Elections And The Media In Post- Conflict Africa: Votes And Voices For Peace? 9781350219854, 9781780320199

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Tables



1 Summary of the role of the media and possible state action at various stages of the election process . . . . . . . . . . . 4 2 The media’s role outside the electoral period . . . . . . . . 18 3 Summary of the media’s role in the pre-election period . . . 76 4 Summary of the media’s role during the election campaign . . 128 5 Summary of the media’s role from polling day to the final outcome of the election . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186 6 Back to regular work: the media’s role outside the electoral period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 7 Summary of the obstacles faced by the media at each phase of the election process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 240 8 Summary of the opportunities likely to help overcome the obstacles facing the media in Central Africa . . . . . . . 252

Acknowledgements

This book would not have seen the light of day without the vital contribution of many people, and I would like to thank them all sincerely. All my gratitude goes to my colleagues from the Institut Panos Paris (IPP), who gave me the opportunity and the confidence to undertake this research. Without their constant understanding and their firm belief in the importance of the work, this book would never have been completed. In particular, Françoise Havelange and Pascal Berque secured funding to support this project – from Cordaid (The Netherlands), DDC (Switzerland), DfID (United Kingdom), Irish Aid (Ireland) and Sida (Sweden). I also wish to thank the Belgian National Fund for Scientific Research and the University of Brussels. They allowed this collaboration with the IPP and gave me the flexibility I needed to make the necessary trips to collect the data on which the book relies. During field trips to the six Central African countries covered in this book I conducted the interviews and gathered the material used here, and I could never express enough gratitude to the journalists of the region who trusted me sufficiently to answer my questions and give me access to their archives. My main concern is that this book, even if it does sometimes criticize their daily work, appears in their eyes as a fair and truthful depiction of the context in which they carry out their difficult job. I am greatly indebted to the colleagues and friends who read through the manuscript and enriched it with their comments and suggestions. Edouard Adzotsa in the Republic of Congo, Donat M’Baya Tshimanga, Aziza Bangwene and Pierre Nsana in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Begoto Oulatar in Chad, Christian Aimé Ndotah in the Central African Republic, Cyprien Ndikumana in Burundi and Privat Rutazibwa in Rwanda. In Belgium, Paule Bouvier, Elisabeth Burdot, Philippe De Boeck, Julie Frère, Benoît Grevisse and Jean-Jacques Jespers all made a substantial contribution. In France, Domitille Duplat-Saunier and Michel Leroy, besides devoting their valuable time to reading and correcting the manuscript, have been very supportive and enthusiastic about this project. Nevertheless, any mistakes, misjudgements or errors that appear are entirely mine. I also wish to thank the people who breathed life into the English version of this book: Patrick Lennon, who translated the manuscript from French, and Mary Myers and Clive Liddiard, who lent a valuable hand in finding the most appropriate English translations. Monica Chibita’s input

viii  |  acknowledgements

was i­nvaluable, as she tracked down in the English version all the French ‘­peculiarities’ that would be unfamiliar to an Anglophone audience. Finally, the process of researching and writing has had a major impact on my family, whether because it necessitated my regular physical absence from home or because it monopolized my attention for months. Yaël, Yeleen and Yanaé, as well as Etienne, have all accepted that ‘the book’ somehow invaded our life and I thank them for having behaved as if the adventure of this book was also theirs.

abbreviations

ABP AIF AMP ANEAP ANECO ARCO BBC BONUCA CAR CCIB CCTV CECI CEI CEMI CEMPC CENAP CENI CEPI CIAT CKTV CNC CNDD-FDD CONEL COSOME CSLC CVEM DRC ECCAS EU-EOM EUFOR FDD FDU

Burundi Press Agency Intergovernmental Agency of La Francophonie Alliance of the Presidential Majority National Association of Private Broadcasting Corporations National Association of Newspaper Publishers in the Congo Association of Community Radios of the Congo British Broadcasting Corporation United Nations Peace-building Office in the Central African Republic Central African Republic Chamber of Commerce and Industry of Burundi Canal Congo Television Independent Communal Electoral Commission Independent Electoral Commission Mixed Independent Electoral Commission Centre for Listening to and Monitoring the Congolese Press Conflict Alert and Prevention Centre National Independent Electoral Commission Independent Provincial Electoral Commission International Committee in Support of the Transition Canal Kin Television National Communications Council National Council for the Defence of Democracy – Forces for the Defence of Democracy National Electoral Commission Coalition of Civil Society for Elections Monitoring High Council for the Freedom of Communication Commission for Vigilance and Electoral Ethics in the Media Democratic Republic of Congo Economic Community of Central African States European Union Election Observation Mission European Military Force Forces for the Defence of Democracy Unified Democratic Forces

x  |  abbreviations

FIDH International Federation for Human Rights FNL National Liberation Front FOSOCEL Civil Society Forum for Free and Transparent Elections FRODEBU Front for Democracy in Burundi GIBM Inter-Donor Group for Media GRET Research and Technology Exchange Group HAM High Media Authority HCC High Council for Communications HCP High Council of the Press HRW Human Rights Watch ICG International Crisis Group IFASIC Institute for Information and Communications Sciences IMF International Monetary Fund IPP Panos Paris Institute JDC The Citizen’s Newspaper JED Journalist in Danger KNK Convergence  Kwa na Kwa National Convergence MDR Democratic Republican Movement MHC Media High Council MINURCA United Nations Mission in the Central African Republic MLC Movement for the Liberation of Congo MLPC Movement for the Liberation of the Central African People MONUC Mission of the United Nations in the Democratic Republic of Congo MPS Patriotic Salvation Movement MRC Movement for the Rehabilitation of Citizens MRND National Revolutionary Movement for Development (1975– 1991); National Republican Movement for Democracy and Development (1991–) NEC National Electoral Commission NGO non-governmental organization OAU Organization of African Unity (1963–2002) OCDH Congolese Human Rights Obervatory OCM Congo Media Council OIF International Organisation of La Francophonie OMAC Central African Media Organization OMEC Congo Media Observatory ONUB United Nations Operation in Burundi ORINFOR Rwandan Bureau of Information and Broadcasting PALIPEHUTU-FNL  Party for the Liberation of Hutu People – National Liberation Front

abbreviations  |   xi

PARENA PCT PL PPC PPRD PSD RATECO RCD RDC RFI RLTV RPA RPF RTAE RTGA RTLM RTMV RTNB RTNC SFCG TVR TVT UCOFEM UDPS UDR UFVN UJCA UNDP UNDR UNESCO UNPC UPRONA URD USAID VOA

Party for National Recovery Congolese Labour Party Liberal Party Party for Progress and Concord People’s Party for Reconstruction and Democracy Social Democratic Party Network of Community Radio and Television in the Eastern DRC Congolese Rally for Democracy Democratic Central African Rally Radio France Internationale Radio Television Lisanga Public African Radio Rwandan Patriotic Front Radio Television Army of the Lord Radio Television of the Groupe L’Avenir Radio Television of One Thousand Hills Radio Television Message of Life Burundi National Radio Television Congolese National Radio Television Search for Common Ground Rwanda Television Chad National Television Congolese Union of Women in the Media Union for Democracy and Social Progress Union for Democracy and the Republic Union of Active Forces of the Nation Union of Central African Journalists United Nations Development Programme National Union for Development and Renewal United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization Congolese National Press Union Union for National Progress Union for Renewal and Democracy US Agency for International Development Voice of America

Note on Currency

To help the reader, sums of money in local Central African currencies have been converted into US dollars. Since this book deals with events that span almost a decade, and since Central African currencies are not renowned for their stability, it has been decided to use a single date for all currency conversions, whatever the year or the month of the events being detailed. Though inevitably arbitrary, the date chosen was 1 June 2006.

For Françoise

Introduction: New Votes and New Voices

Free and pluralist elections have become so widespread in Africa over the past 20 years that the French political scientist Patrick Quantin once remarked that ‘countries in which people don’t vote have become as rare as countries in which people don’t drink Coca-Cola’ (Quantin 1998: 17). Indeed, between 1989 and 2007, more than 140 legislative and 120 presidential elections were held in 43 African countries, the overwhelming majority of which were emerging from decades of single-party regimes and dictatorships (van de Walle  2009: 135). Political liberalization was accompanied by profound changes in the media sector. State media monopolies gave way to a proliferation of private newspapers; this was followed by an increase in the number of private radio stations (whether commercial, denominational or community); and finally an independent television industry also emerged at the beginning of the twenty-first century. Not only are there more elections than ever before in Africa, but these elections are being reported and discussed in an unprecedented fashion. Political pluralism and media diversity are intricately connected the world over. And, in the history of any state, elections are key moments when that connection becomes very visible. They offer a unique opportunity to observe not only how political parties, candidates and leaders behave, and how the public good is managed by those in charge, but also how the public and the private media position themselves. Wherever tools of mass communication exist, they can play an important part in electoral contests, informing or mobilizing voters, or steering their votes. The aim of this book is to describe and analyse how the media participated in recent multiparty elections in six countries in Central Africa. What distinguishes these six countries is that, in recent years, they have all experienced armed conflict which either interrupted or prevented democratiza­tion processes. The media’s role in these conflicts and peace processes – as ‘warmongers or peace-builders’ – has already been described and analysed (Frère 2007a). As these countries emerged from often fragile transition periods, the media in all six countries had to face the challenge of covering the first post-conflict elections, supposedly free and pluralist. Elections, both in the way they are conceived and in the way they are held, not only test the democratic practices of parties and rulers; they also reveal journalists’ professionalism at a time when much is expected of the media – at a time when they also face intense political pressure, which can make their work

2  |  introduction

particularly hard. The task is even greater when a country is just recovering from massive violence and instability. Before exploring the way in which Central African media negotiated those electoral processes, two important points should be underlined and developed in this introduction. On the one hand, the ideal role of the media during elections in a democratic context will be recalled. There are certain guidelines by which the public and the private media should be governed in order to ensure a free and fair political competition. These guidelines have been elaborated and published worldwide by professional organizations, and journalists in Central Africa were repeatedly reminded of those principles during pre-election training sessions and workshops. On the other hand, the peculiarities of the post-conflict electoral processes that occurred in Central Africa in the past ten years will be described, as well as the specific political and media environments surrounding them. Both the organizers  of the polls and journalists faced extraordinary constraints and challenges. The media’s role in elections

Elections are seen as a pillar of democracy, enabling voters to elect representatives to exercise a public mandate on their behalf. They provide regular deadlines, giving citizens an opportunity to assess the ruling party’s performance at the end of a term in office, and to renew their trust in the same representatives or to opt for change. The news media’s role in this process is crucial. It is no mere coincidence that historically the emergence of mass media (starting with the significant growth of the press in Europe in the nineteenth century) occurred at the same time as a general trend towards universal suffrage. A voting citizen needs to be properly informed, in order to be able to decide who will best rep­resent his or her interests and views. Moreover, for elections to occur under democratic conditions, this information has to be honest, fair and delivered in a responsible manner. The media can only fulfil their mission if they are free, diverse and aware of their responsibilities.1

No democratic elections without a free press  For an electoral process to qualify as ‘free’ and ‘fair’, not only must the election take place under appropriate political and administrative conditions, but citizens must also have access to adequate information about the parties, candidates and voting procedures to ensure that they make an informed and valid choice.2 Elections will only be ‘free’ if all elements involved can express themselves: candidates, political parties, citizens, civil society and, of course, journalists. The media play a vital role in this process, to the extent that democratic elections are inconceivable without a free press. The media are the main platform through which candidates and parties can

introduction  |  3

make their views and programmes known. It is through the media’s coverage of election issues and their analysis of contenders’ proposals that voters can distinguish between candidates and parties. The media also give voters practical information on the electoral process and on the progress of the campaign and the polling. Moreover, they have to question the transparency of the elections and freely inform voters about any possible irregularities, so that these may be remedied quickly. It is incumbent on the media to provide citizens with an assessment of the outgoing government. Journalists have both the right and the duty to hold the government and the opposition to account for their achievements and possible shortcomings. Citizens must be informed about how the government has run the country since the previous elections and what alternatives  have been proposed by the opposition during that time. It is important to have a critical and impartial overview of how the state has been governed, and to what extent promises made to voters have been kept. Lastly, the media must also give voice to the population and civil society, and ensure that representative civil organizations can be heard. These tasks are the same as those the media fulfil under normal ­circumstances: providing citizens with facts, opinions and ideas, and giving them the opportunity to express themselves. However, during an electoral period, these tasks may be more difficult to achieve, since political forces may  ­frequently attempt to manipulate the media and to control the information.

No pluralist elections without diverse and independent media A single medium, be it public or private, cannot perform single-handedly all the tasks that fall to the media during a democratic electoral process. To ensure that voters have access to a diversity of views from political parties, civil society or fellow citizens, it is important for a range of voices to be heard openly. Each newspaper, radio station or television channel should be free to adopt its own editorial line, and it is the whole range of the voices expressed through the media that enables citizens to glean adequate information to forge their own opinions. Positions vary on whether public funds should be used to ensure that a range of opinions are in fact represented in the media. The United States has always favoured the free flow of information, firm in its belief that a free media market will encourage the emergence and circulation of a range of ideas. In Europe, where since the Second World War the state has played an important role in controlling radio and, later, television, it is believed that public authorities should ensure, through frequency allocation and by the regulation and organization of public broadcasters, that the views of different communities and political parties are made available to citizens. In the United States, the very existence of numerous private media is seen

The media’s role

Possible state interventions

Election • Allow parties and candidates to express themselves • Regulation (to guarantee fairness): campaign • Cover the various aspects of the campaign of political information • Present, criticize and compare programmes of political communications • Follow the organization of the election of political advertising • Allow citizens and civil society to express themselves of electoral information of the dissemination of polls • Monitoring the media and imposing sanctions if necessary • Guaranteeing access to information and the protection of the rights of journalists

Pre-election • Provide information on the electoral process (voter • Specific legislation: electoral code or law period registration, voting procedures, etc.) • Specific regulations: directives, orders, decrees • Analyse electoral stakes • Specific joint regulation tools: codes of good conduct, • Supervise the implementation of the election (denounce pledges any lack of transparency or rigour) • Production of electoral information and awareness-raising • Assess the outgoing government tools to be communicated through the media

Outside the • Inform citizens (fully, honestly and rigorously) • Legislation: press law (guaranteeing freedom of the press electoral period • Monitor the activities of public and private actors on and terms of implementation); review or repeal of behalf of citizens oppressive laws • Serve as a platform for society’s various components • Regulation: independent administrative authority • Public information: guaranteeing access to information • Supporting diversity and pluralism • Financing public media



Table 1  Summary of the role of the media and possible state action at various stages of the election process

Newly elected • Cover newly elected authorities as they take office representatives • Remind newly elected representatives of their campaign take office pledges

Announcement • Announce/publish final results of final results • Comment on final results • Cover the reactions of the various parties and candidates, and of civil society

Challenges and • Report on the reasons behind any challenges/appeals and appeals how the appeals procedure develops

Announcement • Announce overall and/or detailed results (and tell citizens • Regulating the publication procedures of overall results of provisional where detailed results can be found) results • Analyse results • Cover the reactions of the various parties and candidates, and of civil society • Cover any potential demonstrations

Polling day • Observe and report on voting operations • Regulating the publication of partial results • Denounce dysfunctions • Regulating candidates’ access to radio/TV, the publication • Publish partial results (if authorized) of opinion polls, phone-in talk shows • Analyse available data (turnout, etc.) • Monitoring the media and imposing sanctions if necessary • Cover accounts given by independent observers • Guaranteeing access to information and the protection of the rights of journalists

6  |  introduction

as proof that all political opinions can be heard, while in Europe it is the state’s involvement in the sector that is seen as ensuring a plurality of voices. Regardless of state intervention, another question remains: how is one to ensure that public and private media will, in fact, serve the public interest? If the media are to inform citizens in a rigorous and honest manner, they must be independent and free of any political, ideological or economic pressure. For the media to act as a ‘fourth estate’, they must be operationally and financially independent, and free of any government or political interference. This holds, in particular, for public media, financed by the taxpayer, which will only be able to monitor the authorities and defend the public interest if they are relatively independent.

No fair elections without responsible and regulated media Although free, diverse and independent media are indispensable in democratic elections, that does not mean that the media can do as they wish. In particular, they must contribute to the fairness of the polls, which implies that contenders (and voters) should be treated equally, provided they abide by the rules of the electoral game. The media must also select the news they put out in line with certain rules, since their freedom involves a measure of responsibility. The media’s responsibility and fairness are regulated by journalists’ codes of ethics, but also by the legal and regulatory framework, including electoral codes and press laws. Besides those measures, governments often set out specific regulations imposing particular constraints on the media during elections. It may seem paradoxical that the authorities intervene more in the operations of the media precisely when their freedom is more important than ever. Such regulation is necessary, however, for the very reason that elections have an impact on the media’s traditional tasks. To ensure that the process is fair, a number of measures can be adopted, framing the different types of messages broadcast by the media. Different rules might apply to political information (reports resulting from the treatment of information by journalists themselves), political communication (debates and round table discussions in which various candidates and parties are invited to express themselves directly), political advertising (advertising space sold by the media’s commercial departments to contenders and parties for the diffusion of their campaign’s promotional messages), electoral information (the publication of useful official information, such as electoral registers or results) or the publication of opinion polls. Public media can be compelled to provide fair coverage for all parties and candidates. Private media can be prevented from publishing opinion polls or results at specific moments in the process, or can be forced to limit the space devoted to paid political advertising. Rules can focus on, for instance, the allocation of air time or print space for candidates and political parties;

introduction  |  7

the criteria for political advertising; or the compulsory publication by the media of material of general interest to voters. They can also provide for formal measures banning ‘hate speech’ and libellous statements. Legislative traditions vary considerably in this field.3 In common law countries (the Anglo-American tradition), there are very few explicit statutory measures regulating the media, leaving them free to do anything that is not explicitly forbidden by law. The United States is particularly opposed to any form of public interference that would limit the freedom of expression enshrined in the First Amendment to the Constitution. In civil law countries (the French or Belgian traditions, for instance), laws govern the media’s activities, especially those of the broadcasting sector, and complementary measures are adopted during electoral periods so that all contenders have fair access to public (and sometimes private) media. Other countries adopt a centrist position and favour voluntary regulation, whereby the media agree to respect certain rules that are deemed necessary, given the particular circumstances of an election campaign. Table 1, summarizing the data from journalists’ manuals and handbooks, details the ideal role expected of the media at each stage in the electoral process, as well as possible state interventions in the media sector in each phase. In countries with no legal or regulatory measures, the media landscape is considered sufficiently mature to enable the free exchange of political opinions in print and on air and to offer all political parties fair access to the media. If necessary, self-regulation (through codes of ethics or professional organizations) can impose limits so as to prevent any excess. In any case, journalists must be familiar with the limits imposed on their profession by law and/or by a code of ethics. They are supposed to know their rights and obligations in order to exercise their profession responsibly. But journalists must also be confident that the authorities will play their part in guaranteeing the media’s (and citizens’) access to information, and in protecting both the freedom of the press and the individual rights of media professionals. Indeed, elections are second only to war zones as the most threatening situation for journalists to report on. ‘Pluralist elections, which should be a symbol of democracy and free expression, can turn into a nightmare for journalists,’ noted Reporters Without Borders (the French organization that acts to defend press freedom) in 2009, especially in countries with poor democratic credentials. Pluralist elections and free media in Africa

The overwhelming majority of countries in Africa have only recently e­xperienced free and pluralist elections.4 For a long time, elections organized in Africa took place under single-party regimes and were aimed at re­ confirming the head of state and demonstrating the population’s complete support for his political programme (Quantin 2009b: 170–8). In such

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c­ircumstances, the media, of which the state had a monopoly, all spoke with a single voice. In the last 20 years, the multiparty system, which, since the 1950s, often either had been brutally uprooted or had simply faded away, has resurfaced on the continent. The democratization processes were initiated in the early 1990s with the support of the international community, which from then on linked its development aid to the adoption of democratic reforms. Starting with Benin, African states entered ‘transition’ phases, either by means of collective dialogue (the famous Sovereign National Conferences5 in Benin, Togo, Chad, the Republic of Congo, Zaïre, etc.), an overthrow (Mali), or under the leadership of a head of state willing to introduce certain reforms (Gabon, Cameroon, Rwanda, Burundi, etc.). The range of instruments to be used in the course of these transitions, supported by international donors, was so similar in each country that one was led to speak of a ‘democracy kit’ (Sandretto 1992: 25). That kit included: a full multiparty system, constitutional reforms, institutional renewal, liberalization of the print media (and later of the broadcasting sector) and, invariably, free and pluralist elections.

The ‘model’ and its ‘implementation’  Political parties and the new private African media were born concomitantly, sometimes even ‘hand in hand’. The first private newspapers constituted an ‘opinion press’, since editors wished primarily to promote their own vision of their country’s future. The newly created political parties had little in common with parties in the North (Basedau, Erdmann and Mehler 2007). They could not rely on a differentiated economic model, since structural adjustment programmes imposed by international financial institutions stripped local politicians of any real autonomy. Likewise, private papers (and later radio stations) scarcely resembled contemporary Western media. Virtually unconcerned by issues of profitability and entrepreneurial positioning, they were more interested in promoting or criticizing the authorities than in providing citizens with confirmed, verified and credible information. As with political parties and the media, soon the new pluralist elections taking place in Africa seemed to follow their own dynamics. Scholars observing them fell into two categories: some highlighted similarities and were convinced that, despite certain distinctive features, elections in Africa should be considered ‘like any other’; others insisted that there were many differences from Western models and claimed that African elections were ‘unlike any other’ (Quantin 2004: 20). As far back as 1998, Otayek warned against two misconceptions. The first consists in comparing elections in Africa to those held in Europe or elsewhere, while forgetting that ‘elections in our good old Western democracies do not always conform to democratic ideals’ (Otayek 1998: 9). The second consists in focusing exclusively on the

introduction  |  9

irregularities in these elections and in believing that they are obstacles which render impossible the establishment of democracy in Africa. As Quantin recalls, ‘political systems which – outside Africa – now rely successfully on electoral democracy were just as uncertain during the institutionalization phase of this model’ (1998: 20). Indeed, in France between 1815 and 1914, elections led to ‘a catalogue of all possible kinds of electoral irregularities, ranging from pressure to corruption and fraud, the buying of votes, threats exerted by employers or by the administration itself, as well as manipulations aimed at rigging electoral registers, cancelling ballot papers and falsifying the results of votes’ (ibid.). That period was the ‘golden age’ of the French press, though the image it presented was hardly golden. Perret (2005: 227) evokes ‘the amateurishness and venality of journalists, who were not very particular about the means used to seduce the public or gain favour with the authorities’. The institutionalization of the profession in France, with its training criteria and its code of journalist ethics, was, at the start of the twentieth century, just as uncertain as that of the electoral model.

The start of a long process  Consolidating democracy, notably through the recurrent organization of elections, is undoubtedly a long and difficult process. The democratization initiated in Africa in the early 1990s soon led to what Collier and Levitsky (1997) called ‘democracies with adjectives’: authoritarian democracies, neo-patrimonial democracies, guided democracies, illiberal democracies, proto-democracies, etc. In other words, ‘hybrid’ regimes, in which democratic elements (such as elections) coexist with authoritarian practices (van de Walle 2009: 150). In French-speaking Africa, only a limited number of countries were able, following the organization of a first poll in the early 1990s, to organize a second poll by the due date without any violent interruption (coup d’état, civil war, etc.) disturbing the scheduled electoral calendar. Two scenarios often unfolded: either conflicts broke out or the ruling authorities kept to a ‘minimal’ notion of democratic consolidation, limiting themselves to the regular organization of pluralist elections, while also establishing more or less discrete mechanisms to control public debate. These regimes in fact embodied what was soon termed ‘electoral authoritarianism’ (Schedler 2006: 3).6 The holding of elections became, in many cases, mandatory in order to maintain a good image on the international scene, even as the regimes employed other strategies to prevent any real opportunity to bring about a political change. Indeed, at the international level, ‘the transformation of a “free and fair” election into an imperative of good “governance” approved by the diplomatic community, if not into an ultimate condi­ tion for development aid [see the NEPAD – New Partnership for Africa’s Develop­ment – project], largely obscured the debate’ (Compagnon 2004: 57).

10  |  introduction

This demand contributed to turning the electoral process into a sort of artefact. Studying the political evolution of the 48 sub-Saharan countries between 2000 and 2008, Foucher has concluded that, since the start of the twenty-first century, only eight of these countries have experienced a political changeover due to free and transparent elections (2009: 129). In most cases, either elections were held but the head of state remained in place; or one leader succeeded another with no political changeover (in the event of the resignation or death of the head of state); or a regime change took place in the wake of a violent event (war, coup, assassination of the head of state, etc.). This explains why most electoral processes have  little meaning for local populations, to the extent that many countries  have witnessed a clear drop in the number of votes cast. In the face of these developments, two distinct trends have emerged among pundits, according to van de Walle (2009: 151). The pessimists view these African elections as a mechanism that merely suggests a semblance of demo­ cracy, in regimes characterized by patronage, weak institutions and mediocre economic growth – factors that prevent these countries from estab­lishing truly democratic regimes. The optimist claim that the regular holding of pluralist and free elections (and not just a single election), even in unfavourable circumstances, can help consolidate democracy and reinforce civil liberties. In this sense, elections would not only be a component and an indicator of democracy, but also a factor of democratization, since each new election would strengthen and develop civic awareness (Lindberg 2006: 20). Even if the ruling authorities manipulate the ballot, perpetrate fraud and exert pressure on voters, they will be forced to deny these interventions, which is to say that they will be forced to recognize that they constitute anomalies. This is one way of contributing to the legitimization of the principle of free elections. Elections are therefore ‘self-reinforcing’ and ‘self-improving’ and should become increasingly democratic as they are repeated.

Evolving media landscapes Over the past 20 years, the African media landscape has accompanied and mirrored the ups and downs of the democratization processes – particularly during elections. In some cases, the media grew exponentially thanks to the benevolence of a new democratic regime (Mali) or the void left by a failed state (in Mobutu’s Zaïre). Elsewhere, their development was slower, held back by a political regime that was reluctant to reform (Togo, Guinea). Either way, the new private media opened up a space for public debate, for denouncing abuses by the authorities, for freeing information from the yoke imposed by the political power. Freedom of expression was recognized and constitutionally enshrined in all Francophone African countries at the beginning of the 1990s. New laws guaranteeing press freedom were adopted, and new regulatory authorities were established to allow and organize the liberalization of the broadcast-

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ing sector. The proliferation of private media also led to the revitalization of  professional debate inside journalists’ associations and to the creation of self-regulatory bodies (Frère 2007b). However, difficulties continued to undermine the development of the media landscape. The privately owned press, radio and television companies still suffered from a general lack of organization and of qualified and transparent management. Usually established through the personal initiative of a businessman, a professional journalist, a group of teachers or a politician, many of those media continued to operate in a random way, with insufficient financial means, non-existent working capital, few human resources and no investment planning or budget. The lamentable economic context of many countries has impeded the emergence of private media, at least in French-speaking Africa. On this point, the contrast in the development of media in English-speaking Africa (especially Kenya, Nigeria, Ghana and Tanzania) and French-speaking Africa is striking. Whereas the media sector of the former British colonies is growing strongly, and powerful print and broadcasting media groups are emerging, the media in the former French and Belgian colonies suffer from profound structural weaknesses. The two groups of countries rely on very different models. The media in the English-language region fit into a liberal, Anglo-American model, where media enterprises are heavily dependent on a market economy and constitute a prosperous investment sector for businessmen (Rambaut 2009: 170–85). The state is mostly kept out of the sector, except for the management of public media. In the French-language region, the media fit into the old French press tradition, with their roots in intellectual circles rather than in business (though the latter does now increasingly invest in the sector) (Rambaut 2009; 2008a). Their relations with the private industrial sector are limited, and the media believe that the state must intervene to assist them through support mechanisms for private media, since they fulfil a public service.7 This divergent economic evolution has had an impact on the media’s role and the difficulties they can encounter in covering recent elections in various countries of the continent. It is all the more difficult for the media in French-speaking Africa to cover elections, given their limited material, technical and human resources (even the more successful newspapers rarely employ more than 20 journalists). In addition, political powers have not always abandoned their desire for control over the media. In ‘democracies with adjectives’, the new freedom of the press has often been violated, and journalists who are deemed by the authorities to be either too impertinent or too curious are often imprisoned, tried in corrupt courts or assassinated. Even in the state media, sanctions can affect journalists who take too seriously their duty to give b ­alanced

12  |  introduction

information. Government leaders continue to regard the state media as their mouthpiece rather than as a public service dedicated to giving a voice to all sectors of the nation. Another concern relates to the lack of professional training: the media remain in the hands of mostly young, self-taught reporters (awaiting a betterpaid job in some other line of business) or former state journalists with outdated knowledge. However, it should be noted that, regardless of the state of democratic institutions, freedom of expression seems to have taken root (unlike other, more cosmetic, changes generated by the transitions). The thousands of journalists, hundreds of radio stations (community, commercial and denominational) and dozens of television channels that have emerged over the last 20 years in this part of the continent are proof thereof (Frère 2007b). Elections and the media in post-conflict countries

This book does not deal with the full gamut of elections and media landscapes in Africa, which could not be embraced in a single work of research. Rather, it focuses on a particular situation: elections organized in countries that have experienced armed conflicts. In these countries, elections are often seen as the last step in a peacebuilding process, and are meant to mark the return of a ‘legitimate’ authority, sanctioned by the ballot. They are seen as a necessary ingredient for the transition from war to peace, a crucial step on the road to democratization and stability (Sisk and Reynolds 1998: 145). These polls are generally organized under the supervision of the international community, especially when the latter has been involved in the resolution of the crisis and the promotion of an agreement between the belligerents. Indeed, these elections are often held because ‘the international community, often personified as a United Nations peacekeeping operation or an election verification mission, advocated an election as the principal ter­minal point of efforts to replace civil wars with sustainable, peaceful politics’ (ibid.: 1).

