Our roots are in Communism, our dreams are in heaven,

and there is no connection. The problem is finding a middle road.

You can find this struggle in the Polish press.

--A. Jonas, Warsaw Voice

December 1991

I. Introduction

II. Press Freedom in Poland, 1945-1989

A. The Cold War Era: 1945-1980

B. Solidarity and the Seeds of Media Reform: 1980-1981

C. Martial Law: 1981-1983

D. The First Polish Press Law: 1984-1989

E. Press Law and the 1989 Roundtable Agreement

III. The Theoretical Foundations for Polish Press Freedom

IV. Quest for Post-Communist Models of Press Freedom

V. The Politics of the New Broadcast Act

VI. Conclusion

Acknowledgements

The author thanks Dr. Tomasz Plonkowski and Dr. Michal Gajlewicz, both of the

University of Warsaw, for their valuable assistance on this research project between

October 1991 and January 1992.

2

I. Introduction

The dissolution of the socialist order since 1989 has forced a radical reconstruction of

press freedom in the "new" Eastern Europe. Poland, as one of the first nations to

disengage itself formally from the Soviet sphere of influence, offers an important

example of the conceptual and structural difficulties journalists and policy makers face in

reconstructing freedom of expression in the post-Communist era.

Poles quickly recognized that the theoretical vacuum left by the collapse of the

socialist system cannot be filled so easily by Western models of communicative

democracy. The dominant Western models pose particular problems for Poland: the

American view of "free press" fails to resonate with the Polish political and

communicative culture; the European models are themselves in a state of flux, as

evidenced by the EEC's negotiations on telecommunications. For Poland, the dissolution

of the socialist media order has not meant the triumph of the Western press theories.

Ironically, the end of the Cold War exposed the limitations and weaknesses of

Western models of free expression more effectively and substantively than did almost 50

years of socialist propaganda. Eastern European nations, looking anew to the West for

guidance on democratization of their media systems, found the West still embracing an

oversimplified, Cold War view of their own models. They found, too, what scholars had

observed even before the end of the Cold War: "the United States and the European

nations were presumed to be operating under the libertarian and social responsibility

approaches," but these simplified models fail "to provide answers to the problems posed

by increasing economic and elite control of the marketplace for ideas, or to take account

of the responses made to such problems by a number of European nations . . ." (Picard,

1985b: 66). The Cold War thus encouraged Western nations to gloss over the variety of

perspectives on state-press relations found inside and outside NATO borders. The end of

the Cold War, however, exposed the substantive differences--and the glaring weaknesses

3

and contradictions--in media Western models to the watching world of former Warsaw

Pact countries.

This paper assesses the Polish search for a new model of press freedom that can,

to paraphrase Warsaw Voice editor, Andrzej Jonas, take Poland from its Communist

roots to its heavenly dream without getting lost on the way. The study considers first the

historical and theoretical contexts to the Polish quest for a new model of free expression.

Drawing on intensive interview with more than a dozen Polish journalists--from Poland's

largest circulation newspaper, Gazeta Wyborcza, to Trybuna, one the Polish Communist

Party's official newspaper, Trybuna Ludu (Tribune of the People)--this study then

examines the distinctive features of the Polish media and their need for a distinctive

Polish model. The final section analyzes Poland's first substantive revision of media

policy, the new Broadcast Act, and its implication for an emerging press model. Inherent

in this discussion will be consideration of the relative utility of Western models of

democratic communication for post-Communist nations.

II. Press Freedom in Poland, 1945-1989

The development of free press models after the socialist era can only be understood in

the historical and cultural contexts which shaped post-Communist nations like Poland

and their media. The history of press freedom in Poland highlights dramatically the

inherent dangers of transplanting wholesale models of free expression across national and

cutural boundaries.

A. The Cold War Era: 1945-1980

The information policy of the Polish Communist Party was the informal policy of the

Polish state, and both were under the authority of Soviet leadership for 40 years. Under

this arrangement, Polish media policy equated public information with party propaganda.

4

The media served Poland as instruments for state propaganda according to the Soviet-

Leninist press theory embraced by successive Polish party congresses (Pisarek, 1991a:

208).

Media policy was informal insofar as no comprehensive Polish press law existed

during this period. But unlike other socialist countries, Poland had explicit, formal

regulations limiting censorship. The state censored the press anyway, of course, albeit

quietly. Other socialist countries had few such formal prohibitions and they exercised

authoritarian control over media content with impunity. By contrast, the image of Polish

state-sanctioned censorship accepted beyond the nation's borders was therefore one of

relative communicative openness and freedom. "Even UNESCO bought into this false

notion of censorship in Poland" (Pisarek, interview, December, 1991). But Poles--media

professionals and citizens alike--understood the contradiction between state rhetoric and

state action: the party exercised censorship, yet denied it.

