–12, 125, 129, 130n1; warlordism 4; zone 52, 143, 307; see also World War I, World War II warfare 4, 37, 124, 200; media 270 weapons of mass destruction 99, 129 Webel, C. 284 Wolff, S. 222 Wolfsfeld, G. 2, 54, 57, 76, 122, 124–5, 269, 271 women 110, 148, 152, 167, 181, 240, 292–3; Dalit 304, 307–9; discrimination against 244n17; empowerment 150; journalists 307–8; low-caste 11, 307, 313; protection 143; in rural Liberia 186; socialization 117; victims 88, 142, 144; Women Democracy Radio (LWDR) 186 World Bank 66, 72, 184, 188, 207, 216n1; Communication for Governance and Accountability program 297; report 307 World Newspapers 80 World War I 124 World War II 10, 37, 125, 127, 128–9, 212, 272 Wright, Q. 20, 37 Wu, H.D. 55, 58 Xie, S. 97–8 Yamshon, E. 273 Youngblood, S. 24 youth 34, 108, 111, 115, 117, 148, 167, 277, 294; Arab 152; Cambodian 284; collective 297–8; education 152; ethnic centers 137 Yugoslavia see former Yugoslavia Zulueta-Fülscher, K. 249–50