Elections as the basis for a new constitutional state Elections in postconflict countries are ‘quite unlike other elections’ (Quantin 2009b: 181). First, because they are organized under the supervision of the international community, often simultaneously with other initiatives such as disarmament or population-safety measures, they sometimes make little use of internal mobilization and organization capacities. These exercises can therefore be relatively artificial. Secondly, the polls are often seen as an end in themselves, whereas elsewhere they only constitute a step. Of course, they cannot ensure that the authorities to emerge from the elections will exercise their mandate democratically: ‘first elections are not necessarily founding but are more often a step forward in a transition towards democracy’ (Lindberg 2006: 3).

introduction  |  13

Thirdly, in post-conflict countries, elections involve a number of risks, since they ‘can exacerbate social tensions by further polarizing highly conflictual societies’ (Sisk and Reynolds 1998: 2). Indeed, as Quantin recalls, ‘what distinguishes the electoral act is participation in a collective reflection which can turn into a confrontation’ (1998: 23). One might wonder why this relatively risk-laden step forward is perceived as so crucial, and why it often mobilizes significant contributions from donors. As de Villers claims, specifically with regard to the Democratic Republic of Congo, elections in post-conflict countries are seen by the international community as ‘a necessary condition (which one would hope is sufficient) to rebuild a state ... This task is, at bottom, more achievable and more manageable than that, for instance, of rebuilding the administration or an army, or of fighting corruption’ (de Villers 2009: 366). Focusing on the organization of elections means setting an attainable technical objective, which can signal the beginning of the country’s redevelopment. Moreover, these elections often constitute the only option on which former belligerents agree. Despite the risks involved in such a polarizing process, ‘diplomats and policymakers and the combatants have no other credible alternative for resolving their conflict than to organize and participate in the electoral process’ (Sisk and Reynolds 1998: 146). Just as one spoke in the early 1990s of a ‘democracy kit’ in Africa, so one could refer to a ‘peace-process kit’, created within the United Nations, multilateral organizations and embassies, and of which elections constitute one of the indispensable elements. ‘Whether in Afghanistan, Iraq, Burundi or the Congo,’ Willame remarks, ‘throughout the long exercise of restoring civil and military peace, “peacemakers” have always kept to the same plan: a transition government must lead to a legitimate government stemming from “free and democratic” elections, often organized before the guns have fallen silent’ (2007: 166). Such elections have been both successful and unsuccessful. ‘If the election goes well, the country can continue towards democracy and peace. But if the election goes badly, it can undermine democracy and turn the country back towards conflict’ (Howard 2004: 3). Thus, elections can ‘serve to reconstitute a legitimate government and channel participation and contestation through inclusive, rule-governed institutions of the state’, just as they can create ‘the context for heightened tensions, fears, and, ultimately, widespread violence, especially but not inevitably along ethnic lines’ (Sisk and Reynolds 1998: 12).

The media’s role in post-conflict electoral processes  What role can the media play in elections that are intended to put an end to conflict situations? Are they able to perform the tasks they normally perform in electoral processes? What particular difficulties do they face? Which particular issues are at stake? These are some of the questions this book seeks to address.

14  |  introduction

Wars and conflicts generate significant threats to the media sector, as they create unfavourable economic conditions, turn reporters into propagandists and strengthen the control of information – on the side both of the public authorities and of the other belligerents (Frère 2007a). When post-conflict elections come on the agenda, though fighting may have ended years ago and though the media may have benefited from a transition period to develop in a more stable environment, they are generally still fragile. Since the media are often more than simple observers in conflicts – becoming actors or victims (or both) – they do not emerge unscathed from a war. Quite apart from material and technical difficulties, in those countries where the infrastructure has been damaged the economic context is often weak and press freedom violations can be quite common during post-conflict elections (Marthoz 2000: 6). The media’s independence is not always guaranteed, with the tense atmosphere leading to self-censorship, and the increased polarization of the political field encouraging the prejudices of journalists and editors. Even if journalists try to do their job properly, political pressure, the attempts at manipulation and the urgency with which journalists have to operate during this time can lead to professional shortcomings and breaches. This book aims to shed light on the way the media in Central Africa have operated in the fragile and dangerous environment of the post-conflict electoral processes in Burundi (2005), the Central African Republic (2005), the Republic of Congo (2002 and 2007), the Democratic Republic of Congo (2006), Rwanda (2003 and 2008) and Chad (2001 and 2006). Burundi in 2005 was emerging from a five-year-long transition and elections were intended to put an end to ten years of conflict that had left more than 300,000 dead. That same year, the Central African Republic (CAR) also organized polls to re-establish an elected legitimate government after an armed rebellion and a military coup perpetrated in 2003, following years of political instability. The following year, in 2006, the neighbouring Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) held its first general election in 40 years, as the final step in a three-year-long transition after a war that had killed (directly or indirectly) more than 3 million Congolese citizens. In 2001, 2002 and 2003, Chad, the Republic of Congo and Rwanda also organized post-conflict polls, but in a context where either some armed groups were still threatening the peace or the required conditions for pluralist elections were not met. Thus the next polls in 2006, 2007 and 2008, respectively, were later also considered to be the first ‘real’ post-conflict elections.8 Why these six countries? First, they belong to a single geographic and linguistic area, French being one of the official languages widely used in the media.9 Second, they share a number of political similarities. Each of them recently has been the site of an armed conflict, which either involved neighbouring states or had repercussions for the region. They therefore have

introduction  |  15

a shared history. Despite these interconnections, their political and media backgrounds have generally been observed separately and individually. This work is not, however, a comparative study, since each country retains its own specificities. Rather, our aim is to juxtapose their experiences in order to show the media’s potential role in a crucial phase of the political development of each country and the difficulties that journalists encounter. The electoral context of each of these countries is outlined in chapter  1. The specific features of each context are sketched and the particular challenges facing the electoral process and the media’s daily activities are described. Moving beyond national boundaries, the following three chapters aim to show how, in the different countries, the media have actually a­ ttempted to cover the elections. Chapter 2 concentrates on the pre-election period, underlining the efforts of certain media to inform voters, detailing the major challenges journalists had to face and describing the support they enjoyed from development agencies to better prepare their electoral coverage. Chapter 3 deals with the crucial period of the election campaign, when the media become both the object and the voice of the political strategies of candidates and parties. Examples drawn from the experience of these six countries show the kind of abuses that are possible but also the mechanisms that were implemented to try to limit their impact. Chapter  4 deals with the issue of the media’s role on election day and in the weeks following the polls, before the provisional and then the final results are announced. The chapter concludes with an epilogue which underlines the achievements and potential difficulties for the media in the wake of the elections. The final conclusion then tries to wrap up the major issues and concerns that have emerged throughout the electoral process, and this feeds into a reflection about the future of the media and their democratic role in Central Africa. The material for this book was gathered mainly through field research and in numerous discussions with journalists from the local media in the six countries, and was also extracted from the content of their newspapers and radio programmes.10 Collection of information in each country was possible thanks to the activities of the Institut Panos Paris (IPP) in the Great Lakes region. The IPP, which has been supporting the media sector in this troubled region since 2000, believes that, while journalists in the region have enough manuals and training sessions to guide their work during elections, these methodological tools rarely take account of the specific local context and the particular obstacles that impede the daily work of journalists in these countries. This book therefore presents an account of their experiences. It seeks to describe their work, neither glossing over the shortcomings of the media, nor passing judgement on the decisions they made. It seeks to follow the difficulties they encountered in the course of an election, and to identify the reasons behind their successes or failures. In relating their achievements and

16  |  introduction

weaknesses, their progress and setbacks, their victories and defeats, this book also seeks to do justice to the courage of African journalists, who struggle to pursue a difficult profession in regions where neither the ‘democracy kit’ nor the ‘peace-process kit’ provides any protection for those who, whether with pen, microphone or camera, labour to serve democracy and peace.

1  |  Elections and the Media in Central Africa: Stakes and Challenges

In most Central African countries, free and democratic elections are a relatively recent phenomenon, emerging in the wake of the democratization processes initiated in the early 1990s. Except for Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo (Zaïre between 1971 and 1997), the countries studied in this work experienced pluralist elections following political liberalization and the emergence of multiparty systems. However, instead of bringing about a peaceful political changeover and a more participatory and transparent state governance, the electoral experience led either to civil war (in Burundi and the Republic of Congo) or to the apparent legitimization of governments reluctant to share decision-making processes in an unstable context (in Chad and the Central African Republic). In Mobutu’s Zaïre, political liberalization was manipulated by a moribund dictatorship, and, in Rwanda, by extremist movements, which paved the way for genocide. After more than a decade of political instability, in recent years those six countries have all undergone electoral processes organized in a particular ‘post-conflict’ context. Such a context generally involves various organizational problems: the infrastructure is in ruins, recent demographic data are lacking, and the populations have been massively displaced. Moreover, there is significant political tension, since elections often enable former belligerents to compete in the political arena after having fought one another on the battlefield. Held in the wake of a peace process (DRC, Burundi), a ‘dialogue’ process (Chad) or a ‘transition’ process (CAR, Republic of Congo, Rwanda), these free and democratic elections were monitored closely by donors, who generally provided financial support for organization of the polls – a ‘privileged instrument in the peace-makers’ tool kit’ (Willame 2007: 179). For local populations all too familiar with the torments of war, these polls were often regarded as a way of stabilizing the situation and permanently establishing a more representative and inclusive authority. In some countries, citizens were familiar with the idea of elections, polls having been organized there in the past. But in the wake of armed conflict, these elections were very different in nature – even more than political representation, it was peace that was at stake. Much was expected of the media during these electoral processes, given their useful (and perhaps indispensable) role in raising awareness among

18  |  one

voters and in keeping them informed. Yet elections were also a novel experience for journalists. Despite the diversification of the news sector and the development of private media since the 1990s, the various conflicts that engulfed the region had had a strong impact on the information sector. With each war, the Central African media were made more aware of the difficulty of their task, as well as of their own power to disturb – but also to promote – peace and civic awareness. The post-conflict elections thus took place in an environment in which differing views could, to a greater or lesser extent, be expressed openly in public, but in which the media also bore the scars of war. Before we look more closely at the media’s role in the recent elections in these six Central African countries, this first chapter aims to provide some background information on how the elections unfolded and on the situation of the media sector in each country.1 This is crucial if we are to understand why the media in the region are, from the outset, not in the best position to build on their basic role, as described in the manuals and handbooks for journalists and outlined in the introduction above: to inform citizens fully, honestly and rigorously; to monitor the activities of public and private actors on behalf of citizens; and to serve as a platform for society’s various components. Table 2  The media’s role outside the electoral period The media’s role Possible state interventions Outside • Inform citizens (fully, honestly • Legislation: press law the electoral and rigorously) (guaranteeing freedom of period • Monitor the activities of public the press and terms of and private actors on behalf of implementation); review or citizens repeal of oppressive laws • Serve as a platform for society’s • Regulation: independent various components administrative authority • Public information: guaranteeing access to information • Supporting diversity and pluralism • Financing public media

Burundi: elections and media for peace

The electoral cycle that occurred in Burundi in 2005 was the final step in a transition process that had been designed and ratified by the Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement. Adopted in 2000 by the major politi-

elections and the media  |   19

cal parties (though the main armed groups only joined the process years later), this accord aimed at putting an end to the civil war, which had been devastating the country since 1993. The five-year transition was turbulent, and the elections took place in a tense and unstable context. Traumatized by a conflict that had claimed 300,000 lives and by the ongoing and active presence of certain rebel factions, the population was apprehensive about voting – particularly given that elections had several times been the starting point for violence.

The Burundian ‘electoral trauma’  The 2005 elections were not the first free and democratic elections in the country’s history: multiparty legislative elections had been held as far back as 1961 and 1965. Those had been won overwhelmingly by the Union for National Progress (UPRONA), a nationalist party which, under the leadership of Prince Rwagasore, led the country to independence from the Belgian authority in 1962. To the Burundians, these competitive elections of the 1960s evoke memories of instability and murder, of election campaigns centred on issues of ethnicity, and of the massacres that followed the 1965 polls. The following elections, organized in the 1980s, were characterized by a lack of pluralism, being totally controlled by the Tutsi minority, which dominated the political sphere and the army. In 1981, UPRONA, by now the sole party, organized a constitutional referendum, and in 1984 presidential elections led to the re-election of the only candidate, President Jean-Baptiste Bagaza, who gained 99.63 per cent of the vote. A few years later, in the wave of democratic transitions sweeping across Africa, Burundians were once again called to the polls. In February 1991, they turned out in force in a referendum on the Charter for National Unity, and again, in March 1992, in a referendum on a new constitution that guaranteed political and civil liberties. In June 1993, the first truly democratic presidential elections were held. The Burundian population was both enthusiastic and apprehensive about the polls, since the issues at stake were presented as a matter of survival – for both the Tutsi minority and the Hutu majority, representing roughly 15 per cent and 85 per cent of the population, respectively (Chrétien 1997: 184). Whichever community gained or retained power, that would pose a threat to the other community’s integrity, physical well-being and even its very survival. As was argued during the election campaign, power – whether gained or retained – would safeguard a group’s survival, since it would ensure that it controlled the state’s economic and political resources. Turnout was very high (97.3 per cent) and led to a victory in the first round by the candidate of the predominantly Hutu Front for Democracy in Burundi (FRODEBU). With 64.75 per cent of the vote, Melchior Ndadaye thus became the first Hutu president of Burundi. The outgoing president,

20  |  one

the Tutsi Pierre Buyoya (of UPRONA), received only 32.39 per cent of the vote, and the third candidate, Pierre-Claver Sendegeya of the People’s Reconciliation Party, polled 1.44 per cent. The legislative elections, which were held less than a month later, generated the same level of enthusiasm as turnout reached 91.4 per cent. FRODEBU emerged as the clear winner, taking 65 of the 81 seats in the National Assembly, leaving only 16 seats for UPRONA, a severe defeat for the former single party. Political tensions increased after the campaign, following what was presented as an ethnic political changeover. Three months later, President Ndadaye was assassinated by Tutsi members of the presidential guard, and the country descended into a civil war that would last for more than ten years (Chrétien and Mukuri 2002). Three major Hutu-dominated armed groups – the National Council for the Defence of Democracy (CNDD), the Forces for the Defence of Democracy (FDD) and the National Liberation Front (FNL) – were up against the Tutsi-dominated national army. In the prevailing chaos, former President Buyoya staged a military coup in 1996, but failed to restore order and to put an end to the violence. Thus, elections were important in the Burundian collective memory ­because of the inherent threat of violence. The civil war that followed the 1993 elections contributed to an ingrained popular belief that electoral periods are highly dangerous, generating what Eva Palmans has called an ‘electoral trauma’ (2005: 66).

New post-conflict political rifts  The 2005 elections took place in a difficult political context, since several factors threatened to disrupt the process. First, there was a reluctance among some politicians to go to the polls (in­cluding on the part of the serving president, Domitien Ndayizeye, a member of FRODEBU who had succeeded Buyoya, as stipulated in the Arusha Agreement, but who was not allowed to be candidate). Then, since the war-torn country was in an advanced state of impoverishment, international donors pledged financial support for the electoral process at the Forum of Develop­ ment Partners of Burundi, held in Brussels in January 2004.2 But this money was slow to materialize. Thirdly, the insecurity persisted, as rebels from the Party for the Liberation of Hutu People – National Liberation Front (PALIPEHUTU-FNL) rejected the peace process. These obstacles led to an extension of the transition period, which was originally intended to end on 1 November 2004. According to the independent Coalition of Civil Society for Elections Monitoring (COSOME), the political parties did not help matters. Marred by division, they failed to restore the people’s trust and to allay their fears, and nor did they overcome their own ideological deficiencies (COSOME 2005c: 1). Controversies emerged over the representation of the different ethnic groups in future institutions. The Tutsi minority wanted to make sure

elections and the media  |   21

that it had at least some representation in the future legislative assembly, and that its designated seats would be occupied by members of Tutsi-labelled parties, rather than by Tutsi individuals belonging to Hutu-labelled parties. Though issues of ethnicity featured prominently in political debates during the transition period, shortly before the election process started it became clear that, unlike in 1993, the contest was no longer bipolar and could not be reduced to a confrontation between Hutu and Tutsi – FRODEBU versus UPRONA. The most implacable clashes now seemed to be occurring within the two communities: the Hutu were divided between FRODEBU and the former rebel groupings of the National Council for the Defence of Democracy and the Forces for the Defence of Democracy, allied as the CNDD-FDD. Meanwhile Tutsi rivalries played out within UPRONA, former President Bagaza’s Party for National Recovery (PARENA) and the Movement for the Rehabilitation of Citizens (MRC) – all three Tutsi-labelled parties. There was a further difference from the 1993 elections: the army, tradi­ tionally linked to UPRONA and the Tutsi community, had undergone a blending and integration process. Now consisting of up to 40 per cent of CNDD-FDD elements, and rebalanced to include 50 per cent Hutu and 50 per cent Tutsi, it no longer had any privileged ties to one or another political party and seemed less involved in the political process (ICG 2004: 7). A National Independent Electoral Commission (CENI), consisting of five independent civil society representatives, was established to organize the polls according to the electoral code adopted by the National Assembly on 20 April 2005. Voter registration was a nightmare in a country where the last census had taken place in 1992, before years of war that had resulted in deaths and population displacements. According to COSOME (2005a: 6), ‘the lack of reliable demographic data from a recent population census was a major obstacle in successfully establishing electoral registers. This obstacle was made more complex by the laxity and improvisation of the civil service departments responsible for shouldering the CENI in this matter’ (ibid.: 6). The distribution of voting cards was marred by many irregularities, notably due to FRODEBU and UPRONA, which had run the country jointly since the Arusha Agreement and could count on many influential members within the civil service. Eventually, more than 3.1 million Burundians were registered (out of a population of about 7.5 million).

A six-step electoral process The first step in the electoral cycle was the constitutional referendum of 28 February 2005. The new constitution clearly defined the power-sharing set-up as it affected the two communities: the government and institutions would consist of 60 per cent Hutu and 40 per cent Tutsi (who thus enjoyed something of an advantage compared to their demographic proportion). However, positions in national defence (a particularly sensitive issue) and the Senate would be distributed equally

22  |  one

between Hutu and Tutsi. Despite insecurity, turnout for the referendum was massive (over 92 per cent) and the ‘yes’ vote polled 90.1 per cent. Those who, for various reasons, had supported the ‘no’ vote (UPRONA and PARENA, essentially) were thus weakened by the outcome. The referendum was followed over the next four months by three other direct elections (communal elections on 3 June, legislative elections on 4 July and local community or ‘hills’ elections on 23 September), and two indirect elections (senate elections on 29 July and presidential elections on 19 August). The campaign for the communal elections involved 30 of the 35 officially recognized parties. Candidates favoured rallies, and the tone of the campaign was inflamed by virulent verbal diatribes between FRODEBU and the CNDD-FDD. The former accused the latter of recurring attacks on civilian populations, while the latter accused the former of having done nothing to improve the lot of the country’s citizens during the transition. Election day, 3 June, unfolded peacefully, except in two provinces (­ Bujumbura Rural and Bubanza), where there were reports of attacks by the FNL and by members of the CNDD-FDD who had been integrated into the regular army. In those areas, the elections were postponed until 7 June. Despite the threat of violence, more than 80 per cent of voters headed for the polls, and results gave a landslide victory to the former rebel movement: the CNDD-FDD took 14 of the 17 provinces. The defeated parties, first and foremost FRODEBU, immediately challenged the results, denouncing violations of the electoral code and the constitution. But the CENI rejected all appeals and declared the results to be final, once it had restored the ethnic balance, as provided for in the constitution: a maximum of 67 per cent of mayors could come from the same ethnic group, and so the CENI had to consult with party leaders to decide which 86 communes would be governed by a Hutu mayor and which 43 by a Tutsi (Palmans 2008: 144). Legislative elections followed, with 25 parties competing for 100 seats in the National Assembly. There were fewer major rallies and meetings during this campaign. Opting for a ‘door-to-door’ approach, parties and candidates were more discreet, but also more radical in their arguments, which were characterized by defamation, abuse, invective and even physical threat. Once again, the CNDD-FDD was mainly pitted against FRODEBU, and UPRONA was up against the MRC and PARENA (COSOME 2005c: 11). The media accused some parties of flirting with the PALIPEHUTU-FNL, which still threatened to derail voting operations.3 On polling day, various acts of violence and fraud were reported, but observers considered the election to be overall free and fair. Turnout fell to 74 per cent, but the results confirmed the CNDD-FDD’s supremacy. PARENA and CNDD-Nyangoma (a dissident branch of CNDD-FDD) challenged the results and demanded a recount, but their request was rejected by the CENI.

elections and the media  |   23

The indirect senate elections, held on 29 July, reflected the June results, senators being elected by communal councillors. The presidential election of 19 August was also indirect, the first president of the post-transition period being elected by the National Assembly and the Senate. The only candidate in the race was thus the CNDD-FDD’s Pierre Nkurunziza, a former rebel chief who was elected with 94 per cent of the votes of 166 representatives. The electoral cycle came to an end on 23 September with direct local community elections (les collinaires, which can be translated as ‘hills elections’ in a country where each hill is occupied by a few families): 44,724 candidates contested 14,560 places. These local councillors would be responsible for dealing with the everyday problems of small communities, each consisting of a hundred or so families. According to COSOME (ibid.: 15), this final step in the electoral cycle was largely ignored by the CENI, which left all responsibility to the locally established Independent Communal Electoral Commissions (CECIs).4 As a result, voters were inadequately informed about this last step in the process. Mobilization was weaker than during earlier stages – a fact that probably also reveals a certain lassitude among voters, who were asked to go to the polls for the fourth time in just a few months. Turnout ranged from 25 per cent to 30 per cent in most districts, but dropped to less than 10 per cent in some neighbourhoods of Bujumbura. A report by the electoral observation mission of the European Union concluded that the process as a whole was very satisfactory and had en­ abled ‘the expression of universal suffrage’. The report further stated that ‘Burundian voters have shown their attachment to the electoral process by heading massively to the polls despite intimidations and the disappointing behaviour of some political actors’ (EU-EOM 2005: 4).

The ‘media trauma’ of the hate press While voters showed themselves to be responsible citizens, what about the media? Many changes had occurred in Burundi between the 1993 and the 2005 elections. Alongside the reconfiguration of political oppositions, major changes had swept through the media sector. In just 12 years, Burundian journalists adopted radically different attitudes from one poll to the next.5 In 1993, the recently liberalized Burundian media sector was only emer­ ging, and opportunities for its development were limited. For the most part, private newspapers were an opinion press, openly supporting one or another party or political figure. L’Aube de la Démocratie was the official newspaper of FRODEBU, while L’Indépendant was viewed as the unofficial mouthpiece of UPRONA (and was run by senior members of the party), as was Le Carrefour des Idées. Several private papers openly asserted their political support, presenting their partisan character as an act of patriotism aimed at promoting peace and stability in the country. Some newsrooms

24  |  one

were almost mono-ethnic in composition, and many of these newspapers’ reporters had worked for public media before. Some newspapers, such as La Semaine and Le Citoyen, attempted to remain neutral and avoided becoming politically involved or ethnically labelled. But because the market was so small, these papers were very poor and had circulations of barely a few hundred copies, limited to Bujumbura. Their sources of information were also limited, since journalists did not have the wherewithal to cover events outside the capital (Kaburahe 2002). Public media, including RTNB (Radio Télévision nationale du Burundi) as well as the daily Le Renouveau and the weekly Ubumwe, were largely dominated by UPRONA. National radio and television had a monopoly, no private broadcaster having yet been established. Though legis­lation guaranteed candidates equal access to state-run media (stipulated in the electoral code, as well as in RTNB in-house rules), years of a single-party system had left its mark, and the RTNB failed to give fair coverage to all contenders. However, the public broadcaster’s support for the ruling party was unable to reverse the dynamics of democracy and ethnic arithmetic, and could not prevent the victory of the FRODEBU candidate. But it did contribute to a certain bias in electoral predictions, leading UPRONA to believe that bitter defeat was unthinkable. Though the print media, despite their limited circulation, did play a role in exacerbating ethnic tensions throughout the campaign (most papers fanning the flames of hatred and denigrating the other community), it was particularly after the elections that the media became more radical. Papers close to the loser, President Buyoya, attempted to undermine the credibility of the electoral process and the new authorities. After the assassination of Melchior Ndadaye by Tutsi officers, papers allied to FRODEBU also turned into outright ‘hate media’ (Ndarishikarye and Dupaquier 1995). It was the first time that the expression had been used in Central Africa, as calls for violence spread across the press, and the country went up in flames. Thus, while the 1993 experience made Burundians more apprehensive of elections, it also instilled another fear generated by the pyromaniac media, which were likely to stir up conflict. The subsequent realization of their responsibility in the civil war had a lasting impact on Burundian journalists and led to a profound change in the media sector.

The media’s commitment to peace  Pierre Buyoya’s return to power in 1996, after more than three years of instability and violence, put an end to the war-mongering newspapers, as the offending publications and the parties behind them were banned. The new media initiatives that emerged then sought to distance themselves from the catastrophic experience of the ‘hate media’ (of which neighbouring Rwanda had meanwhile provided the most ‘advanced’ example, with RTLM

elections and the media  |   25

– Radio Télévision Libre des Mille Collines [One Thousand Hills] – before and during the 1994 genocide).6 Studio Ijambo was founded in 1995 by the American non-governmental organization (NGO) Search for Common Ground (SFCG), with the aim of producing radio programmes that could help reconcile communities. Private radio stations then emerged with the support of international NGOs and donors: CCIB-FM was established in 1995 (the radio of the Chamber of Commerce and Industry of Burundi); Radio Umwizera in 1996 (later to become Radio Sans Frontières Bonesha FM); Radio Culture in 1998; Radio Publique Africaine (RPA) in 2001; Radio Isanganiro in 2002; Radio Renaissance in 2004; etc. These stations explicitly aimed to offer balanced information, and to promote peace and reconciliation among the communities of Burundi.7 The international community, traumatized by its own indifference and impotence in the face of the various tragedies in the Great Lakes region, showed itself benevolent and provided financial support for these new broadcasters. The newly established private radio stations completely transformed radio’s programming and journalism practices, and were in stark contrast to the governmental tone of the RTNB. After the Arusha Agreement of 2000, Radio Bonesha, for instance, spent much airtime explaining and popularizing those complex documents. One year later, RPA became hugely popular when it opened up its airwaves to the people on the street, dispatching its reporters to remote neighbourhoods of Bujumbura and to villages to interview the most impoverished citizens, claiming to be ‘the voice of the voiceless’. In 2002, Radio Isanganiro introduced on-air debates, inviting representatives from all political parties and social forces into its studio to discuss topical national issues. By allowing active rebel movements to express themselves on air, by criticizing the authorities for their bad governance and by tackling the long list of taboo subjects of Burundian history (including the massacres perpetrated in 1972, which were until then largely unspoken), these private Burundian radio stations often clashed with the government and were subject to threats and press freedom violations. But they reacted to this tension and pressure by developing their professional solidarity, which enabled them to respond collectively when journalists’ rights were threatened. Several factors help explain why the new Burundian radio stations had no trouble working together: they were independent of political parties, consisted of multi-ethnic teams and were supported by international partners, all of which enabled them to do their job with the equipment and the financial autonomy necessary to resist the pressure. With annual budgets ranging from $300,000 to $500,000 for the three most important stations (Isanganiro, RPA and Bonesha) to a fifth of that for the smallest stations, commercial advertising covered only about a quarter of their expenses. They thus relied on support from donors to balance their budgets (French, Belgian, Swiss and American development aid, American foundations, charities, etc.). Two

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private production studios, Studio Ijambo8 and Studio Tubane, also supported the stations by providing them with programmes that they would not have been able to afford to produce themselves and by paying the stations to broadcast them. The reasonable operating budgets of private radio stations enabled them to pay their highly motivated staff a decent salary ($100–$300 per month) – a staff that consisted essentially of young university graduates who, because of the closure of the Burundi School of Journalism in 1991, were trained on the job. At the time of the 2005 elections, the presence of private radio stations had thus radically altered the Burundian media landscape. Radio remained the principal medium in a country where more than 88 per cent of households claimed to have a radio (compared to 23 per cent who said they owned a television set) and where nearly 80 per cent listened to programmes on a daily basis, or almost (IMMAR 2008). The rare audience studies available indicate that the RTNB, which listeners turned to for official news, had almost been caught up by Radio Isanganiro, the RPA and Radio Bonesha. Broadcasting in French, Kirundi and sometimes Swahili, the major private radio stations aimed at expanding their coverage to most of the country. The  radio landscape also included several denominational radios (the Pentecostalist Radio Ivyizigiro in Bujumbura  and the Catholic Radio Maria Burundi in Gitega), as well as international radio stations: Radio France Internationale (RFI) had been broadcasting on FM in Bujumbura since 1998; the BBC since 2000; and Voice of America (VOA) since 2003. The latter two even broadcast in Kirundi for an hour a day. As a result of the power-sharing dynamic triggered by the transition, and of the competition engendered by private radio stations, national radio and television were compelled to change before the 2005 election. With two radio stations and one television channel,9 the RTNB was a huge machine employing 400 people and was heavily dependent on state support. In 2005, 55 per cent of its annual budget of $1.8 million was covered by state funding, of which 40 per cent went on salaries (Fyon 2007: 24). Even though the governmental media identity was well established and change could only be slow, the RTNB slowly became more open. In 2003, Belgian development aid started to fund a $3.3 million project planned over three years, aimed at updating the RTNB’s technology (mainly switching to digital equipment) and reinforcing its public service mission. The communications policy adopted by the RTNB’s board of directors in December 2003 stipulated that ‘the airwaves belong to all, and each citizen has the right to be informed of the main views on any question of interest to Burundian society’ (quoted in Palmans 2008: 129). As for the print media, discredited by a dark past, they were reduced in 2005 to a handful of titles. Besides government newspapers (the Frenchlanguage daily Le Renouveau, with a print run of less than 1,000 copies, and

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the Kirundi-language weekly Ubumwe), the sector was limited to Ndongozi, a periodical published by the Catholic Church (800 copies) and two irregular publications – Umuntu-Lumière (close to the CNDD-FDD) and Arc-en-Ciel (close to PARENA), which each had a print run of 500 copies. Moreover, the private press agency Net Press distributed dispatches, via the internet, fax and messenger, to 350 subscribers for an annual fee of $300. The state-run Burundi Press Agency (ABP), which published a daily bulletin, had by then only 81 paying subscribers (paying an annual $100), but it still had a network of 19 correspondents in the provincial county towns, and these were widely used by the RTNB. Distribution of the bulletin was limited to Bujumbura. Reflecting the developments of the Burundian media landscape, a new press law had been adopted in November 2003. The new law cancelled an oppressive decree passed in March 1997, after Buyoya’s coup, and brought significant changes to existing legislation. In particular, it put an end to the system of prior authorization, which limited the possibility of creating new titles, and to the obligation to deposit a copy of every publication several hours prior to distribution (Ntahe 2009). On the eve of the 2005 elections, the Burundian media were thus largely aware of the harmful role played by their predecessors, and several private media had emerged with the specific aim of distancing themselves from the ‘hate press’. Journalists were getting prepared to cover the new electoral cycle, knowing that their credibility was at stake – not only as regards their audiences, but also as regards those who supported them financially. Central African Republic: the ballot and the media in a ghost state

Even as Burundi was going through this post-conflict electoral period, a little further north the Central African Republic was also implementing a complete electoral cycle in 2005, after a two-year transition. As in Burundi, the polls were closely monitored by the international community. The process was meant to restore the rule of law to an unstable state, where the two previous pluralist elections, won by Ange-Félix Patassé, had been systematic­ ally challenged, and where General François Bozizé had ended up seizing power through an armed rebellion and a coup in 2003.

