The Media in Venezuela and Bolivia

Media Concentration, Propaganda, and The Right to Information

In much of Latin America it is not unusual for two or three families or conglomerates to have a monopoly on a country’s media outlets (Becerra and Mastrini, 2009; Fox and Waisbord, 2002). Venezuela had four main private national networks throughout the period 2002–2009 (RCTV, Venevisión, Televen, and Globovisión). There are also more than 25 regional private stations and a similar number of community stations, run by local nongovernmental organizations and community organizations. National state television includes Venezolana de Televisión, TVes, ViVe, and TV Asamblea, which broadcasts from the National Assembly. While the number of state channels has grown from one in 2000 to six in 2010, the audience share has remained low. Contrary to common (and generally unchallenged) statements by observers that Chávez controls Venezuela’s television stations, state channels enjoyed only a 5.4 percent audience share as of 2010, whereas over 94 percent of the television content seen by Venezuelans is controlled by private interests who are not friendly to the government (Weisbrot and Ruttenberg, 2010). An impressive 86 percent of the audience share is captured by the four main private national networks (Becerra and Mastrini, 2009). The print media are dominated by four major papers, El Nacional, El Universal, Meridiano, and Últimas Noticias, which together control 86 percent of the circulation (Becerra and Mastrini, 2009). While these do not reach as many people as the television stations, they play an important role in agenda setting (Cañizález and Lugo, 2008). Media outlets are dominated by large conglomerates. Grupo Cisneros, which owns Venevisión, is also affiliated with Venezuela’s largest network of radio stations (Circuito FM Center), while Empresas 1BC controls RCTV as well as a significant network of private radio stations. The corporations that own these private media outlets also have interests in other sectors, particularly oil and mining (Mayobre, 2002).

In Bolivia, major television networks and newspapers are owned by the country’s wealthiest families, who have strong connections with the traditional political parties (Villanueva, 2008). The five main private channels (Unitel, ATB, PAT, Bolivisión, and Red Uno) capture over 70 percent of the audience share. The remainder is made up of smaller local stations and Bolivia TV, the state-owned network. Print media concentration is also high, with the major newspapers (El Deber, La Razón, Los Tiempos, La Prensa, and El Diario) controlling about 64 percent of circulation nationwide (Becerra and Mastrini, 2009). Most of the country’s major networks and newspapers have ties to one of the neoliberal political parties that has governed Bolivia since the mid-twentieth century (Apaza, 2008; Estructura Bolivia, 2006). Unitel, Bolivia’s most important network in terms of audience share, belongs to the Monasterios family, which is affiliated with the Movimiento Nacionalista Revolucionario (Revolutionary Nationalist Movement—MNR), which governed Bolivia for much of the latter half of the twentieth century. The family also owns considerable landholdings in Santa Cruz, the bastion of right-wing opposition to the Morales government. The Rivero family (Grupo Líder), which owns El Deber, also has interests in PAT, Los Tiempos, La Prensa, and a number of radio stations and connections with all three of the traditional parties, the MNR, the Movimiento de la Izquierda Revolucionaria (Revolutionary Left Movement—MIR), and the Acción Democrática Nacionalista (Nationalist Democratic Action—ADN) (Apaza, 2008). The Daher family owns—among other things—Red PAT, the national airline, and 280,000 hectares of land in eastern Bolivia. It is also affiliated with the Grupo Líder. The family, based in Santa Cruz, has close ties with Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada, the former neoliberal president best known for his “shock therapy” policies (Apaza, 2008). The Spanish conglomerate Grupo Prisa controls La Razón as well as the ATB television network. While most of these conglomerates also control radio stations, it must be noted that Bolivia also has a wide network of community radio stations, although little information is available about audience share.

Scholars agree that access to diverse sources of information is one of the conditions that capture the essence of modern democracy (Dahl, 1982; Schmitter and Karl, 1991). Liberal models of democracy tend to interpret the right to information as freedom of the (privately owned) media to disseminate information according to market principles (Asante, 1997; Gunaratne, 2002). In the 1970s and 1980s, Latin American theorists affiliated with the New World Information and Communication Order (NWICO) movement observed that control of the “instruments of information” was monopolized by one social sector: the powerful private financial and economic interests that dominate the transnational power structure (Reyes Matta, 1981; Somavía, 1981a). They argued that despite a plurality of sources, there is uniformity in terms of the messages these sources produce. This social monopoly leads to an authoritarian communications structure dominated by “private censorship” and resulting in the silencing of the voices of the majority of Latin Americans (Somavía, 1981a).

