Self-Censorship and the Mexican Press
by Jeffrey Stoub
Former editor and reporter for the Mexico City News
-How do you see the situation, Pons?
-Ugly, but easy to take care of, for the moment.
-Well, now we push it in the paper. Hit'em hard. Don't hold anything
back.
-Whatever you say, Don Artemio.
-It's better if we get the public ready.
-We've been plugging at it for so many years.
-I want to see page one and all the editorials.
--Carlos Fuentes-The Death of Artemio Cruz
Contemporary Mexican folklore has it that the media are less
vehicles for information than tools used by those with power--
both by government officials as well as by the businessmen who
hover in their immediate proximity. Whereas in many parts of the
world, and especially in the United States, the media are feared
for being manipulative, in Mexico the media are simply
manipulated.
Carlos Fuentes writes of the life of one of these power brokers,
a life that stretches from before the 1910 revolution into the
late 1940s and early 1950s, the days of Miguel Alem n Valds,
when many feel today's organized manipulation of the media began.
Artemio Cruz is a newspaper publisher. But as Fuentes' novel
winds its way through the history of Don Artemio's quest for
money and power to his deathbed, the few times he mentions his
newspaper, he is attempting to promote another business interest,
sway political adversaries, or impress a woman he has met.
It seems that in reality, little has changed since Fuentes'
novelistic view of the press. Instead of a Don Artemio Cruz, now
there are newspaper owners such as Don R"mulo O'Farrill, Jr.,
owner and publisher of two Mexico City daily newspapers,
Novedades and The News. O'Farrill also publishes Mexico's
Spanish-language versions of Vogue and Playboy, as well as
hundreds of different 10-cent comic books, which the government
says are valuable education devices while critics say they are an
important reason why about 40 percent of Mexicans never learn to
read.
Novedades is one of about 10 major daily Spanish-language
newspapers with varying degrees of credibility, as well as
amounts of advertising money provided by the government to keep
the paper afloat. As with most Mexico City dailies, its
readership is extremely low. It has an estimated 10,000 readers
even though it claims to have more than 200,000. Only one of the
dailies, La Prensa, is thought to have an actual circulation of
more than 100,000.
The News is superficially different from the rest of the dailies
published in Mexico City. It is printed entirely in English and
its staff is composed of mainly non-Mexicans. Its editors, many
of whom have training and experience with U.S. publications, talk
about the newspaper being an "American style" publication. Begun
in the mid-1950s, The News has long been touted as "Mexico's only
English language newspaper" and, since it is published mainly for
tourists, carries the impression that since its readers are
different, its content is also different. But because of these
apparent differences, and the expectations they raise, The News
serves as a good vehicle for discussing how pervasive the control
of the media--which includes self-censorship as much as
government pressure--is in Mexico.
As a matter of full disclosure, I want to make clear my
connection to The News. From October 1991 through December 1992,
I worked first as a section editor and later as a reporter
covering issues ranging from elections to ecology and from human
rights to foreign relations. On December 24, I resigned after one
reporter was fired and the rest of us were banned from writing
anything that could be construed as politically sensitive. I
continue living in Mexico and am working as a free-lance
correspondent for several U.S.-based magazines and newsletters.
During my time at the newspaper, which spanned two separate
editorial staffs, I saw the newspaper pass through the majority
of a cycle, starting with a hands-off policy and ending with
censorship, which it has, I am told, passed through repeatedly
since its first days.
That cycle can be described very simply. The publishers of The
News hire an editor, often someone who is seeking the adventure
of living in another country, and tell that person they will have
complete control over editorial policy at the newspaper. Months,
maybe years, later, after the new editor has formed a staff and
possibly made improvements in the look and content of the
newspaper, the publishers begin to get nervous. Rumors begin to
spread about "problems" between the editor and the publishers and
the news editors receive increasing numbers of orders from the
publishers explaining what stories can and cannot be run, a
signal that control is being usurped from the editor. The editor
is then forced out, usually leaving after growing tired of the
political scheming behind his back.