The 1993 democratization process: hoping for change  Ange-Félix Patassé was elected to the presidency after the polls of 22 August and 19 September 1993, which were seen as the first free and pluralist elections in the CAR. They were not the first elections in the country’s history, but earlier elections had been neither pluralist nor democratic, and had essentially served to legitimize leaders backed by France, the former colonial power (Bigo 1988). In 1964, single-party elections had legitimized the serving president, David Dacko. In 1981, it was once again thanks to the polls that Dacko confirmed his return to office after overthrowing Jean-Bédel Bokassa (who had seized power in

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1966): Dacko won the poll by a small margin in the second round against Ange-Félix Patassé. Therefore, in a country characterized by political instability, poor economic growth and a continuing French military presence, the 1993 polls provided the Central Africans with the first opportunity to choose freely their leader in a multiparty context. Ange-Félix Patassé won the election in the second round against Abel Goumba. The outgoing president, General André Kolingba, who had seized power when ousting Dacko in a state coup in 1981, came in fourth, behind Goumba and Dacko. Another contender, François Bozizé, attracted pitifully few votes. These highly symbolic elections failed, however, to bring stability to the country. Corruption, bad governance, ethnic privileges in the army and the presidential guard, unpaid civil servants and exclusion of the political opposition generated the same frustration that had destabilized the country for decades. Mutinies and pillaging spread throughout the country, leading the United Nations to establish a peace-keeping force, the United Nations Mission in the Central African Republic (MINURCA), in order to help the national army to re-establish security. In 1998, legislative elections organized under the supervision of MINURCA were won by President Patassé’s opponents. The following year, however, Ange-Félix Patassé won the presidential race in the first round (51.63 per cent of the ballot), defeating General Kolingba (19.37 per cent), David Dacko (11.15 per cent) and Abel Goumba (6.06 per cent). The opposition challenged the results, pointing out the lack of transparency of the polls. A period of permanent instability followed, marked by several attempted coups and the emergence of an armed rebellion in the north of the country. The situation became increasingly chaotic, until François Bozizé seized power on 15 March 2003, overthrowing Ange-Félix Patassé and forcing him into exile. Two years later, after a National Dialogue process was set up by the new regime, a complete electoral cycle was planned, which was supposed to conclude the transition period. The country had by then been ravaged by decades of bad governance and instability, ruined by numerous coup attempts and recurrent destabilization from abroad, and had virtually no means of production; the security of people and goods was regularly threatened; and human rights violations systematically went unpunished. A report by an international NGO stated that ‘the Central African Republic is worse than a failed state: it has virtually become a ghost state, having lost all significant institutional capacities’ (ICG 2007: 1). The international community nevertheless insisted on the electoral process taking place, as if it were ‘a democratic anointing of a power seizure by force’ (FIDH 2005: 11). Since Bozizé had violated international law by staging a coup, he had to legitimize his authority by presenting himself for approval by his fellow citizens.

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The 2005 elections: a necessary legitimization  Though the state was bankrupt, the overall cost of the CAR elections was estimated at more than 5 billion CFA francs ($9.8 million). The CAR’s four main international partners pledged financial support. The European Union contributed more than 3 billion CFA francs ($5.9 million), while France, the former colonial power and still omnipresent, contributed close to 1 billion CFA francs ($2 million). The United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) contributed 400 million CFA francs ($782,000) and was responsible for coordinating the funding provided by these partners. Other contributions included $782,000 from the International Organisation of La Francophonie (i.e. French-speaking countries) (OIF);10 $250,000 from the United States and $95,000 from the Economic Community of Central African States (ECCAS) (OIF 2005: 8). This level of investment was unprecedented in the country’s history, and the international partners who were financing the process repeatedly reminded Central African leaders that it was a unique opportunity and was not to be squandered. In February 2005, International Monetary Fund (IMF) delegates visiting Bangui reiterated that the organization of credible elections was a prerequisite for any form of subsequent negotiation with international financial institutions. Any future budgetary support would be conditional on the presence in power of democratically elected authorities. The basic framework necessary for the organization of these elections was adopted during the National Dialogue, which set the foundations for the 2004 electoral code and the creation of the CEMI (Mixed Independent Electoral Commission), an autonomous and independent body. The CEMI was headed by Jean Willybiro Sako, a magistrate who was well known for his integrity, and consisted of ten delegates from political parties, ten civil society delegates and ten civil service delegates. Following the census and the establishment of electoral registers, the first step in the electoral cycle was the constitutional referendum, held on 5 December 2004. A total of 1.5 million Central Africans (out of a population of 3.6 million) headed to the polls. The constitution was approved with 97 per cent of the ballot, and was promulgated by President Bozizé on 27  December. But the referendum triggered a clash between the Transitional Constitutional Court and the CEMI, both bodies announcing different results. The Constitutional Court’s credibility and integrity were questioned, notably by the press. In early January 2005, new tensions arose when a controversy erupted over the list of candidates for the presidential elections: most of the former presidents and the incumbent’s main opponents had been rejected. Omar Bongo, the president of Gabon, was called upon to mediate. All the contenders were finally accepted, except for Ange-Félix Patassé, still in exile in Togo, who was banned from the race. Despite Patassé’s disapproval, his party, the Movement for the Liberation of the Central African People (MLPC), then

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presented another candidate, Martin Ziguélé, who had earlier registered as an independent. Ziguélé and André Kolingba, both of whom had settled abroad a few years earlier, returned to the country to start campaigning. Another candidate living in exile, Jean-Jacques Démafouth, decided not to return to Bangui because an international arrest warrant had been issued against him by the regime. In fact, ten of the eleven contenders had previously held high-ranking positions in the administration. As noted in the private daily Le Confident, ‘those who now claim they want peace, security and stability in order to stimulate development are the very same people who contributed one way or another to the numerous crises the Central African Republic has suffered’.11 A total of 4,143 polling stations were set up across the country, as well as in CAR embassies and consulates abroad. In order to cover a territory that lacks road infrastructure and reliable airlines, the CEMI had the logistical support of forces from the Central African Economic and Monetary Community, the Multinational Force in the Central African Republic, the French military detachment in Boali and the CAR armed forces. The first round of the presidential and legislative elections was held on 13 March 2005. Besides the 11 presidential contenders, 908 candidates were running for 105 parliamentary seats. Three weeks later, on 30 March, the CEMI announced the final results:12 François Bozizé came out top with 42.97 per cent of the ballot, followed by Martin Ziguélé (23.53 per cent) and André Kolingba (16.36 per cent). The results revealed what Le Citoyen called the ‘regional and tribal establishment of certain political parties’: Martin Ziguélé (MLPC), André Kolingba (Democratic Central African Rally – RDC), Jean-Paul Ngoupandé (National Unity Party) and Charles Massi (Democratic Forum for Modernity) ‘can lay claim to electoral strongholds which generally correspond to their native regions and their surroundings’.13 Far ahead of his rivals, Bozizé benefited from being seen as a liberator who had restored some semblance of stability, while Ziguélé benefited from the campaign machine of former President Patassé’s MLPC party, which was well structured and in evidence nationwide. A second-round run-off between Bozizé and Ziguélé was scheduled. A coalition was first formed against the incumbent president by the other candidates (called the Union of Active Forces of the Nation – UFVN), but it was immediately weakened when some of the ousted candidates sought to distance themselves from Ziguélé, who seemed in fact to be lagging too far behind. In the second round of the presidential and legislative elections, held on 8 May 2005, Bozizé beat Ziguélé, obtaining 64.5 per cent of the ballot. Polling day was peaceful, except for one major incident that was reported in the fourth district of Bangui. Nicolas Tiangaye, president of the National Transition Council and former president of the Central African Human

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Rights League (LCDH) was running there as an independent candidate. He was backed by several media and civil society organizations, but had not obtained a clear victory in the first round. In the second round, Tiangaye was up against Edouard Ngaïssona, running for Bozizé’s political movement, but the contenders were soon hurling accusations and denigrating one another. The CEMI’s national secretariat called an urgent meeting on 30 April in an attempt to defuse the tensions between the two candidates.14 On polling day, many irregularities were reported in that district, where armed men were seen entering polling stations, watching the counting of votes and carrying out the ballot boxes. Tiangaye was officially defeated. Despite some protests, the presidential inauguration took place on 11 June, and the new government was formed on 19 June. It included two former presidential contenders: Charles Massi and Jean-Paul Ngoupandé, who had both rallied behind Bozizé between the two rounds, thereby turning their backs on their own parties. The legislative elections gave President Bozizé a relative majority in parliament: his coalition, the ‘Kwa na Kwa’ National Convergence (‘Work, nothing but work’ in the national language Sango; otherwise known as the KNK Convergence) obtained 45 of the 105 seats.15 The electoral process was deemed ‘exemplary’ (ICG 2007: 1), despite the incidents in the fourth district and the exclusion of Patassé, which was denounced by his supporters. But this exclusion was in fact to have serious repercussions, since it would lead to the emergence of another armed rebellion in the north-west of the country in the days following the elections (HRW 2007: 39).

An atrophied media landscape On the eve of these important polls, the Central African media were in a precarious state due to an unstable political and economic environment that had persisted for decades. As in neighbouring countries, the media landscape was liberalized in the early 1990s, but since then private media had struggled to structure and professionalize themselves, while state-owned media had gradually been disintegrating. Over the previous 15 years, the entire sector had endured economic collapse due to looting, political-military pressure and violence, and had suffered from a lack of material and human resources in an isolated country neglected by its foreign partners. At the time of the 2005 elections, the CAR had five private daily newspapers, two of which appeared regularly (Le Citoyen and Le Confident, the only two papers with a permanent office), while the other three circulated more randomly (L’Hirondelle, Le Démocrate and Les Dernières Nouvelles). Le Citoyen and Le Confident had six or seven permanent employees, while the others were virtually written by a single person who signed most articles with various pseudonyms. The newspapers were rudimentary, appearing in A4 format and having eight to twelve photocopied pages, because of the

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lack of printing equipment in Bangui.16 Typing, editing and printing were often impeded by power cuts, which left several neighbourhoods of Bangui without electricity, sometimes for several hours a day. There were also some 20 other papers that were supposedly weeklies but that appeared irregularly. Print runs ranged from 300 to 1,000 copies. Distribution was limited to the capital, if not to the centre of Bangui alone. There was no transport network allowing the distribution of the papers in the provinces: there was neither any organized public transport by road, nor any regular domestic flights linking Bangui to other towns within the country. The print media appeared exclusively in French, since Sango is essentially a spoken language. The newspapers were the property of a single man, the editor, and were run by young graduates with no training in journalism as there was no school of journalism in the CAR. Journalists were poorly paid – between 15,000 and 70,000 CFA francs per month ($29–$138). Most papers were partisan and tended to spread unverified rumours, which had led to numerous libel trials. They were heavily politicized, and certain journalists had already paid the price for their political commitment in 2001, when some editors had to flee the country to avoid reprisals from the Patassé regime against Kolingba’s supporters and members of his ethnic group.17 The economic environment suffered as a result of political instability and recurrent looting during the mutinies and coups, and commercial advertising was virtually non-existent. Numerous foreign private entrepreneurs, who constituted both possible readers, with enough money to buy the papers, and potential advertisers, fled the country. In 2005, the Chamber of Commerce indicated that only 16 foreign companies were still registered in the CAR. Civil servants, another traditional category of readers, were owed 40 months’ worth of salary at the time of the elections and were unable to buy newspapers. And as regards diplomatic missions, of which there were few to start with in this isolated and sparsely populated country, many had closed down after the lootings: the embassies of the United States, Japan and Germany had all withdrawn. A European Union delegation was still present in Bangui, but aid had been partially suspended after the 2003 coup and the staff was limited. The radio sector was also quite small, though radio is a favoured medium because of the high level of illiteracy. National radio, Radio Centrafrique, broadcast on FM in Bangui, and generally on short and medium waves in the provinces (70 per cent in Sango, 30 per cent in French). But of the five transmitters it had received from France and China, in 2005 only one was still operational – and that at reduced capacity. The radio employed some 60 staff members and a dozen freelance journalists. At the time of the elections, the station’s general manager, Christian Aimé Ndotah, recognized that ‘not all employees are working’: as much as a salary and equipment, they lacked motivation.18 The radio had only two operating studios, having gradually been

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stripped of its equipment by its own staff members, who helped themselves according to their needs and market opportunities.19 The station had only one vehicle at its disposal to be shared with television crews and three recording machines. Its programmes lacked diversity and were limited to news and entertainment broadcast from the studio. The annual budget for Radio Centrafrique was included in the subsidies allocated to the Ministry of Communications by the annual finance law. The amount granted to the radio was derisory (8 million CFA francs – $15,600 – in 2005), and the money was so difficult to obtain that it could hardly be used for investment. The station thus had to content itself with the meagre revenues it generated through advertising and public announcements. National radio’s main rival, Radio Ndeke Luka (‘Bird of Chance’), was founded in 2000 by the Swiss Hirondelle Foundation, which specializes in setting up radio stations in crisis-ridden countries.20 It succeeded Radio MINURCA, which was established in 1998 and was tied to the eponymous UN Mission in the Central African Republic. In 2005, Radio Ndeke Luka had a dozen employees, four of whom were permanent, assisted by a dozen journalists and freelancers. Staff were better paid than in the print media (approximately 200,000 CFA francs per month – $390). The station’s administrative status rested on a tripartite agreement between the Hirondelle Foundation, the Ministry of Communications and the UNDP, which first hosted the station in one of its buildings. Radio Ndeke Luka quickly distinguished itself by its professional journalistic work, and enjoyed relative freedom of expression. As noted by Martin Ziguélé, a 2005 presidential contender, ‘it broadcasts daily what we would not have dared discuss in private ten years ago’ (quoted in ICG 2007: 18).21 The radio’s editorial line was founded on balanced information, and focused on local news. It also opened its airwaves to the population as much as possible. Its popularity was quite high in Bangui and even deep inside the country, for it had been broadcasting on short wave since 2004, for an hour a day.22 On several occasions in the country’s recent past, Radio Ndeke Luka played a key role in broadcasting verified and cross-checked news during times of trouble and uncertainty, and in defending citizens’ rights. It frequently faced the authorities’ wrath and its reporters remain subject to pressure from offi­ cials, the police, the armed forces and various other groups.23 With an annual budget of between $450,000 and $650,000, the radio relied exclusively on foreign aid, since its agreement with the state prevented it from broadcasting commercial advertising and from charging for official notices or listeners’ announcements. It had a range of donors: the Swiss Agency for Development and Cooperation, the UNDP, United Nations Peace-building Office in the Central African Republic (BONUCA), the French embassy, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO)

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and the OIF. The station’s survival has been an ongoing source of concern, for the Hirondelle Foundation as well as for the local staff, as each year brings a new struggle to secure the budget. Radio Centrafrique and Radio Ndeke Luka were virtually alone in broadcasting on the eve of the elections. The Catholic Radio Notre Dame, founded in 1995 with the support of the Italian Episcopal Conference, was certainly initially a new platform for freedom of expression; but it had ceased broadcasting in 2003, following technical and financial difficulties. A few weeks prior to the 2005 elections, it resumed broadcasting experimental programmes, thanks to a small and very weak transmitter with a range of less than 10 km. Most staff members had been dismissed, and it no longer had a team to cover the polls. Two other denominational radio stations, Radio Voix de la Grâce and Radio Evangile Néhémie (both Protestant), were available on FM in Bangui, but did not broadcast news programmes and focused mainly on evangelization. Eventually, two international radio stations (the French RFI and the Gabon-based Africa No. 1) also broadcast on FM in Bangui.24 Very popular in the capital city, these foreign broadcasters paid scant attention to this small country, in which they had only a single local correspondent.

A territory mostly deprived of news In 2005, Radio Centrafrique’s shortwave transmitters were out of order and Radio Ndeke Luka’s limited means prevented it from broadcasting out of Bangui for more than one hour a day. The limited scope of the Bangui-based media could not be compensated for by the local media in the provinces, and as a result most of the Central African territory was deprived of any news. Though four diocesan radio stations had been set up within the country, only two were operational at the time of the elections: Radio Siriri (‘Peace’), in Bouar, had ceased broadcasting during the 2003 rebellion, and Radio Ndoyé (‘Love’), in Bossangoa, had been shut down in November 2002 following an attack by rebels. Only Radio Songo (‘Family’) in M’Baïki and Radio Be Oko (‘One Heart’) in Bambari continued broadcasting for a few hours a day. Moreover, four ‘rural’ radio stations had been created in 1993 with the support of the precursor to the OIF, but only two (in Bambari and Berberati) were still operating in 2005.25 Those based in Bouar and Nola had been abandoned in the wake of significant pressure from local politicians on those stations, which were virtually hijacked by the mayors, leading the OIF to withdraw its support.26 The main difficulty for these provincial radio stations, whether rural or denominational, was access to electricity, which was only available in a very few places in the Central African Republic. Outside Bangui, a generator is usually needed to produce electricity, and most of the stations could not afford the required fuel. Lacking technical know-how, radio stations were at

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the mercy of the slightest technical breakdown and were totally dependent on a few experts based in Bangui for maintenance of and repairs to the transmitting and production equipment. As far as television is concerned, the only station in 2005 was the national Télé Centrafrique, which only reached a limited elite of some 50,000 homes in Bangui. It did not even cover the whole city, since technical problems rendered the transmitter weak. Though it was meant to broadcast daily from midday until 10 p.m., it struggled to fill its schedule. The staff lacked both the motivation and the necessary skills.27 The station operated thanks to freelance journalists and trainees, some of whom had been there for years and earned approximately 25,000 CFA francs ($49) per month or else worked as volunteers. The television channel’s equipment was outdated and inadequate. It had a single operational studio, one control room and three cameras. There were hardly any local productions, except for the news and a few television shows. The station relied heavily (up to 80 per cent) on programmes from abroad. As the general manager said: ‘Without the free programmes received from CFI [Canal France International], there would be no Télé Centrafrique.’28 Lastly, besides national radio and television, the state also ran the Central African Press Agency, probably the most neglected of all public media. Though it was meant to centralize and redistribute national and international news, by 2005 it was virtually non-operational.29 Poverty and isolation, as well as threats, violence and attacks on press freedom, were thus everyday realities for Central African journalists on the eve of the 2005 elections. Even though a new press law, adopted in 2004 after years of an oppressive legal framework, stated that a journalist could not be jailed for libel or for propagating false news, unofficial and informal threats remained common. Is it possible for a journalist to undertake professional coverage of an election when the media are so vulnerable? How can these elections be free and democratic when the overwhelming majority of the population has no access to news broadcasts? Which strategies can be implemented to shed some light on these dark areas? These were the questions that some Central African journalists were asking themselves on the eve of the elections. Republic of Congo: elections marred by violence

As in Burundi, the electoral history of the Republic of Congo can be labelled ‘traumatic’, since the organization of elections led, on two occasions, to armed conflict. Nevertheless, this trauma is more recent, as the Congo had never organized a pluralist election before 1992. Indeed, from the time it gained independence from France, in 1960, until the democratization process of the beginning of the 1990s, the oil-rich but underdeveloped Congo had only experienced violent power shifts and single-party rule.

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The first multiparty presidential elections took place in August 1992: Pascal Lissouba was elected in the second round with 61.8 per cent of the votes, defeating his challenger, Bernard Kolélas. The incumbent president, Denis Sassou Nguesso, who had run the country since 1979, did not even get beyond the first round (polling only 16.87 per cent of the votes, against 35.89 per cent for Lissouba and 20.32 per cent for Kolélas) and was forced to concede. Within a few weeks of the polls, political tension and violence arose in Brazzaville, mainly related to the way in which the new Lissouba regime was gathering power after its electoral victory (Yengo 2006: 178). While legislative elections were to have been held in 1993, each party recruited its own militias (the Ninjas for Kolélas, the Cobras for Sassou Nguesso and the Zulus or Cocoyes for the Lissouba government), generally on a regional or ethnic basis. Civil war erupted in the Republic of Congo, leading to bloody ‘ethnic cleansing’ of several neighbourhoods that lasted until the end of 1994. In 1997, new presidential elections were scheduled, and Sassou Nguesso, who had been in exile in Paris, returned to the country to launch his election campaign. Before the polls could be organized, clashes erupted between supporters of Lissouba and Sassou Nguesso, which led to a second civil war. Elections never took place, and Sassou Nguesso seized power by force as the country again sank into violence and instability. Thus, as was noted in La Semaine africaine, the country’s oldest newspaper, all Congolese know that elections are a sensitive period in the Congo. The violent conflicts which have torn the national fabric since 1959 are mainly due to elections, since these conflicts occur in pre- or post-electoral periods. It’s simple: politics is no longer at the service of the common good, but a means of gaining access to the country’s resources in order to serve oneself first.30

The 2002 elections: a means of emerging from war The 2002 presidential elections were the first to be held after the civil wars that had ravaged the country for about ten years, leaving 30,000 dead and 800,000 displaced people. The new constitution, adopted in January 2002 by means of a referendum, reinforced the power of the president, suppressed the prime minister’s function and weakened the National Assembly. At the outset, Denis Sassou Nguesso ousted his two main rivals, Pascal Lissouba and Bernard Kolélas, both of whom had been living in exile since 1997. Indeed, the electoral law appeared tailor-made, insisting as it did that contenders must have lived uninterruptedly in the Republic of Congo for 24 months when their candidacy was registered. Moreover, candidates could not be over 75 years of age, which again disqualified those potential challengers. Of the remaining candidates, Sassou Nguesso’s main challenger was André Milongo, the former speaker of the National Assembly and prime minister

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in the transition government at the beginning of the 1990s. A few weeks before the election, however, Milongo withdrew from the race, denouncing ballot manipulations. Sassou Nguesso thus found himself alone against ‘a few harmless contenders’ (ibid.: 386). Though the outcome of the presidential elections was predictable, security was an important issue. A mission of the International Federation for Human Rights (FIDH), organized shortly before the elections, highlighted several elements that threatened ‘the holding of these elections in adequate conditions, in compliance with international law’ (FIDH 2002: 3). First, the elections were going ahead despite the fact that one of the rebel movements, the Forces of Self-Defence and Resistance of Pastor Ntumi,31 was still active in the Pool region, on the outskirts of Brazzaville. The insecurity generated by this movement was compounded by the presence of foreign troops (Angolan troops, soldiers from the former Zaïre, armed factions from Chad, the CAR and Rwanda), whose ‘undue influence’ could prevent voters from expressing themselves freely and might impede candidates on the campaign trail. Violence remained ubiquitous, in a country where victims were afraid to speak out and perpetrators went unpunished: ‘the Congolese are afraid, and remain traumatized by the recent conflicts, of which they were the first victims’, the above FIDH report claimed. ‘The widespread availability of weapons on Congolese territory remains an important factor in sustaining the feeling of fear.’ Lastly, the mission also feared the unhealthy involvement of state bodies at the service of a candidate ‘in violation of the administration’s obligation of reserve and neutrality’. The organization of the elections, according to the electoral law adopted in December 2001, fell to the Ministry of the Interior, Security and Territorial Administration, through its Department of Electoral Affairs. The National Electoral Commission (CONEL)’s mission was limited to supervising electoral operations. Headed by the presiding judge of the Court of Appeal, Charles Emile Apesse, it included 120 members representing government, political parties and civil society. A total of 1.7 million voters were registered on the electoral rolls. The campaign was apathetic and unenthusiastic. Sassou Nguesso used ‘thinly veiled messages to the population that their real choice was between his own election as president or a return to civil war’ (Clark 2008: 259). The poll for the presidential elections took place on 10 March. Numerous irregularities were reported, although a hundred or so international observers (sent by the European Union, the OIF, the Organization of African Unity [OAU] and several bilateral donors) praised its peaceful nature. The vote count was marked by a lack of transparency and was heavily criticized, but observers believed that these abuses were ‘not sufficient, considering the number of votes obtained by Denis Sassou Nguesso, to influence the overall result of the election’ (EU-EOM 2002: 28).

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Indeed, Sassou Nguesso won the first round with 89.41 per cent of the ballot.32 For the opposition newspaper La Rue meurt, the aim of the election, which was to ‘transform a military victory into a political victory’,33 had been achieved. Thanks to these elections, Sassou Nguesso’s return to power complied with the new era, in which the legitimacy of authorities was founded on a semblance of the ‘rule of law’ (Yengo 2006: 386). The legislative elections that were held two months later, on 26 May and 23 June 2002, enabled the seven parties united around the Congolese Labour Party (PCT) – formerly the only party – to control 83 of the 137 seats in the National Assembly. Because of the ongoing instability, elections could not be organized in the Pool region, and its eight seats were not allocated. As John Clark (2008: 259) concluded: ‘The lopsided results of the legislative elections … only confirmed that the process had been manipulated to produce the desired result’ – the result desired by Sassou (who wanted to remain in power at all costs) and by France (which backed him as a candidate and played a large role in organizing the election).

The elections of 2007: sealing the return to peace and the continuity of power  In 2007, five years after the 2002 electoral masquerade, legislative elections were again organized. They were, in fact, intended to mark a return to normality in politics, since it was only in 2003 that an agreement had been signed between the government and rebels in the Pool region. This time, the war was finally over. Legislative elections on 24 June and 5 August 2007 marked the beginning of a full electoral cycle. Local elections followed on 29 June 2008, and presidential elections on 12 July 2009. However, the shadow of the forthcoming presidential elections loomed over the 2007 elections, since parliamentary candidates intended to use their electoral strength as a bargaining chip in negotiating their support for the re-election of President Sassou Nguesso two years later. Once again, the elections generated more apprehension than enthusiasm. However, this was not so much due to fear of violent outbursts, but because the Congolese had little or no confidence in the possibility of organizing transparent elections. The opposition and the ruling party first clashed on the issue of setting up a truly independent electoral commission. La Semaine africaine feared a reprise of the 2002 scenario – when the government had organized the elections and announced the results, the electoral commission having a mere monitoring function, while the President of the Republic had a decisive influence on the barring of certain candidates. [It] could pave the way for disputes that are likely to degenerate and create tension in certain regions of the country.34

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A group claiming to be part of the opposition demanded that this independent electoral commission be in charge of all electoral operations, including the administrative census, security measures, the financing of political parties and the campaign. It also demanded that all parties be ­ given fair access to public media and a guaranteed freedom of expression and communication.35 But the authorities refused to change either the status or the composition of the CONEL, claiming that ‘the independence of the electoral regulatory authority, so strongly demanded by the opposition, does not reside in its title, but rather in its operations’; one had to focus rather on its ‘operational independence’.36 At a meeting of ministers on 13 February 2007, the government ­announced that it wanted to ‘redefine the authority in charge of organizing and monitoring elections’.37 But when a bill to this effect was submitted to parliament in March, it appeared that the electoral commission’s role would still be limited to verification, monitoring and supervision, without any real autonomy, decision-making power or independence – something that the opposition was unwilling to accept. The second bone of contention was the revision of the electoral roll. A 2002 report by EU observers had recommended a new administrative census, which would be ‘indispensable to any EU participation in future elections in the Congo’ (EU-EOM 2002: 28). With only two months left before the elections, not only had the census not been organized, but the revision of the existing electoral roll had yet to begin.38 In the end, the opposition was divided: while some parties decided to propose candidates ‘for fear of being marginalized during the next legislature’,39 others chose to boycott the election. Two heavyweight members of the opposition – Pascal Lissouba’s Pan-African Union for Social Democracy and André Milongo’s Union for Democracy and the Republic (UDR-Mwinda) – decided to take part in the election, as did Pastor Ntumi’s National Council of Republicans, the former rebel movement turned political party. The first round was held on 24 June 2007: 1,807 candidates contested 137 seats. A total of 46 candidates were elected in the first round, 43 of whom were members of President Sassou Nguesso’s PCT. In 19 electoral districts (six of which were in Brazzaville), polls either did not take place or were only partial and had to be reorganized. Polls were cancelled in three electoral districts following ‘acts of intimidation and physical violence against citizens’ which might have ‘deterred some voters from heading to the polling stations and, for those who had gone, might have prevented them from voting freely’.40 In some places, groups of youths threatened voters, while elsewhere candidates themselves, backed by armed men, threatened polling station officials. The second round, initially set for 22 July, was postponed until 5 August. La Semaine africaine noted ‘a slight improvement in the organization of the ballot, though problems persisted, notably as regards electoral rolls and voting

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cards’.41 Turnout was apparently very low. The ballot lacked any significant political issue, since in many districts the only contenders were those who were allied with the president’s party, a fact that probably discouraged voters. In the end, Sassou Nguesso’s PCT and its allies obtained 123 of the 137 seats in the National Assembly. The 13 opposition deputies in the former legislature were now down to 12 (and there were two independent deputies). As La Semaine africaine asked: ‘Are peace and stability only to be achieved through a politically monolithic authority?’42 While the opposition challenged the results, the newly elected deputies got down to negotiating with the incumbent president, Sassou Nguesso, to give him their support in the forthcoming presidential election.

Media plurality with no diversity The Congolese media sector is the mirror image of the political field. If one merely considers statistics, the field has effectively been liberalized since 1990, when censorship was lifted. In 2007, the High Council for the Freedom of Communication (CSLC) listed 54  newspapers (13 of which were published more or less regularly), 24 private radio stations (community, commercial and denominational), 14 private television stations, and a public media service that included a daily newspaper, three public radio stations (as well as seven departmental stations) and a national television station (with seven departmental outposts) (CSLC 2008). However, just as the plethora of political parties did not prevent the emergence of a political monolith, neither did media pluralism lead to a great variety of content. One of the reasons was that, in Brazzaville, where the public media and the print media dominate the news market, the overwhelming majority of journalists (including those in the private sector) are civil servants, receiving a salary from the state. For the past 20 years, the Congolese print media have always been ­heavily politicized but have become more and more consensual. Though more than 60 papers sprang up during the Sovereign National Conference and the first democratic elections of 1992, most of these died during the wars of 1993 and 1997. Indeed the conflict tore apart the city of Brazzaville, where all the private newspapers were located. The newspapers that did survive were the ones close to an armed faction and that were based in a neighbour­hood that was protected by a militia. In the Congo, too, the term ‘hate media’ was used during the war, mainly to describe the radio stations: the public broadcaster Radio Congo, on Lissouba’s side, and the clandestine Radio Liberté, on Sassou Nguesso’s side, would incite hatred towards the supporters of the other party. After the wars, a new generation of newspapers appeared, but they were in a materially precarious situation and suffered from a lack of professional resources. Journalists had been deeply divided along ethnic and political

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lines, and many had left the country. The return to peace and the exile of the main opposition figures led to a certain consensus in the press, though most of the papers did not have much choice if they wanted to survive. By the time of the 2007 post-conflict legislative elections, only a few titles were published regularly: the daily Les Dépêches de Brazzaville, which was close to President Sassou Nguesso; the Catholic Church’s twice weekly La Semaine africaine; and a handful of weeklies published haphazardly, including La Rue meurt, Le Choc, Tam-Tam d’Afrique, Le Défi africain and Les Echos du Congo. No paper had a print run in excess of 2,000 copies and only a handful had a head office; the others were produced at the workplace or home of their editor. Hamstrung by high production costs (input was imported, generally via Kinshasa), newspapers were very expensive (500 CFA francs or almost $1), except for Les Dépêches de Brazzaville, which was generously ‘sponsored’ and cost only 100 CFA francs ($0.20). This paper benefited from massive investments from high-ranking government officials. It was founded in 1998 as a four-colour monthly, and became a weekly in 2004 and then a daily in 2007. The paper’s newsroom was fully equipped with computers and had the only rotary press in the country. The paper’s printing house benefited hugely from printing contracts tied to the elections. The newsroom in Brazzaville was networked with the owner’s office in Paris. ‘When we have finished editing the paper here, we have to wait for the final corrected proof from the desk in Paris,’ explained Emile Gankama, the paper’s managing editor.43 Besides this private (though very presidential) daily, the government published its own weekly, La Nouvelle République. It was founded in 1998, after Sassou Nguesso’s return to power, on the remains of the national daily Mwete (‘Star’). The Congolese Information Agency, also state funded, had limited capacity and published a daily bulletin of dispatches that was distributed free to all government services. La Semaine africaine, established in 1952 by the Catholic Church, is the doyen of private newspapers and the only paper, besides Les Dépêches, with a fully organized, equipped and structured newsroom. It was long considered a paragon of seriousness, fairness and level-headedness in the local media landscape. After financial imperatives gradually compelled it to open up to commercial and (at times) political advertising, the paper seemed to give in to advertiser pressure, and its prestige had declined somewhat. Most other papers were deemed unreliable, ethnically and regionally biased, each publication serving as a political and financial instrument for its sponsor, rather than as a means of informing citizens. Le Choc, established in 1991, gravitated towards Sassou Nguesso. La Rue meurt, which was also founded in 1991, was long at the service of Bernard Kolélas, the former mayor of Brazzaville. Initially a firm opponent of the president, it turned to ‘moderately supporting’ Sassou Nguesso and as a result lost a substantial

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number of readers. The paper’s manager, Ferdinand Kihoulou, lamented the fact that ‘readers only want critical articles. Whenever one wishes to praise the government for its actions, one is immediately accused of having sold out.’44 Besides opinion pieces, the private press was replete with accounts of events. These enabled journalists, whose salaries are rarely paid, to collect the camorra,45 a small amount of money paid by the organizers of these events to journalists who cover them. Some papers were also used as a way for high-ranking officials to settle scores, and were not afraid to publish abuse, libel or unfounded allegations. During the electoral periods, in 2002 and in 2007, the economic mood in Brazzaville was morose, despite the fact that the country was an important oil producer. The only advertiser to feature in all newspapers was a mobile phone company, which took out a full page in every issue. As an editor acknowledged in 2008: ‘One can say that it is thanks to Celtel [Zaïn] or MTN [which appeared only after the 2007 election] that papers appear regularly.’ At 100,000 CFA francs ($195) per page (the official rate, but probably lower in reality), these companies enabled the main weeklies to raise 400,000 CFA francs ($782) per month, which was enough to cover part of the printing costs.