Scholars have continued to criticize the liberal model as one in which the press has unlimited rights but no responsibilities toward society. Following Somavía and Reyes Matta, who viewed information as a social good and not as a commodity, these scholars argue in favor of a collective societal right of citizens to produce and access diverse sources of information and perspectives that they need in order to participate in a democracy (Curran, 2000; Gunaratne, 2002; Hughes, 2006; 2012; Lawson, 2002; McChesney, 1999; McQuail, 1992; Norris, 2010). This collective “right to be informed” or right to “information pluralism” challenges the traditional liberal interpretation of freedom of the media through the argument that information dissemination can be threatened by both state and private interests. As McChesney (1999) argues, freedom of speech is too often equated uniquely with freedom of the commercial media, yet the latter are dominated by a small elite with the resources to filter the flow of information, conferring special privileges on some citizens who can dominate public debate. Even when those who control the media are in disagreement over particular issues, views that challenge “fundamental premises” or existing power relations will be excluded (Herman and Chomsky, 1988).

Ensuring that the news reflects the worldview of media owners involves the use of specific frames. Media frames are “persistent patterns of cognition, interpretation, and presentation, of selection, emphasis, and exclusion” by which meaning-makers routinely organize discourse. Frames, largely unspoken and unacknowledged, organize the world both for journalists and for audiences (Gitlin, 1980: 7). Framing is often used strategically to reproduce a view of reality supportive of existing social and economic class power (Parenti, 1986). Herman and Chomsky’s (1988) conceptual framework helps us to understand why certain frames are chosen to present information to the public and others are rejected. For them, the media are at the center of a propaganda model in which news must pass through a series of filters before it is delivered to the public. These filters ensure that the media act as gatekeepers of information so that the stories chosen and the framing of stories deemed “newsworthy” will meet the test of “serviceability” to important power interests (1988: 35).

Frames are thus selected in such a way as to positively construct groups representing the established order and negatively construct challengers by developing a narrative that induces hostility toward the aspirations and activities of marginalized groups (Entman, 1992; Parenti, 1986). Actors and their demands are thus divided into legitimate and illegitimate categories (Meneses, 2008). Coverage portrays movements that seek social change as irrational protests against established order, to be feared and eliminated (Campbell et al., 2004). This falls within a well-established tradition in the literature that links the mobilization of the lower classes with authoritarianism and argues that “the masses” blindly support populist leaders without engaging in rational deliberation over their own interests (Germani, 1978). These frames exclude alternative interpretations that have evolved in more recent studies suggesting that these movements are not devoid of ideological content and that supporters are in fact rational actors (Ellner, 1999; James, 2000). Race is a factor as well; nonwhites who seek to defy the status quo are constructed as particularly dangerous (Campbell et al., 2004; Duno, 2004; 2011; Fernandes, 2011; Hernández, 2004).

Techniques used to generate and reproduce the frames favorable to the international power structure include limiting news selection criteria, the use of labels to stigmatize those who challenge the status quo (e.g., terrorists, thugs), and distortion of information so as to focus attention on some events rather than others (Cáceres-Péfaur, 2005; Somavía, 1981b). Another technique used by the media involves “sourcing,” determining from which individuals and organizations to collect information. The power relationship inherent in sourcing tends to manifest itself through the role of “experts” who echo the view of dominant forces they represent or are subservient to. Often funded by powerful interests, these “experts” come to dominate media space, and their opinions are given precedence over the voices of those who would challenge the hegemonic discourse (Herman and Chomsky, 1988).

The Media and Stereotypes of “Bad Left” Supporters

While much attention has been paid to the ideological offensive leveled by the media at the “bad left” leaders themselves, there has been less focus on the framing and negative construction of rank-and-file supporters as a strategy for delegitimizing democratically elected governments from below. Chávez was elected three times (in 1998, 2000, and 2006), with international observers concluding the elections were fair, transparent, and without serious irregularities (Carter Center, 2006). Morales was elected in 2005 and again in 2009 in a process described by foreign observers as transparent, efficient, and neutral (EUEOM, 2009). It is difficult, then, for opposition forces to claim that the elections in these countries are anything but free and fair. Unable to disparage the representative institutions they claim to defend, critics must find another line of attack.