The last of these cycles ended in 1988 when students at the
National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM) began a series of
protests over a proposed tuition increase, which would have
increased tuition from a cost of virtually nothing to maybe $40
per year. Thousands of students demonstrated first on campus and
later in downtown Mexico City streets, saying that the Mexican
Constitution guaranteed free education and that the government
could not violate that guarantee. Most newspapers, including The
News, covered the protests, often with banner headlines on the
front page. At some point during the coverage of this event (the
details of which may have been changed slightly in the retelling
from one News generation to the next), O'Farrill told the
newspaper's editor at the time, Pete Hamill, to "tone down
coverage" of the protests. Hamill responded that that would be
censorship and demanded to know if O'Farrill was ordering him to
cut the stories. When O'Farrill said yes, Hamill immediately
resigned. While most News people who hear the story side with
Hamill, O'Farrill (and his cohorts) repeatedly say he was simply
attempting to end what he called sensational journalism. At the
time, though, some 15 News staff members resigned in solidarity
with Hamill.
What never comes out in the stories of the incident, however, are
the real reasons why O'Farrill wanted the coverage of the student
protests squelched. Conspiracy theorists associated with The News
firmly believe that O'Farrill must have been ordered by someone
in the government (which for all practical purposes controls
UNAM) to call off coverage of the student protests. It is more
likely, however, that O'Farrill was acting to defend his self-
interests, that is, he committed an act of self-censorship in
order to avoid political or financial problems in the future.
After the 1988 incident, several editors came and went at The
News (mainly Mexicans) until Mike Zamba took over in late 1990.
He, like the other editors, was encouraged to create his version
of an American-style newspaper. (Zamba had worked for the
Christian Science Monitor and a smaller Gannett newspaper and had
strong ideas of what a paper should look and read like.) Zamba
then began hiring reporters and editors (myself included) to fill
in the holes that were left in the staff. Although the publishers
were reluctant to give the new staff proper telephones,
computers, or office space, they did allow Zamba a fair amount of
freedom, especially in extending the scope of the newspaper's
coverage from virtually only news wire stories to stories with a
local focus written by staff members.
A year-and-a-half later, the tide reversed and the publishers
made it known they were not satisfied with the result of Zamba's
changes. At one point, they told him they would not stand to
watch him create a team of reporters that would operate beyond
the reach of their authority. They obviously feared Zamba would
become another Pete Hamill.
A conflict between Zamba and O'Farrill soon arose over the types
of business stories that were going into the newspaper, both
locally-written as well as those off the wire. O'Farrill decided
that stories could not contain company names either in headlines
or prominent spots in the text. This rendered the business
section of the newspaper virtually useless. Apparently, O'Farrill
felt that any direct mention of a company represented a form of
advertising for that company. He was not about to see companies
get free advertising in the newspaper. Imagine if the Wall Street
Journal were to adopt such a policy. The entire staff complained
that this was a form of censorship and Zamba promised to sort out
the problem. But after several meetings with the publishers, all
Zamba could do was tell the staff to keep company names out of
headlines until the whole thing blew over.
Several weeks passed before the situation exploded anew. The
newspaper's "Section B" (the arts and entertainment section) ran
a cover story about the anniversary of Yves Saint Laurent
perfume, mainly because there were a number of wire stories
featuring the company. The same day, the publishers began an
investigation into the section editor, saying she must pay the
price for three full-page advertisements (the amount of space the
article took up). The investigation was an effort to learn
whether or not she had accepted money to print the article. While
this seems a strange leap, the practice of accepting money for
articles is standard in The News' sister paper, Novedades, as
well as in other daily newspapers. In fact, reporters will often
approach companies with the suggestion of writing a profile if
the compensation will be high enough. The News, at least under
Zamba, maintained a strict policy of not participating in this
practice and would not allow any reporters to accept money for
any article.
