We are told that history repeats itself. And that there is nothing new under the sun. So what can the past and the present elsewhere tell us about the era of the Information Scandal 2.0 that seems to be upon us?
Let’s start with history. On August 4 1980 Bishop Desmond Tutu (as he then was) delivered a speech titled “Where I Stand” to the Pretoria Press Club. Thirty years later its sentiments are depressingly apposite to the plight of journalists and the challenging conditions in which they seem to find themselves.
I quote from it at some length: “— to be a journalist is a vocation, a calling filled with the joys of work well done and the frustrations of being often impeded in your search after the truth by those who do not want the truth to have too much scope because truth can often be a dangerous commodity — it can make or break men and women, as we very well know from recent history in the United States and our own country in those episodes conjured up by the words Watergate and Muldergate.
“Yours is a high calling because you are searchers after truth and, when you have found it, are obliged to disseminate it as far as is humanly possible without distortion or embellishment.
“It can be very costly and demanding as a vocation because the powerful are not loath to use their power to crush those who may possess truth about them which could have embarrassing or even disastrous consequences for them.
“I want to commend you as a fraternity for trying to be true to the highest ideals and traditions of your profession; when you refuse to be intimidated into conformity or into breaking confidences, even if to do so might land you in jail.”
What we had then: known as Muldergate or the Information Scandal, the Rand Daily Mail broke the news that the department of information in John Vorster’s government, under Dr Connie Mulder, used government funds to influence public opinion about apartheid through both local press (founding the Citizen newspaper) and international news outlets (purchasing the US-based Washington Star newspaper and founding To the Point magazine).
International news agencies were bribed to report favourably on the apartheid government and journalists were incarcerated for failing to reveal their sources, or for “subversive” reporting.
What we seem to have now: “brown-envelope” journalism at the Cape Argus to report favourably on then-Western Cape premier Ebrahim Rasool in his factional fight with Mcebisi Skwatsha; the reported financing of The New Age newspaper — which will apparently focus on reporting “positive” stories about South Africa — by Zuma cronies and Mittal-Kumba-ICT beneficiaries the Guptas; the incarceration and censorship contemplated in the Protection of Information Bill and media appeals tribunal; and the arrest of Sunday Times journalist Mzilikazi wa Afrika.
Another reminder of the past is the documentary film RFK in the Land of Apartheid: A Ripple of Hope, screened last week at the Bioscope in Jo’burg as part of the Encounters Documentary Film Festival. It recounts the capture of the SABC as the mouthpiece of the government of the day and the absurdities of the censorship regulations at the time of Robert Kennedy’s visit to apartheid South Africa in June 1966.
This history shows us that South Africa’s governing elites have always sought to reduce the scope of the media to report on events that placed them in an unflattering light or which might impair their support from the electorate. It also shows us why our constitutional pact prized freedom of expression and the role of the media as the public’s proxy so highly.
But events elsewhere demonstrate that ham-fisted measures will simply not work in the age of cheap technology, new media platforms, social networking and the ubiquity of the internet as a source for politically relevant information. In an era of Facebook, Skype and Twitter, the old rules just don’t work as well as they used to.
The phenomenon of mass texting campaigns is already a feature of contemporary South African politics. Hoax emails and computer hacking have already provided parts of the plot in South Africa’s political soap operas.
What happens elsewhere when governments take steps to control information?
- Ushahidi (“testimony” in Swahili), the open-source website developed to track near-real-time accounts submitted by SMS, MMS or online of post-election violence in Kenya in 2008, has since been used in Gaza, Haiti and now on the Gulf coast;
- The Green Revolution following Iran’s last election used just these sorts of technologies to alert the world to what had happened in that stolen election;
- The US Pentagon has been embarrassed twice in recent months by Wikileaks’s publication of, first, a video (titled Collateral Murder) showing US helicopter forces killing Iraqi civilians, children and two Reuters journalists and, second, tens of thousands of pages of classified documents, known as the Afghan War Diary, in simultaneous reports by the New York Times, the Guardian and Der Speigel newspapers;
- India has placed an August month-end deadline on Canadian technology firm Research in Motion to afford its government snooping access to the company’s otherwise secure and encrypted email and instant messaging services on its BlackBerry device; and
- The Icelandic Modern Media Initiative was adopted by the Icelandic Parliament last week. It is a resolution aimed at turning Iceland into a “transparency haven”, protecting investigative journalists and their sources by adopting the most far-reaching laws in favour of freedom of expression.
Clearly, the common and key questions raised by all these related developments are: What do we, the public, need to know and when do we need to know it?
But the underlying question that is far more interesting is: What information has political or social value and what is its price? Who controls it? Who should control it? And the most vexing question of all: Can it even be controlled in today’s connected world?