Fueled by a mistrust of and contempt for the supporters of these movements and a suspicion of the increased participation in decision making that was once reserved for the elite, the media attacks take their cue from some of the writers associated with the two-lefts thesis. These attacks are often couched in language that claims to seek to protect democracy against the encroachments of these leaders and their followers. Chávez supporters, for example, are not guided by rational self-interest but are linked to the president by “emotional and affective ties that verge on magical-religious” control (Petkoff, 2005: 124). Chávez’s policies are depicted as having few positive outcomes for the poor, and that they continue to support him anyway is seen as suggesting that they are irrational and uncritical (Castañeda, 2006). Supporters of Morales are described as having low levels of education and being poorly informed, which leads to political support based on “emotional reactions rather than rational reflection” (Laserna, 2011: 38). Arguments used to support the latter point include the assertion that Bolivian voters were uninformed about the 2009 Constitution and therefore did not understand what they were voting to approve. Such a position appears to suggest that Bolivian voters, duped by the “bad left” Movimiento al Socialismo (Movement toward Socialism—MAS) government, are somehow less well-informed than voters elsewhere (though one may ask how well-informed citizens of other countries are about their own constitutions). ¹

This section will consider various examples of the way representations are constructed to discredit the “bad left” from below. These examples include a number of cases selected from the qualitative literature, although these will be reexamined within the theoretical framework presented here. In order to expand the study, original searches were conducted around several key events or institutions that have received media attention since the election of the “bad left” governments in Venezuela and Bolivia. For Venezuela, searches focused on the 2002 coup attempt, the 2006 and 2012 presidential elections, the 2009 referendum, and the Bolivarian Circles. For Bolivia, searches looked at the 2005 and 2009 elections, the 2009 constitutional referendum, and the concept of indigenous justice. Searching also included terms such as “Chavista” and “Masista” to examine the framing of references to these groups, particularly when associated with the events mentioned above. Searches were conducted using the web sites of the newspapers with the largest circulation for each country, El Nacional and El Universal for Venezuela and El Deber, Los Tiempos, and La Razón for Bolivia. These were selected because of their wide circulation, links to other domestic media sources, and relative ease of access to their online archives. While television archives are more difficult to access, Internet searches were also conducted to uncover the position of private television stations surrounding these events. Examples from these searches are combined with cases drawn from the literature to paint a picture of the types of frames used by the private media to delegitimize “bad left” supporters. While this is not a quantitative content analysis, every effort has been made to select examples that demonstrate prevalent forms of coverage.

A number of studies have analyzed the role of the media during the 2002 attempted coup against Chávez (Cañizález and Lugo, 2008; Castillo, 2003; Duno, 2004; Hernández, 2004). The thrust of most mainstream media reports constructed two distinct groupings: the rational, organized political subjects who supported the “civic” opposition on the one hand and the dangerous masses of Chávez supporters on the other. These messages “reinforced a social imaginary that sought to legitimize certain subjects and disqualify others” (Duno, 2004). An often-cited editorial in El Nacional (2001) is typical of the message put forward by the print and broadcast media. It dismisses these individuals as “the same lumpen as always, brought in from the interior of the country” and “willing to sell themselves for a lump of bread and a bottle of rum.”

The popular classes, from which Chávez’s supporters were seen to be drawn, were generally depicted as irrational, dangerous, and simpleminded. Print and broadcast media routinely used labels such as “riffraff (malandraje),” “marginals,” and “hordes” to describe them (Hernández, 2004). Another editorial in El Nacional went so far as to suggest that violence would have to be used to “silence the poor” and restore stability. The four main television stations in Venezuela in 2002 have been described as acting as a bloc and promoting a single message (Cáceres-Péfaur, 2005; Castillo, 2003). This included attaching derogatory labels to Chávez supporters and selective sourcing through televising interviews with opposition “experts” and focusing on activities of members of the opposition parties. The thousands of people who marched through Caracas in support of the elected government and the constitution were dismissed as irrational thugs, with mainstream media outlets using terms such as “lowlifes,” “satanic,” and “talibanes” (Castillo, 2003). In a further attempt to associate pro-government forces with violence, the private television networks aired images of gunmen identified by announcers as “Chávez supporters” firing from the Llaguno Bridge in Caracas, supposedly at peaceful demonstrators in the street below. The networks attributed a number of deaths of opposition supporters to these gunmen, yet strong evidence was later presented that this incident involved a manipulation of the scene by a Venevisión journalist. This evidence suggests that the “peaceful opposition demonstrators” had not in fact passed under the bridge at all and that the “Chavistas” on the bridge were firing at armed officers supporting the coup (Bartley and Ó Briain, 2003; Palacios, 2004).

Furthermore, the media used not-so-subtle imagery and language to depict Chávez supporters as nonwhite, a characterization that seems intended to render them less legitimate. Cartoons in major publications, for example, used images to suggest that the Chavista mobs were dark-skinned, as opposed to “decent,” lighter-skinned “civil society.” Similarly, major Caracas television stations repeatedly returned to the same image of an Afro-Venezuelan (assumed to be a Chávez supporter) angrily shouting slogans, which, along with the accompanying commentary, was clearly intended to suggest violence and impulsive behavior (Duno, 2004; 2011). Those who have studied the media portrayal of events point out the clear contrast made in terms of language and imagery between dark-skinned “thugs” (Chávez supporters) and light-skinned citizens, depicted as rational, educated, and having “values” (Cáceres-Péfaur, 2005).