Meanwhile, another publisher-influenced change was creeping into
the newspaper's editorial policies. All newspapers in Mexico City
accept what are known as gacetillas, pre-written advertisements
that are paid to appear as news stories. Some newspapers, like
the daily La Jornada, print the gacetillas with different
headlines (in this case, the headline appears in italics) to
distinguish authentic news from paid news. Many of these
gacetillas are paid for by government offices or large companies
and newspapers find they cannot survive without this form of
revenue. Most companies don't bother to advertise in newspapers
because they have so few readers. Moreover, the government has
found gacetillas to be an effective form of maintaining control
over newspapers: if they don't like a newspaper's editorial
policy, they can simply threaten to stop sending gacetillas.
The News had attempted to keep all gacetillas from running in the
news hole, that is, to draw a firm line between news and
advertising. This was usually done by putting the word
"advertisement" or "special advertising feature" above the
gacetilla and then drawing a box around the entire advertisement.
But when advertisers decided this practice didn't lend enough
legitimacy to their advertisements, the publishers demanded that
certain gacetillas run within the news section bearing a byline
reading "The News Staff." In one instance, a gacetilla ran on the
front page.
Zamba resigned from the newspaper soon after these incidents,
saying that he could not work for a company that wanted an
American-style newspaper but refused to practice American-style
journalistic ethics. This time, however, no one from the staff
walked off the job as a show of support. The News was left with a
Peruvian "executive coordinator" named Fernando Bambarn who was
to take over editorial operations in lieu of an editor. He was
supposedly trained in newspaper management but had worked mainly
in hotel management before being hired to reorganize The News.
Once again, the process of building up the newspaper began. About
10 new reporters and editors were hired (the turnover rate is
extremely high, with many people staying for only six months),
new telephones installed, and the entire office was remodeled.
Bambarn also promised that the publishers had no policies of
censorship and would not interfere in the operations of The News.
Skeptical staff members pointed out ongoing incidents of
important stories, such as the shooting deaths of several
opposition party militants in Michoac n, being moved off the
front page, even though other newspapers ran the stories
prominently. Bambarn replied that he was trying to run a "family
newspaper," and that certain stories belonged off the front page,
apparently to shield children from bad news. (A recent survey,
however, had determined that the vast majority of The News'
readers were over 50, retired, and had no children living with
them in Mexico.)
A gradual buildup of these seemingly minor incidents of
censorship happened over the next few months, so gradually that
no one incident seemed worth resigning over. Instead, staff
members wrote letters to the publishers and attempted to force
some changes with Bambarn. In the meantime, most reporters were
traveling to various parts of Mexico and the United States to
cover stories that were at least being printed in the newspaper.
Trouble began after two state elections on July 12, which I and
another staff reporter covered. While the Chihuahua election was
won by an opposition candidate and there was little opposition to
the outcome, in Michoac n, Party of the Democratic Revolution
(PRD) members cried vote fraud when an Institutional
Revolutionary Party (PRI) candidate won. During the following
weeks, protests escalated and opposition supporters took over the
governor's offices as well as the entire center of the state
capital. Continuing protests eventually led to the new governor's
resignation. During those three or four months, I wrote numerous
stories about the political ramifications of the protests as well
as news stories about deaths and fighting that resulted from the
conflict. None of my stories were cut but the publishers had
informed Bambarn that they thought the coverage was biased in
favor of the PRD. At one point, O'Farrill allegedly called The
News a "PRD rag" and wanted fewer political and human rights
stories.
November came with another round of state elections involving
fierce opposition from the PRD as well as from the National
Action Party (PAN). This time, The News focused on the Puebla
election for governor (I was to cover a slightly less
controversial election in Tamaulipas). In Puebla, the PRI's
candidate, Manuel Bartlett D!az, was guaranteed victory, mainly
because he was a former Secretary of Government (the most
powerful position after the president) and had full backing from
his party. One reporter, however, had obtained a confidential
document from the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) that listed
names of people being investigated for connections to drug
trafficking operations in Mexico. Bartlett Diaz's name was on the
list. The document proved nothing but that the U.S. government
was looking at Bartlett D!az as one person who might have been
involved in the kidnap and murder of Enrique Camarena, the DEA
agent who was tortured in 1985, apparently by Mexican drug lords.
The Mexican government had known about the document for several
years, and Proceso, a news weekly that does not accept paid
political advertising, had printed an article two years prior
about the document.