The government maintained a special office for the control and censorship of the

press. Censorship involved a two-step process: (1) review of content at the manuscript

level and then (2) confirmation of acceptability prior to distribution. Censors monitored

newspapers, lectures, stage performances, illustrations, photographs and almost every

other form of public communication. Journalists and professional communicators were

state employees, and the state maintained overall control of their work. Employment in

the media and public communication industries depended, in large measure, on one's

explicit commitment to or implicit acceptance of party interests and socialist goals.

Western criticism of these policies and practices neither undermined Poland's

underlying Soviet-Leninist assumptions nor offered an attractive "democratic" alternative.

From the beginning of the Cold War and the Polish Communist era, Poles recognized that

the American view of press freedom (and its Western post-war progeny) depended on a

very limited definition of "democratic communication:" the absence of government

5

control. Witold Konopka, a Polish delegate to the U.N.'s 1948 Geneva Conference on

Freedom of Information, observed that the American view of freedom as the absence of

governmental restraint left the nation's citizens vulnerable to economic control by a few

media proprietors. Citing the findings of the Hutchins Commission on Freedom of the

Press (1947), Konopka observed that the American model of a free press left the

determination of "facts, versions of facts and opinions" in the hands of fewer and fewer

media entrepreneurs. Capitalism was no guarantor of free expression; to the contrary, it

was, in the Polish view, antithetical to truly democratic communication. Even the

American delegation's chair, William Benton, acknowledged "that the United States press

was not free from defects, which it was hoped would be remedied eventually" (Blanchard,

1986: 190).

Poland thus rejected an American-Western understanding of freedom of the press,

with its distrust of government power and its faith in the "invisible hand" of capitalism,

on both ideological and pragmatic grounds. Poland embraced a Soviet-Leninist view of

the press in large part because the Soviet leadership would not tolerate alternatives. At

the same time, the available Western alternatives were not intrinsically more democratic

than the existing Polish system. Both the Hutchins Commission and Polish media

professionals recognized that corporate control of expression could be just as repressive

and undemocratic as governmental control. The American-Western press model did not

offer, therefore, a more democratic alternative to the Soviet-Leninist model, but only a

different (and sometimes larger) set of problems and limitations.

B. Solidarity and the Seeds of Media Reform: 1980-81

Nevertheless, the Polish government's inability to address the problems and limitations

of its economy initiated the dramatic unraveling of Poland's socialist system and planted

the seeds of media reform. By the end of the 1970s, Poland's economy was a disaster:

6

massive debt halted the nation's industry and frightened international investors away.

Goods and services became increasingly scarce as the standard of living plummeted. The

severity of Poland's economic crisis and its clear political ramifications soon

overshadowed all of the nation's other pressing problems.

The first seeds for a national agenda of reform were planted by the visit of Pope

John Paul II, formerly Archbishop of Krakow, to Poland in 1979. His message explicitly

tied human rights and national identity to the historic struggle of Polish Catholics against

invaders and oppressors (John Paul II, 1979). The pope's message "transformed peaceful

religious celebrations into object lessons on reappropriating the public sphere from the

Communists" (Hauser, 1992: 181-182). The following summer labor unrest erupted in

Poland's shipyards and Solidarity was born (Bialecki, 1982).

From its beginning, Solidarity struggled to articulate a concept of democracy and

to clarify the goals on its reform agenda. Solidarity offered the rhetoric of a "democratic

society," but failed to explain it in unambiguous terms or in concrete political action

(Krol, 1981; cited in Jakubowicz, 1990b: 336-37). Consequently, Solidarity's public

program was a muddle of emotionally charged, but nebulously defined concepts like

"freedom of speech," and a curious--often contradictory--mix of socialist, capitalist and

religious rhetoric. That language invested the movement with the discourse of moral

authority, but absolved it of detailed responsibilities (Baughman & Kozminski, 1992: 36-

42).

"Democratic communication" was central to Solidarity's political vision for a

"new" Poland from the start. The union's leaders and the journalists within the

organization were divided, however, over just how "free" the press should be within

Solidarity itself. Journalists attending the Second Congress of the Solidarity Press in May

1981 called for full editorial independence, including the right to criticize the movement's

leadership, and for the right of newsworkers to elect and to recall editors. Invoking

7

distinctively Western terminology, they argued that "an independent press constitutes one

of the major guarantees of internal democracy and a watchdog over the officers" (cited in

Jakubowicz, 1990b: 347; emphasis added). The Congress, however, approved a policy

that elevated the views and interests of the organization over those of the individual

journalists working within the labor movement.

At the Solidarity Congress in September 1981, the union adopted the policy that

members had "the right to untrammelled expression of opinions" and that union officials

could not interfere with the editorial freedom of newsworkers, except in times of conflict.

But the Congress also gave union leaders broad discretionary powers over the

organization's various publications. Many union officials quickly used that power to

censor Solidarity newspapers, limit access to information, and fire journalists they

disliked. Some union leaders even went so far as to shut down "troublesome"

newspapers. In response, entire editorial staffs staged protests against their union leaders

(Jakubowicz, 1990b: 347-348). The union was at war with itself over press policy.