The racism in the Venezuelan media has continued well beyond the events of 2002. Both national and foreign observers have noted the frequent use of racial slurs such as “monkey,” “thick-lipped,” and “chimpanzee” to attack the president and other dark-skinned government officials (Herrera Salas, 2006). Globovisión has been denounced by groups representing Afro-Venezuelans on numerous occasions for racist content (Jóvenes Afrovenezolanos, 2011). As one commentator pointed out, many Venezuelans share the physical features being denigrated by these types of remarks. Such comments are therefore insulting to a large segment of the population, particularly the lower strata (Herrera Salas, 2006: 109).

The media have also expressed contempt for participatory democracy initiatives such as the Bolivarian Circles. ² Some commentators compare the Bolivarian Circles to the revolutionary defense committees in Cuba and the Soviet Union but hint that the Chavistas are somehow more primitive and lack the structure of these groups (El Universal, 2002b; 2007a). El Universal (2002a; 2002b; 2007b) has used selective sourcing to give voice to a number of “experts,” all with fairly similar opinions intended to frighten readers by comparing the Chavista groups to “threatening” institutions from other parts of the world while at the same time depicting them as somehow inferior to these examples. Articles have compared Chávez supporters to some of the most violent and infamous movements of the twentieth century. One commentator claims that they bear some resemblance to Italian fascist groups or Nazis yet suggests that they ultimately lack the sophistication of the latter groups and in fact most closely resemble François Duvalier’s Tontons Macoutes, known for vicious murder and mutilation. This “riffraff” lacks the “elegant sartorial uniformity” of the Italian fascists and the discipline of the Nazis, being simply brutish thugs (El Universal, 2002a). Still other media commentators compare the Bolivarian Circles to some of the most vicious militia groups in history (El Universal, 2002b):

In France, during the so-called Reign of Terror, committees of public safety were created. In the former Soviet Union similar institutions were also created. The same happened in Cambodia, where people’s courts were established in the 1970s and 1980s under the Khmer Rouge regime. In Zimbabwe, President Robert Mugabe has instigated popular groups to act against people who do not share the president’s thinking.

The fact that Chávez has been reelected more than once has been framed as a result of his followers’ lack of understanding. The same “experts” frequently reappear in the country’s private media, suggesting that voters do not really know what they are voting for. Writing shortly after the 2006 presidential election, one frequently cited “expert” ³ insisted that Chávez supporters voted not for twenty-first-century socialism, because they could not understand what this meant in any case, but for Chávez himself. Unable to understand the government’s political program, they were duped by simpleminded rhetoric. Supporters of the government were nothing more than a “theatrical fiction” whose only purpose was “to applaud” (El Universal, 2007a). Another “expert” argued that those who voted for Chávez did so not because they believed in good government but because they “wanted a dictatorship,” which the commentator considered a national disgrace (El Universal, 2007b). While there is evidence that, for example, black and indigenous Venezuelans have experienced positive changes under the Chávez administration (Ellner, 2010; Herrera Salas, 2006), media accounts such as those discussed above fail to mention these changes. Recent empirical work suggests that for many Venezuelan voters it is the perceived performance of the government that determines their choices rather than the “uncritical messianism so often reported in the press” (Smilde, 2011: 11)

Days before the 2009 referendum to approve proposed changes to the constitution put forward by the government, El Nacional (2009) depicted a sharp contrast between Chávez supporters and opponents. Reporting on a nonpolitical event (the lynching of a suspected pedophile), the newspaper attributes this kind of behavior to Chavistas: “These acts are the direct result of the preaching of hatred, expressed in a policy rooted in the resentment and revenge of the mediocre.” No evidence was presented that the lynching was in any way politically motivated or that only Chavistas participated. The piece went on to declare that in the 10 years since Chávez came to power, many Venezuelans (understood to be Chávez supporters) had become “wild beasts, hard-core fanatics, and paranoid.” The article made a very clear distinction between two classes of Venezuelans, those who served the current government, described as “social malcontents, the wretched (intellectually and politically), the worst students,” and the “civil opposition,” whose members were “victims of a permanent siege.” The article further delegitimized Chavistas by referring to government opponents as “we, the citizens,” implying that supporters were not citizens.