Nevertheless, Zachary Margulis decided that with Bartlett D!az's
running for governor, it was an opportunity to dig a little
deeper into Bartlett D!az's drug running connections. He managed
to talk with several people in Puebla who were more than willing
to discuss rumors of Bartlett D!az's alleged notoriety. PRI
officials, on the other hand, were reluctant to discuss the
matter. Margulis' article was to appear several days before
election day but virtually all references to drug trafficking
were excised from the story, leaving only a brief election day
preview. Margulis, who was staying in a hotel in Puebla, saw the
chopped-up article (the newspaper is sold in major cities across
the country) and complained to Bambarn. He was told that the
newspaper's political coverage had been deemed one-sided (against
the PRI) and that he would not be writing any more articles about
the elections.
While in Ciudad Victoria, Tamaulipas, I heard about the
censorship and that Margulis had gone back to Mexico City since
he had no work left to do there. While my article continued to
run in the newspaper, I was told to avoid writing about
opposition protests, especially regarding vote fraud. I managed
to write a few more articles about the conflicts before returning
to Mexico City, although I was not allowed to travel to Matamoros
where fighting had erupted between parties and a dozen opposition
members had been arrested. Bambarn told me there was no money
for extra travel.
Upset about the censorship, I talked with Mariana Pr!a, head of
the PRI's international press office who happened to be in
Tamaulipas answering questions for the foreign correspondents
covering those elections. I told her of the situation and she
seemed concerned about what happened, agreeing that such
censorship is unacceptable. The next day, apparently after
talking to other party officials, Pr!a told me that Bartlett D!az
had in fact called her office asking what to do about the
articles The News had published hinting he might be involved in
drug trafficking, knowing that Margulis intended to write about
the DEA document. Pr!a said Bartlett D!az wanted to call
O'Farrill to prevent the article from appearing, but that she
told him not to get involved as that might cause more problems.
Pr!a, however, would not confirm whether or not Bartlett D!az had
ignored her recommendation and would only say that party
officials had nothing to do with The News' decision not to
publish the article. She also noted the well-known friendship
between Bartlett D!az and O'Farrill as well as the fact that
O'Farrill operates numerous businesses in Puebla.
On November 23, Newsweek ran an article about the censorship at
The News in its international edition, noting specifically the
connections between O'Farrill and Bartlett D!az, as well as the
possibility that Bartlett D!az was involved, or at least
condoned, drug trafficking operations during his time as
Secretary of Government. The article specifically mentioned
Zachary Margulis as the reporter affected by the censorship.
Immediately following the article's publication. O'Farrill,
through Bambarn, put a stop to all stories that mentioned
opposition parties. Politically-related articles of any type were
also to be closely scrutinized before publication by O'Farrill's
son, who was appointed to supervise operations at The News. The
biggest story that week in Mexico was about the "terrorist"
opposition supporters who had, according to government reports,
burned stores, beat up PRI members, and fled to the United
States. The News ran one story, which was taken from a wire
service, about how Tamaulipas police sought the arrest of 12 PRD
supporters.
After several meetings among reporters, the staff decided to seek
ways to protest the publishers' actions, starting with removing
bylines from all stories. The protest failed soon after, however,
in part because of lack of support from some staff members and a
new policy that docked a day's pay if the reporter did not
publish a bylined story on any given day. At that point, many of
the reporters, including myself, had decided to resign from the
newspaper.
The Newsweek article prompted additional articles in Mexican
publications such as the Monterrey-based El Norte as well as
numerous wire stories about the censorship and the lack of press
freedom in Mexico in general, all of which served only to anger
O'Farrill even more. Bambarn, at one point, walked into his
office visibly upset and yelled at Margulis for 15 minutes,
telling him that, "We must wash our dirty laundry in our own
house." Other reporters had been interviewed by wire
correspondents and gone on the record about problems within the
newspaper.
But when Margulis published an op-ed piece in the New York Times
on November 28, O'Farrill couldn't stand it anymore. Margulis was
fired the next day and given his legally mandated severance pay.