Despite these internal policy conflicts, the Interfactory Strike Committee of the

Gdansk Shipyard initiated national media policy reform in its negotiations with the

government. In August 1980, the government accepted some of the committee's press

policy demands and forwarded them to the Sejm, Poland's parliament. Solidarity and

other reform groups were invited to give direct input on an anti-censorship bill. The

resulting Law on Censorship of Publications and Performances, adopted in July and

enacted October 1, 1981, established the principles of diversity in media content and of

public accountability: (1) the law permitted the Catholic Church to broadcast religious

services over the radio, and (2) it allowed professional communicators to identify acts of

state censorship and to appeal such acts to the Supreme Administrative Tribunal (Pisarek,

1991a: 209; Jakubowicz, 1990b: 344). This liberalized policy on censorship would last

only 11 weeks, however.

8

C. Martial Law: 1981-1983

Solidarity's efforts to dismantle the party's domination of communication policy ended

on December 13, 1981 with General Jaruzelski's imposition of martial law. The

crackdown was total and traumatic. The military arrested Solidarity members and used

force to suppress dissident workers. The government terminated freedom of speech,

assembly, and press; it prohibited the distribution of all publications; it subjected all mail,

telephone conversations and other means of communication to censorship; it reduced

radio and television broadcasts to one station controlled directly by the military; and it

closed the nation's schools and universities indefinitely. Though some of these

restrictions were gradually relaxed over time, martial law remained in effect from

December 1981 to July 1983.

Despite the severity of the crackdown, the government found it difficult to

maintain comprehensive control over communication and to sustain its suppression of

Solidarity and the reform movement over time. In August 1980 journalists tied to

Solidarity had formed the Association of Polish Journalists (APJ) in opposition to the

authorities. After martial law was imposed, the government arrested and/or fired many of

the APJ journalists; others, who escaped arrest or firing, quit in protest against the

government's action. Almost overnight, more than one thousand experienced journalists

stopped working for the state-controlled media. The government quickly replaced them

with new people who often were not qualified, but had the approved party affiliations and

ideological commitments.

Some of the experienced journalists who were terminated or quit, and even some

who remained, moved underground and established an active, albeit eradict, dissident

press. Younger and less experienced journalists guided the underground press, and they

attracted politically active amateurs to work on their clandestine publications, including

9

posters, flyers, magazines and newspapers. Despite their widespread support, the harsh

realities of daily living under Jaruzelski's restrictive policies seriously undermined the

incentives for overt opposition. The public's enthusiasm for confrontation and protest

gradually declined into passive resistance. Even a majority of journalists who had

boycotted the government's dissolution of the the APJ, reluctantly returned to the legal

media and joined the state-authorized Association of Journalsts of the Polish People's

Republic (Pisarek, 1990b: 210).

Martial law not only succeeded in stalling the reform process, but it throttled

Solidarity's efforts to develop a detailed or consistent media policy of its own

(Jakubowicz, 1990b: 344-348). From the imposition of martial law in 1981 to the

Roundtable discussions in 1989, Solidarity was in a fight for its own political survival.

Its communication policy concerns thus diminished as a priority as the union's political

oppression continued and the nation's economic crisis intensified.

D. The First Polish Press Law: 1984-1989

The declaration of martial law stopped the "counterrevolutionary schemes" of Solidarity,

but it did nothing to stablize the nation's crumbling economy. As conditions worsened

and the nation slipped closer to bankruptcy, the Communist regime became desparate to

regain the support of the country's work force. General Jaruzelski ended martial law in

July 1983, unveiled Poland's first general press law and made a series of concessions on

(relatively marginal) issues designed to win popular support for his programs.

The Press Law, submitted to Parliament in 1983 and adopted in 1984, embodied

the government's strategy of deception: it offered the rhetoric of "freedom of the press"

while maintaining a system of licensing, censorship and economic controls designed to

thwart non-socialist visions of freedom or democracy. It was "a particular mixture of two

contradictory tendencies: discipline and liberalism" (Pisarek, 1990b: 209). On one hand,

10

the law allowed the freedom to establish newspapers and to address a wide variety of

subjects journalistically. It instituted controls on secrecy, permitted opportunities for

corrections and replies, and established a Press Council. On the other hand, the law

required that all journalists have a license (issued by the censorship office) to publish any

periodical or to receive supplies of newsprint. The Press Law also amended the

censorship laws negotiated with Solidarity in 1981 to give authorities broad powers in

defining and regulating any information which might threaten "national security." The

law thereby erected significant barriers to obtain "real" permissions and scarce supplies

needed to publish. The 1984 Press Law thus "closed the way to journalism for the whole

antisocialist opposition" (Pisarek, 1990b: 209).

At the same time, the law's liberalizing elements only encouraged greater daring

among opposition activists and increased the resolve of the underground press. By 1989

the dissident press was operating with abandone and almost complete disregard for the

authorities. The advent of Gorbachev's glasnost and perestroika policies in the Soviet

Union that same year isolated the Polish Communist Party from its Soviet mentors and

undermined what little remained of its coercive power and authority.