The same frames continued to be deployed in the most recent presidential campaign. In another El Nacional (2012) editorial, supporters of the government are framed as “squadrons of Bolivarian thugs who once again resort to their old fascist tactics” against supporters of opposition presidential candidate Henrique Capriles. In the same article, government supporters are described as “the lumpen that makes up the base of Chavismo in the barrios.” In contrast, the editorial insists that “supporters of the opposition are made up of peaceful, honest, hardworking people and mothers, both professional women and housewives. These people don’t want to hurt anybody, they are not thugs. They represent a different Venezuela, one that wishes not to cultivate hate but to seek opportunities.”

The media in Bolivia have a history, predating the election of Morales, of constructing those involved in social resistance movements as dangerous. One of the most infamous recent examples took place during the so-called gas war of 2003. ⁴ The broadcast media chose to focus on the “disruptive” activities of the (mostly indigenous) protesters, refusing to televise the neoliberal government repression that left 63 protesters dead—an omission that has severely diminished the legitimacy of the media in the eyes of the public (Gómez Vella, 2006). Since the election of the MAS, however, the media have tended to frame supporters of this party (generally considered to be indigenous) as less legitimate than other actors (Meneses, 2008).

Following Morales’s victory in 2005, the staunchly anti-MAS Unitel (Bolivia’s largest television network) reported that while the MAS won with over 60 percent of the vote, “democracy lost” (Richards, 2009). The network did not contest the legality of the election; rather, the message appeared to be that those who cast their votes for the MAS were simply not worthy of making decisions about who should govern their country. The use of labels to identify government supporters is an essential part of framing in the Bolivian media. Election victories are attributed not to the will of Bolivian voters but to “the masses” and “the rural vote” (El Deber, 2005; 2006; La Razón, 2009; Los Tiempos, 2009). The use of these labels to identify MAS supporters, usually coupled with terms such as “manipulation,” seeks to contrast them with urban, educated citizens who supposedly do not vote for the party.

As in Venezuela, the media have continued to promote a hegemonic “correct” vision of what democracy should look like and have accordingly denounced the various participatory initiatives instigated by the MAS government, as well as efforts to recognize indigenous models of law and governance. This relentless ideological attack was evident during and following the adoption of the new constitution, which recognizes the “plurinational” character of Bolivia, and again revolved around portraying MAS supporters as dangerous and illiberal. Labels and distortion were again used to argue that the government had duped “the masses” through “media campaigns that disseminate powerful seductive messages to promote mobilization of supporters, intimidation, and unrest”; in this way “the forces of Neo-Communism came to power in elections conducted under rules of representative democracy” (Los Tiempos, 2009, and reprinted in El Deber).

Prominent media sources referred to the constitutional process and the recognition of indigenous forums for decision making as an attempt to establish an “indigenous monarchy” and encouraged Bolivians to reject the constitution in order to “restore democracy” (La Prensa, 2009a). Some editorialists argued that only indigenous voices would be heard from now on and that the opinions of urban and nonindigenous citizens would be ignored (La Prensa, 2007). Others used terms such as “indigenous fascism” to describe the “New Bolivia,” which they felt would be entirely dominated by indigenous interests and violate the rights of mestizos and whites (La Prensa, 2009b). Television media also engaged in an intensive campaign designed to misinform Bolivians with respect to the constitution, evoking fear of indigenous MAS supporters in middle-class Bolivians. Messages included the false claims that the constitution would impose indigenous religious practices on citizens at the expense of Catholicism, that communal models of ownership would replace private property, and that indigenous community justice (erroneously equated with lynching) would become standard (AIN, 2009).

Even more so than in Venezuela, the attacks on government supporters have taken on racist overtones during political campaigns. Days before the 2009 constitutional referendum, the normally pro-media Reporters Without Borders (2009) felt compelled to condemn Bolivia’s growing “hate media.” The organization declared that Bolivian radio and television routinely broadcast programs promoting hatred against the country’s indigenous majority during the campaign. They expressed deep concern about the types of messages being delivered by the Bolivian media and cited as an example the comments of the lawyer Luis Arturo Mendivil on the Santa Cruz-based FM radio station, Radio Oriental. Angry about a constitution that was heavily influenced by indigenous social movements, Mendivil depicted Morales and his supporters as “cholas, thieves, and drug dealers in the service of Chávez.” He went on to refer to indigenous people (using derogatory language) as “a bunch of mediocre criminals and thugs” much like their president, who was “unfit for his role.” He expressed support for the Unión Juvenil Cruceñista ⁵ and insisted that they had to be prepared to do anything to defend the people of Santa Cruz from the “damned Indians” (kollas malditas). The difference between Santa Cruz youth (those of European and mestizo descent) and the young “kollas,” according to him, was that the former were ambitious and sought to excel while the latter cared only about cocaine and robbery. ⁶ The program hosted by Mendevil, Nuestra Palabra, is a mainstream feature on one of the city’s primary radio networks. In another example, Jorge Melgar Quete, a reporter for the Beni department’s Canal 18, used his daily television program to denounce Morales’s supporters as “MAS-supporting bastards” (cabrones masistas, masistas de mierda) and ignorant and “illiterate Indians”As for Morales himself, Melgar suggested that the president and his colleagues should be shot. ⁷