Broadcast media: no voice for the opposition  Even more than in the print media, Congolese broadcasting was monotone and the number of outlets limited. An initial filtering mechanism operated at the level of frequency allocation. Even though a new, more liberal press law was adopted in 2001, replacing oppressive legislation dating from 1996, the legal framework remained incomplete. There were no regulations governing the establishment of a private radio or television station, which meant that each initiative was regarded differently. Thus, while the Catholic radio station Magnificat underwent a lengthy and difficult approval process,46 radio stations owned by politicians close to the regime were launched without any official authorization at all. When asked about the numerous formal applications that had been lodged but apparently not processed, the Ministry of Communications invoked the unavailability of frequencies. Indeed, 16 of the 24 frequencies on FM allocated by the International Telecommunication Union (ITU) for the city of Brazzaville were used illegally by Kinshasa-based radio stations, broadcasting from the other side of the river, just about 5 km away.47 Three public radio stations broadcasting in Brazzaville thus had a near monopoly. Radio Congo technically came under the Ministry of Communications, and in 2008 employed 462 civil servants, of whom 80 per cent were journalists. It broadcast on short wave nationwide and on FM in Brazzaville, Pointe-Noire, Dolisie and Owando. Radio Brazzaville, founded in 1999, was national radio’s local community station. It was very popular in its early years, because it gave voice to local populations by interviewing people

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in the street. But, having lost the use of its vehicle and lacking sufficient equipment, Radio Brazzaville reduced its coverage to official events, since, as its director Godefroid Yombi recognized, referring to the camorra, ‘those are the opportunities for the journalists to get something’.48 Lastly, Canal FM (a rural radio station) was under the supervision of the Ministry of Agriculture and Livestock. It had had its own frequency since 2001, and broadcast on FM in Brazzaville and environs. On the eve of the 2007 elections, all three public radio stations faced numerous problems: obsolete analogue equipment, power cuts, the absence of any means of transport and the lack of consumables (the same tapes were constantly reused, thus leading to poor sound quality and, at the same time, depriving the radio of its archives). Staff were demotivated and were becoming scarce. As proof of this, although Radio Congo was meant to employ 400 people, there were no more than 20 chairs available in the whole building. Fellow journalists called it ‘the chairless radio station’ (‘la radio sans chaise’).49 Radio news broadcasts, though more professional and diverse than the television news of Télé Congo (see below), remained monotonous. Listeners deplored the fact that the opposition did not have any access to the airwaves. National television, Télé Congo, employed 503 people in 2007, including a hundred or so journalists. Better equipped than national radio, it nevertheless only broadcast in Brazzaville, Pointe-Noire, Dolisie and Ouesso. Like other public media, it repeatedly failed to access the annual government funding that was officially allocated to it, and had thus to cover its operating costs through advertising. Self-censorship was even more pronounced than on national radio. ‘Strikes are only mentioned once they are over,’ a viewer remarked. A propaganda tool for the regime, it left no room for the opposition. Besides the public broadcaster, Brazzaville also had two private radio and television stations, as well as two international radio stations established on FM (RFI and Africa No. 1).50 Radio Liberté was established by Denis Sassou Nguesso during the 1997 war as a clandestine broadcaster, transmitting from a mobile van located in the Brazzaville neighbourhoods that he controlled. It  was registered as a private broadcaster at the end of the conflict. Its schedule was quite varied, and covered live broadcasts, sports, commercial programmes sponsored by advertisers, politics, health, children’s and women’s programmes. It broadcast on FM throughout Brazzaville, but most of its listeners were in the sixth district (Talangaï), where it was based. In 2007, Radio Liberté employed some 50 people, 20 of whom were civil servants who continued to receive their salary from the state. Despite its political background, the station had for some years been trying to become a more general-interest radio. It was the only radio in Brazzaville to give any voice at all to the opposition, notably thanks to a Sunday morning talk show called Café de la presse (‘The Press Café’). Radio Liberté was weakened by power

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cuts, a chronic deficit, irregular salaries and the ensuing high turnover among staff members, as well as by the lack (or obsolescence) of equipment, which had not been renewed since the radio station was set up. The second private radio station in Brazzaville was Digital Number One, which (like the two private commercial television channels, Digital RTV and Force One) was owned by General Norbert Dabira of the Congolese armed forces. Digital Radio et Télévision (DRTV) was established in 2002 as a general-interest television station in the context of a state monopoly on television. The group gradually grew with the launch of DRTV Pointe-Noire, the radio station Digital Number One, and finally Force One, a television station that focused on entertainment. The two television channels and the radio station shared an editorial staff, including 36 journalists. The DRTV group was seen as General Dabira’s personal instrument, committed to the service of the regime. Its editorial line thus differed little from that of national television, though its tone was somewhat less official. In Pointe-Noire, where economic operators were more numerous and more enterprising than in the capital, there had been an anarchic increase in the number of private organizations broadcasting without any official authorization. In 2007, there were 16 private stations (12 radio and four television stations). The number of entertainment channels had kept increasing, with some of the stations targeting the oil-rig workers of Cabinda or its inhabitants.51 Lastly, in the provinces, radio (and, less frequently, television) stations belonging to local politicians, deputies or businessmen had spread in an uncontrolled manner. Some believe this to have been a consequence of the war, during which politicians took over local rural radio stations for their own purposes, having realized the importance of controlling a medium. Radio Moka in Likouala belonged to Deputy Alain Moka; Radio Enyelle to Minister Henri Djombo; Radio Télé de la Nouvelle Alliance to a former minister, Pierre Michel Nguimbi; Télé Mossendjo to another former minister, Lamyr Nguele; Radio Lékana to Minister André Okombi Salissa; Radio Télévision Makoua to Minister Firmin Ayessa; Radio NKéni in Gamboma to Deputy Stanislas Nguie … All these stations were tools that could be mobilized during the elections. In the Congo, the majority of news media were thus strategic instruments, used by individuals to gain or retain power. The growth of local media that were primarily likely to serve an individual’s personal ambitions was largely responsible for their uniform tone. As a result, paying court to those at the top largely prevailed over informing those at the bottom – a fact that put the Congolese media in an ambiguous position as the elections drew near. Democratic Republic of Congo: a colossal political and media challenge

The 2006 elections on the other side of the river Congo constituted a milestone in the history of the Central African giant. The first ‘free and democratic’ elections in almost 40 years were deemed the last step in both

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the lengthy transition period initiated by Marshal Mobutu in 1990, and in the peace process that followed the armed conflict which ravaged the country after Laurent-Désiré Kabila overthrew Mobutu in 1997. Although elections were frequently held in the Congo after independence, they were never pluralist or democratic. Elections had been held prior to independence from Belgian rule: municipal elections in 1957, communal elections in December 1959 and legislative elections in May 1960. After independence on 30 June 1960, the Congolese were urged to vote in the 1964 constitutional referendum, the 1965 legislative elections and the 1967 constitutional referendum. Elections were then held, within the context of the single-party system of the Popular Movement of the Revolution in 1970, 1975, 1977, 1982 and 1987. There was also a 1973 referendum on the new constitution, as the country became the Republic of Zaïre (its name between 1971 and 1997). Mobutu Sese Seko was elected in single-candidate elections in 1977 and 1984. The 2006 elections differed fundamentally from these polls. They rounded off the transition period initiated at the Sun City Inter-Congolese Dialogue, the conclusions of which were ratified in the Pretoria Agreement signed in December 2002 (Bouvier and Bomboko 2003). The agreement put an end to the war that had been tearing the country apart since 1998 – about a year after Kabila, backed by the Rwandans and Ugandans, had overthrown the Mobutu regime. After Laurent-Désiré Kabila was assassinated and his son Joseph succeeded in January 2001, negotiations started between the government and the various armed movements that were occupying portions of the territory (Lanotte 2003). The transition was an eventful time, marked by the difficult cohabitation of the former belligerents within a previously unheard-of government structure, known as ‘1+4’: the president of the republic, Joseph Kabila, was flanked by four vice-presidents representing the two main rebel movements: Azarias Ruberwa’s Congolese Rally for Democracy (RCD) and Jean-Pierre Bemba’s Movement for the Liberation of Congo (MLC), the government and the ‘unarmed opposition’. Profound disagreements between members of the transitional government – due notably to such sensitive issues as the integration of former rebels into the regular army, the evolution of security in the east of the country, or the conduct of foreign policy – led some members to temporarily withdraw their support from government institutions, thus delaying implementation of the electoral process. The ongoing insecurity in the eastern part of the country, for which Rwanda and Uganda were held responsible and denounced, also posed a threat to the peace process. However, two important factors helped steer the country towards the elections. On the one hand, the involvement of the international community, which, through the International Committee in Support of the Transition (CIAT) and considerable financial backing, supported the gradual ­organization

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of the mechanism that would enable some 25 million voters to make their voices heard. In 2006, the Mission of the United Nations in the Democratic Republic of Congo (MONUC), a peace-keeping mission established in 1999, numbered around 17,000 blue helmets, who helped to secure the electoral process and organize the logistics of the voters’ registration and the polls.52 On the other hand, there was a determination on the part of the Congolese population, which, through an important section of civil society, expressed its desire to put an end to ten years of violence and division.

The exceptional elections of 2006  The logistics of these elections constituted a huge challenge in such a vast country, where the civil service had become ghost-like, where citizens were not identified, and where there was no transport network. The task of organizing the polls fell to the Independent Electoral Commission (CEI), set up and monitored by international partners. Headed by Father Apollinaire Malu Malu and staffed by a bureau consisting of eight members, it had to recruit and train more than 260,000 officials who would be in charge of preparing and monitoring a process that was to be held in 50,000 polling stations across the country. For a virtually bankrupt state there was also the financial challenge. The elections required the massive support of the international community, which mobilized $431 million to support the process, including logistics and security measures. The DRC state could barely contribute a tenth of this amount (de Villers 2009: 366–8).53 The international community’s investment entailed close monitoring of the whole process, which led to pressure being put on local politicians. This in turn triggered ‘the belief among Congolese civil society that the electoral process was being steered exclusively from abroad’ (Willame 2007: 177). As preparations were long and painstaking, it soon appeared that the initial date set (30 June 2005) would not be met. While the 264 contending parties were beginning to get organized, the historical opposition party, the Union for Democracy and Social Progress (UDPS), headed by Etienne Tshisekedi, refused to take part in the process, telling its activists not to register on the electoral roll.54 Besides condemning the ruling party’s dysfunctions, the UDPS refused to recognize a process that it believed was being directed by the international community. Since they involved several leaders of former rebel movements and were boycotted by a significant percentage of the opposition, these elections appeared even more potentially explosive. The international community deployed a significant military force to complement MONUC’s capacities: 1,400 troops were sent by the European Union (EUFOR), while a further 1,000 troops were stationed in Gabon (Braeckman 2008: 121). In a country where the last population census had taken place in 1984, voter registration was key. Operations began in June 2005 in Kinshasa and, with all the hurdles to be overcome, continued until February 2006 (de

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Villers 2009: 382). The decision to use digital identification and archiving not only led to exorbitant costs, but also posed considerable practical difficulties, given the absence of electricity in most of the 9,000 registration centres. Ultimately, a total of 25.4 million people (out of a total population of about 63 million) were registered throughout the country. The first step in the electoral cycle took place on 17 December 2005: the constitutional referendum, in which the ‘yes’ vote obtained a clear victory, with 84.31 per cent of the ballot. More than 20 million voters approved a document ‘of which the majority were unable to read the first line since the text of the constitution was not distributed widely across the country, for lack of means’ (Braeckman 2008: 120). The second step involved the legislative and presidential elections, eventually postponed to 30 July 2006. The abundance of candidates was truly impressive: there were 33 contenders in the presidential election, 9,709 contenders for the 500 seats in the National Assembly, and 12,398 contenders for the 632 seats in the provincial assemblies. The electoral system required the creation of 170 different types of ballot papers, of which some (for the legislative elections in Kinshasa, for instance) had to include the name and a photograph of more than 900 candidates. These ballot papers would be among the most complex ever drawn up in the world, though they had to be understood and used by millions of illiterate Congolese. The campaign was marked by a strong imbalance of resources between the various candidates in the presidential and legislative elections, and by campaign slogans that evoked the themes of unity, peace and reconciliation, but which also drew on regionalisms (each candidate claiming to be a ‘native son’) or family relations (many candidates were the children or relatives of important figures in Congolese politics). On polling day, the electorate headed to the voting stations in throngs. No major incidents were reported, even though it was not always easy to deposit the huge ballot papers (consisting of six A3-sized sheets) in the ballot boxes. Results were posted immediately, one polling station at a time, but transporting the ballot boxes and consolidating the results was another important logistical challenge and imposed yet another delay before provisional results could be announced. These two phases were heavily criticized and were subject to allegations of falsification and manipulation. On 22 August, the CEI finally announced that the serving president, Joseph Kabila, was leading the polls, with 44.81 per cent of the ballot. He was followed by Jean-Pierre Bemba (MLC), with 20.03 per cent, and a second round was thus required.55 Two days before the publication of these results, an armed conflict broke out in Kinshasa, involving the presidential guard and armed factions of the MLC. After three days of violence, somewhere between 23 (the official figure) and 100 people (according to the UN) had been left dead. Following these clashes, the second round took place in an extremely

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tense and violent atmosphere. Strategic alliances were formed, enabling the incumbent president to shore up his weak spots in the west of the country, the results having shown that he was especially popular in the east (in Katanga and the two Kivus). Joseph Kabila entered into an agreement with Antoine Gizenga, who had finished third in the first round, with 10.6 per cent of the vote. His party, the Unified Lumumbist Party, had done very well in Bandundu and the Bas-Congo. Kabila also came to an arrangement with the former president’s son, Nzanga Mobutu (and his party, Union of Mobutist Democrats), who had many supporters in Equateur Province, Jean-Pierre Bemba’s stronghold. Voters returned to the polls on 29 October 2006, on which occasion they also elected provincial deputies. On 15 November, the CEI announced the results of the second round of the presidential elections: Joseph Kabila came top with 58.04 per cent of the vote. Once again, violence broke out and JeanPierre Bemba’s supporters attacked and looted the Supreme Court, which was responsible for examining petitions and validating results. After considering several nullification requests, the Supreme Court validated the results on 26 November. Joseph Kabila’s inauguration took place on 6 December 2006. Senators were then elected indirectly on 19 January 2007: there were 1,127 contenders for 108 senate seats. And on 27 January, the provincial assemblies elected the governors and vice-governors. The electoral cycle was to end with local elections, which were to have been held by 31 December 2009 but were never organized. Many observers claimed that these elections in the DRC were ‘a historic moment for the Congolese people’ and an ‘undeniable success’ (Braeckman 2008: 22). Others were more critical, arguing that, even though they were ‘a remarkable technical achievement’, they only provided a ‘political response’ to a situation ‘in which security, impunity and the law were at stake’ (Willame 2007: 166). The international community’s obsession with the organization of these elections was, in fact, not so much a consequence of ‘a certain naivety’, but rather ‘an expression of impotence; the impotence to generate a new governance through the semi-supervision imposed on the transition authorities’ (de Villers 2009: 415). In other words, the DRC elections were merely a distraction, diverting attention from the real problems.

A thriving yet uncontrolled media landscape  If the complexity of the Con­ golese landscape posed a challenge for the material organization of the 2006 elections, it also impeded the media’s task of informing voters and raising awareness among citizens. The large numbers of candidates, the vastness of the territory and the lack of infrastructure (transport, electricity) were all major obstacles to the journalists’ work. Moreover, their involvement in the process was marked by two features of the media landscape: its uncontrolled abundance and its high level of politicization (Frère 2008: 165–99).

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Indeed, on the eve of the electoral process, the city of Kinshasa had no fewer than 40 television stations (three of which broadcast via satellite nationwide), 29 radio stations, 10 daily newspapers and 15 weeklies (out of a total of 120 registered titles). In the other ten provinces, there were some 30 television stations, more than 145 radio stations and 200 newspapers registered with the Ministry of Press and Information, most of which ­appeared irregularly.56 Many of these papers were established shortly after the political and media liberalization of the early 1990s. They were soon followed by private radio and television stations. Since the legal framework was limited to the (very broad) 1996 press law, creating a media outlet was a matter of direct and informal negotiations with the competent local authorities. Thus, not only were there throngs of media, but it was also difficult to take stock of them in such a vast country. Regular newspapers, mostly based in Kinshasa, were strongly tied to the personality and political opinions of their editors. Prior to the elections, three categories stood out. First, some papers openly supported Kabila. Generally owned by aspiring deputies close to the presidential party, the People’s Party for Reconstruction and Democracy (PPRD), these papers contributed to the notoriety, visibility or political aspirations of their owners and their political family: L’Avenir (owned by Pius Muabilu Mbayu), Uhuru (Colette Tshomba), Le Soft International (Tryphon Kin Kiey Mulumba), and Le Palmarès (Michel Ladi Luya). Secondly, the former ‘red press’, born in the early 1990s and close to the UDPS opposition,57 remained strongly critical of the electoral process and of the international community. It consisted of papers such as Le Phare (owned by Polydor Muboyayi Mubanga) and La Tempête des Tropiques (Alexis Mutanda). Lastly, a third category of papers lent moderate support to the ruling party, but were open to other opinions: L’Observateur (owned by Makenda Voka), Le Potentiel (Modeste Mutinga), La Référence Plus (André Ipakala), Le Forum des As (José Nawej) and La Prospérité (Marcel Ngoyi). No newspaper belonged to Jean-Pierre Bemba, the MLC candidate, nor to candidates from his party, although some ‘red’ newspapers (La Tempête des Tropiques, in particular) would ultimately support him in the struggle against the outgoing president. With the exception of Le Potentiel and L’Avenir, the editorial structures of these titles hardly warranted the description ‘media outlet’. Managed haphazardly and suffering from weak internal organization, these newspapers struggled to survive. Their print runs were small (at most 1,500 copies for Kinshasan dailies, some papers printing no more than 150 or 200 copies), and the high retail price put them beyond the reach of the average Congolese ($1–$2 for a Kinshasan daily). With limited scope on the advertising market, many papers survived thanks to obscure financing, a practice that seriously undermined their credibility. Many papers only published an article (or indeed only appeared at all) when the article or the issue itself was sponsored. Such

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a practice of rewarded journalism, called coupage, affected all DRC media, apart from those sponsored by the international community.58 Outside Kinshasa, Lubumbashi was the only city to have several periodical publications (Mukuba, Le Lushois), which struggled in even more difficult conditions and had lower print runs. Finally, the DRC also had a public press agency, the Congo Press Agency, as well as several private agencies that circulated their productions online, by email or on paper. The oldest was Documentation and Information for Africa, created in 1957 within the Inter-diocesan Centre of Kinshasa. The Associated Press Agency and the InterCongo Media also had networks of correspondents in the provinces and contributed to getting the voices of the people inside the country heard in the Kinshasan media.

Television channels on the campaign trail Because of its low circulation, limited as it was to the literate and restricted to the capital, the press was unlikely to play an important role in the electoral process. In Kinshasa, it was especially television, given its high penetration level, that was seen as the privileged medium for propaganda and mobilization.59 Long before polling began, most stations had chosen one or other side, depending on who their owner was. National RTNC (Radio Télévision nationale congolaise), which had two television channels, was accused of openly supporting Joseph Kabila and his party. But, as with all public services in the country, the RTNC had been profoundly weakened: the main building in Kinshasa and the ten provincial branches – the remnants of President Mobutu’s overblown ambitions – had been stripped of most of their equipment and left with outdated machines and poorly motivated staff. The incumbent president was also supported by Digital Congo, one of whose two shareholders was Janet Kabila (the president’s twin sister), and by Radio Télévision du Groupe L’Avenir (RTGA), which belonged to Pius Muabilu Mbayu (a candidate from the presidential PPRD). Canal Congo Télévision (CCTV) and Canal Kin Télévision (CKTV) both belonged to Jean-Pierre Bemba, who had founded them long before he joined the rebellion and later entered politics. Three other television stations belonged to presidential candidates: Global TV to Nzuzi wa Mbombo, Radio Télévision Lisanga to Roger Lumbala, and Afrika TV to Azarias Ruberwa. Other general news channels were owned by political figures who ran in the legislative elections: Tropicana TV and Numerica TV belonged to Jean-Pierre Kibambi Shintwa (an RFI correspondent who was running for the National Assembly), while Molière TV belonged to Léon Nembalemba (a candidate for the National Assembly). Moreover, Horizon 33 was owned by Jean-Charles Okoto (national secretary of the PPRD) and Mirador TV by Michel Ladi Luya (a transition deputy). Other private stations (such as Antenne A and Raga TV) were owned

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by businessmen who were not directly involved in politics. These stations, however, operated in a complex context, in which they could never be fully independent, since their owners were intent on maintaining strong relations with the ruling party, so as to ensure the prosperity of their other businesses. In addition to commercial stations, there were many denominational channels: prior to the 2006 elections, there were almost 20 such in Kinshasa, most of which belonged to various Awakening Churches, prophets and Pentecostal pastors. Allegedly apolitical and non-commercial, their role in the campaign was to be limited. In the provinces, besides three satellite channels (RTNC, Digital Congo and RTGA), around 30 registered stations operated locally, generally on a shoestring, and some of them openly supported one or other political party.

Radio broadcasts: peace, development, religion and politics  Because of the lack of electricity and the high cost of television sets, radio was the population’s favourite medium, especially in the provinces. On the eve of the elections, only two radio stations could claim to provide national coverage. First, there was the national radio RTNC, which was as impoverished as the national television and struggled to fill its schedule, although it still employed more than 400 staff members. Second, there was Radio Okapi, a UN international radio, which was under MONUC authority and was managed by the Swiss Foundation Hirondelle, and whose aim was to reinforce peace. Given RTNC’s technical difficulties, Radio Okapi was the only radio available nationwide, thanks either to one of its eight provincial branches or to retransmission on a local station. It alone had access to the most far-flung populations, and it could reach most of the 25 million potential voters. Launched in 2002, at a time when the country was still divided between the various warring parties, Radio Okapi contributed remarkably to rebuilding the DRC’s social fabric, enabling people from various regions to express themselves and listen to one another. Broadcasting in French and in the four main national languages (Lingala, Kikongo, Tshiluba and Swahili), it employed a staff of more than 120 journalists and stood out for its rigour and professionalism. But this project had also been the subject of some criticism: it had been accused of costing too much – more than $10 million a year – and of having poached the best journalists from local media by offering them a ten-fold salary increase. Moreover, Radio Okapi still lacked independence when it came to covering MONUC-related events. However, it is undeniable that it was useful, and even indispensable, on the eve of the elections. Besides these two radio stations, Kinshasa had, in 2006, some 30 stations, which were often tied to a television channel,60 most of them commercial or denominational. Although there was only one community radio in the capital, in the provinces, by contrast, where commercial possibilities were

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more limited, community radio stations were largely dominant. Though war led these local radios to operate in extremely precarious conditions, it also served to reinforce their importance in the eyes of local communities, whose opinions and concerns they expressed. Examples included Radio Maen­ deleo (‘Development’ in Swahili) in Bukavu, Katanga Community Radio in Lubumbashi and Mwangaza Community Radio in Kisangani. Broadcasting on FM in a limited area (roughly within a 100 km radius), community radio stations were very popular and gave voice to citizens who felt they were forgotten by the capital. Backed by various associations, these radio stations were often under pressure from the local authorities. In fact, many of them approached the election period fully aware of their limited means and their frailty in the face of pressure. In towns that had experienced ‘hate radio’ during the war, the forthcoming elections were a source of concern. In Kisangani, for instance, the director of the community Radio Mwangaza remarked: We experienced the hate media when Rwandans and Ugandans were fighting here during the six-day war. Rwandans controlled the RTNC while ­Ugandans controlled Jean-Pierre Bemba’s Radio Liberté. We saw the power of the media and their destabilizing potential. We certainly didn’t want to have to relive the experience.61

As the elections drew near, the number of private commercial radio stations grew in the provinces, especially in mining towns with a certain economic impetus (Mbuji Mayi, Lubumbashi, etc.). Several political con­ tenders rushed to set up radio stations in their home towns, to serve as their own mouthpiece. Jean-Pierre Bemba’s Radio Liberté network, for instance, established transmitters all over the Equateur Province – his home province and stronghold. Denominational radio stations, whether Catholic or Protestant, were also present within the country. Besides their evangelization missions, some also  played an important educational and awareness-raising role. This was so in the cases of, for instance, Radio Amani (the radio of the archdiocese of Kisangani), Radio Maria (Catholic), Radio Sauti ya Rehema (Protestant) in Bukavu, Radio Fraternité Buena Muntu in Mbuji Mayi, Radio Télévision du Diocèse de Matadi (RTDM) in Matadi or Radio Tomisa in Kikwit. One should also add that several international radio stations broadcast on FM in Kinshasa (the BBC, RFI, Africa No. 1). RFI, available on FM in six DRC towns, was much more popular than the BBC (which was rebroadcast on local radio stations in the countryside). RFI was so popular that it was considered a key player in local affairs – a fact of which the DRC political elite was well aware and which would be significant during the electoral period. On the eve of the 2006 elections, the DRC media sector was thus abundant and dynamic, involving hundreds of relatively uncontrolled initiatives but also

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politicized media. The number of journalists was estimated at more than 4,000. Their level of training was generally rather rudimentary, despite the availability of numerous training programmes and schools offering courses in communications. The country also stood out for the large number of attacks on journalists (murder, intimidation, imprisonment, physical assaults, etc.) perpetrated by public officials (ministers, the police, the army, the intelligence service), former armed factions, or even financial and corporate interest groups. The organization Journaliste en Danger ( Journalist in Danger or JED), which keeps annual inventories of press freedom violations, counted 66 press attacks in 2003, 66 in 2004 and 106 in 2005. It anticipated a further increase in the number of violations for 2006, an election year that was bound to be particularly tense. In such a context, journalists’ involvement in the preparation and holding of the elections was bound to be risky, highly sensitive and potentially hazardous, but also vitally important. Rwanda: a slowly emerging pluralism

It was only in 2003, 41 years after Rwanda gained its independence, that truly pluralist elections were held in this small country. These elections unfolded against a traumatic background, given that the multiparty experiments of the early 1990s had ended in genocide. Indeed, though elections were organized in Rwanda under both the First (1962–73) and the Second Republic (1973–94), their outcome was generally a foregone conclusion, since they were structured on the basis of regional and ethnic criteria. Rwanda had approximately the same proportion of Hutu (85 per cent) and Tutsi (15 per cent) as neighbouring Burundi, but unlike Burundi it was politically dominated by leaders from the Hutu majority. Since 1959, there had been social exclusion of the Tutsi minority and massacres had been regularly perpetrated against them. In 1979, 1983 and 1988, President Juvénal Habyarimana organized his own re-election by plebiscite (winning 99.98 per cent of the ballot). Legislative elections had also been held in 1981 and 1988, but really amounted to a ‘blatant staging’ of the legitimacy of the president and his single party, the National Revolutionary Movement for Development (MRND) (Chrétien and Le Jeune 1986: 337). The Rwandan National Assembly was ‘neither the place where important issues were debated, nor the ultimate decision-making authority. The most important debates took place, rather, in the party’s assemblies; and the centre of power was to be found in the Presidency’ (ibid.: 332). In 1990, change seemed imminent when the Habyarimana regime, like other African regimes at the time, authorized a multiparty system and freedom of the press. However, the outbreak of a rebellion led by the Rwandan Patriotic

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Front (RPF), an armed movement mainly composed of Tutsi refugees living in Uganda, prevented the organization of pluralist elections. After three years of civil war and negotiations, the government and the RPF, which held part of the north of the country, signed the Arusha Agreement in August 1993, which provided for the establishment of a National Transition Assembly. No elections were planned, as the allocation of parliamentary seats was defined by the Agreement. Implementation of the transition was brutally interrupted on 6 April 1994, when the plane carrying President Habyarimana was shot down while coming in to land at Kigali. This was the spark that triggered the ensuing genocide. For three months, Hutu opponents and a large part of the Tutsi community would be systematically eliminated by the Rwandan army and Interahamwe militias, with the active help of hundreds of thousands of ordinary citizens. When the RPF, led by Paul Kagame, finally seized power in July 1994, the country was strewn with a million corpses, and a quarter of the population had fled to neighbouring countries. The people were completely traumatized, for massacres had occurred among neighbours and friends, and even within families.