After a final meeting with Bambarn, Margulis was escorted out of
the building by security guards and told he would not be allowed
inside again. Margulis' editorial, at least as far as the events
at The News were concerned, was simple and direct. "Three days
before the Puebla election, I submitted the piece (about Bartlett
D!az) to my editors. The next day, I got a call from management:
not only would the article not run, but I was not to write about
Mr. Bartlett again. The order, I was told, came directly from the
publisher...We were told not to write controversial stories:
anything with the slightest criticism of the Government will be
killed. When we object, we are told: `It's the guy's newspaper,'"
Margulis wrote in the New York Times.
But Margulis' firing prompted even stronger reactions, which
O'Farrill had hoped to avoid. More wire stories and a major piece
planned in Proceso prompted Mexico's President Carlos Salinas de
Gortari to call Margulis in for an informal chat. Margulis said
later that Salinas had expressed concern that the accusations he
had attempted to make were unfounded and that problems in
Bartlett D!az's past had been exaggerated. Salinas ended the
discussion, according to Margulis, by saying Margulis had no
reason to fear for his life and was welcome to stay in Mexico as
long as he wanted. Margulis' editorial had also discussed the
recent murder of a journalist in Mexico City after the journalist
had led a protest against Salinas, demanding an investigation
into beatings and threats against journalists in Quintana Roo and
Yucat n.
The events at The News illustrate a sad reality of how
censorship, and especially self-censorship, is practiced at
newspapers in Mexico. It is not, as many people think, always a
dramatic order from some government office bent on stopping
freedom of expression. In fact, most government offices make it a
habit of saying the exact opposite. No less than 12 people have
resigned from The News since Margulis was fired, but none of them
will say the governor was the reason they quit. More likely, they
will blame R"mulo O'Farrill for making poor decisions and running
a generally corrupt newspaper.
Margulis' op-ed piece generated another response, besides those
of Salinas and O'Farrill, that explains this even better. On
December 21, Manuel Alonso, then Mexico's Consul General in New
York City, wrote a letter to the editor of the New York Times. In
it he attempted to separate the problems at The News from the
perceived problem of the lack of press freedom in Mexico. He
spoke directly to the issue of Ignacio Mendoza Castillo, the
journalist murdered in Mexico City. "Mr. Margulis mixed his
account of the murder with a conflict he had with his editors.
The circumstances are a private matter that concerns The News and
Mr. Margulis. The Presidency of Mexico has exercised no pressure
on The News or on Mr. Margulis to prevent publication of any
article or to modify its content," Alonso wrote to the New York
Times.
Alonso is probably right and Margulis likely complicated the real
issue of censorship by attempting to illustrate the problem with
the murder of Mendoza. Alonso points to a report written by the
Inter-American Press Association, which formed a special
committee to investigate Mendoza's murder, that found information
suggesting the self-employed editor's murder grew out of a
corrupt loan shark operation he ran. Mexican police have backed
this theory, although an official report has never been released.
In the Wall Street Journal, December 4, Alejandro Junco,
publisher of El Norte and President of the Press Association,
said his organization found that "it appears the murder had
nothing to do with journalism."
But whether or not Mendoza was killed for his work as a
journalist does not change the fact that the government maintains
control over the media and shows no real signs of letting go.
Junco acknowledges this in introducing the findings of the Inter-
American Press Association's (IAPA) investigations into the
Mendoza case. "What the IAPA mission discovered was a hazy world
of government-press interaction and intimidation that must change
if Mexican journalism is to rise to the objective standards
expected in a modern society," Junco wrote in the Wall Street
Journal article.
It seems that whenever the subject of press freedom in Mexico is
discussed, the first subject mentioned is human rights and,
specifically, the tortures and murders that do indeed happen in
Mexico. But as the events at The News show, censorship of the
media takes many forms but is even more insidious when carried
out without violence and instead infiltrates the business of
printing or broadcasting the news.