Violence against indigenous people and MAS supporters went beyond forceful language during the Constituent Assembly period, and media coverage of certain events is revealing. Gustafson (2010) documents the type of violence used against Guaraní MAS supporters in Bolivia’s eastern lowlands, an area dominated by nonindigenous landowners and businesspeople. He describes this violence as reminiscent of the forms of “spatial and bodily control that had long characterized the techniques used by ranches in Guaraní country to keep the Guaraní in their place.” This includes whippings, beatings, and other forms of public humiliation as well as verbal abuse invoking “the patriarchal and racist language of colonial subjugation.” Gustafson points out that while violence committed against Guaraní people (assumed to be MAS supporters) during this period was denounced by various international human rights organizations, TV commentary in Bolivia portrayed, for example, a Guaraní teachers’ school as a training camp for FARC (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia—Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) guerrillas. Sandoval’s (2008) content analysis of eight Bolivian newspapers’ coverage of the events of May 24, 2008, is also revealing. On that day, at least 18 individuals presumed to be MAS supporters were physically assaulted, forced to strip, and publicly humiliated in Sucre’s main plaza. While the physical violence was covered, the “ideological violence” (the fact that people were forced to ridicule and renounce their own beliefs) and the racist content of the attacks were minimized.

The response of the traditional media to indigenous autonomy and traditional decision-making institutions has in general been characterized by disdain and fear. A few examples help to illustrate this. One of the provisions of the constitution was aimed at increasing indigenous representation by creating special indigenous constituencies and allowing for officials to be elected according to traditional practices. An opinion piece from El Deber uses selective sourcing to present the opinions of two jurists, both offering the same opinion: that efforts to bring more indigenous people into elected positions through participatory mechanisms were “discriminatory and racist.” Commenting on the aspects of the new constitution that legitimize the concept of plurinationality (which involves giving indigenous practices and institutions equal legal recognition), the paper argues that the document creates and maintains “inequalities among Bolivians because it gives preference to ethnic and indigenous peoples over mestizos and citizens. Some Assembly members are elected one way and others another way. It is therefore discriminatory and racist, as culture prevails against the concept of equality of citizens before the law” (El Deber, 2008a).

The requirement for officials in some districts to speak two languages (one of them an indigenous language) is also criticized as “unfair” and “worrying,” although the requirement that native speakers of indigenous languages speak Spanish does not appear to be a concern. The irony and hypocrisy of this position in a country characterized by five centuries of institutionalized racism and exclusion of the indigenous majority (rarely acknowledged in these sources) seem to have been lost on the journalists and media owners. The media use frames and labels that portray “ethnic” peoples (generally identified as Morales supporters) as irrational and unreasonable for demanding special “cultural rights” over “equality before the law.”

The national media tend to associate indigenous or community justice with lynchings and barbaric practices. They focus on one or two negative (but not necessarily typical) examples that give the impression that such forms of justice are commonplace (El Deber, 2008b; 2010b; 2010c). Citing the lynching of four police officers (with little background context provided), one editorial warns against the “alarming” nature of “so-called community justice,” because of which “lynchings have become a custom that neither he nor other governments have been able to stop” (La Razón, 2010c). Editorials warn of the dangers of giving legal recognition to indigenous justice. “Indigenous land is being used to create zones free of all state authority, in which illegal activities are carried out with impunity. If order is not restored . . . we will continue moving toward social chaos and the destruction of the state” (El Deber, 2010a).

The media have tended to engage in selective sourcing with respect to indigenous practices (quoting mostly jurists and lawyers from elite sectors), overlooking representatives of indigenous communities or academics who would provide a more balanced perspective on the matter. A number of news sources attempted to spread fear by proclaiming that the MAS government was planning to apply indigenous justice to nonindigenous people or extend these practices to the major cities. La Razón ran a series of articles on this topic, claiming that the MAS intended to “use indigenous justice against citizens” (2010a; 2010b). In fact, the government has never claimed that it will apply these practices outside of indigenous communities. The legislation that enables the recognition of indigenous justice sets clear boundaries with respect to whom it applies to (clearly indicating members of indigenous peoples or nations) and states that decisions cannot violate the human rights provisions established by the constitution (Bolivia, 2010). These aspects of the law tend not to be mentioned by media sources.