The elections of 2003: ‘post-genocide’ elections Under such circumstances, the return to political pluralism could only be a long and slow process. As Mamdani has noted, the political evolution of Rwanda after 1994 can only be understood by bearing in mind three salient features: ‘[first,] the genocide; second, the consequence of the genocide, a tension-ridden polity and society; and third, that these consequences have overflowed the boundaries of Rwanda’, especially generating a huge crisis in the neighbouring DRC. The issue of democratic elections had to be placed in the context of ‘an uneasy coexistence between guilty majorities and fearful minorities’ (Mamdani 2001: 265, 280). The first elections were held at the start of the new millennium, initially at a local level: the administrative authorities of districts, towns and of the city of Kigali (2001) and the administrative authorities at the level of units and sectors (2002). Then came a constitutional referendum (26 May 2003), presidential elections (25 August 2003) and legislative elections (2  October 2003). The international community injected some $7.2 million into the organization of the elections, while the Rwandan government contributed $5.5 million (HRW 2003: 15–16). The 2003 electoral cycle thus unfolded in a very specific, post-genocide context. As noted in the final report of the EU election observers, the election campaigns, and thus the increased role of political parties, contained the risk of reviving divisionism, thereby threatening the reconciliation process. This was certainly the concern of the authorities and of a large part of Rwandan civil society. The 2003 election campaigns in Rwanda thus had

elections and the media  |   55 a particular dimension, unknown in elections in other countries. (EU-EOM 2003b: 5)

Organization of elections was spearheaded by the National Electoral Commission (NEC), which consisted of two entities: a provisional college of six commissioners nominated by the National Transition Assembly for the duration of the elections, and a permanent executive secretariat consisting of six members. The various local elections gave the NEC some valuable experience with which to approach the important step of the constitutional referendum on 26 May 2003. An EU report noted that the referendum would mark ‘the end of the transition period and a first important step in the process meant to enable the establishment of lasting democratic institutions in Rwanda’ (EU-EOM 2003a: 3). There was no real campaign on the referendum as there were hardly any opponents of the draft constitution: The official position during these meetings was always the same, which is to say that the approval of the draft Constitution ‘born of the great consultation of the Rwandan people’ was presented as a necessary and ‘patriotic’ step, and the only means to guarantee a return to peace, national reconciliation and the redevelopment of the country. (ibid.: 18)

The new constitution established a presidential regime, eliminated all reference to ethnicity, and condemned the Tutsi genocide in its preamble. It included a gender-sensitive component, as it stipulated that women should be granted at least 30 per cent of the posts in all decision-making organs. Almost 90 per cent of the 4 million registered voters went to the polls, and the constitution was approved by 93.42 per cent of voters. The presidential election followed on 25 August 2003, in line with ­Organic Law no. 17 2003 of 7 July 2003. There were four contenders: Paul K ­ agame (RPF), Faustin Twagiramungu (independent),62 Alivera Mukabaramba (Party for Progress and Concord – PPC) and Jean-Népomucène Nayinzira (independent). The PPC candidate withdrew on the eve of the elections, and her party urged people to vote for the outgoing president, thereby leaving voters with only three possibilities. The serving president won by an overwhelming majority: Kagame obtained 95.05 per cent of the ballot, ahead of Twagiramungu (3.62 per cent) and Nayinzira (1.33 per cent). Provisional results were quickly announced by the NEC on 26 August, and the final results were  published on 3 September by the Supreme Court. The complexity of the electoral system meant that the subsequent legislative elections took place over three days (29–30 September and 2 October). The 80 members of the Chamber of Deputies and the 26 senators were elected according to three distinct (though interlocking) procedures: direct election, indirect election and designation. Direct election, by universal ­suffrage,

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concerned only two-thirds of the members of one of the assemblies (53 deputies, i.e. 66 per cent of members). The other seats were either allocated through indirect elections or were assigned to particular population groups, which designated representatives through their specialized organizations: 24 seats were reserved for women, two for young people, and one for disabled people (EU-EOM 2003b: 22). The multiparty system was officially recognized by the new constitution (art. 52), but in March 2003, a few months before the elections, the National Transition Assembly unanimously approved the dissolution of the Democratic Republican Movement (MDR), probably the country’s second party, on the grounds that it had allegedly been guilty, since its creation in 1959, of pursuing a discriminatory and ethnic ideology that bore much of the responsibility for the genocide (HRW 2003: 5). The Organic Law no.  16-2003 governing political parties and politicians, adopted in June 2003, set out the rules for the registration of parties. Under the circumstances, the MDR decided not to apply for official recognition. Eight political parties were approved by the Ministry of Local Administrations. The applications of two other parties (the Alliance for Democracy, Equity and Progress–Mizero and the Prosperity and Solidarity Party), seen as the MDR’s heirs, were rejected. A total of 190 candidates contested the legislative elections under four banners: the RPF (in coalition with four other parties), the PPC, the Social Democratic Party (PSD) and the Liberal Party (PL).63 There were also 20 independent candidates. Since all the parties urged citizens to vote for Paul Kagame in the presidential elections, they could hardly be called ‘opposition’ parties. On polling day, 11,512 polling stations were operational, spread out over 1,867 voting centres. The NEC recruited and trained 48,523 people to organize and monitor the election (Meierhenrich 2006: 630). Though various irregularities impeded the campaigns of parties other than the ruling party (some rallies were banned, activists were intimidated, etc.), the elections proceeded in a calm and orderly atmosphere. The RPF emerged as the big winner, with 73.78 per cent of the ballot, while the PSD obtained 12.31 per cent, and the PL 10.56 per cent. With 2.22 per cent of the ballot, the PPC failed to secure a single parliamentary seat. The independent candidates obtained only 1.13 per cent of the vote. Both the presidential and the legislative elections were criticized by the opposition in exile. This was largely made up of dignitaries of the former regime who had fled the country in 1994, and several political leaders who, having collaborated with the RPF at the end of the war, had left the country after clashing with the ruling party.64 Several observers saw the elections as a ‘cosmetic operation’ intended for the international community, which, by lending them credibility, became ‘a party to the establishment of a new dictatorship’ (Reyntjens 2004: 186). Despite criticism of the ruling party’s overly authoritarian control of the

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political field, Rwanda continued along the electoral road and organized a series of other elections: Rwandans were called to elect the gacaca jurisdiction committees65 (in 2001 and 2004), the conciliation committees (2004), the National Women’s Council committees (2005), local administrative authorities and specialized organizations (2006), and the village committees (2006). Voters were thus called to the polls each year (indeed sometimes several times a year), and the second legislative elections approached rapidly. These were scheduled for between 15 and 18 September 2008, in a context where, though the country had undergone important changes, ‘the legacy of the events of the 1994 genocide continues to structure the social and political life of the country’ (EU-EOM 2008: 7). Presidential elections were only to be held in 2010.

The 2008 legislative elections: united behind the RPF  Two incidents marked the period preceding the 2008 legislative campaign: the definitive dissolution of the MDR and the publication of a Human Rights Watch report criticizing judicial reforms in Rwanda, especially the use by the regime of the notion of ‘divisionism’ to silence dissenting voices (HRW 2008: 36–46). This report further underlined the fact that the crimes committed against civilians by Kagame’s troops in 1994 were still unpunished. Fourteen years after the war’s end and the RPF’s accession to power, international observers acknowledged that democracy was struggling to take hold in the country. The RPF once again formed a pre-election coalition, this time with six other parties, whereas the PSD and the PL, both government allies, ­decided to present themselves independently. Almost all the candidates were thus effectively allies of the presidential party, and there was only a single in­ dependent candidate. The dozen opposition parties in exile strongly condemned the poll’s lack of freedom. The Union of Democratic Forces (FDU), a member of the Union of Rwandese Democratic Forces (a coalition of opposition parties based in Brussels), claimed that, so long as the RPF monopolizes all levels of power, decides which political party or individual must run for power, holds the entire country under tight control during elections and prevents free access to the media, the elections will remain a smokescreen used to divert the public’s attention from the real issues of justice and democracy.66

Turnout was higher than in previous elections. According to the EU election observers: The increase in the number of registered voters, since the local elections in 2006, was 632,583. This included approximately 308,000 ‘category 3 perpetrators’ (i.e. persons who are convicted of or have confessed crimes

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against the property of victims of genocide in Gacaca trials), who in a commendable step had recently been enfranchised following an amendment of the Electoral Law. (EU-EOM 2008: 4).

Direct elections were held on 15 September 2008, ‘in a peaceful and calm environment’ and ‘well prepared by the NEC’ (ibid.: 37). Though no major incidents were reported, the observers did denounce numerous irregularities in the consolidation of results: they were communicated by unreliable means, often by telephone, and ballot papers were not sent to the NEC. The official turnout of 98.31 per cent also seemed ‘unusually high’ (ibid.: 6). The final results, published on 25 September, gave victory to the RPF-led coalition, which attracted 78.76 per cent of the vote and gained 42 seats. The PSD obtained 13.12 per cent of the ballot and won seven seats; the PL polled 7.5 per cent to secure four seats. Jean-Marie Vianney Harelimana, the independent candidate, obtained 27,848 votes (0.6 per cent), and thus failed to win a seat. He publicly questioned the results but did not take any steps to challenge them officially. ‘No visible celebration or protest followed the announcements of preliminary or final results’ (ibid.: 42). The outcome of these Rwandan legislative elections was, nevertheless, historic. Thanks to the quotas and representation by category, the Rwandan parliament became the first national assembly in the world to have a majority of women: its 45 women accounted for 56 per cent of the seats. This situation was due to the parliament’s particular configuration: of the 80 seats available, 24 were reserved for women’s representatives (who could not belong to a political party). In addition, a 2007 amendment to the Law on Political Parties forced parties to include at least 30 per cent of women on their lists. Most observers noted the improvements since 2003 in terms of the framework and the general conditions under which the elections were held, even though the international standards of transparency were not completely met. Among noted improvements, the liberalization of the broadcast media sector after 2004 undeniably enabled greater involvement of the media in the electoral process.

‘Rwandan-style’ freedom of the press  At the time of the 2003 elections, the Rwandan media landscape was indeed quite limited, consisting of a dozen private periodicals and four public media outlets. The broadcasting sector was entirely controlled by the state. The High Council of the Press (HCP), the regulatory authority, had recently been set up, following the passage of a new press law in 2002, but it did not yet have a head office. In a country known world-wide for the involvement of its media  – in particular, Radio Télévision Mille Collines and the Kangura newspaper – with the propaganda that led to the genocide (Chrétien 2005; Thompson 2007), the media sector remained under close supervision. In 2003, the Rwandan

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Bureau of Information and Broadcasting (ORINFOR) largely dominated the media landscape. It controlled a television station, TV Rwanda, which broadcast ten hours a day in Kigali; a radio station, Radio Rwanda; and two print publications, one in French (La Nouvelle Relève) and one in Kinyarwanda (Imvaho Nshya). The private media consisted of a dozen newspapers. Some of them were close to the government, such as the English-language twice-weekly The New Times or the monthly Grands Lacs Hebdo published by the Rwanda News Agency, which also produced a daily bulletin in French and English. A number of other titles, such as the famous Umuseso, published in Kinyarwanda, adopted a more critical tone. Probably the country’s most popular weekly (with a claimed print run of 10,000 copies), Umuseso was known for its allegations of corruption and embezzlement directed at the highest levels of state and the army. These exposures sometimes came across as targeted reprisals, which seemed to reveal quarrels among high-ranking officials or else personal animosities. The newspaper’s lack of rigour and professionalism meant that it became involved in a series of libel cases. Another paper was Kinyamateka, a fortnightly founded in 1933 and published by the Catholic Church. It covered social issues but was careful to avoid politics. It was then the only private publication to have its own printing press, which sometimes enabled it to print up to 4,000 copies. Most papers had great difficulty in obtaining raw materials and in getting printed (many editors had to go to Kampala to get their publications printed – and then, on their way home, to suffer the torments of Customs). They also had trouble finding qualified personnel in a country where the democratic intellectual elite (including some 50 reporters) had been decimated in 1994. Newspapers were concentrated in Kigali: there were no correspondents in the provinces and the papers were not available inland. The vast majority of the population thus only had access to government broadcast media. Four foreign radio stations (RFI, BBC, VOA and Deutsche Welle) broadcast on FM in Kigali, thanks to agreements signed with the government. Of these four, two (BBC and VOA) offered a daily one-hour broadcast in Kinyarwanda which could give access to more diverse points of view on Rwandan politics in the national language.

The late development of radio pluralism The media landscape evolved considerably between the 2003 and the 2008 polls, with the most notable change coming in 2004, when newly created private radio stations were authorized to broadcast. By 2008, a dozen radio stations had been established, including general-interest stations offering information programmes: Contact FM, Radio 10, City Radio and Radio Flash in Kigali; Radio Salus in Butare (associated with the School of Journalism and Communications of the National University of Rwanda); and the community Radio Izuba in Kibungo. These

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stations had limited means, and, as was underlined by a report from the Media High Council (MHC), successor to the High Council of the Press, despite the increase in numbers, the quality of content of programmes in most of the privately owned radio stations is still lacking. Except for a handful, most of the private radios concentrate on music, adverts and sports shows, religious preaching, paid up and direct call-in programmes mostly for the youth. They rarely have brainstorming political economic programmes discussing government policies and or current affairs. (MHC 2008a: 10)

While the number of private stations was increasing, Radio Rwanda extended its reach into the rural areas and diversified by opening regional stations in Rubavu, Huye and Musanze. By the time of the 2008 election, Radio Rwanda (and also four private radio stations) claimed to cover 90 per cent of the country and radio remained the favourite and most accessible medium in both urban and rural areas. Most radio stations broadcast news programmes in the four commonly used languages: Kinyarwanda, Swahili, French and English. However, only three international radio stations were still broadcasting on FM in Kigali, since the closure, on 27 November 2006, of the RFI transmitter in the wake of a break in diplomatic relations between France and Rwanda. Although the broadcast sector had been liberalized, the country still had only one national television channel – TV Rwanda (TVR). Three companies (GTV, Télé 10 and the Chinese-owned Star Media Africa) offered a pay-TV service, but their broadcasting range, via the DStv system approved in 2007, was extremely limited.67 At the time of the 2008 elections, 61 print publications were registered, including the two government newspapers, but only ten of these were printed and distributed on a regular basis. The New Times had become a daily (the only one in the country), and its associated publication in Kinyarwanda, Izuba Rirashe, appeared three times a week. The other private papers were published either weekly (Umuseso, Rwanda Focus), fortnightly (Grands Lacs Hebdo, Kinyamateka, Hobe, Ingabo, Urubuga rw’Abagore), monthly (Amani, run by the Great Lakes Region Human Rights League), Huguka, Rwanda Dispatch, Umukindo, Temps Eco) or irregularly (Umuvugizi, Umurabyo, Rugari, Ukuri, Gasabo, Rushyashya and Umuco, which was suspended for a year in 2008 for having compared President Kagame to Hitler). Newspapers still struggled to survive, since they were deprived of commercial advertising and, in the case of some (Umuseso, Rushyashya and Umuvugizi), were boycotted by the government. The regulatory body, the MHC, even acknowledged the restrictions imposed on a number of publications that were at loggerheads with the authorities. In its 2008 report it drew attention to the fact that refusing access to information ‘is likely to aggravate their unprofessional practice. They may now claim legitimacy for publishing

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rumours. The boycott also contravenes article 34 of the Constitution and the Press Law of 2002’ (MHC 2008a: 3). A revision of the 2002 press law was then going on,68 but criticism was aimed not so much at the wording of the law as at the way in which it might be interpreted by overly severe judges. Indeed, the 2003 Rwandan constitution guarantees freedom of expression (art. 33) and freedom of the press and information (art. 34), but imposes several restrictions aimed at safeguarding public order and morals. These restrictions do not differ much from those found in other countries; nevertheless, Rwandan journalists believed that the rather vague definitions of ‘defamation’ and ‘unfounded allegations’ might lead to an abuse of authority. The limits on the freedom of expression were not so much explicit, but rather seemed to reside in a strong self-censorship, which the media regulatory authority also acknowledged. ‘Self-censorship continues to affect the free practice of journalism in Rwanda,’ its 2008 report concluded. And the MHC described several cumulative factors that affect ‘journalistic creativity’: ‘repression of the media by the two regimes which followed independence, the collaboration of certain media with the 1994 genocidaires, and, because of this heavy past, the close supervision of journalists by the current govern­ment’. The regulatory authority also mentioned the low level of training among Rwandan journalists (ibid.). Indeed, the level of training of the 427 journalists listed by the MHC nationwide remained problematic.69 Despite the creation of a School of Journalism and Communications at the National University of Rwanda in 1996, less than a third (27 per cent) of those practising journalism had a degree in journalism or communications. The establishment in late 2007 of a training centre for professionals, the Great Lakes Media Centre, was still too recent to have had any impact at the time of the 2008 elections. Professionalism in the media was also impeded by high staff turnover in the newsrooms, which created great instability in the media. The majority of journalists involved in the private media did not have work contracts, and thus found themselves in  a precarious position, which caused them to seek more secure jobs. Memories of the past caused the Rwandan media – essentially the print media in 2003, followed by radio in 2008 – to approach the polls with a high degree of prudence. While the murderous impulses that journalists can incite are repeatedly invoked in discussions of Rwanda, the disappearance in April 1994 of more than 50 reporters, both Tutsi and Hutu, is less often mentioned. Yet Rwandan journalists were aware of the price they might have to pay for struggling against an authority that violated democratic principles. When the profession was decimated in 1994, the journalists who were killed were not those fanatics who incited hatred, but those who defended political pluralism, a diversity of opinions and democracy. As the elections drew near, the absence of that lost generation made itself felt – perhaps

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just as profoundly as the technical shortages, the financial weakness or the government’s grip on the public space. And this could only lead journalists to be more circumspect. Chad: the impossible democratic changeover

For decades – ever since the country’s independence from France in 1960 – the history of Chad has been marked by violent political takeovers and chronic instability. In 1990, Idriss Déby put an end to the dictatorship of Hissène Habré, promising democracy and the liberalization of the media sector, and in doing so generating much hope. The 1993 Sovereign National Conference established a transitional regime in charge of pre­paring the first free and democratic elections in the country’s history. Held in 1996, these  elections evoked much enthusiasm and were followed by other presidential elections in 2001 and 2006. Even though these two last polls cannot really be classified as post-conflict (since they were held according to the regular electoral calendar), they did take place in the context of continuing active armed rebellion in parts of the country, attempted coups and violence directed at the political opposition. Instead of consolidating the path to democracy and peace, each of these polls seemed increasingly to undermine the foundations of the pluralist voting process, symbolizing a ‘failure of democratization’ (ICG 2006a: 2).

The elections of 1996 and 2001: politicians seeking voters  In 1996, the first free elections were held in the wake of a three-year transition process initiated after the Sovereign National Conference (Buijtenhuijs 1998). The electoral cycle began with a constitutional referendum that went smoothly. Some 3.5 million voters headed to the polls – the vast majority for the first time in their lives. The new constitution was approved by 63.5 per cent of voters and ‘fraud was very limited on this occasion’ (Buijtenhuijs 1997: 142). Though the ‘yes’ vote won overall nationwide, the ‘no’ vote dominated in some populous regions of the south. This discrepancy was a reminder that, in the political history of Chad, sociological and cultural differences between the settled Catholic or animist populations of the south (which gave the country its first intellectual elite) and the nomadic Muslim tribes of the north have often been exploited in the race to power. The incumbent president, Idriss Déby, used this divergent north–south result to launch a presidential campaign centred on the issue of national unity, which was presented as threatened and in need of salvage.70 The first round of the presidential election was marked by widespread fraud. Déby, candidate of the Patriotic Salvation Movement (MPS), ­attracted 43.82 per cent of the ballot and was followed by Wadal Abdelkader Kamougué from the Union for Renewal and Democracy (URD), with 12.39 per cent.71 These results surprised the country’s pundits – not least the media – ­because

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they showed that Déby and, to a lesser extent, Kamougué were the only candidates with nationwide appeal. Other contenders merely garnered support in a single prefecture or region. Because they did not wish to lose everything in this ballot, which had served merely to highlight their lack of support, opposition candidates had a rethink between the two rounds, and some disappointed contenders joined President Déby, whom they had been criticizing just days earlier. On 3 July 1996, President Déby won the second round with 69.09 per cent of the vote. The official turnout was 77 per cent, which seemed suspicious, given that some of the ousted candidates had been calling for a boycott. This crushing victory was confirmed in the 1997 legislative elections, when Déby’s MPS emerged far ahead of the field. Of the 50 contending parties, only the MPS was represented in all the country’s 58 districts, and the opposition came to realize that the outcome depended on more than the capital alone – nothing could make up for the massive presence of a political party deep inside the country. In 2001, new presidential elections were held, in a context marked by the launch of a project to exploit the Doba oil field – a controversial project that set the ruling government against local civil society members and international partners. From the start, the electoral dice were loaded, thanks to a change in the electoral calendar that was to have serious repercussions. President Déby knew that the upcoming legislative elections could threaten his party, and realized that it would be preferable to hold the presidential election first. So, in August 2000, the National Assembly passed a law that increased the number of parliamentary deputies from 125 to 155. The Chadian National Independent Electoral Commission (CENI), whose composition was disputed by the opposition, then asked for the legislative elections to be postponed, on the grounds that the changes would delay preparations for the election campaign. The deputies, whose mandate was due to expire in January 2001, agreed to prolong it for a year, and thereby also to postpone the legislative elections for a year. The international community, which had pledged to support the electoral process, was somewhat taken aback by these machinations. While the opposition press, such as the private weekly Le Temps, encouraged them to ‘refuse to give their support to this masquerade’,72 the main donors accepted that the funds had to be forthcoming, so long as the poll could be guaranteed to be transparent and fair. The cost of the electoral process was estimated at some 6 billion CFA francs (about $11.8 million), less than a third of which was to be contributed by the Chadian government.73 The EU’s contribution, over 1.2 billion CFA francs ($2.3 million), was once again essential. France pledged to cover the cost of printing and transporting electoral documents. A total of 40 million

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ballot papers were printed at a cost of close to 200 million CFA francs ($391,000) at the French official printing works in Strasbourg. The joint mission of the French and Chadian armies – Operation Épervier – made it possible to ship ballot papers and electoral equipment. Contributions were also made by Taiwan (70 million CFA francs – $137,000), Italy (60 million CFA francs – $117,000), Switzerland (60 million CFA francs – $117,000), Canada (ballot boxes and kits), the OIF (the training of trainers and election officials) and the UNDP. On 13 April 2001, the Constitutional Council of Chad published the list of seven presidential candidates. Two were barred for not having paid the compulsory 5 million CFA franc ($9,700) deposit. Idriss Déby Itno, who was running for another term in office, had the support of former opponent Lol Mahamat Choua, who had finished fifth in the 1996 poll. The other three serious rivals from 1996 – Wadal Abdelkader Kamougué (URD), Saleh Kebzabo (the National Union for Development and Renewal – UNDR) and Jean Bawoyeu Alingué (Union for Democracy and the Republic – UDR) – were once again running against him. Most candidates were from the inner circle of power and had held high-ranking political or military positions since 1990, something that led the head of state to remark at a rally on 24  April: ‘They sat with me and shared my food. Yet now that they have been well fed, they think our plate is dirty. Why did they not say so sooner?’74 The election campaign was set to last from 19 April to 18 May 2001, but opposition candidates were somewhat reluctant to launch themselves into the campaign. They felt unprepared because, even as they were nominated by their parties, they had still been asking for the election to be postponed. The first round of the elections took place on 20 May 2001 at 6,846 polling stations.75 This time, nearly 4 million Chadians were urged to vote. For the nomadic populations, the voting period was extended, beginning on 17 May. Turnout was moderate (64.1 per cent), and the elections proceeded in a calm and disciplined manner. On 28 May, the CENI declared Idriss Déby the winner of the presidential election after the first round, with an absolute majority of 67.35 per cent of the vote. Except for the federalist Ngarledjy Yorongar, who obtained 16.35 per cent, the other contenders had derisory results: Saleh Kebzabo took 7 per cent of the vote, Wadal Abdelkader Kamougué 6.02 per cent, Ibni Oumar Mahamat Saleh 2.89 per cent, Delwa Kassiré Koumakoye 2.36 per cent, and Jean Bawoyeu Alingué 2.2 per cent. Déby’s victory was immediately challenged by the six defeated candidates. Several protest marches were organized, during one of which a young opposition activist was killed in clashes with the police. Civil society organizations called for a general strike, but their calls would in fact gather little support in N’Djamena or beyond. However, despite appeals submitted by the defeated candidates to the Constitutional Council, the latter confirmed Déby’s re-election on 13 June 2001.

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The election of 2006: the boycott of the opposition  Following the 2001 defeat, the opposition was weakened. However, under pressure from donors, a political dialogue was initiated between the authorities and their main opponents. As the 2006 elections approached, fresh tensions blocked negotiations and disrupted preparations. On the one hand, a 2005 constitutional referendum made it possible to extend the number of presidential mandates, thus enabling Déby to run for a third five-year term.76 United in a coalition called the Coordination of Parties for the Defence of the Constitution, opposition parties suspended their participation in the ballot. Moreover, relations with donors worsened once the Chadian government decided, in January 2006, to modify unilaterally the law governing oil revenues. Before making any pledge to support the elections, the UNDP, the EU and the US demanded not only that the election process should be transparent and that the government should resume dialogue with the opposition, but also, importantly, that relations with the World Bank must be normalized.77 The latter had suspended its collaboration with the Chadian government and was waiting for it to return to the earlier agreements on the management of oil revenues. Moreover, social tensions were widespread and numerous strikes paralysed several civil service sectors. It was in this pernicious atmosphere that, on 14 March 2006, an attempted coup d’état was thwarted and condemned by President Déby. None of this prevented the Constitutional Council from publishing, on 30 March, the official list of five presidential candidates. President Déby was the only major contender. The four minor candidates included two members of his government (Mahamat Abdoulaye and Albert Pahimi Padacket), who would remain in office during the campaign; a former prime minister from a party represented in government (Delwa Kassiré Koumakoye); and a littleknown political novice (Ibrahim Koulamallah). N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo called these contenders ‘Déby’s pace-makers’ and ‘walk-on contenders’,78 whereas Notre Temps called them ‘ornamental candidates’.79 Opposition leaders called for a boycott of the election, demanding in particular the partial suppression of the votes of Chadians residing abroad, the creation of a National Independent Electoral Commission with equal representation, and a reduction in the number of voting days for nomads. Civil society also sought the postponement of the election and the creation of a national forum on peace and reconciliation, which would bring together all public actors to discuss conditions surrounding the organization of free and transparent elections. However, the minister of communications and a government spokesman, Houmadji Moussa Doumgor, replied that ‘it is not up to civil society organizations to pronounce on conditions surrounding the organization of elections’.80 And a legalist prime minister argued that democracy brings with it obligations, and the government, which is open

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to dialogue, cannot run the risk of having a juridical void. We will go to the polls with those who wish to do so. That, too, is democracy.81

On 13 April 2006, some three weeks before the election and while the campaign was already under way, the capital was attacked by rebels claiming to be from the United Front for Democratic Change. Fighting spread across town, and by the following day 200 people were reportedly dead, mostly rebels crushed by the regular army. Despite repeated calls from the opposition, civil society and some foreign states and international organizations, the head of state went ahead with the election. On 3 May 2006, unsurprisingly, Idriss Déby Itno was re-elected in the first round with 64.67 per cent of the ballot. He was followed by Kassiré Koumakoye, who obtained a mere 8.81 per cent.82 Turnout was first said to have reached 61.49 per cent, but when the results from a third of polling stations (3,742 out of 11,827) were declared invalid, the figure was lowered to 53.08 per cent. The result was contested by the opposition but, ‘in order to prevent Chad from descending into chaos, France and the international community hurried to recognize these results, while announcing that they expected Déby to democratize his regime during his new mandate’ (ICG 2006a: 10).

The Chadian media: poor but feisty  The last three elections in Chad took place in a slowly evolving media landscape, marked by the regular emergence of new titles and, somewhat later, of new private community radio stations. The ambiguous political situation in the country – neither at war, nor at peace; neither a democracy, nor a dictatorship – had a profound impact on the media, which are both free and, at the same time, restricted. The print media have remained relatively stable since the start of the new millennium. At the time of the 2001 and 2006 polls, a dozen titles, all of them privately owned, were published in N’Djamena: a pro-government daily (Le Progrès, founded in 1993), a twice-weekly (N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, 1989), three weeklies (Le Temps, 1995; L’Observateur, 1997; and Notre Temps, 1999), a fortnightly (Carrefour) and a monthly (Tchad et Culture, 1960). Some other publications appeared irregularly, including a satirical paper (Le Miroir) and, more recently, provincial titles (Sarh Tribune and Le Messager in Sarh, La Cloche in Pala). As in the Central African Republic, newspapers were published in A4 format and consisted of between eight and sixteen pages. Circulation was limited, with print runs ranging from 1,000 to 3,000 copies.83 Papers were mostly distributed in the capital and were essentially political in content. The price varied from between 100 CFA francs ($0.20) for Le Progrès and 300 CFA francs ($0.57) for weeklies – substantial amounts given the low purchasing power of Chadians. All papers were published by the only available

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printing company, the IDT (Imprimerie du Tchad).84 Printing was expensive, and newspapers were generally in debt to the printer. Editorial staff varied from four (Le Temps, Notre Temps) to thirteen journalists (Le Progrès, N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo) and were mainly young recruits with little specialized knowledge. They were sometimes joined by a significant number of trainees and freelance journalists, who had limited writing skills. Most young staff members did not remain for long in the same newsroom, seeking better-paid jobs in development NGOs or international organizations. They were just passing through the press, working as journalists while on the look-out for better positions. Between 2002 and 2005, the capital’s print media were the main bene­ ficiaries of a media support programme implemented by a French NGO, the Research and Technology Exchange Group (GRET). This project, worth $1,120,000 (80 per cent of which was financed by the EU and 20 per cent by French development aid), had positive results: staff were better trained, some of the printing costs were covered by the programme, and management was professionalized (GRET 2007). The project also fostered a spirit of cooperation among the editors of the private print media, though they were rivals in business and sometimes politically opposed to one another. Despite these advances, on the eve of the polls the Chadian print media still suffered from a number of problems. Power cuts in N’Djamena often deprived the papers of electricity, sometimes for days. Not only did the power outages damage equipment, but they also led to frequent publication delays. In 2004, all media outlets had received a generator, courtesy of the US embassy, but some of these generators were out of order by 2006 or else lacked the necessary petrol. The advertising market was very small, and the only improvement between the two polls, in a country that had meanwhile started to produce oil, had been the emergence of mobile phone companies willing to advertise in the papers. Though official announcements were still published, sometimes even in the opposition press, newspapers rarely got paid by the authorities after publication. Lastly, relations remained tense between most private newspapers and the authorities. The print media, essentially run by ‘Southerners’ (except for Le Progrès), was often in direct conflict with a regime dominated by ‘Northerners’, and more precisely by the Zaghawas (Déby’s tribe). Since they denounced violations of human rights through the country (perpetrated by the army or by one of the armed rebellions, often born of disagreement within the national military forces), bad governance and the inability of the regime to ensure security and equality for citizens, the print media were always perceived by Idriss Déby as an enemy (Frère 2007a). Even though the new legal framework for the press and broadcasters that had been adopted in 1994 was probably the most liberal in the whole region, and even though

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the new regulatory body, the High Council for Communications (HCC), started out as one of the most active of such organizations, media freedom remained fragile.