E. Press Law and the 1989 Roundtable Agreement

A dying economy and rapidly declining political power forced the Polish government of

General Jaruzelski to make concesssions to the opposition and to initiate the transition to

a new political-economic system. The government brought Solidarity and other dissident

groups together at the 1989 "Roundtable" conference to discuss how the nation might be

restructured. The meetings not only ended Poland's socialist experiment, but abandoned

the Soviet-Leninist model of public communication. The Roundtable sessions formally

terminated state-sponsored censorship and freed underground publishers to operate above

11

ground. They established an economic framework for linking Poland's free market

reforms to its communication industries, particularly the print media.

Poles greeted the "end of censorship" with much fanfare, but some noted

ironically that the "censorship office was just about the only Communist institution that

worked--it was actually a tremendously efficient operation . . ." (quoted in Weschler,

1989: 70; emphasis original). But the euphoria over the Roundtable "success" obscured

the fact that at least two specters of state control over the media still lurked in the "new"

Poland.

First, the Roundtable talks did not end all elements of direct state control over

Poland's circulation-distribution monopoly (RUCH). Under the new political regime, the

monopoly silenced "unwanted" or "critical" voices by refusing or deliberately delaying

delivery of offending publications, by under-reporting circulation to short-change the

publisher's revenues, and so on. Control at the point of distribution, as most Polish

journalists knew from experience, was just as effective in censoring expression as

expunging words from a manuscript at the production end of the communication process.

By controlling the distribution system, the state was able to (1) influence content, (2)

limit access to and by the public, and (3) control media revenues earned from circulation.

The new government's monopoly distribution system, like the old, was proactive

in influencing print media content throughout Poland. The deputy editor of the popular

weekly Polityka accused RUCH of "imposing conditions on publishers." Not only did

they withhold revenues ("they keep our money"), but they threatened to stop distribution

if publishers complained. "When we tried to push [to get our money and circulation

figures], they said, 'Watch out,' because we knew they could remove us from the kiosks."

When the post-Communist government appointed a new director to head the distribution

monopoly, he sent a letter to kiosk operators "telling them which titles to display and

12

support; they needed to support the new minority parties" (Baczynski, interview,

December, 1991).

Not surprisingly, accusations of de facto censorship and political intimidation

were voiced frequently by former Communist journalists. Stanislaw Cwik, assistant

editor of the Party's successor newspaper, Trybuna, accused the government of overt

complicity in using RUCH to stop or to limit distribution of the paper and to withhold

their sales earnings. "Trybuna is discriminated against by this monopoly," he charged.

This monopoly made up of "conservatives of Solidarity and Christian extremists,"

according to Cwik, treated "the left wing as a scapegoat" in their "right wing propaganda"

(Cwik, interview, December, 1991).

Second, the Roundtable talks did not acknowledge the potential for indirect

control by the state and other political and economic forces. By weaning the media from

direct state oversight and funding, the new leaders left the press vulnerable to outside

influences and pressure tactics with which it had no previous experience (Stasienski,

1991). In a media environment where freedom bordered on anarchy, the opportunities for

powerful individuals and special interests to intimidate, coerce or co-opt the media

increased dramatically.

Few policy makers or media professionals were prepared, moreover, for the

widespread collapse of the new, economically independent newspapers and magazines

that followed (Bratkowski, 1989). Most journalists and advocates of privatization

expected an economically independent press to flourish in the fledgling free market

economy (Jakubowicz, 1992). Instead, almost 90 percent failed, mostly from inadequate

financing, poor readership and/or an inability to attract advertisers or investors. None of

the many local Solidarity press initiatives survived (Baczynski, interview, December

1991). Few Poles understood the complexities of market reform or recognized the

13

dangers inherent in commercializing the press (Jakubowicz, 1990b; Hollifield, 1993;

Woycicki, 1991).

Changes in the economic foundations of the Polish media also produced some

wrenching changes in media content. Inexperienced journalists whose "opposition" style

had been arguably effective with the small-scale underground press often appeared shrill,

amateurish or sophomoric in the large-scale above-ground press. Poles, historically

repulsed by stories that expose the personal lives of public figures, found entire

publications devoted to private scandals and sleaze. Publishers quickly discovered,

however, that economic survival in a competitive marketplace often encourages grabbing

attention by breaking rules (Kowalski, 1988). Sex and sensationalism sold well at the

kiosks and publishers exploited them early and often.

III. The Theoretical Foundation for Polish Press Freedom

The press initiatives stemming from the 1989 Roundtable Agreement clearly marked

Poland's departure from the old Communist press model, but conceptual frames of

reference and structural elements of the old system did not suddenly disappear en masse.

The domestic imperatives to distance the "New Poland" from the old were sufficient for

Polish leaders to tilt media policy in a distinctively Westward direction. Powerful

external political and economic pressures also gave Poland few alternatives but to

accelerate its press reforms toward the West. The United States, the European

Community and other Western nations tied vital economic assistance (such as direct

foreign aid, Western investment, debt restructuring, loan guarantees, affiliation with the

EEC, etc.) and pressing security questions (membership in NATO, military aid, arms

agreements, etc.) to Polish progress on democratic and economic reforms of virtually all

institutional spheres, including the press.