In both Venezuela and Bolivia, the media have used distortion to focus attention on the disruptive actions of certain government supporters while playing down similar actions by opposition groups. Distortion constructs a particular narrative by focusing on the most “radical” elements (Barnett, 1997). In this way, media outlets seek (in addition to attracting viewers) to tar all supporters of the movement with the same brush, thus denouncing ideological enemies as extremists. The media coverage of the activist Lina Ron is a case in point. Ron, who once said, “With Chávez, everything; without Chávez, bullets,” was known across the country for leading numerous violent street demonstrations (BBC, 2011). The Venezuelan media repeatedly exploited the situation by focusing on her activities, thus suggesting that she was the “Bolivarian Revolution” personified. Describing various incidents involving physical and verbal attacks on journalists, Globovisión repeatedly referred to her as a leader of government supporters. In fact, the network regularly labeled those who perpetrated violent attacks as “government sympathizers,” suggesting that all Chavistas were prone to violence (see Globovisión, 2009). In fact, Chávez had been critical of Ron’s tactics, calling her “uncontrollable” (BBC, 2011). Yet up until her death, the media continued to link her closely with the government and with government sympathizers more generally. ⁸

Similarly, an analysis of headlines from the Bolivian print and television media reveals a tendency to use blanket statements attributing violent acts committed by groups of radicals to “MAS supporters” or “indigenous peoples” (Antelo, 2007). A search through the archives of a newspaper such as La Prensa ⁹ reveals that the term “Masista” is used to refer to government officials, violent demonstrators, and criminals (e.g., “Masistas Attack Journalists” or a “Masista Sent to Prison for . . . ”). A search in the same sources for information on the violent activities of the antigovernment (and racist) Unión Juvenil Cruceñista turns up nothing. Chávez and Morales are certainly aware that the ability to mobilize supporters is essential to curtailing the strength of the opposition and its transnational allies (Chávez in particular has not likely forgotten the role of mass mobilization in quashing the 2002 coup attempt). They must therefore seek to strike a balance between attempting to contain some of the more “radical” elements of their base and drawing on the mobilization capacity of these groups when the legitimacy of the government is attacked. This is a delicate balancing act that the media are able to exploit.

Opening up the Marketplace of Ideas

Given that leaders who challenge established class interests have been freely elected through the representative institutions that media owners claim to support, critics must go beyond simply discrediting these prominent figures. They must also challenge the legitimacy of the leaders by framing their supporters as illegitimate actors in the political process, suggesting that their actions (and their votes) are not valid. Thus they call into question the democratic credentials of elected governments in a roundabout way. The ability of private media outlets to do this highlights the fact that the current structure of media ownership in Latin America denies individuals from the lower strata the right to be heard and, more generally, denies the public the right to the information pluralism that is required for democracy to function. What is needed is a diversification of information sources. Information pluralism can help to break the private sector’s ability to monopolize the construction of dominant frames, giving marginalized groups opportunities to develop and deploy their own frames.

Some writers argue that the state still has a role to play with regard to the media and information and that this can be a positive role. Governments can encourage information pluralism through progressive communication policies (Morris and Waisbord, 2001). One approach involves creating alternative sources of information and bypassing the private media altogether through “government media activism” (Kitzberger, 2010). Venezuela has become a leader in the creation of state media. While the “defense of the Bolivarian Revolution” against the alleged misinformation provided by private media remains a driving force behind these channels, ¹⁰ independent observers have noted that the content variety is impressive, and government stations such as Vive TV have been praised for their innovative participatory productions (Kitzberger, 2010). In Bolivia, state-owned television networks had existed before Morales came to power. The MAS government attempted to breathe new life into them while also acquiring newspapers and radio stations. The emergence of state-owned media alternatives in countries formerly dominated by a handful of private conglomerates may be an improvement over the past. At the very least, this means that an alternative ideological position is now available to the public and that the stranglehold of the neoliberal elites over information and ideas has been weakened. Yet these governments also have an agenda that is likely to override their responsibility to provide diverse and unbiased information. Furthermore, the aggressive tone that emerges from both sides has a destabilizing effect on these countries by exacerbating the already deep societal divisions.

Many argue that the solution is to be found not in the state but in civil society. Writing over three decades ago, Somavía (1981a; 1981b) argued for the development of social principles that would recognize information as a human right and a social good rather than a commodity and for changes in communication structures to encourage democratization of information flow in practice. This would involve, among other things, ensuring that these structures are accountable to the public, participatory, socially responsible, and representative of various sectors in society. His alternative media model would include socially controlled media (neither state nor private) as the best means of ensuring the participation and representation that are necessary for the democratization of information. Similarly, Reyes Matta (1981) sees active audience participation in the process of communication as the defining factor of what he calls “alternative communication.” His model proposes the restructuring of the communication process to encourage dynamic participation and interaction between producers and receivers of information. Both argue that control of information affords a great deal of power, and power in a democratic society should be accountable. More recently, Clemencia Rodríguez (2001) rejects the label of “alternative media” in favor of “citizens’ media,” yet her conception of more democratic media has much in common with that of Somavía and Reyes Matta: moving from unidirectional communication involving passive receivers to interactive communication with receiver participation.