Neglected public media The public media remained relatively unchanged throughout the political turmoil. The Chad Press Agency had had difficulties in operating since 1979. Attached to the Ministry of Communications, it had been entirely neglected by the authorities. In 2006, it employed ten civil servants and a score of volunteers responsible for publishing Info Tchad, a ‘daily’ bulletin that in fact appeared irregularly. The public broadcast media – Radio Nationale du Tchad and TV Tchad – underwent important administrative changes a few weeks before the 2006 polls: from the status of a department attached to the general secretariat of the Ministry of Communications, it became an office with the launch of ONRTV (the National Office of Radio and Television in Chad). This new status was intended to free it from the supervision of the government, since an office had greater financial and operational freedom. However, the public media continued to function as before, and the new status brought no extra material, financial or human resources to generate concrete operational changes. In 2006, national radio had a staff of 133, including 30 journalists (Frenchand Arabic-speaking), and it offered programmes in 11 national languages. Each morning a two-and-a-half-hour programme was devoted to rural radio, which for a long time was the ‘cash cow’ of national radio, since it was supported by foreign development partners. The national radio had four regional branches in Moundou, Sarh, Abéché and Faya, which relayed national programmes but were also supposed to create their own programmes. This was the country’s only media outlet to broadcast nationwide on short wave. In fact, national radio produced very few of its own programmes. Though they had the status of civil servants, the precarious working conditions of employees meant that they had little motivation. Most magazine programmes were imported from foreign radio stations (RFI, Deutsche Welle, Radio Nederland) or from local NGOs. New digital equipment was purchased in 2000, but no training was provided for its users, who thus did not make the most of it. Radio had only one car, while television had none. Created on impulse in 1989, TV Tchad (TVT) operated with even less equipment than the radio until the purchase, in 2004, of some digital cameras. Though in 2006 it had 79 employees (including 38 journalists), it suffered from a shortage of equipment, as well as from the lack of a budget of its own. It broadcast only in the evenings (from 5.30  p.m., or 4 p.m. at the weekend), within a radius of approximately 100  km around N’Djamena. With the exception of a few studio programmes, there was no local output. TVT thus relayed French productions (received free of charge from Canal

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France International) and Arab programmes (from Sharjah, a Dubai-based channel, or Al Jazeera). Even its news broadcast was no longer its own: it received ready-to-broadcast programmes produced by the communication units of the Presidency of the Republic and the Prime Minister’s Office. The work that was supposed to be done by professional journalists was progressively taken over by institutional public relations officers.

Private, commercial and community radio At the time of the 2001 and 2006 elections, there were, in Chad, some 15 community radio stations, of which the two best known were FM Liberté (founded in 2000) and Dja FM (1999) in N’Djamena. Though they coexisted with other stations in the capital, they were the only two that presented news broadcasts at the time. FM Liberté was created by a consortium of human rights organizations with the aim of giving voice to civil society. Based in N’Djamena, it broadcast on FM in a 150 km radius around the capital. It had a small team (six  staff journalists, four technicians and a handful of freelance journalists) and staff were poorly paid. According to its coordinator of programmes, MajiMaji Odjitan, ‘Salaries are not paid on time, which is why some journalists do not hesitate to accept gombos.’85 The Dutch NGO Cordaid provided financial support to the radio in its early days, but withdrew after clashes erupted among the founding organizations over the radio’s financial management. Though they pledged to contribute up to 500,000 CFA francs ($977) per year, the founding organizations did not keep their promise, even while they kept demanding access to the radio. With only limited equipment (which had not been updated since the radio station was set up), the station was struggling to survive and remained afloat only thanks to the personal involvement of its presenters. Dja FM was founded by Zara Mahamat Yacoub and the members of a radio and TV production organization, and mainly targeted young listeners. It had a small staff of five, plus some volunteers. The station broadcast a lot of music and had developed interactive programmes, enabling young people to be heard on air. To fill gaps in the schedule, Dja FM played CDs offered by Radio Nederland, the international Dutch broadcaster, and sometimes relayed Al Jazeera. It managed to raise some funds thanks to its announcements (obituaries, weddings, circumcisions) and to commercials. Both radios had difficult relations with the authorities, which accused them of being the opposition’s mouthpiece. Their voice was counterbalanced in N’Djamena by the only Chadian broadcasting outlet registered as a private commercial station: Radio Télévision Al Nassr, owned by allies of President Déby. Radio Al Nassr was set up in 2001, officially as a community radio station, though the television channel (which was added in September 2007) claimed to be private and profit oriented.86 During the 2001 and 2006 elections, Radio Al Nassr broadcast

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in four languages: French, Chadian Arabic, classical Arabic and Sara. It offered 12 daily news bulletins and had important material resources and equipment purchased ‘in partnership with Arabic stations’, according to its director Aboubakar Borgha.87 Despite its status as a community radio, it visibly also benefited from privileged advertising deals with private companies (such as the mobile phone company Celtel/Zaïn) and state companies (like the Chadian electricity and water utilities). Major international radio stations were also available on FM in N’Djamena (RFI, BBC, VOA and Africa No. 1), as well as pan-Arabic stations, via satellite (Al Jazeera, Al Arabiya, etc.). Finally, some community radio stations also broadcast in the provinces of this huge and sparsely populated country. Radio Brakoss was set up in Moissala in 2000; Radio Palmeraie (‘Palm Grove’) in Faya; Espoir (‘Hope’) in Mao; Kar Uba (‘Sun’) in Moundou; and Radio Soleil (‘Sun’) in Pala. Others were denominational (Catholic, Protestant or Islamic), but did not have an exclusively evangelical mission: they offered general news programmes, as well as awareness-raising and development output.88 Examples included Radio Terre Nouvelle (‘New Earth’) in Bongor (set up in 2000); La Voix du Paysan (‘The Peasant’s Voice’) in Doba (1997); Radio Duji Lokar (‘Morning Star’) in Moundou (2000); Effata (‘Open’) in Laï (2005); Lotiko (‘The Day’) in Sarh (2001). These community radios were in dire need of equipment (none had any digital equipment) and training, while poor and irregular salaries had led to a high turnover in staff. Relations between these community radios and the local authorities were often very tense, and many stations had received threats, and had sometimes even been shut down. The Chadian media thus faced numerous difficulties, both material and political, which limited their capacity to cover the polls properly. Nevertheless, they were very popular, and their role was important in the public space. As Saleh Kebzabo, the founder of N’Djamena Hebdo (later to become N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo as it increased its frequency of publication) and two-time presid­ ential contender, remarked: ‘In a system where there are democrats but no democracy, the media’s role is essential: they break the silence and spread messages. For, without them, the authorities would maintain this silence and remain inactive’ (GRET 2007: 7). This is the mission that the Chadian media gave themselves in 2001 and 2006, on the eve of the electoral processes. Conclusion

Though each of these countries projects distinct electoral and media landscapes, a number of common features emerge from this overview. First, the elections themselves are somehow similar. The first similarity is the importance attached by the international community to the polls, which, while highly symbolic, were perhaps also seen as something of a panacea, likely to put a definite end to the conflicts. The elections were

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held in countries where democratic dialogue, individual security and often governance were seriously lacking. Nevertheless, those polls benefited from massive investments from foreign donors – especially those held in the DRC, Burundi, Rwanda, the CAR and Chad. Though the elections could not in themselves provide solutions to the problems that triggered the conflicts or that ensued from them, they appeared to be the only means by which to legitimize an authority – having citizens directly involved in choosing their leaders. Therefore they served as an instrument, if not of peace then at least of peace-building. No doubt these elections also constituted a primary goal because they provided a specific objective that was measurable and timely (and thus more attainable) – always assuming they were free and fair. It is hard to be overly critical of such elections, which, when all is said and done, are also partly ‘the responsibility of those who impose them, help organize them, provide the funding for them and monitor them’ (Quantin 2009b: 181). Another similarity rests in the hope that those elections gave long-suffering populations. In all likelihood the voters expected more of the polls than they could deliver: security and stability, development and well-being. The high turnout, at least in the first and sometimes in the second post-conflict elections, revealed the level of hope. Exercising their right to vote often required much effort, as citizens had to travel long distances and wait for hours at polling stations to make their voices heard. This commitment could turn into mass lethargy if the polls were no longer considered credible, as in 2006 in Chad or in 2007 in the Republic of Congo. A third similarity is the ongoing insecurity that persisted in some areas or, in the case of Rwanda, the external threat to the country’s stability. Even though fighting might still be in evidence, the elections aimed to install peace. Destabilizing the electoral process itself could become an objective of armed factions. The prospect of elections could thus fuel conflicts and increase instability, even though the polls aimed to be the culmination of a peace process. Fourthly, the organization of the elections posed major logistical challenges for countries that are, with the exception of Burundi and Rwanda, vast and sparsely populated. In the six countries examined here, census data were unreliable and volatile, transport was weak and electricity was anything but ubiquitous. Not only did wars impede development, but they also led to a deterioration in the infrastructure, thus making the task of those organizing the elections even more complicated than in other developing countries. When logistical challenges combine with political manipulation, it can be difficult to determine which dysfunctions are connected to technical problems, fraud or violence (ibid.: 181). As regards the media, certain recurring features emerge from the brief description given of each country. First, discounting the small number of media outlets set up by the international community, the local media suffered

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severe shortages of human, material and financial resources. Deficiencies in the training of journalists were apparent in most of these countries (and indeed the various conflicts had left the entire education sector badly scarred).89 The economic environment was unfavourable, as the conflicts had damaged production tools and sent entrepreneurs fleeing. The public was impoverished and destitute – something that benefits neither media consumption nor the development of an advertising market. The media were thus often poor, deprived of their traditional resources (advertising and the public’s direct contributions). And working conditions were difficult: most media outlets faced power cuts (which not all editorial teams could counter by purchasing a generator) and lacked transport (so that journalists were confined to the newsroom and field trips were limited). Moreover, journalists on the vast majority of those media were underpaid, which led them to do something else besides journalism or some other kind of journalism. Coupage in the DRC, camorra in the Republic of Congo, gombo in Chad, communiqué final (the ‘final press release’ – money received for covering a press conference) in other countries: these forms of rewarded journalism had become widespread in all these countries on the eve of the elections. A second common feature of the media outlets in these countries was the high level of politicization of a certain number of them. A lot of the media were close to politicians or parties, in countries (like the DRC or CAR) where financial transparency of the media companies was not guaranteed and where political figures could own or financially support one or several media. Moreover, the media content was very much centred on politics, and ignored large swathes of cultural, economic and social news. These trends could not but influence the coverage of the polls by the local media. A third shared characteristic was the appropriation of the national media by the government, if not by the head of state. Although attempts were made to give the national newspaper or broadcaster a public-service status and content (in Burundi, Chad or the CAR, for instance), they were still first and foremost the government’s mouthpiece. This was hardly surprising in countries that were just emerging from conflicts, during which state media had been used as propaganda tools. The strategic nature of information had led, sometimes for years, to strict control of the news by the political-military authorities, who wished to have just a single voice heard. Therefore, access by the political opposition to the public media could only remain problematic, especially if that opposition turned out to be members of former armed groups that had metamorphosed into a political party. Withholding information and exerting pressure to restrict any real pluralism were common practices of the governments in each country, even though ensuring access to complete and diverse information should be the state’s duty during election time. Fourthly, it is clear from the accounts above that the citizens of these countries did not all have equal access to information. In all six countries,

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there was a strong disparity between the capital and provincial towns or the countryside. The print media and television were often restricted to the capital, and only a few radio stations could broadcast more widely. Provincial media, though increasingly numerous, could  not rectify this imbalance, since they themselves had limited access to the political debates that were taking place in the capitals. Rural communities often did not have any source of information other than local radio stations, since the poor quality of short-wave reception of national and international radio stations often discouraged listeners. In some countries (CAR, DRC, Republic of Congo, Chad) there were even large dark areas, not covered by any media. Hence the importance of ‘pavement radio’ – rumours and word of mouth – which played a significant role in the flow of information and had a major impact during tense electoral periods (as we shall see). Fifthly, even though more liberal press laws had been adopted in all six countries, and new regulatory authorities had been established, press freedom violations were frequent. Elections occurred in a context where journalists were often used to (more or less open) threats from military or public officials. These threats could be either explicit (as in the DRC or Chad, where journalists were often attacked or jailed) or more insidious (as in the Republic of Congo or Rwanda, where discreet pressure from the authorities or zealous civil servants encouraged self-censorship). Regardless of which method was used, the result was the same: journalists were afraid to openly criticize the powerful (or even just to write the truth about local governance) and thought twice before writing or broadcasting any sensitive information. Lastly, a number of these countries had also experienced the ‘hate media’ phenomenon during their conflicts, when certain journalists had disseminated messages that incited violence against individuals or communities. In Rwanda and Burundi (and also, to some extent, in both Congos), the impact of hate speech relayed by journalists was well known and feared in the electoral context. So, conditions were certainly far from the ideal described in the ­manuals and handbooks that purport to guide the media coverage of elections. However, to nuance this pessimistic assessment, it should be underlined that, at the time of the post-conflict polls, the media environment had seen very positive developments over the previous 15 years. Never had those countries been better equipped to inform their citizens. In all six countries, pluralism was a reality after liberalization of the media sector, following decades of state monopolies on information. Though the situation varied from one country to another, all of them had a number of newspapers and private radio stations that were likely to broadcast a diversity of opinion, present a range of social projects to the public, and express views that differed from those aired in the state media. Technological progress had also helped bring the media closer to citizens. The widespread availability of mobile phones

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had recently enabled the creation of interactive radio programmes, thus facilitating greater freedom of expression. It had also profoundly changed working practices in the newsrooms, with journalists now able to contact their sources even if fixed telephone lines were a rarity. On top of that, foreign donors, intent on seeing democracy consolidated in these countries, had turned their attention to the development of in­ dependent and professional media, sometimes providing them with substantial support, as in Burundi, the DRC or Chad. This support, both material and moral, had made it possible to develop journalists in the region, enhance their professional knowledge and often position them as key players in the political process. It was an important step forward as the Central African media were to endorse that unique role in informing and educating citizens about and during the polls.

2  |  The Preparatory Phase: The Media’s Pre-Election Commitments

The media’s involvement in an electoral process begins long before the campaign gets under way. This chapter looks at the six countries under consideration, focusing on the role the media played during the pre-election period in informing, educating and even motivating voters, as well as on the obstacles they faced. In chapter 1, we described the special context of those post-conflict elections in Central Africa, and looked at the media landscape, pocked as it was with the scars of war. Chapter 2 examines how the media covered the preparations for the polls and how they interacted with the other main stakeholders in the election process: the electoral administration (and especially the electoral commission), the media regulation authority, the donors and, of course, the citizens. According to the training manuals, the media are supposed to take part in informing citizens about the various aspects of preparing for an election: voter registration, how to cast a vote, the role and operations of the administrative authorities in charge of the process, the rules and regulations governing the forthcoming campaign, etc. The financial mechanisms behind parties and candidates, the rules governing paid political advertising, and the limitations imposed on the media are all matters that need to be brought to the attention of voters before the campaign actually starts. The news media’s participation in this preparatory phase is not a legal obligation (except sometimes for general-interest public media, funded by taxpayers). Nevertheless, it would seem to be a duty, given the media’s role in a democratic system. For the media to take on this responsibility effectively, it is important for them to engage in meaningful collaboration with the body in charge of organizing the elections, since it will be a constant source of information. In countries that do not offer their citizens full democratic guarantees, or where the civil service is suspected of being partial, independent authorities are generally established to organize and see the electoral process through. Such was the case with the CEMI in CAR, the CEI in the DRC, the CENI in Burundi and Chad, all of which were labelled ‘independent’. Other electoral bodies were labelled ‘national’, such as the NEC in Rwanda and the CONEL in the Republic of Congo. Even though these had less autonomy, they were also meant to ensure that elections were held in a transparent and neutral way. To make sure that citizens were adequately informed, they were to work with the news media to reach a wide audience.

76  |  two Table 3  Summary of the media’s role in the pre-election period The media’s role Possible state interventions Outside • Inform citizens (fully, honestly • Legislation: press law the electoral and rigorously) (guaranteeing freedom of period • Monitor the activities of public the press and terms of and private actors on behalf of implementation); review or citizens repeal of oppressive laws • Serve as a platform for society’s • Regulation: independent various components administrative authority • Public information: guaranteeing access to information • Supporting diversity and pluralism • Financing public media Pre-election • Provide information on the • Specific legislation: electoral period electoral process (voter registra- code or law tion, voting procedures, etc.) • Specific regulations: direc • Analyse electoral stakes tives, orders, decrees • Supervise implementation of • Specific joint regulation tools: the election (denounce any codes of conduct, pledges lack of transparency or rigour) • Production of electoral • Assess the outgoing govern- information and awareness ment raising tools to be communi cated through the media

While the media must be ready to work with the authorities, journalists should also denounce all forms of dishonest compromise or corruption on the part of the authority – be it a matter of supporting a particular party or of being partial to one particular category of voter. Moreover, it is during the pre-election period that the framework guiding the media’s participation in the future campaign is set. Limitations may be imposed by electoral laws that govern the campaign or by other specific regulations. It is generally up to the communications regulatory authorities to organize and monitor media activity at this time. In those countries in ‘transition’, bodies are set up for precisely this purpose: the High Media Authority (HAM) in the DRC, the HCC in the CAR and Chad, the National Communications Council (CNC) in Burundi, the HCP and then the MHC in Rwanda and the CSLC in the Republic of Congo. These public bodies were to define the boundaries within which the media had to operate, and had to verify that they were abiding by their legal obligations. Before the elections, they also had to set up the relevant mechanisms allowing a citizen or a political party to lodge a complaint about a campaign message or the

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media that disseminated it, and formulate the potential sanctions if there were violations by journalists. The coverage of an election campaign is also something that needs to be prepared by each newsroom, and the media should gather, at this early stage, the material and human resources necessary to ensure the quality of their work during the polls. However, the preceding chapter illustrated the poor economic and social context in which the region’s media had to exist. The following pages will describe how the journalists in post-conflict Central Africa tried to meet those challenges, while dealing with their own survival strategies, the ambiguous positions of the electoral commissions and the media regulation authorities, as well as foreign donors’ priorities. Informing voters

In the six countries under consideration, the specific nature of postconflict elections meant that several points needed to be clarified prior to the campaign, so that citizens could participate in an unfamiliar event. It was important to specify and explain who was authorized to register to vote, how and where people could register, and how important it was for voters to register. In countries like the DRC or Rwanda, which had not had direct multiparty elections for decades and in which the vast majority of the electorate had never gone to the polls, these were major concerns. In countries with greater electoral experience, such as Burundi, the CAR and the Republic of Congo, it was still necessary to educate voters and to target those groups that had traditionally been excluded from the political arena and so were less inclined to register: women, young people and rural populations. These preliminary tasks of providing information were often integrated into the electoral commissions’ mandates. Moreover, civil society – which, in fragile states, is often what compensates for the shortcomings of the public services – was an important actor in this early phase. Not only did existing associations (generally those involved in defending human rights) develop special election-related activities, but new organizations also emerged with the sole purpose of guiding citizens through the electoral process. Some of the media also got involved in informing and raising awareness among citizens during the pre-election period.

A range of information and awareness-raising strategies In each country, some media started – months ahead of the polls – to devise new programmes and launch special columns to inform the citizens. During the 2005 elections in the CAR, Radio Ndeke Luka was involved in the early stages of electoral-awareness campaigns, mainly through three programmes: Patara (‘Discussion’), a live, weekly debate with community leaders; Education civique (‘Civic Education’), a daily pre-recorded programme with a live interactive

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round-up on Saturday mornings; and Club de la presse (‘The Press Club’), broadcast fortnightly. The radio first explained to citizens why it was important for them to register and what a ‘single ballot paper’ was. It then presented the draft constitution. As Zéphyrin Kaya, a well-known presenter of the Education civique programme, noted, many listeners were asking themselves: ‘For what purpose are we going to cast our vote?’1 The radio organized several debates featuring representatives from public authorities and citizens’ associations. It also covered awareness-raising tours to the provinces organized jointly by BONUCA, the CEMI, the Ministry of the Interior in Charge of Territorial Administration, and the Ministry of Communications, National Reconciliation, Democratic Culture and Human Rights. These tours aimed to highlight, for the general audience, the importance of the polls in the democratic process, the issues of the census, of voter registration and of turnout. Radio Ndeke Luka also covered the progress of a caravan that toured the districts of Bangui explaining how to vote, as well as the work of the episcopal commissions of the Catholic Church, which urged citizens to vote. These strategies raise an important question: although it is incumbent upon journalists to inform citizens of the electoral process, are they not overstepping their role if they become involved in attempts to raise awareness, to convince voters to register and head to the polls? This is an age-old dilemma, especially for African journalists. Indeed, for decades, journalism in Africa has been seen as an instrument to be used to fashion the beliefs of the population, to generate changes in behaviour, to create a sense of national unity and to promote development or reconciliation. During these post-conflict elections, two trends stood out. Some journalists believed that the specific situation (the novelty of voting, the fears generated by years of violence) required them to become involved in raising awareness. Others believed that this was the realm of electoral communication rather than journalism: the media could provide an electoral commission or civil ­society with the space it needed to disseminate messages aimed at mobilizing ­voters, but journalists should not get involved in advocating registration and parti­ cipation in the electoral process. Whatever the views of the journalists, the broadcasting or publication of electoral education material has generally been a good deal for financially weak media outlets. In the CAR, not only did Radio Ndeke Luka and Radio Centrafrique air news programmes, but they also broadcast entertainment to raise awareness among voters. The airing of songs and commercials that were specially commissioned by the CEMI from local artists, using funds from the international community, brought in some revenue for the radio stations. Two private production studios (Bonga Bonga and Mbella) were asked to prepare commercials, election-oriented music clips and sketches, and to record theatre productions in various neighbourhoods of Bangui.

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While only national television was available to broadcast visual material, musical productions were broadcast on almost all radio stations and even in the city’s bars. Election information is very much part of the remit of public media. Despite its lack of resources, Radio Centrafrique attempted to meet this responsibility with two interactive programmes: Arc-en-ciel (‘Rainbow’) and Transparence (‘Transparency’). A special Department of National Reconciliation and Civic Education had been created within the Ministry of Communications at the beginning of the political transition and was based inside Radio Centrafrique’s building. However, a lack of production equipment meant that the department could not produce its own programmes, and merely filled a dozen slots each week, broadcasting live from the studio. Since radio was the main medium in Central African countries, journalists were faced with a practical difficulty as they attempted to educate their audience: explaining the voting procedure in words and without pictures is quite a challenge. ‘It is easy to sketch the configuration of a polling station in a leaflet, but it is not so easy to describe to a radio audience how voting operations unfold,’ Zéphyrin Kaya observed.2

Experts have their say  Popularizing the elections is a complex task, requiring specific skills. In 2005 in Burundi – where ‘electoral trauma’ was apparent among the population and ‘media trauma’ among journalists – the new private radio stations were involved early on in pre-election education and information drives. For weeks before the campaign, ‘high-quality information adverts illustrating voting procedures, inviting citizens to defend their rights or making them aware of the various forms of pressure or intimidation, were made and broadcast daily’ (EU-EOM 2005: 30). The stations created specific programmes and held debates, or else used existing programmes to tackle electoral issues, and constantly sought contributions from experts. Studio Ijambo produced several special programmes broadcast by Radio Isanganiro and some other stations, including Ntorere kazoza (‘I Vote for the Future’) which offered the airwaves to all major politicians. Express and its Kirundi version Amasanganzira (‘Crossroads’) outlined the organization of elections and their importance. Isanganiro ry’urwaruka (‘A Meeting Place for Youths’) let young people express their views on the polls. Radio Isanganiro also had two programmes – Mosaïque (‘Mosaic’) and Kunama (‘On the Platform’) – which allowed civil society representatives and political actors to express themselves in French and Kirundi. Similar approaches were developed by Radio Bonesha on Tribune Bonesha (‘The Bonesha Platform’), by the RPA on A visage découvert (‘In the Open’) and by Radio Burundi on Info Plus and Akari k’umutima (‘What is on My Mind’) (Palmans 2008: 33). Radio debates featuring representatives of the five main parties were jointly organized by five radio stations (RPA, Isanganiro, Bonesha, Renaissance

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FM and Radio Burundi), with the support of the NGO Global Rights. Participants were questioned about election issues and their party’s position on important national policy issues. However, Eva Palmans’s in-depth analysis of these pre-election programmes has shown that Burundian journalists were wary of politicians and preferred to keep them at arm’s length. The newspaper Arc-en-Ciel openly expressed its suspicion of the political class, and spoke of ‘politicians lagging behind’ who were likely to ‘fan the flames of political-ethnic hatred in Burundi’.3 The paper claimed that most politicians were ‘unemployed’, investing in politics to make money,4 or that they were seeking ‘near-automatic and irreversible immunity for their political and economic crimes, and their crimes against humanity’.5 In an effort to avoid giving too much space and time to political individuals, the Burundian media thus turned eagerly to experts, whether political analysts or historians, to analyse electoral issues. These experts regularly criticized the lack of consistency in the parties’ programmes, the practice of buying voters and the CENI’s lack of resources. Despite these initiatives from the media, and also from the CENI and civil society, electoral education was deemed inadequate. The civil society organization COSOME held that the feeling of fear still gripping voters at the time of the constitutional referendum ‘was due to the lack of information on electoral procedures, the potentially faulty manipulation of electoral material, and the inability to find their way in the polling stations’ (COSOME 2005c: 4). It argued that awareness-raising and civic education initiatives had come too late, and that ‘it would be preferable if awareness-raising campaigns did not happen a few weeks before the elections but took place at least one year prior to the various polls’ (COSOME 2005b: 21).

Medium-term civic education projects  The ability of the local media to commit themselves to electoral popularization long before the polls often depends on the community of donors. The more donors get involved at the outset, the more willing they will be to finance medium-term projects, including those to support the media. During the 2006 electoral cycle in the Democratic Republic of Congo, the media mounted a wide range of civic information and education initiatives. They were initiated early on and benefited from successive postponements of the polls, spreading over many months. Radio Okapi, the MONUC-backed station, developed several special election programmes. Prior to the constitutional referendum, short bulletins were broadcast over and over again, explaining the main points of the constitution. A daily chronicle was set up entitled Les élections c’est facile à comprendre (‘Elections are Easy to Understand’), and there was a daily morning programme entitled Questions à la CEI (‘Questions for the CEI’), during which each article of the draft constitution was explained. The programme Tous citoyens! (‘We are All Citizens!’) also sought to explain the process and to answer listeners’ ques-

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tions. According to Yves Laplume (Radio Okapi’s project manager at the time), ‘basic questions were raised, such as the layout of ballot papers, the practical organization of elections, security measures’.6 Other popular programmes, such as Dialogue entre Congolais (‘Dialogue among Congolese’), Okapi Action and Le Débat (in French and four national languages),7 were adapted to the electoral context. Of the 120 journalists working for Radio Okapi, five were specially assigned to an elections department. Lastly, throughout the process, the radio called on three permanent experts, whose task was to comment in a neutral way on how the election was proceeding and then on the results, thereby keeping journalists clear of having to go down the dangerous path of analysing. According to Yves Laplume, calling on experts ‘helped calm things’ when the political situation became too tense.8 As regards the print media, one of the most remarkable experiments was Le Journal du Citoyen (‘The Citizen’s Paper’, otherwise known as the JDC) – an election and civic information supplement produced jointly by seven Congolese newspapers under the supervision of the HAM. Launched in September 2005 by the Institut Panos Paris and a Belgian NGO, the JDC was prepared by a team of a dozen journalists from the participating newspapers. Together they produced a four-page weekly supplement, which was inserted into Kinshasan dailies and photocopied for distribution in the countryside. The supplement offered articles, interviews, investigations and vox pops, both on the electoral process and, more generally, on the reforms designed to rebuild the Congolese state. Its column ‘A Savoir’ (‘Worth Knowing’) focused on important legal information, such as the content of the draft constitution and the electoral law, registration and eligibility criteria, and campaign regulations. Conceived as a medium-term project, the JDC thus combined civic information and professional training, since working part time in the JDC newsroom enabled journalists to try out a range of journalistic genres not commonly found in the Congolese press. Participating in the project was also financially rewarding, since journalists were paid $50 per commission (i.e. the average monthly salary in the Congolese press), and editors were compensated for inserting the supplement in their papers. The JDC was remarkably popular, and during the election period it was the sole nationwide print publication, reaching more than 35 towns throughout the country. With a print run of 15,000 copies (the highest in the country), it was also sent via email to more than 2,500 subscribers.9 A long-term awareness-raising project was also led by the non-governmental organization SFCG, which founded the Lokole Centre, specializing in the production of radio programmes that promote peace, reconciliation and civic education. During the election period, the centre, which employed some 60 journalists in Kinshasa and Bukavu, produced ten weekly radio programmes, some of them in national languages (Lingala, Swahili, Kikongo, Tshiluba), and sent them to be aired through 98 partner radio stations throughout

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the country. These programmes were quite varied: information broadcasts on peace-related issues and on civil, women’s and children’s rights; vox pop programmes; awareness-raising and civic education sketches; and radio serials. They filled a gap in the schedules of many local radio stations that had neither the means nor the capacity to create programmes that required much preparation, field reporting or editing work.10 They also enabled these radio stations to perform the role that was expected of them as regards raising awareness among local communities, and at the same time strengthened their technical and human capacities. Indeed, in exchange for broadcasting the programmes, partner radio stations benefited from training offered by SFCG and received an annual donation of equipment. Organizations of media professionals also rallied round to provide better information to particular groups of citizens. The Congolese Union of Women in the Media (UCOFEM), aware that women in outlying suburbs were in­ adequately informed, developed a partnership with small radio stations broadcasting at Kinshasa markets. UCOFEM provided these micro-broadcasters with programmes aimed at making the often illiterate market women aware that their vote counted and that they were free to vote as they pleased, and not necessarily as their husband or father wanted.11 The project was so ­successful that UCOFEM decided to extend it far beyond the election period. In Kivu, the Network of Community Radio and Television in the Eastern Congo (RATECO) set up a civic education caravan in partnership with the National Support Centre for Development and Popular Participation. The caravan travelled through both Sud-Kivu and Nord-Kivu and held radio debates on the electoral process in public spaces. The debates were aired live on a special frequency and were later broadcast by radios belonging to the network. However, these medium- to long-term initiatives were in the minority, largely because of the short-sighted approach of donors. As Willame (2007: 176) remarked in connection with the campaign on the constitutional referendum, the Congo’s sponsors, who had pledged to pay for the material and logistical aspects of the electoral process, paid scant attention to raising awareness about the real contents of the Constitution and the underlying stakes. It was only a fortnight prior to the referendum that popularization leaflets were printed and distributed in limited numbers.

This type of operation –  late in coming, short lived and rushed – is still the most common in media support during post-conflict elections.

Civic information: a difficult task for Central African media Besides the myopia of their financial partners, other obstacles often prevented the media from properly performing their task of educating and informing citizens.