A 1992 report by the Canadian Committee to Protect Journalists
(CCPJ) entitled "The Press and the Perfect Dictatorship" examines
several important areas regarding press freedom in Mexico. But
its author, Ellen Saenger, chooses to stress murders of
journalists and other human rights violations above all else. The
first recommendation she makes to the CCPJ is to "urge Mexican
authorities to conclude investigations into the case of murdered
journalists as quickly as possible and that those responsible be
brought to justice according to Mexican law." But Saenger finds
no conclusive evidence to connect the murders of 54 journalists
between 1982 and 1991 to government repression. On the other
hand, Saenger does point out several important problems with the
government-media relation that tell much about how censorship
continues to be such a deeply-rooted media controlling mechanism.
The government-run paper company, PIPSA, was for years the sole
supplier of newsprint and as such could stop supply to unfriendly
newspapers. Recently, the government allowed other paper
companies to join the market but PIPSA continues to be the only
reliable and economical option. The government also controls the
country's newspaper distribution system through PRI-affiliated
unions. The Proceso issue containing the Margulis interview and
other stories about Bartlett Diaz never arrived at newsstands in
Puebla.
Televisa, the television monopoly, has at least 90 percent of all
viewers, leaving independent stations hardly surviving. While the
government often points to the fact that Televisa was privatized
years ago, the relationships between some of Mexico's wealthiest
families who own Televisa and government officials are well-
known. O'Farrill, who at one time held a controlling interest in
Televisa, has often been criticized for his business relations
with government officials.
Ninety percent of Mexican journalists receive much of their wages
from bribes, often called supplementary income. Saenger writes,
"For example, a business reporter will receive an `envelope' from
the finance ministry, the agriculture reporter from the
agricultural ministry. If a reporter becomes too critical, the
amount of money in the envelope may be reduced or dwindle to
nothing."
While no single one of these well-known media control practices
would be sufficient, they add up to an extremely efficient
government tool to get what they want published and keep the rest
out of the public's eyes and ears.
The end of 1992, however, brought several changes that may or may
not be significant, depending on how well they are carried out.
Alonso alluded to many of these in his response to Margulis. He
noted that the Presidency has already stopped paying for
journalists to accompany the president on international trips
(although the practice hasn't stopped on domestic tours). He also
applauded the National Commission for Human Rights (CNDH) for
taking on 55 cases of alleged offenses against journalists, on
which it has issued recommendations in 39 of the cases. Regard-
ing bribes given to journalists, he said the government is
instituting a new policy of reviewing press and public relations
budgets of government agencies. "Our government's policy is to
protect freedom of expression and to improve the practice of
independent journalism," Alonso wrote.
Alonso's final statement regarding bribes has recently become a
big issue in Mexico. Front page stories in all major newspapers
have decried the paperwork nightmare that Hacienda (Mexico's
equivalent to the IRS) will create by forcing journalists to
register all money received in addition to their salaries. A
recent cartoon in La Jornada depicted a journalist sitting in an
interview unable to take notes because she is still filling out
the tax documents for the bribe the government official speaking
just gave her.
But the new tax measure is in no way intended to stop bribe
giving and taking. According to one government official, it is
merely intended to make the exchange more "transparent," a word
used often in Mexican politics suggesting that officials are
suddenly willing to write any bad deeds they commit on a piece of
paper for everyone to see. "The important measure that is
included in this change is to make transparent whatever payment
made or quantity received between a journalist and a public
office...This is not an attempt to punish journalists for
receiving, for any reason, a payment from a public office," said
Jos Carre$o Carlon, director of public relations for the
President's Office, in an interview with La Jornada.
President Salinas has made much of freedom of the press, often
making references to Mexico's commitment to free speech during
discussions of the North American Free Trade Agreement. Some of
his new measures may alter the relationship between the media and
the government. But a significant change in favor of the freedom
of expression will not come until the owners of Mexico's media,
as well as their friends, decide to free themselves from the
sticky relationships that oblige them to constantly rethink what
to publish or not publish. If all publishers and broadcast
directors continue to play Artemio Cruz and refuse to detach
themselves from editorial decisions, the news will continue to be
secondary to business deals and back scratching amongst the elite
classes.