Other theorists have also insisted on the role of citizens in the democratization of information. Horwitz (2001) argues that the engagement of civil society in the process of communication-related policy making can create information institutions accountable to sectors beyond the state or private capital. McChesney (1999) also insists that control over information must be taken away from economic elites and put into the hands of citizens. The starting point for democratizing the media, he claims, is the creation of a viable nonprofit, noncommercial media sector. He argues that foundations and organized labor organizations could contribute to the development of alternative media sources but also recognizes that government policies favoring such alternatives (tax breaks, for example) are necessary. Keane (1992) supports the development of what he calls public service (as opposed to public) media. This model, subject to neither the state nor large corporations, would aim to empower citizens to develop and disseminate information representing a plurality of interests and perspectives. While he acknowledges that such reforms will not be easy, “the maximum feasible decommodification and ‘re-embedding’ of communications media in the social life of civil society is a vital condition of freedom from state and market censorship” (119).

Venezuela and Bolivia are at the forefront of the development of community media, and the models they have developed bear some resemblance to the principles of the theoretical works cited above. In both countries, the number of community television and radio operators has grown exponentially since the election of “bad left” governments (Kitzberger, 2010). Because the space available to them in the commercial media is limited, community activists are using technology and drawing on place, locality, and cultural identity to create an alternative discourse (Fernandes, 2011). Bolivia has a long history of socially owned and participatory radio dating back to the 1940s. Over 25 miners’ stations were created by workers and union leaders as a tool of communication and organization. These stations reflected daily life in the mines as a channel for popular cultural expression and also served as a source of opposition to various right-wing military dictatorships while the commercial media outlets either supported or failed to criticize these regimes. Because of their counterhegemonic messages and the participatory nature of content development and decision making, these stations can be considered an early manifestation of the type of alternative communication discussed above (Lozada and Kúncar, 2004). Given that radio is still more likely to reach large sectors of the rural poor and indigenous communities in Bolivia, this is where efforts to expand alternative media options have been concentrated. A network of over 30 local community stations was created and named the National Network of Indigenous Peoples’ Radio. The importance of community media and the state’s obligation to support them have even been enshrined in the constitution.

In Venezuela, efforts have focused more on community television stations. Catia TVe, established and run by citizens in a working-class neighborhood of Caracas, was the first such station to appear following the adoption of the Organic Telecommunications Law of 2000, and the model appears promising (Lloreda, 2007). The stated goal of Catia TVe is to encourage community participation in the development of television content and to reflect the interests and struggles of the community. ¹¹ In order to equip community members to do so, the station holds workshops to train people on topics such as audiovisual production. Participants who complete the workshop may form a “production team” that can work to develop content (Schiller, 2011). In this way, community members are called on to help create content rather than simply passively receive it. Stations based on a similar model are now present in several states, and community channels such as TV Rubio (Táchira) and TV Bolívar (Yaracuy) are said to have dynamized television in the regions they serve (Lloreda, 2007). However, in both Bolivia and Venezuela, community radio and television stations must rely heavily on funds and equipment from the state. While both the state and the stations maintain that content production is independent from government interference, the capacity of small community media to fund their own activities remains a problem. Still, those who have studied community media outlets in countries such as Venezuela argue that we should not assume that close ties with the state translate into a lack of autonomy. Rather, the grassroots actors involved in the alternative media can use the leverage they have with the state to influence institutions to respond to the needs of their communities, making the relationship complex and reciprocal (Schiller, 2011). Furthermore, in contrast to the state-controlled media, most community television and radio stations are actively seeking to reduce their dependency on the state through alternative funding sources, including local businesses (Fernandes, 2011).

The inclusion of voices other than elite private interests and governments must be facilitated in order to promote information pluralism. The distortion of democracy created by media concentration demonstrates that the ability to deploy frames must be extended to a broader array of actors through ensuring that nondominant groups have access to the tools they need to disseminate their own perspectives and ensure that their own actions and aspirations are adequately and fairly represented in the public sphere. While citizens and civil society organizations may be just as likely to promote a particular agenda as the other two sectors, their inclusion in the development of media content would go a long way toward ensuring “voice equalization” and representation.