14

Contrary to American Cold War rhetoric, no single, universally valid model of

democratic communication existed as the "natural" successor to Poland's former

Communist model. Confronted by a multiplicity of Western democratic views on the

media's purpose, rights, regulations, ownership, Poland has charted an uncertain course

somewhere between its old system of state control, and a new system of limited

privatization and democratic guarantees. The resulting middle course on press freedom

was set, in part, by Poland's recognition that least three different kinds of democratic

communication were possible (cf. Jakubowicz, 1990b: 335).

Permitting every citizen to be a communicator and to have direct access to the

media establishes, at least in principle, direct democratic communication. In Western

nations, the idea of direct democratic communication has been promoted, for example, in

"electronic town meetings," in "public access" television and radio channels, and in

"common carrier" telephone and electronic information networks, as means of involving

all citizens in "the democratic process."

The imperative for universal access to the media of communication exposes,

however, several conflicting notions of democratic communication commonly accepted

in the West. First, even under the best circumstances, the general population ordinarily

has little desire to take advantage of opportunities for access to the media. Few citizens

feel "qualified" or feel the need to express their ideas beyond their immediate circle of

friends. Even fewer citizens are interested (if ratings and revunes are any indicator) in

receiving or responding to the information conveyed through these "open" media. Direct

democratic communication has had minimal success outside small-scale socio-political

units.

Second, direct democratic communication systems are generally costly and not

financially self-supporting. Nations pursuing this form of communicative democracy

have typically made enormous state investments or offered generous subsidies to

15

establish and maintain such "democratic" media. On this point, however, Western

democracies are deeply divided. Without direct state support (as generally experienced in

the United States), economic forces inevitably drive poorer individuals out of the

communication system and out of the democratic process. With direct state support (as

provided in many Western European nations, especially Scandanavia), political

independence and economic competition are sacrificed for greater public access.

Representative democratic communication permits a nation's media to

communicate on behalf of its citizens and to bear primary responsibility for conveying

information vital to democratic action. This transfers expressive responsibility to media

professionals and streamlines the production and distribution of public information for

more efficient use.

Representative democratic communication, as found in many "social

responsibility" model media systems, exchanges de facto the individual's right of

expression for a right of reception, a "right to know." Communicative rights in this sense

transfer from the individual citizen to media professionals who have the legal and/or

moral responsibility to represent the informational interests of their publics.

Pluralistic communicative democracy enables individuals and publics within a

democratic structure to participate in the determination of goals and policies, even if few

are actually communicators themselves. This form of communicative democracy

recognizes the individual's relationship to groups with similar interests and affords

opportunity for the plurality of interests to be expressed through the media.

Communicative interests are not transfered to anonymous journalists, but to

representative groups empowered to affect policy decisions and/or to communicate

directly through public or private media.

This form of communicative democracy, exemplified to some degree by the

Canadian and Dutch media systems, typically requires greater state financing than a

16

representative democratic system. It also demands greater public direction and

participation than a representative system. And unlike representative communication

democracy, pluralism holds the various publics--not just independent professional

communicators--accountable for media content.

These varieties of communicative democracy have been poorly distinguished in

Western models of free expression. The lack of definition of "democracy" or "freedom,"

especially within the generalized Libertarian and Social Responsibility press models, has

endowed these dominant "theories" with moral legitimacy more than conceptual clarity.

The Democratic Socialist press theory, embracing a pluralistic perspective, has generally

expanded democratic concepts to include not only the media and political spheres, but

also the economic and social spheres as well. In each instance, the type of democracy

promoted has tended to dictate the nature of the press model applied (Picard, 1985b;

James, 1981). For Poland, the problem has been a desire to develop all three forms of

democratic communication without the inherent structural limits dictated by the existing

models.

IV. Quest for a Post-Communist Model of Press Freedom

Although the Polish press has generally positioned itself within the mainstream of the

three dominant media theories (Libertarian, Social Responsibility and Democratic

Socialist), it has been reluctant to pledge its troth to only one Western model. Poles have

instead expressed hope for the development of their own distinctive model of free

expression. The goal has been to reflect Poland's unique cultural characteristics and to

accommodate the full range of democratic possibilities. The goal has definitely not been

to mimic the American media system.

"We're looking for a new model . . . definitely not an American model"

(Holzer, interview, December, 1991); and

17

"People are not ready to accept an American-type press. It is too distant

from our historical circumstances" (Baczynski, interview, December,

1991).

Polish media professionals and policy makers alike have been inclined, instead, to

weave their way (more or less diplomatically) between an American model of free

expression and the democratic socialist models of the Western European press during this

phase of Poland's post-Communist transition. At least four factors have encouraged

Poland to take this independent course: (1) the nation's distinctive cultural expectations

and historical conditions; (2) Poland's pressing economic needs; (3) its unsettled political

state; and (4) its distinctive religious and moral environment.