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One obstacle resided in the narrow audiences of most of the media. In the DRC, for instance, the private print media did not care about popularization, as their audience was made up of a literate elite ‘that does not need to be told how to place a ballot paper into a ballot box’.12 In the CAR, it was only on the eve of the first round that Le Citoyen and Le Confident got around to publishing the contents of a leaflet by the Central African Human Rights League explaining how to vote.13 In Rwanda, a report by the High Council of the Press on media coverage of the 2003 elections underlined the fact that, because almost all private newspapers at the time appeared either weekly or fortnightly, the time that elapsed between issues prevented readers getting enough information on the different stages of the electoral process. In the DRC, most community radio stations were equipped with very weak transmitters, and this prevented them from reaching a wide audience. For instance, Radio Messager du Peuple (‘Messenger of the People’) in Uvira and the rural radio station in Kanyabayonga were initially equipped with home-made 20-watt transmitters. It was only a few weeks prior to the election that they received 300-watt transmitters, enabling them to extend their reach. Because of limited range for broadcasters, small and elite-oriented circulation of the newspapers and the time between issues, some media just could not contribute to the mass education of citizens. A second problem remained the fact that the local media had few (or no) resources to develop their own productions. All the above projects – the programmes of Radio Okapi, Radio Ndeke Luka, Studio Ijambo, the Lokole Centre, UCOFEM or Le Journal du Citoyen –  were wholly foreign funded. Indeed, neither commercial advertising nor sponsorship by local private companies would have been sufficient to finance them. A third problem was that the media, especially public broadcasters, often confused civic education with promotion of the electoral process itself. For instance, in 2003 in Rwanda, at the time of the constitutional referendum, the observation mission of the EU noted that public and private media applauded the authorities’ efforts. They launched themselves into a campaign to promote the electoral process and the Constitution, but failed to analyse the contents, which is part of their educational role. (EU-EOM 2003a: 26)

In 2008, the same confusion between presentation and promotion was underlined: ‘Information to voters was delivered as messages of encouragement to vote.’ As a result, the stress on the civic duty to exercise the right to vote might have been misunderstood as an obligation to vote. A clearer distinction between civic education and voter information would be beneficial. (EU-EOM 2008: 29)

A fourth obstacle was certainly the trouble the media had in obtaining

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clear, precise and complete information on the electoral process in countries where the administration generally withheld information. In Chad, human rights organizations became the first source of information for the media – and, therefore, for the citizens. The newspaper L’Observateur stated that ‘since the state has failed to promote civic education, it is up to civil society (human rights organizations, the press, trade unions, etc.) to take up this task’.14 In 1996, a vast civic education campaign prepared by human rights organizations and programmed for the eve of the presidential elections was eventually banned by the government. By 2001, human rights organizations had established their own radio station, FM Liberté; but, as we shall see, the radio could only play a limited role in the electoral process, notably because it had little access to information held by the authorities in charge of organizing the election. Lastly, a fifth obstacle threatened the effectiveness of media initiatives related to civic education: the lack of enthusiasm of a disillusioned population. In the CAR, Zéphyrin Kaya noted that it was equally difficult to motivate voters, since initially, people didn’t want to hear about the elections. There have been so many elections in the country’s history which led nowhere. They held no hope that this process could bring any change. They had to be convinced.15

In 2001, a reporter with Tchad et Culture related an account by the leader of a farmers’ organization in Mangalme: ‘Elections are for people in N’Djamena with nothing else to do. People are hungry here and are dying of meningitis.’ Another farmer, from Bokoro, claimed: I voted for a candidate in 1996 so that living conditions would improve. But things have only got worse. These elections are none of my concern. If forced to, I will vote for one or other candidate just so that they leave me in peace.16

This lack of enthusiasm also spread to journalists when the outcome of the polls appeared to be a foregone conclusion, as in Chad in 2006. The media were then faced with a dilemma: by agreeing to disseminate election information – even if accompanied by critical analyses highlighting the weakness of the process –  would they not be giving visibility to a manipulative undertaking, if not actually legitimizing it? Should they ignore the ongoing process and refuse to communicate practical information needed by voters (and thus be accused of promoting a boycott)? Or should they agree to take part in the process, add whatever health warnings were necessary, but run the risk of being presented as having taken part in the process and thus of having contributed to the election’s credibility? Given these practical and professional hurdles, it is easy to understand why, despite a number of initiatives and some positive experiences, voter informa-

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tion and education were still in short supply in the region. In Rwanda, for instance, the director of Contact FM acknowledged that no such programmes were broadcast before the launch of the 2008 election campaign: We just didn’t think about it, although it’s true we should have done something. A few months before the elections, the station launched a political programme entitled Muruhame [‘Out in the open’], which was produced in synergy with two other stations, City Radio and Radio Flash. Our aim was to show that politics is something which can be discussed in public. But we took the programme off the air during the commemoration of the genocide in April, and after that we didn’t resume broadcasting.17

The upshot was that less than 2 per cent of news bulletins and debates monitored by the Media High Council before the polls were devoted to voter education and registration (MHC 2009: 23). During the 2003 elections, the High Council of the Press (the forerunner of the MHC) had already reported that ‘the media’s awareness-raising and education mission has been profoundly neglected’. Of the 184 electoral news items it collected, only ten related to civic education, and some of those merely reproduced statements issued by the National Electoral Commission, without any substantial contribution from the media (HCP 2003: 16). Presenting and analysing the electoral system and process

Besides promoting civic education, the media must also provide critical analysis of the chosen electoral procedures. Indeed, the choice of an electoral system is not merely an organizational or institutional matter: it is also often a strategic political decision. What appear to be mere technical considerations may, in fact, have ­repercussions on the results – or even, in post-conflict countries, on peace and stability. These choices are therefore highly sensitive and can gen­erate disagreement between parties and candidates, and citizens need to be informed of these long before the start of the campaign.

Deciphering the politically oriented choices  As was shown in chapter 1, prior to those post-conflict elections there were innumerable potentially controversial issues. One of the most important concerned the criteria for eligibility, and particularly the number of times a candidate could be re-elected (in Chad, for instance), but also conditions related to age and residency, for instance – conditions which led to the exclusion of certain candidates in the Republic of Congo and the CAR. In other countries, nationality criteria (for both voters and candidates) were the most controversial: in the DRC, the debate surrounding the notion of congolité18 was highly sensitive. Two years after the adoption of a controversial law on Congolese nationality, one contender’s ( Jean-Pierre Bemba) main argument in the electoral contest

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was that he was a mwana mboka (‘a true native son’), as opposed to the ‘suspected foreigner’ Kabila (de Villers 2009). Ethnicity was also an issue in some places. In Burundi, it was decided that each candidate’s ethnic group would be published next to his or her name, and ethnic quotas were enshrined in all institutions, as stated in the constitution. In neighbouring Rwanda, by contrast, all reference to ethnicities was banned. A second major issue consisted in the choice of voting mechanisms (direct or indirect election). These were sometimes quite complex and needed to be explained, especially where no free elections had been held for decades. This was the case in Rwanda, for instance, where the particular parliamentary configuration combined three nomination methods (see chapter 1). In the DRC, many voters questioned the indirect election of senators by provincial deputies – a practice that led to numerous cases of abuse. The country’s division into electoral districts was also an important issue, since the drawing of the borders of those districts could have a considerable impact on the final results: representatives of some numerically minor DRC communities, such as the Banyamulenge (to which Azarias Ruberwa belongs), tried to obtain a district division that would guarantee their representation. In Chad in 2006, the opposition criticized the system that allowed nomadic people to cast their votes over four days – preferential treatment, which, it was claimed, paved the way for uncontrollable manipulations in the region that President Déby comes from. The electoral calendar itself can sometimes become an important issue. In 2001 in Chad, the private print media harshly criticized the changes to the electoral calendar, which, six months prior to the election, made it possible to reverse the order of the presidential and legislative elections (see chapter 1). N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo alleged that, if all deputies, including from the opposition, ultimately accepted this constitutional revision, it was because the one-year extension to their mandate would ‘yield each deputy a bonus worth at least 6 million CFA francs, to which other financial and material advantages would be added. Not a single deputy dared bite the hand that fed him/her by voting no.’19 Lastly, the practical measures governing the organization of election campaigns can reveal a not so well hidden agenda. In 2006, the Chadian press denounced tailor-made decrees used to reinforce the ruling party’s position. For instance, a decree adopted in March that affected the organization of the election campaign stipulated that: ‘Only political parties having presented or supporting a candidate are authorized to organize electoral meetings.’ The aim was to prevent those opposition parties that had decided not to take part in the polls from continuing to promote a boycott. The press remarked that this decree contradicted the electoral code, which stipulates that: ‘Only legally recognized political parties and regularly declared independent candidates are authorized to organize electoral meetings.’20 A ‘legally recognized’ party

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that does not take part in the campaign should thus be free to continue to hold meetings and to communicate with the electorate. If such issues are to be deciphered by the media and communicated to citizens, it implies that the electoral administration must invest time and resources in keeping journalists abreast of developments, choices made and the reasons for those choices. Unfortunately, this was not always the case, for the administration sometimes lacked transparency, being as it was overly politicized or ill prepared. In 2008, the director of Contact FM in Kigali, Albert Rudatsimburwa, lamented the NEC’s inability to convey to the media the information they needed for their work: ‘Our weakness in this field is also due to the NEC, which had no strategy for communicating with the media and no trained personnel to perform this kind of task.’21 Once the information is available, the deciphering task also implies that the media have sufficient courage and the necessary freedom to proceed.

A crucial step: approving the candidates  In some cases, the media in Central Africa went beyond critical description of the system and launched themselves into actual campaigns to denounce manipulation. In the CAR, the press played an important role in a violent dispute over the disqualification of candidates for the presidential election. When the Transitional Constitutional Court announced that seven of the twelve candidacies had been rejected, this announcement triggered a general outcry in the press, which published a series of outraged articles. Diplomatic protests were also lodged. Put under pressure, President Bozizé then authorized three of the seven rejected candidates (Ngoupandé, Ziguélé and Massi), but Patassé and Démafouth remained banned on the grounds that, according to the ser­ ­ ving president, they were being prosecuted for ‘blood crimes and economic crimes’ (HRW 2007: 9). The Union of Central African Journalists (UJCA) published a statement denouncing ‘incendiary declarations and a battle of press releases inciting hatred and extolling violence’. Recalling the situation in Rwanda prior to the 1994 genocide, the UJCA called ‘upon the national and international community to witness the risk of confrontation which threatens the CAR’.22 Negotiations headed by Gabonese President Omar Bongo were organized in Libreville. The private press was so virulent that the UJCA was invited to travel to Gabon, as were the Central African Human Rights League and the Union of Central African Women, in order to follow the discussions between Bozizé and the ousted candidates. The Libreville Agreement, signed on 22 January 2005 by President Bozizé and eight of his challengers (and by the representatives of two absent candidates), ratified two important decisions: on the one hand, a significant part of the responsibilities of the discredited Transitional Constitutional Court was transferred to the CEMI; on the other hand, all candidacies were validated

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except for that of Ange-Félix Patassé.23 This reversal was probably due, at least partly, to the efforts of the Central African print media. In countries where the media have less room for manoeuvre, journalists often echo the official point of view. The main controversy relayed by the media during the 2003 elections in Rwanda surrounded the ousting of two independent candidates, Celestin Kabanda and Jean Baptiste Sindikubwabo, who were banned by the NEC for having forged signatures supporting their candidacy. The High Council of the Press observed that most media – and especially the public media – endorsed the NEC’s official position and presented the candidates as guilty. Only a small number of private newspapers that were considered ‘opposition’ papers (such as the periodical Umuseso) denounced a strategy implemented by the ruling party, in collusion with the NEC, to exclude certain candidates from the contest (HCP 2003: 11).

Complex issues discussed in French In most of the countries under con­ sideration, the level of illiteracy is still very high, and citizens often have only a limited knowledge of French, which is still an official language in all six countries.24 It is thus particularly difficult to raise awareness among voters on complex issues, such as electoral or institutional choices, and on technical matters that are generally conceived and expressed in French. In the DRC, for instance, community radio stations did much valuable work in attempting to translate the text of the new constitution into the local languages, since the official translation by the CEI did not reach them in time. In Lubumbashi, the University of Lubumbashi’s Radio Phoenix launched a daily programme entitled Ce que le Congolais doit savoir (‘What Congolese Citizens Need to Know’), during which articles of the draft constitution were read out and explained every day in French, but also in Swahili. In Mbandaka, in Equateur Province, translating the term ‘referendum’ into Lingala was a problem. Le Journal du Citoyen reported a debate between two educated villagers, as witnessed by its correspondent there: ‘Referendum’ means: ‘Mokano ya moto na moto mpo na mibeko ya Ekolo’. The literal translation is: ‘Each person decides what the laws of the country are’, said one. Not quite, said the other: ‘Mokano’ means decision. Let’s go, rather, with: ‘Likanisi ya moko na moko mpo na mikebo ya Ekolo’. This translates literally as: ‘What each of us thinks of the laws of the country’.25

Confronted with this difficulty, and in order to ensure that all its journalists translated the most important concepts consistently, Radio Okapi had (back in 2004) published the Communicator’s Guide to Transition Institutions. Drafted with the help of academics from IFASIC (Institute for Information and Communication Sciences), this guide, published in five languages, helped harmonize the terminology used on that particular radio station, but it was not used by other Congolese media.

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The difficulties involved in standardizing translations into vernacular l­anguages are, of course, less telling in countries that are linguistically unified, such as Rwanda and Burundi. The census and the establishment of electoral registers

In all post-conflict countries, the establishment of electoral registers is a crucial step in the process; but it is also a delicate matter. On the one hand, data from earlier censuses are quite old, dating from before the conflicts, and population movements may since have taken place (displacements, exile, returns, etc.). On the other hand, demographic data are highly political and are likely to be manipulated to increase the size of a community or the weight of a region in which the outcome of the polls may influence overall results. Moreover, the census and the establishment of electoral registers often involve large-scale operations in countries with a weak administrative infrastructure, in which populations are spread out and generally do not have birth certificates or identity cards. As a result, it is important that the media pay close attention to voter registration operations, so that they can inform citizens of how to register, and also because any irregularity during this delicate phase may be irreversible and may have serious consequences in later phases.

Encouraging voter registration In several countries, the media played an active part in encouraging voter registration, but also in giving voice to those who felt neglected or excluded. In the CAR, Radio Ndeke Luka, which had always paid attention to the victims of human rights violations, gave a voice to disgruntled citizens. Instead of addressing themselves to the relevant electoral authorities, listeners who had been omitted from the registers turned to Radio Ndeke Luka to voice their complaints, which the  radio then widely reported.26 The Chadian press also urged voters to register. ‘It would be a pity’, N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo claimed, ‘to deprive oneself of the means to change things. Registering to vote in no way means voting against one’s conscience; but giving up one’s vote would certainly pave the way for those who are taking part in the liquidation of Chad.’27 The newspaper also warned those who might get discouraged: ‘Those who are absent are always in the wrong.’ It reminded them that democratization is a long process and one should not get discouraged when faced with the first hurdle. People believe that the regime controls everything, and that the outcome is a foregone conclusion, so what’s the point in voting! But in doing so, they are giving up the fight and playing into the hands of a regime that couldn’t have hoped for anything better.28

In Burundi, private radio stations also played an essential role in

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e­ ncouraging voters to register. The most recent census dated from 1992, and the lack of reliable demographic information was a major obstacle to voter registration (COSOME 2005a: 6). Experts interviewed on radio denounced the laxity of the administrative authorities in charge of compiling the registers, in a country where the demographic weight of the various communities is one of the pillars of the power-sharing process. In the DRC, where the latest population census had been in 1984, the Inter-Congolese Dialogue had recommended the organization of a general procedure for the identification of citizens. Given the time constraints and the lack of available means, Congolese legislators opted for a simple registration process for all Congolese citizens aged 18 and over. In order to register, and to receive a voting card, which could then serve as an identity card, Congolese citizens simply had to produce a document proving their identity (driving licence, service card, birth certificate, etc.) or present themselves to the census taker in the presence of five people (who themselves had to be registered and reside in the region) who could testify to the person’s identity. The difficult conditions in which the census took place resulted in some dubious data, which required some correction and so paved the way for fraud (de Villers 2009: 383).29 Radio Okapi and Le Journal du Citoyen, as well as the radio programmes of the Lokole Centre, urged voters to follow the registration procedures. Given the staggering numbers of double registrations (several hundred thousand), the JDC issued a stern warning: ‘Those who are guilty of fraud will be barred from the electoral registers and imprisoned.’30

Scrutinizing the flaws in the registration system  It is also incumbent on the media to point out any procedural flaws. The case of Chad illustrates every possible mishap that might occur during this phase of the process, and the press discussed it widely. General demographic data were disputed by the press at each election. At the time of the 1996 elections, civil society and the press denounced the official census data with such vehemence that the Court of Appeals annulled the figures (Buijtenhuijs 1998: 47–51). In 2001, the electoral registers were opened, although no new general census had been undertaken in the intervening years. Voter registration took place amid great confusion, which even Le Progrès, an ally of the presidential party, acknowledged: The electoral census is unfolding in somewhat tense and uncertain circumstances … It would be illusory to believe that one will find reliable census takers in all bureaus. Much of the work will be contrary to regulations.

Indeed, one problem was that staff in charge of the electoral census were incompetent and ill prepared. A second problem resided in the material and financial difficulties that undermined their task:

the preparatory phase  |   91 From the start, census takers refused to work because they were insufficiently paid … Census takers in some sub-prefectures have only a single vehicle at their disposal to visit several villages, despite the long distances.31

An unhappy census taker told the newspaper L’Observateur: We were initially led to believe that we would be well paid. There was talk of 50,000 CFA francs [$98], which attracted a large number of people. In the end, we initially only received half that amount. We first received 12,500 CFA francs [$24] and we were told we would receive the other half at the end of the census. So, for 25,000 CFA francs [$48], we were made to work for 30 days, from 7 a.m. till 5 p.m.; we accepted because we have nothing.32

The press also reported the opposition’s complaints about the registration procedures in many districts: voting cards were distributed illegally to activists of the MPS, including minors, some of whom registered several times in different bureaus; there were insufficient voting cards in the southern departments, which were likely to be less favourable to President Déby; large numbers of cards were shipped to Chadian embassies abroad, where voters were allowed to vote, but where there would be no external observation. According to the newspaper Le Temps, ‘the selective distribution of cards according to one’s political allegiance has turned this census into a census of MPS activists and sympathizers’.33 Even newspapers close to the authorities underlined the ‘lack of enthusiasm and, in some parts of the country, the lack of documents and of voting cards, and fraudulent registrations on electoral registers’.34 Journalists confronted the minister of the interior, Abderamane Moussa, who presided over the National Voter Census Commission (CNRE). The minister was forced to recognize ‘the poor distribution of voting cards’, claiming that responsibility ‘fell to local officials’ and that ‘if cards are missing in certain districts, one just has to get some from neighbouring districts where there are too many’. He had to admit that, since the system had not been computerized, ‘a voter could register a dozen times without it being noticed by the census takers’.35 Two months later, in April 2001, the CNRE’s vice-president, Carpenter Nedilbaye Moalbaye, held a press conference to denounce manoeuvres by the CNRE’s president and the ‘distribution of voting cards only to MPS activists based on the pre-registration of the latter’.36 He especially underlined ‘the Ministry of the Interior’s total disregard for members of the CNRE, though they are meant to be its fellow workers’.37 The newspaper Notre Temps wryly remarked that the vice-president had waited ‘until the whole process was over and he had received his pay in full before denouncing the discriminatory measures taken by the president’.38 Public media journalists were prevented by their senior managers from covering the press conference.39

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In the end, more than 4.5 million Chadians (out of a population estimated at 11 million) were registered. The opposition was outraged: the 1996 census had listed 6 million Chadians (including 3.5 million voters), so just five years later there could not be 11 million inhabitants, almost half of whom were about to vote. Nineteen political parties submitted a request to the administrative chamber of the Supreme Court to have the voter registration procedure cancelled. Although it had acknowledged problems, Le Progrès could not support this initiative and questioned whether it was not ‘a subterfuge that the parties are using so as to avoid holding elections?’40 Despite these shortcomings, no new census was held in 2006. The Ministry of Territorial Administration created a Committee for the Revision of Electoral Registers which was to undertake a cumulative census only. This procedure was boycotted by opposition parties. Census takers were no longer going to go door to door, but rather people had to travel to the census centres. Turnout was low. A census taker from N’Djamena told L’Observateur: ‘I have only registered five people since this morning. I have the impression that people haven’t understood the meaning of this revision. I don’t think people were sufficiently well informed.’41 And indeed, though electoral registers were credited with 5.7 million voters (a 60 per cent increase over ten years), observers were forced to report that polling booths were quite empty.

Reporting material difficulties The difficulties involved in voter registration were not always due to the government’s ill will. Geographical factors sometimes also played a part. In the DRC, for instance, the decision to use biometric identification technology meant that thousands of com­puters had to be transported across difficult terrain (forests, swamps, etc.) to remote villages. The press reported recurring power cuts, which delayed the process. Generators had to be sent from Kinshasa, though they were all too often unusable for lack of fuel.42 In Kikwit, reported Le Journal du Citoyen, poten­ tial voters sometimes had to cover 100 km on foot to reach a registration centre. They ‘sometimes spent two whole days at the registration centre before obtaining their voting card’.43 In Bandundu, newspapers reported the discontent of election officials, who lamented the lack of ‘consumables: petrol, CDs, paper, pens, etc.’, but also delays in being paid, which led to work stoppages.44 In such cases, the challenge for the media was to report and describe the difficulties, but without undermining the entire process or discouraging voters. The electoral authorities

The ruling party’s grip on the electoral administration was regularly denounced by the media in the pre-election period, especially in Chad, Burundi

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and the Republic of Congo. In the Republic of Congo in 2007, the press highlighted the stranglehold of President Sassou Nguesso’s PCT on the administration. La Semaine africaine triggered a public debate by questioning the PCT’s secretary general: Opposition parties believe that if many PCT candidates were elected in 2002, it is because the party controlled the machine behind the organization of the elections, notably through the prefects, sub-prefects and secretary generals of prefectures, nearly all of whom were members of the PCT.45

The secretary general simply responded: ‘The PCT is no longer a party … with direct control over the state.’ It is precisely because the public administration was considered neither neutral nor apolitical that independent authorities were set up in these six post-conflict countries to manage the electoral process. Although the media needed to work with these institutions in order to access important data necessary to inform citizens, they also had to assess their achievements and decisions, and to denounce potential dysfunctions or abuses. Relations between the media and the electoral commissions often depended on the authority’s level of independence, and thus on its legitimacy. The CAR’s CEMI, the DRC’s CEI and Burundi’s CENI were considered sufficiently credible by most media – though they did sometimes underline the commissions’ lack of resources (and hence their inefficiency) or their excessive compliance with the wishes of donors. In Burundi, the newspaper Arc-en-Ciel (close to PARENA) claimed that ‘the CENI is neutralized by its political fanaticism towards FRODEBU-UPRONA’ and is run by ‘a team with no experience of organizing elections’.47 Most radio stations, however, tended to legitimize and reinforce the institution. In the DRC, the CEI was respected by most of the media, even though it faced some criticism from the ones close to UDPS, which accused Father Malu Malu to serve the interests of the international community. By contrast, the CENI in Chad was widely criticized for its lack of independence from the executive, the CONEL in the Republic of Congo for being purely cosmetic, and the NEC in Rwanda for its weakness.

The struggle for an ‘independent’ electoral commission The electoral commission’s independence is a key factor in its efficiency, and that is why it was often of major concern to the media. In Brazzaville, during the 2007 legislative elections, a number of journalists, civil society activists and political opposition members demanded a truly independent electoral commission, instead of the CONEL, whose role in 2002 had been limited to validating decisions taken by the executive. For weeks, La Semaine africaine supported this demand, arguing that

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an independent electoral commission is merely an answer to the lack of confidence that is damaging democracy in developing countries because of the excessive political influence on the public administration.

The newspaper was also aware, however, that ‘it is not a panacea’,48 since, without the support of the international community, such a commission would probably be totally powerless. Moreover, if such a commission was to operate properly, it ‘has to be managed by morally upright people’.49 As the elections grew near and no such authority had been created, the question of an independent electoral commission became a matter of ‘national concern’,50 the key topic of pre-election debates. La Semaine africaine believed that the authorities’ reluctance to accede to such a request was due to ‘the arrogance of political leaders who would go so far as to claim: “I am not holding elections so as to lose them.”’51 Finally, on 27 April 2007, less than two months before the date set for the election, a decree was passed by the National Assembly ‘providing for the organization and operations of the national commission for the organization of elections and the designation procedures of its members’. National radio and television broadcast this tumultuous parliamentary session live. After a six-hour debate, opposition deputies filed out of the Assembly, leaving the deputies of the majority group only to adopt a controversial text that once again limited the CONEL’s role to support the government’s policy and decisions. The decree was then adopted in the Senate (where there were no opposition members), during what the newspaper L’Observateur called ‘a pro forma operation for the benefit of the outside world’.52 Another month went by without any members of the electoral commission being named. As La Semaine africaine remarked: Even if they are named in the coming days, two weeks will not be enough for them to settle in, validate the preparatory acts drafted by government, examine and validate candidacies, distribute voting cards and organize the ballot throughout the country.53

Finally, on 31 May 2007, less than four weeks before the elections, the CONEL members were nominated: presided over by Henri Bouka, the commission, ‘consisting mostly of civil servants, with no adequate representation of the opposition or civil society, rather resembles a service of the department of electoral affairs’.54 Although the Congolese press was unable to advocate effectively for the creation of an independent electoral commission – which illustrates the limited impact the press has in a country such as the Republic of Congo –  at least journalists did not leave citizens with the impression that the process had unfolded normally.

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Intrinsic shortcomings: composition and material means  The lack of indepen­ dence was not the only obstacle reported by the media that impeded the effectiveness of electoral commissions. In 2001 in Chad, the press, which was strongly critical of the CENI, was less concerned about the pressure from the ruling party or the government than about the authority’s internal weaknesses due to its composition and lack of resources. Though it refrained from challenging the good faith and integrity of the authority’s president, Yokabdjim Mandigui (who was also the head of the University of N’Djamena), L’Observateur questioned whether he had ‘the means to achieve his tasks’: ‘sometimes, one’s qualities alone are not enough to achieve one’s goals’.55 The authority was also accused of merely serving to satisfy international partners who were concerned about the holding of free and democratic elections. As noted by the editor of N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, ‘its sole concern was to address our fellow journalists from the international press, but not us’.56 The composition of the CENI had been jointly agreed by the ruling party and the opposition.57 It was meant to bring together representatives from all political parties, but some newspapers accused it of ‘consisting of men from the inner circle of power … chosen according to their level of  allegiance to the regime’.58 Even though some seats were secured for opposition parties, the  very concept of political opponents was quite problematic in Chad. As was recalled by the press, several key opposition figures (Saleh Kebzabo, Lol Mahamat Choua, Wadal Abdelkader Kamougué) had, at certain times in their careers, entered the inner circle of power, which somewhat sullied their credibility and blurred the identity of political parties. For the newspaper Notre Temps, the fact that representatives of the political opposition participated in national institutions did not provide any guarantee of independence or good governance: ‘The Republic’s institutions are corrupt because those running these institutions are corrupt.’59 Moreover, in the CENI, as in other public bodies in which opposition parties were invited to participate, the opposition showed some reluctance to occupy the seats reserved for them. Tchad et Culture remarked that all the country’s regulatory authorities, supposedly independent, ‘operate with great difficulty or else are undermined beforehand by certain politicians who might be accused of being too passive, a factor contributing to the fact that they are under-represented in these authorities’.60 The seats of the opposition therefore often remained vacant in institutions that were supposed to be based on a power-sharing model. The benefits of working together If they are sufficiently independent, have adequate resources and are run by dynamic and motivated staff, electoral commissions may be effective and be deemed legitimate – and therefore have fruitful relations with the media. In the DRC, the CEI immediately showed itself to be transparent and willing to collaborate with the media, which were

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viewed as ‘privileged and indispensable partners’.61 From the start, before the census kicked off, the CEI provided journalists with passes so that they would have access to registration centres. Then, with financial support from the UNDP, so as to raise awareness among voters it entered into agreements with 137 community radio stations (and some television channels), thereby ensuring that its electoral popularization programmes were widely broadcast. The CEI also sponsored the creation of awareness-raising sketches and songs, which were then made available to partner radio stations. The commission developed close ties with the HAM, thereby facilitating the establishment of joint information projects such as La Maison des élections (‘Election House’), an information and resource centre open to all journalists. Throughout the process, the CEI’s president, Father Malu Malu, regularly addressed the press to outline election preparations and answer questions. The CEI worked especially closely with Radio Okapi: one of the CEI’s vice-presidents answered journalists’ and listeners’ questions on the daily programme Questions à la CEI. Even when certain media criticized its work, the electoral commission always preferred to face the criticism, meet the journalists and answer their queries in an effort to encourage collaboration in the place of suspicion. Regulating the media: regulation and regulatory frameworks

The media’s active and responsible contribution to the electoral process depends on the manner in which that participation is organized, structured and monitored. In general, three sorts of regulations define the framework in which the media can intervene: electoral law; specific regulations adopted by the regulatory authority; and specific codes of ethics adopted within the profession or news outlets.