First, Poland's distinctive cultural tradition and history have defined the public's

understanding of and expectations for journalistic "independence" and professional goals.

American demands for "objectivity" and editorial independence from political

partisanship, for example, run directly counter to Poland's long-standing tradition

(predating the Communist era) of partisan journalism. "The press is part of the governing

structure, not a fourth estate. In Poland, the profession has always been seen as a purely

political profession. You can't be a journalist and not be politically involved" (Baczynski,

interview, December, 1991). Polish journalists can have "no non-involvement" in

political affairs (Aleksandrowicz, interview, December, 1991) still command respect as

journalists in the Polish tradition.

That tradition also regards columnists and pundits more favorably than reporters.

"Becoming a columnist is the goal of every journalist . . . to show their own opinion.

Only these people are regarded as top professionals. Most journalists don't know how to

write simple information without expressing their opinion" (Jonas, interview,

December,1991). At the same time, Poles expect the press to be, according to Baczynski,

a "guide" and to "provide perspective." Even after the political upheaval, publishers

18

found that readers "still expected commentary and analysis" (Baczynski, interview,

December, 1991).

Any new Polish press model must not only contend with tradition, but with the

living legacies of the Communist era. According to Holzer, "Ninety percent of the

journalists in the old Communist system are still working, and their attitude is still the

same. . . . Older journalists were skilled in a different journalism. Their contacts are now

irrelevant."

We have a primitive form of press freedom. We don't have well-skilled

journalists or journalism ethics. We don't know how journalists should

behave. We're not sure what are the really important questions, or how we

should write or not write. . . . To be honest we are probably too cautious.

We behave like bad politicians, rather than good journalists (Holzer,

interview, December, 1991).

As a result, efforts to implement even the best model, in theory, will encounter

professional inertia, in practice. Tradition, professional aspirations, training and ideology

all conspire to thwart conceptual and structural change based on non-Polish frames of

reference.

Second, horrendous economic conditions have threatened the very institutional

survival of the put the Polish press and placed the media in a unique situation. Under the

old system, the media were financially backed by the state/party. Under the new system,

newspapers and magazines were "freed" to operate in the new free market economy. But

the free market economy was a wholly alien arena with which managers and publishers

had no experience. New publishers and business owners knew nothing about advertising,

marketing, competition and consumer behavior. The end of the socialist economy

suddenly thrust the problems of raising capital, paying salaries, negotiating contracts,

handling consumer complaints and a host of other demands upon an inexperienced few.

Even with all these problems, Poles recognized that Western models, developed

slowly within their own historical and cultural contexts, had no experience in post-

19

Communist economies. Existing models could be applied to Poland's experience only on

an experimental basis, at best; Polish-generated models of free expression would be no

more "experimental" or untested. In fact, from the Roundtable Agreement on, policy

makers approached the privatization of state media properties in a piecemeal, ad hoc

fashion, keeping some elements of the old system intact, such as RUCH and the state-run

broadcasting network, selling some properties to select "insiders," and opening the print

media to minority foreign ownership. Poland's uncharted economic waters, thus, called

for creative, but careful maneuvering by media policy makers.

Third, Poland's post-Communist political system has hardly been the model of

stability or unanimity. As early as the October 1991 parliamentary (Sejm) elections,

political power had splintered among more than 200 political parties (including "The

Friends of Beer" Party). Subsequent coalition governments struggled (and failed) to

garner sufficient support for the comprehensive reorganization of the political landscape

or to affect substantive policy change. The return of the former Communist "Social

Democrats" to power in the 1993 parliamentary elections represented a significant

challenge to many assumptions about the "triumph" of Western models of democracy vis-

a-vis the former socialist agenda. For the press, this unsettled political climate clearly has

made the wholesale adoption of Western models highly unlikely and provided additional

incentives for the development of a hybrid media policy capable of placating the

bewildering number of political interests in Poland.

And fourth, post-Communist Poland witnessed the reemergence of a distinctive

religious and moral environment. With the country's Catholic majority embodying the

antithesis to the previously atheistic state system, the media were compelled to redefine

their relationship to Catholic moral values and social ethics, while also negotiating the

moral minefields of a new multiparty political sytem and free market economy. The

20

media in Poland encountered these new problems particularly in the areas of

sensationalism and privacy.

"The American model is too brutal, too aggressive. Attacks on public

persons are seen as too aggressive. They make people feel dirty. . . . The

private/public line is drawn more clearly here. . . . Everyone

knowspoliticians have lovers, but that's their private affairs. " (Holzer,

interview, December, 1991); and

"In the Polish press tradition, there are no private pursuits of public

figures. People are angered by it. But the problem is that [publishers]

discovered it sells, and try to exploit this" (Baczynski, interview,

December 1991).

At the same time, the Church also exploits its moral authority and political capital

to influence thinking about stories in which the Church has a vested interest. All the

media professionals interviewed for this study reported having some first-hand

experience with Church-initiated self-censorship. For example, the managing editor of

the English-language Warsaw Voice claimed: "The Church institutes self-censorship. The

biggest threat is that you're cut off from information and sources. Journalists write around

issues because of perceived problems or difficulties . . . we avoid these problems"

(Bartoszek, interview, December, 1991).

A reporter for the daily Gazeta Krakowska noted that "in Poland many people go

to church on Sunday and sometimes the priest will say that you can see certain journalists

don't love God. When journalists write about church problems, the bishop or others will

write and say these people are enemies of the Church. It is something like a sin. This is a

small item, but our censorship experience is self-censorship. 'The Blacks' [black-robed

priests] are severely criticized, but not publicly. It's a bigger problem outside the larger

cities like Warsaw and Krakow" (Bochenek, interview, December, 1991).

21

The quest for post-Communist models of a free press are thus grounded in the

conditions Poland alone faces. Recognition of the genuine merits of models alien to the

Polish landscape has not, to date, tempted policymakers to adopted them wholesale.

While many journalists generally agree on what they dislike in other systems, they are not

agreed on what they do like.

"We're looking for a new model . . . definitely not an American model. In a few

years, Poland's press model will be closer to the German one" (Holzer, interview,

December, 1991).

"The best press model is Germany . . . very interesting papers . . . a press for the

people. The French situation is not good for Poland" (Bochenek, interview, December,

1991).

"People are not ready to accept an American-type press. It is too distant from our

historical circumstances. . . . We'll develop slowly our own model, which will be a

combination of the French model with the Polish tradition of commentary and analyses,

and a literary form of writing" (Baczynski, interview, December, 1991).

Not surprisingly, the models now emerging from Poland have little American

influence. But little of the French or German systems are discernible either. Perhaps

nowhere is Poland's policy direction clearer--and more unique--than in its new Broadcast

Act.

V. The Politics of the New Broadcast Act

In a television interview during the Roundtable negotiations, Jerzy Urban, a much

maligned technocrat then in charge of Poland's broadcasting system and later the editor of

the tabloid, NIE, said, "There is free speech in Poland. You can say anything you want in

Poland--just not on TV" (quoted in Weschler, 1989: 70; emphasis original). In fact,

Urban announced in 1989 that the government would "resolutely defend the political

22

cohesiveness of broadcasting" (Urban, 1989; quoted in Jakubowicz, 1990b: 346).

Solidarity, in turn, demanded the establishment of independent radio and TV channels,

control of broadcast news operations, and a restructuring of the primary administrative

agency responsible for broadcasting. The Roundtable opened Poland to limited private

broadcasting: Eastern Europe's first private television station, Echo, went on the air in

Poland in February 1990 from the windowless janitor's room of a student dormitory. But

the conference concluded with the government retaining clear and substantive control

over broadcasting. Industry and policy reform would have to wait for a later date

(Mrozowski, 1990: 216-220; Jakubowicz & Jedrzejewski, 1988).

Several post-Communist governments battled over drafts of different broadcast

bills designed to open the industry to greater private ownership and to disengage the state

from primary control, but each draft failed to garner sufficient legislative support or met a

presidential veto. Between 1990 and 1992, television reform was "a hostage to three

competing power centers:" the president, the government and parliament. The

government blamed negative media coverage for its repeated political failures and

canceled programs it disliked. It fired key network executives and replaced them with

"partisan zealots" (Nagorski, 1993: 223-224).

In March 1992 then Prime Minister Olszewski appointed Robert Terentiew to

head the broadcast news division. Terentiew proceeded to totally politicize television.

He announced that "this television will certainly not be antigovernment" and that young

reporters were not to ask "aggressive" questions. He also began to "clean out the people

tied to the old establishment" (Nagorski, 1993: 223).

For the rest of 1992, Polish broadcasting was in chaos with a revolving door

employment plan for administrators and political appointees. Gradually, after a series of

embarrassing political debacles, a "consensus grew that a broader solution, not successive

firings by whatever political camp was stronger at any given moment, was needed"

23

(Nagorski, 1993: 224). In December 1992 the parliament finally passed and the president

signed a new broadcasting law (Ustawa, 1993).

The act, which took effect at the beginning of 1993, restructured the national

broadcasting board (Title 2), opened access to public broadcasting by all political parties

"in matters of public importance" (Title 4, Article 23), licensed program distribution

(Title 5), regulated the distribution of programs on cable networks (Title 6), oversaw

broadcast subscription fees (Title 7), and established broadcaster's legal responsibilities

(Title 8). At its core, the new law opened the way for licensing private stations and set

new guidelines for state broadcasting operations.

The most distinctive and remarkable element of the nation's first post-Communist

broadcasting act was its explicit religious-moral regulations of content. Conservative

parliamentarians with close ties to the Church succeeded in inserting a controversial

clause into the law which required all broadcasting and cable programming to "respect"

unspecified "Christian values." The act required, for example, that the content of all

television and radio programs must "respect religious teachings and especially the

Christian system of values" (Title 3, Article 18.2). Public broadcasting must also "respect

the Christian system of values based on the universal principles of ethics" (Title 4, Article

21.2.6). The act provided no explanatory details or definitions as to how these "Christian

values and principles" were to be applied, what qualified as "respect" or what penalties

were to be meted out for broadcasting with "disrespect."

Critics in the Polish press charged that the new act was designed not so much as to

encourage Christian morality in the media as much as to censor stinging criticism of the

Catholic clergy. In fact, the broadcast law passed parliament amid a rash of increasingly

strident TV attacks on the clergy. One of Poland's most highly rated TV programs, "Olga

Lipinska's Cabaret," for example, regularly ridiculed the Catholic clergy as "the Black

Ruling Power" in its theme song. "The Blacks" have publicly rebuked such attacks on

24

their authority and sought to limit their exposure. For many Poles, however, the key

elements of the broadcast act that were designed to limit programming which failed to

reflect "Christian values" was parliament's concession to clerical outrage and the Church's

intensive lobbying.

Regardless of the motives behind the new broadcast act, it clearly constituted a

religious-moral intervention to manage media activity and attitudes ("respect") through

policy change. The policy had the power of legal force to make all broadcast

programming conform to and support, at least indirectly, the interests of the Church.

Overall, the state retained primary control of broadcasting through licensing,

content regulation and administrative oversight. Concessions to free market demands,

however, opened the industry to private broadcast operations. At the same time, the

Church closed the industry to programming which runs contrary to its religious and moral

standards. The new broadcast act thus embodies a model of free expression that mimicks

Western models on significant issues, but that also charts its own course with policy

elements distinctive to the Polish context.

VI. Conclusion

Media scholar, Beverly James, argued in her early work on economic democracy and

restructuring the press that "the task of devising a model press for a democracy must

begin with a reconsideration of the concept of democracy itself" (James, 1981:126). The

dissolution of the socialist order has given Poland's media and policymakers a window of

opportunity to reappropriate the public sphere and to reconstruct freedom of expression

conceptually and structurally on new democratic terms.

The political and economic realities of Poland's situation, however, have limited

that opportunity considerably. From the state's print distribution monopoly to the

Church's influence over broadcasting, the media are caught is a system of contradictory

25

ends and means. In this historic transition period, journalists seem anxious to move

toward a hybrid of representative and pluralistic democracy, a combination of Social

Responsiblity and Democratic Socialist press models. The nation's difficult economic

condition, however, limit how far the media can go in approximating the Western,

private-enterprise understanding of social responsibility. At the same time, the faithful

remnant of Soviet-Leninist journalists and technocrats helps elements of the old system to

endure in the face of overwhelming conceptual and structural change. What remains to

be seen is how the reemergence of the former Communist "Social Democrats" in

October's parliamentarhy elections will shift the nature of the debate on democracy and or

change media policy away from the steps of privatization and religious-moral

responsibility taken in the new Broadcast Act.

"When you enter a new field, you need new goals and targets, and for this

reason the Polish press has oriented to the West. But we will develop our

own ways with strong influences from the West. . . . We're in an

earthquake zone now. Developments will come when we're no longer in

an earthquake zone" (Jonas, interview, December, 1991).

26

Interviews

Aleksandrowicz, P. (1991, December). [Interview with Piotr Aleksandrowicz, deputy

editor-in-chief, Rzeczpospolita, Warsaw, Poland].

Baczynski, J. (1991, December). [Interview with Jerzy Baczynski, deputy editor-in-chief,

Polityka, Warsaw, Poland].

Bartoszek, B. (1991, December). [Interview with Bartlomiej Bartoszek, managing editor,

The Warsaw Voice, Warsaw, Poland].

Bochenek, M. (1991, December). [Interview with Marcin Bochenek, reporter, Gazeta

Krakowska, Krakow, Poland].

Cwik, S. (1991, December). [Interview with Stanislaw Cwik, second editor-in-chief,

Trybuna, Warsaw, Poland].

Holzer, R. (1991, December). [Interview with Ryszard Holzer, news editor, Zycie

Warszawy, Warsaw, Poland].

Irrgang, H. (1992, January). [Interview with Harry Irrgang, news translator, The Warsaw

Voice, Warsaw, Poland].

Jonas, A. (1991, December). [Interview with Andrzej Jonas, editor-in-chief, The Warsaw

Voice, Warsaw, Poland].

Makosa-Stepkowska, B. (1992, January). [Interview with Barbara Makosa-Stepkowska,

Institute of Journalism, Warsaw University, Warsaw, Poland].

Pisarek, W. (1991, December) [Interview with Walery Pisarek, Director, Press Research

Centre, Krakow, Poland].

Skalski, E. (1991, December). [Interview with Ernest Skalski, deputy editor-in-chief,

Gazeta Wyborcza, Warsaw, Poland].

Slomkowski, Z. (1991, December). [Interview with Zygmunt Slomkowski, foreign

correspondent, Trybuna, Warsaw, Poland].

27

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