Electoral laws and codes: the media’s obligations  In each of the six countries under consideration, a new electoral law was adopted shortly before the elections. Some of the measures had a direct impact on the media’s activities, and particularly on their intervention in the campaigns. First, the electoral laws determined the exact period and duration of the campaign, and generally provided for sanctions against anybody who ignored the time constraints. The election campaign was to begin ‘on the sixteenth day preceding election day’ in Burundi (art. 25),62 ‘fifteen clear days before election day’ in the Republic of Congo (art. 25),63 ‘on the fourteenth day before election day’ in the CAR (art. 55),64 ‘at least twenty days before election day’ in Rwanda (art. 33),65 and ‘at most thirty days before election day’ in the DRC (art.  28).66 In Chad, the campaign was to begin ‘thirty clear days before election day for the presidential election and twenty-one clear days for other polls’ (art. 117).67 In all countries, campaigning had to end somewhere between 24

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and 48 hours prior to polling day. It was thus in this strictly defined period that the media were legally authorized to disseminate the paid-for election adverts of parties and candidates. Electoral law provided for punishment in the event that the legal duration of the campaign was breached. Thus, in the Republic of Congo, article 129 provided for ‘a fine ranging from 300,000 to 1,000,000 CFA francs [$586 to $1,954]: for (1) any electoral propaganda outside the legal duration of the campaign … (5) the dissemination, after the campaign has ended, of any message comparable to electoral propaganda’. In the CAR, the code was even harder on offenders, since article 119 stated that: ‘Any electoral propaganda outside the legal duration of the election campaign shall be punishable by a sentence of three (3) to twelve (12) months and by a fine ranging from two hundred thousand (200,000) to one million (1,000,000) CFA francs. If appropriate, the media carrying the forbidden propaganda will be seized.’ Infringements could thus have serious consequences for the media themselves. Most electoral laws also aim to ensure the principle of fair access by candidates to public media. In Burundi, article 31 stipulated that: ‘Candidates and political parties can use state-owned media for their election campaign. The National Communications Council will ensure that all candidates have fair access to state-owned media.’ In Rwanda, article 38 stipulated that: ‘The High Council of the Press will ensure that contending independent candidates, political parties and coalitions of political parties have equal access to state-owned media.’ In Chad, article 123 offered similar guarantees: ‘In order to present their programme to voters, candidates will have equal access to state-owned media, in accordance with the procedures and regulations defined by law and by the High Council for Communications.’ The law in the Republic of Congo avoided mentioning equal access, and its article 39 merely stated that: ‘During the election period, propaganda by candidates or lists of candidates is authorized on state radio and television.’ In the DRC, the electoral law was innovative in two respects: first, it enjoined all broadcast media (and not just public media) to enforce equal access; and then it underlined the fact that the state-owned media’s services were free. Article 106 stipulated that: ‘For the duration of the election campaign, candidates, in order to present their programmes, will be allocated equal airtime on the broadcast media and access to public media will be free.’ Several electoral laws explicitly banned certain sorts of electoral messages, as in the case of Burundi: ‘It is forbidden, during election campaigns, to make offensive or defamatory claims, by any means whatsoever, against political parties, one or more candidates or lists of candidates’ (art. 32). In the DRC, article 34 forbade all ‘remarks that are likely to incite contempt for third parties, hatred, racism, tribalism’ or ‘to incite individuals to perpetrate an act that is likely to lead to violence’. In the CAR, article 60 stipulated that: ‘Electoral propaganda is free on condition that it respects candidates

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and citizens, public order and texts in force on public meetings and the freedom of the press.’ In Rwanda, article 106 imposed a ban on graphic content, forbidding ‘press articles or other electoral documents that include a combination of the colours of the national flag’. The law in the Republic of Congo gave a detailed description of the rules governing the right of reply that apply in an electoral period. Article 40 stipulated that: ‘Candidates or chief candidates may exercise, at any time, their right of reply in accordance with the measures of the law on pluralism in public broadcast media.’ Article 41 went on: ‘The board of directors of the news outlets is bound to publish freely, as early as possible and before the end of the campaign, the reply in full.’ And article 42 spelt out the sanctions: ‘In the case of a refusal or silence lasting until the end of the campaign, the plaintiff will be authorized to apply to the National Commission for the Organization of Elections.’ Lastly, the electoral laws assigned greater or lesser responsibility to the communications regulatory authorities. Almost all the laws made the appropriate authority responsible for ensuring equal access by candidates to state-owned media. Article 60 of the CAR’s electoral code, for instance, stipulated that: ‘The rules governing the allocation of airtime among candidates in the public media will be determined by an independent authority with regulatory powers in accordance with the legislation in force.’ In the DRC, the media regulator’s mandate was extended by law to all broadcast media, public and private. Article 33 stipulated that: The High Media Authority will ensure that the principle of equality among candidates is respected in the media’s news programmes as regards the reproduction and discussion of declarations, written statements, activities and presentation of the candidates themselves. The High Media Authority will intervene, when necessary, with the competent authorities to ensure that all necessary measures are taken to guarantee this equality. Conditions for access to public and private media in the context of the campaign are defined by the High Media Authority jointly with the Independent Electoral Commission.

In case these measures were not adhered to, the DRC’s electoral law granted the regulator disciplinary powers. Article 35 stated that: The High Media Authority may, by means of a duly motivated and notified decision, oppose the airing of a programme of the election campaign if it is abusive or defamatory or constitutes a serious breach of the Constitution or the laws in force. The decision may be contested free of charge within fortyeight hours before the competent jurisdiction, which will pronounce a verdict within forty-eight hours. It may order or ban the partial or total diffusion of the incriminated programme.

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Article 129 of the Chadian law had similar provisions: The High Council for Communications may suspend the broadcasting of a programme of the official campaign if it is abusive or provocative or if it breaches the measures of laws and regulations in force. The relevant candidate or party has the right to appeal to the Constitutional Council within forty-eight hours following the suspension of the programme. The Constitutional Council will deliver a verdict within forty-eight hours. The Constitutional Council may either lift the suspension, or ban part or all of the programme from being aired.

The measures laid down in the electoral laws complemented, made more specific or reiterated what was already contained in the press law or the criminal code (e.g. in the case of offensive remarks or libel), both of which remained in force during the election campaign.68

Communications regulatory authorities in action The media regulatory author­ities thus have primary responsibility during elections, as they have to regulate and monitor the media’s involvement in the campaigns. Regulatory bodies were quite new to French-speaking African countries (Adjovi 2003). Besides allocating frequencies (and defining the criteria to be used in the allocation) in the wake of the liberalization of the broadcast sector, one of their main tasks was to organize access to public media by candidates and parties during the new pluralist elections. In general, it was the job of these authorities to enforce the legislation and regulations applicable to public and private radio and television broad­ casters, and sometimes to the print media. Depending on country, their status and level of independence from the government varied, and their decisions could be more or less binding. Some of them monitored media activity in order to ensure pluralistic and balanced information and to preserve the public’s rights. They generally had disciplinary powers and could suspend a publication or a programme, or withdraw an operating licence in the case of serious offences or legal infringements by a media outlet. Their responsibilities were particularly important and delicate in countries that were emerging from conflict, where information pluralism and the fair distribution of speech in the public space were crucial. Indeed, it was a real challenge to restore a culture of dialogue, negotiation or balanced verbal confrontation in areas where physical violence was (or for a long time had been) the main means of managing political disagreement (Frère 2009b). Moreover, in post-conflict countries the legislation was often inadequate or outdated, and complementary measures had to be adopted on the eve of the elections – sometimes in haste. Each of the six countries under consideration had established a media regulatory authority before the post-conflict electoral processes. But the

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level of effectiveness of each differed, as did their relationships with the local media. And that was to have an impact on electoral media coverage. Burundi’s National Communications Council: the will to assert itself  The CNC is one of Africa’s oldest media regulatory authorities, ­having already been in operation at the time of the 1993 elections. Established by decree in March 1992, and confirmed by the press law of November 1992, it was set up later that year. Its actions were limited at the time by the absence of an operating budget and by its composition: its members, appointed by President Buyoya, were politicians rather than communications experts. Unable to prevent the outpouring of hatred in the print media after the 1993 elections, the CNC was paralysed when the country descended into civil war.69 However, in 2000 the CNC rose from the ashes, and was granted a head office and some equipment. A permanent secretary was appointed in 2001. The new press law of 2003 referred several times to the regulatory authority, although it still did not have proper legal standing, which weakened its legitimacy.70 The draft constitution, put to a referendum in February 2005, stated that the CNC would become an independent administrative authority, with ‘decision-making powers notably as regards the respect and promotion of the freedom of the press and the fair access to the public media of diverse political, social, economic and cultural views’.71 But in 2004, as elections loomed, the regulator’s legal status was still quite fragile, and its annual budget of 14 million Burundi francs ($14,280) was allocated directly by the presidency. This negligible amount was topped up by a partnership with the IPP, which enabled the regulatory authority to develop its capacities somewhat. Though the CNC had no transport of its own, its permanent staff – the permanent secretary and a typist – was equipped with computers, and four analysts were recruited to monitor the media. The composition of the council, as fixed by the 2003 press law, remained ambiguous. Of the 11 members, three were managers of state-owned media and two were spokesmen for political parties. However, the integration of representatives of civil society and of the private print media reinforced the presence of independent members on the authority. Despite its lack of financial and material autonomy, the CNC, presided over by Jean-Pierre Manda, attempted to be active during the 2005 pre-election period. Its first initiative was the organization in August 2004, in partnership with civil society and politicians, of a workshop on media regulation during elections, which brought together all the news media. Following this session, the participants adopted a ‘Code of Good Practice in an Election Period for Political Parties, the Media and the Administration’. Some months later, on 18 February 2005, at an official ceremony, the Code was jointly signed by political parties and the media.

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The signatory parties and the media pledged to avoid ‘intimidation, incendiary comments inciting violence, defamation, personal attacks including those on people’s privacy, demonization, divisionist discourses and the propagation of rumours’ (art. 15). The Burundian media also pledged to ‘refrain from reporting political discourses and political programmes promoting lies, bribery, incitement to commit electoral fraud, and any behaviour tending to abuse voters’ (art. 22). Article 23 enjoined journalists to ‘give fair and equal treatment to political parties. Journalists will abstain from making partisan or malicious comments on political parties or their programmes and from denigrating political parties or candidates.’ Finally, article 24 stated that journalists must ‘ban all forms of discrimination. During the election campaign, journalists must guarantee just and fair access to their media and must treat the various political actors fairly.’ Only three media outlets – RPA, Net Press and Aginfo –  did not sign the Code. While the director of Net Press, Jean-Claude Kavumbagu, put this down to an unfortunate misunderstanding (he was not invited to the official signing ceremony),72 the director of RPA, Alexis Sinduhije, justified his refusal to commit himself on the grounds that some of the Code’s principles restricted the media’s freedom and made them responsible for issues that were beyond their control.73 Besides the Code, in May 2005 the CNC adopted three special resolutions: the first laid down the conditions governing the fair access of political parties and independent candidates to the media in general (radio, television and the print media); the second specified how special slots reserved for campaign messages in the public media were to be organized; and the third reiterated the rules in force governing neutrality, objectivity, impartiality and fairness for private and public media.74 However, these resolutions, adopted late in the day, were not well enough known by the managers of the media at the time of the various elections and, as we shall see in the next chapter, this was to have major consequences during the campaigning. The CAR’s High Council for Communications: a requirement set down by journalists  A few weeks before the 2005 elections, while controversies raged around the presidential candidacies, the Central African Republic still had neither an appropriate press law nor a media regulatory authority. For months, the UJCA, the journalists’ union, had requested the promulgation of a new law on the freedom of communications and of a decree ratifying the appointment of the members of the High Council for Communications. On 13 February, the president of the UJCA, Maka Gbossokotto, editor of the daily Le Citoyen, wrote to the minister of communications, national reconciliation, democratic and civic culture, complaining that, on the eve of the elections, ‘there [was] still a juridical void’. He invited

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the country’s president to ‘hasten the establishment of the High Council for Communications, the only body that is likely to regulate and mitigate the inflammatory interventions of protagonists’.75 Le Citoyen feared that ‘the law on the freedom of communications and the order creating the HCC’ were ‘the victims of deliberate blockages’.76 The paper insisted that it was ‘inconceivable that an election campaign take place without communications that are regulated, controlled and monitored by an official regulatory authority such as the HCC’.77 This situation was truly exceptional: the regulatee was pleading for the prompt establishment of a regulator! On the very day that this call was published, just five days before the start of the campaign, the new press law was promulgated. Among its other achievements, it removed the threat of jail for journalists guilty of defamation or libel. Meanwhile, in the absence of any regulator, politicians and media man­ agers, gathered in Libreville for President Bongo’s mediation in the conflict over the candidacies, adopted a Code of Conduct on 9 February. This listed ten basic principles for ensuring a free and peaceful electoral process. This Code required all parties to ‘respect fundamental rights and public liberties, including the right to campaign free from intimidation and violence, free from rumours or unfounded allegations’. It called on the public authorities to enforce ‘the neutrality of defence and security forces and civil servants’. And finally it enjoined all parties to ‘accept and respect ballot results after all possibilities of appeal regarding the election dispute have been exhausted’. The Code was immediately signed by the 11 presidential contenders or their representatives, and was approved by the following: political parties that were fielding candidates in the legislative elections; the doyen of the independent candidates; transition institutions; religious denominations; and civil society. This last category included the UJCA, represented by Maka Gbossokotto. Furthermore, the document was also approved by General Lamine Cissé (head of BONUCA, the UN office in the CAR), the French ambassador and the head of the EU delegation. Shortly after the Code was signed, the UJCA was the first to denounce hate speech by certain candidates – before the start of the official campaign. There were worrying indications from the provinces, where groups of activists perhaps felt themselves to be less keenly observed. The private daily Le Confident noted that ‘what is now taking place in the interior has nothing to do with the pledges made by the authorities and the various national political actors’.78 The newspaper especially denounced the activists of the KNK Convergence, which supported the presidential candidate Bozizé and allegedly bandied around ‘insults’ and ‘rubbish’ about other candidates. It was only on 26 February 2005, the day that marked the start of the election campaign, that the nine members of the HCC, four of whom had been elected by members of the profession, were called to take their oath.79

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The HCC’s inauguration ceremony took place in a hurry, early in the morning. The councillors were woken at 6 a.m., and the candidates’ first radio and television appearances were scheduled for 4 p.m. that same day! The media believed this to be proof that there was no real political will to have the authority set up prior to the elections. The HCC was thus almost entirely unprepared to monitor the campaign: it was ill-equipped (it had neither a computer nor any office furniture) and was homeless (members would meet in a room at national radio). Its only asset was its members’ determination and commitment, and particularly that of the president, Vermont Tchendo, a former journalist and minister. As soon as they took their oaths, the highly motivated councillors adopted four recommendations for how the campaign should evolve in the public media. Between the first and the second round, the HCC was housed in a building of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. BONUCA provided it with some office furniture, thereby facilitating its operations. On 22 April 2005, it adopted a ‘Resolution governing the campaign in the second round of the presidential and legislative elections of 8 May 2005’. This resolution defined the duration of the campaign and listed the public broadcast media that were entitled to participate in it: national television, national radio and local radios (Bouar, Berberati, Nola and Bambari). Each presidential candidate was allocated 30 minutes on national radio and television. Candidates in the legislative elections were allocated 15 minutes on national television. With the exception of the presidential candidates, all appearances had to take place live and on air. Candidates were only authorized to use French or Sango (the national language) for all issues related to the campaign. Also, interventions could not ‘be used to deal with matters that are manifestly alien to the campaign, notably for advertising purposes’ (art. 8). The resolution also called on private commercial media and international correspondents to ensure that ‘candidates are all treated fairly’ (art. 15). They were also to contribute during the election campaign ‘to the consolidation of peace and national unity recommended by the Constitution of 27 December 2004 and the Code of Conduct’ (art. 17). The determination of the press, of several opposition parties and of the international donors financing the elections thus enabled, through the effective establishment of the HCC, the creation of a minimal regulatory framework for media involvement in a tense electoral process. Republic of Congo’s High Council for the Freedom of Communi­ cation: ‘ghostly’ and ‘homeless’  In the Republic of Congo, media regulation in the election period was an even more timid and problematic process. There was simply no media regulatory authority during the 2002 elections,80 and it thus fell to CONEL (whose legitimacy was contested), to take steps to guarantee candidates equal access to the media. Although the 2001

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law on the freedom of information and communications had established the CSLC, it had not yet been set up at the time of the elections. CONEL’s sub-commission on communication was not very active: its sole intervention in the media sector was the suspension, on 1 March, of the journalist Fayette Mikano, for having made comments ‘inciting violence’. The 2007 legislative elections were thus the first to be supervised and monitored by a communications regulatory authority. The CSLC was a constitutional body, with extensive normative and advisory powers, founded on an organic law passed in 2003. An independent administrative authority, it consisted of 11 members, including a president nominated by the country’s president, a vice-president and a secretary-accountant appointed by members. Members were full-time salaried and could rely on an administrative secretariat in charge of managing finances and staff. Though appointed in 2003, members were only officially accredited on 19 May 2006, and their first session was held nine months later, on 22 February 2007, four months before the polls. Four years had elapsed between the creation on paper of this supposedly powerful regulatory authority and its first actual working session. Questioned by the Congolese press about this delay in setting up the institution, a technical adviser to the country’s president claimed that it was ‘essentially’ due to ‘financial matters, given that the President’s instructions had been issued long ago to the relevant services in the Ministry of Finance’.81 He insisted that ‘the stability and vitality of the Republic’s institutions’ were ‘the head of state’s main concern’. However, the CSLC did not have the necessary resources to fulfil its tasks. The first hurdle was that, at the time of the 2007 elections, it did not have a head office. Questioned on this point, the same technical adviser admitted that he found the situation ‘utterly regrettable’.82 He argued that the institution’s work included actually monitoring media content, which required an appropriate building that had to be constructed. The CSLC thus made temporary use of two rooms in the Parliamentary Palace (a small meeting room and an office). As a result, the CSLC’s president, Jacques Banangandzala, and all the other members were obliged to work ‘from home’.83 A second matter of concern was the insufficient financial means at the CSLC’s disposal. Even though it had been allocated a budget on paper of 500 million CFA francs ($977,000), this money was not in fact at its disposal, since ‘it is virtually impossible to obtain the money from the administration of the Ministry of Finance’.84 The 11 councillors were paid directly as civil servants, but administrative and support staff normally had to be paid out of the institution’s operating budget, and so found themselves going without a salary. The shortage of internal skills was a third problem. The councillors were inexperienced and did not have the necessary knowledge to exercise their

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mandate. Neither they nor the technical staff members were trained in media-monitoring techniques, media regulation in election periods or the handling of complaints. A further problem lay in the fact that the authority lacked any legitimacy in the eyes of private media managers. Journalists working in the private sector believed that the CSLC was ‘an instrument in the hands of the authorities’,85 a ‘cosmetic institution’, and perhaps even potentially obstructive. Its head was seen, above all, as a political figure, rather than as a technically competent, high-ranking civil servant. The low esteem in which the authority was held is evident from the fact that the media close to President Sassou Nguesso were totally unconcerned about its existence, and several of them began broadcasting without even registering with it. The emerging media, especially in the provinces, took full advantage of the legal uncertainty. On the eve of the campaign, the legislative and regulatory framework for electoral regulation remained skeleton-like. When the CSLC ended its first session in March 2007, no complementary regulations had been drafted. In his closing speech, its president, Jacques Banangandzala, contented himself with recommending that the state-owned media, in particular Radio and Télé Congo, should respect, for the common good, all measures provided for in Law no. 15-2001 of 31 December 2001 on pluralism in public broadcast media. The distribution of airtime between political parties and associations, professional and trade union organizations must comply with the obligation of pluralism, in all fairness, without libel or abuse, with no constraints whatsoever.86

Deprived of a head office, financial resources and competent staff, and with no legal foundation on which to base its regulatory decisions, the CSLC was also suspected of lacking any real motivation. Lethargic in the face of recurrent abuses by certain media (notably the public media), it was held to account by civil society’s FOSOCEL, which expressed its ‘serious concern about the CSLC’s lack of commitment to the strict regulation of broadcasts on national television’.87 It was only a few days prior to the start of the official campaign that the CSLC finally managed to bring together the media for awareness-raising sessions and to give journalists a series of recommendations intended to guide them in their work during the electoral period.88 The media were asked to refuse to disseminate any information that does not help consolidate peace and unity; ban any manipulation of public opinion through the media; abstain from publishing any defamatory, untruthful or abusive comments; abstain from using, for the purpose of electoral propaganda, any form of commercial advertising by means of the press, radio or television during the course of the election.

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The CSLC also had large-scale posters printed of the Charter of Information and Communications Professionals, so that these could be posted throughout the offices of the media in Brazzaville. But no mechanism enabled the authority to report any shortcomings, and no procedure for penalizing media outlets if the principles were breached was ever presented to journalists. As a result, when the CSLC claimed, at this late meeting, that ‘any public statement or manifestation in support of a candidate or party made directly by a person or association or group of people, regardless of its quality, nature or character, will be deemed an act of electoral propaganda, a disguised form of advertising’, it was addressing newspaper editors and radio managers whose media had been practising this kind of indirect promotion for weeks already – and quite intensively. The CSLC’s words rang very hollow. The DRC’s High Media Authority: almighty and ephemeral The Democratic Republic of Congo achieved one of the most innovative and successful media regulation experiments during an election period. The High Media Authority was established following the Sun City negotiations and the Pretoria Agreement (see chapter 1), in order to safeguard the right of Congolese citizens to pluralist, reliable and objective information, particularly with regard to the public media’s neutrality and fairness towards political and social forces. It also fell to the HAM to protect the interests of the target audiences, in a context where former belligerents each had their own media. When it was set up in July 2003, it was a new authority in a Congolese institutional landscape that had never had a media regulation authority; but it was only a provisional institution, bound to disappear at the end of the transition.89 Despite its recent birth and ephemeral nature, the HAM managed to impose itself during the election period as a key player in the media landscape, with powers far superior to those of any other African regulatory authority. It consisted of 21 members (who formed its plenary assembly): eight of these represented the components of the Inter-Congolese Dialogue (in accordance with the so-called ‘1+4’ configuration – see chapter 1), while the 13 other members came from media organizations (Mashini, Mbalanda and Kabongo 2008). It was presided over by a civil society delegate, Modeste Mutinga, the founder and manager of the daily Le Potentiel, who was elected as head of the institution in Sun City.90 The HAM’s task was not an easy one, particularly because of the existing media landscape, which did not welcome the newcomer. It had to impose its authority retrospectively on a plethora of media – more than 120 print publications and 200 broadcasting outlets (public, private, commercial and community) – which until then had operated virtually without any controls. Moreover, the legal framework in which the Congolese media were evolving

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was largely deficient. It consisted essentially of two laws: one (dated 22 June 1996) on the freedom of the press, and the other (2 April 1981) defining the status of journalists working in the Republic of Zaïre (as the country was then known) (IPP 2004: 45). The relatively liberal 1996 law had been adopted a few months before Mobutu’s downfall, but had not been followed by practical decrees guiding its implementation, so was largely unworkable. The latter piece of legislation was obsolete, since it was drafted at a time when private media were virtually non-existent and when journalists were all civil servants working for state-owned media. Lastly, the Ministry of Information and the Press was not keen to see this new player emerge in a sector that it had been managing up until then. Relations between the regulator and the ministry remained tense throughout the transition. Nevertheless, during the transitional period, the HAM received substantial support from donors and diplomatic support from the International Committee in Support of the Transition, which facilitated its operations. Supported by the UNDP, the UK Department for International Development, Belgian, German and French development aid, as well as by UNESCO, it benefited from grants of approximately $728,000 a year during the electoral period (2005 and 2006). The support also included a whole range of experts’ visits, specialized training sessions and the purchase of quantities of equipment to enable the HAM to undertake efficient regulation. As soon as it was officially established, following the adoption of its organic law in 2004, the HAM attempted to lay down a framework for the media and to give itself a regulatory basis on which to fulfil its responsibilities. In February 2006, it adopted a ‘Directive on the mistakes and other short­ comings of political and social actors throughout the media’.91 The electoral law adopted on 9 March 2006 expressly instructed the HAM to define ‘the criteria for access to public and private media in the context of the election campaign’ and to ensure that ‘the principle of equality among candidates is respected’.92 In the days that followed, the HAM adopted a ‘Directive on the election campaign throughout the media’,93 which addressed both the media and politicians, enjoining the former to be balanced and fair. This directive set out the norms governing the allocation of airtime and newspaper space between the various candidates, but it also regulated the publication of opinion polls and electoral results. In early July, three weeks before the election, the HAM invited politicians to sign a ‘Code of Conduct for Political Parties and the Media’.94 The text notably stipulated that no candidate, not even the owner of a television station, was entitled to more than 30 per cent airtime on any single channel. Next to this normative activity, the HAM also developed technical mechan­isms. Thanks to its foreign partners, it was equipped with the ­Centre for Listen­ing to and Monitoring the Congolese Press (CEMPC, based in

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­ inshasa but with a branch in each provincial capital). The centre was fi K ­ tted with the equipment necessary to monitor the main radio and television stations, as well as the content of the print media. The HAM also set up an investigations secretariat to give it the necessary juridical competence to handle complaints against the media. For the duration of the campaign, a Commission for Vigilance and Electoral Ethics in the Media (CVEM) was established.95 This special commission had the authority to enforce the HAM’s directives and to penalize (without involving courts and tribunals) professional misdemeanours, such as libel, malicious allegations, unfounded accusations, insults to institutions or the authorities, and any kind of abuse. Divided into 11 sub-commissions based in the different provinces, the CVEM included, besides the HAM’s members, representatives of the two main professional organizations, the Congo Media Observatory (OMEC) and the Congolese National Press Union (UNPC) (Guyot and Tiao 2007: 100). Finally, convinced that there could be no balance in the media without direct intervention in the purchase of airtime and print space, the HAM sought $4 million from the government and donors to organize media coverage of the elections. The aim was to secure airtime and pages for the less well-off candidates and so make sure that equal access was respected. The foreign financial partners did not agree to support that operation, but the HAM did receive $498,000 from the Congolese state,96 which it allocated to the media after consulting with professional organizations (OMEC, UNPC, the National Association of Private Broadcasting Corporations [ANEAP], the National Association of Newspaper Publishers in the Congo [ANECO] and the Association of Community Radios of the Congo [ARCO]). Some 38 radio and television stations and 15 newspapers were selected to receive funding and in return to reserve airtime/print space for messages from presidential candidates. Each presidential candidate was legally entitled to three messages and two televised debates, while each parliamentary candidate was entitled to a message lasting from 30 seconds to three minutes. Recorded under the HAM’s supervision, these programmes and messages were to be broadcast simultaneously by the media involved, which were furthermore not permitted to broadcast political programmes without the authorization of the HAM. Though such regulatory constraints were welcomed by some of the media, others felt them to be excessive. The director of a private television station believed the HAM ‘went too far, so far as to suggest what questions we should ask our guests’.97 ‘The HAM wanted to monitor work that we ourselves would have controlled spontaneously,’ a programme director added. How effective were these numerous tools in ensuring a minimum of pluralism and balance in the election campaign in the Congolese media? That is a question we shall look at in depth in the following chapter.

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Rwanda’s High Council of the Press: freedom under super­ vision  When presidential and legislative elections were held in Rwanda in 2003, the High Council of the Press had only recently been set up and did not yet have a head office. The new press law, adopted on 15 May 2002,98 paved the way for the liberalization of the radio sector and provided for the creation of a High Council of the Press, defined as an ‘independent body in press matters’ and yet ‘attached to the Presidency of the Republic’ (art.  73). Presidential decree no. 99/01, dated 12 November 2002, defined its structure, organization and operating procedures, yet said nothing about this attachment, though article 34 of the 2003 constitution defined the HCP as an ‘independent body’. This ambiguity is illustrative of the situation in Rwanda, where the dialectics of freedom and control have been marked by the experience of genocide and the hate media. The HCP did exist in 2003 and did have some resources with which to operate, but its role was limited to giving advice and making recommendations. The decision-making authority remained the Ministry in Charge of Information, attached to the Prime Minister’s Office. According to presidential decree, the HCP consisted of nine members, including three government representatives, four representatives of media enterprises (three from the private and one from the public media) and two civil society representatives. The president and members of the bureau were elected by the councillors from among themselves. Despite its ambiguous status and its lack of constraining authority, the HCP was very active during the 2003 elections. Under the voluntary leadership of its president, the journalist Privat Rutazibwa, director of the Rwanda News Agency, it first adopted a series of documents which aimed to frame media coverage of the campaign – notably Instructions no. 003/2003 (dated 31 July 2003) regulating candidates’ access to public media during the campaign for the presidential elections, and Instructions no. 004/2003 (5 September 2003), which defined the criteria for access to the public media during the legislative campaign. These instructions were drawn up jointly with the NEC, ORINFOR (which headed the public media), the National Human Rights Commission, the National Unity and Reconciliation Commission, and representatives of the candidates and political parties. According to the instructions, candidates and parties were allocated time slots to present their programmes on general information shows broadcast in four languages on Radio Rwanda (French, English, Kinyarwanda and Swahili) and in three languages on TVR (which does not feature Swahili), as well as during other, specially created, slots. However, article 6 of Instructions no. 003 prohibited the broadcasting of live political programmes, whether on radio or television. The EU observers reported that the director of ORINFOR claimed that this restriction was for logistical reasons, since ORINFOR allegedly did not receive any supplementary budget to cover the

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elections (EU-EOM 2003b: 42–4). The then president of the HCP indicated rather that ‘during preparatory meetings for the drafting of the Instruction, the representatives of political parties themselves unanimously demanded that this kind of debate be prohibited, given the sensitive political context’.99 Live debates had been authorized during the campaign preceding the constitutional referendum in May 2003, but none had taken place because of the unanimous support for the draft constitution (Samset and Orrvar 2003: 32). Phone-in programmes had been avoided because, according to one HCP representative, it was feared that outsiders might call in under a pseudonym and from a fictitious location to spread false information or dangerous propaganda. The HCP also undertook the important task of monitoring media coverage of the elections with the support of the Danish NGO International Media Support, and the South African Media Monitoring Project. This project got off to a late start, however. Although the legislative elections were held from 29 September to 3 October 2003, the monitoring, performed by only three people, began only on 9 October. Coverage of the presidential elections was thus not monitored, and that of the legislative elections took place retrospectively. At the time of the 2008 legislative elections, the legal basis of Rwandan media regulation remained unchanged. The High Council of the Press was still in place and was founded on the same legal documents, but its team had been renewed and it had been given a new name: on 13 August 2008, it had become the Media High Council (MHC), the better to include all media  that might have felt excluded by the term ‘press’.100 The presidential decree that  defined its structure, organization and operations was maintained. MHC members were still nominated and recalled by the Cabinet and proposed by the minister in the Prime Minister’s Office in charge of information. However, since the executive secretariat and permanent staff members had developed solid technical skills, the role of the MHC, and of the president in particular, was less important than it previously had been. The 2002 press law was still in force, although revision had been going on for many months.101 In order to update and complete the regulatory measures, the HCP adopted Directive no. 008 (6 February 2008) guaranteeing fair access by political parties, coalitions and independent candidates to public media during the election campaign. Directive no. 009 ( July 2008) defined the rules for coverage of the elections by all the media. What was new in 2008 was that this time the HCP drafted and adopted a ‘Special Code of Ethics for the Election Period’, which aimed to ensure a high level of professionalism among journalists and the media covering the electoral process. It also authorized private media to publish paid political advertisements. In the new media context, marked by the development of private radio stations, this measure somewhat changed the configuration

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of  the campaign, by drawing the outlines of a free market in political communications: As regards paid political messages, the law does not provide for any limitation for contending candidates and political parties. However, public media are required to publish fees that must be the same for all participants. (EU-EOM 2008: 43)

Finally, the HCP’s monitoring team, now running smoothly, had been given new equipment, and several training sessions had strengthened the skills of the staff. They had completed several reports since 2003, and had adapted their methodology to fit the emergence of private radio stations, changing the way the monitoring was configured. Nevertheless, the monitoring centre decided not to take into account the other important change in communications regulations: the authorization of unlimited paid political advertising. This practice was to have a strong impact on the election campaign. The Chadian High Council for Communications: a broken-down arbitrator  Established in 1996, the High Council for Communications was relatively well regarded by Chadian press professionals during the term in office of its first president, Emmanuel Touadé. Drawing on a very favourable legal framework –  the 1994 press law and the 1996 constitution, both of which guaranteed freedom of the press –  the HCC was recognized then as the most effective regulatory authority in Central Africa. Some months before the 2001 elections, however, its position was weakened because its mandate had expired and the institution had not been able to renew a third of its members, as was stipulated by the regulations. The government had prolonged its mandate by one term, but only up to the eve of the elections. On the eve of the campaign, the country thus found itself with a ‘brokendown arbitrator’, as a headline in Le Progrès claimed.102 Besides its institutional weakness, the regulator also lacked specialized resources, such as ‘correspondents, technical staff and audiovisual equipment to monitor the media’s operations’. In 2001, for the first time, the annual finance law dedicated a budget to the HCC since ‘the institution used to function thanks to state funds that it did not receive in their entirety’.103 And yet the 2001 presidential election campaign was quite a challenge for the regulatory authority, as new private radio stations had emerged since the previous polls, and two of them in N’Djamena (Radio Liberté and Dja FM) were proposing to schedule news broadcasts. On 17 April 2001, the HCC published its Recommendation on the regulation of the media campaign for the 2001 presidential election. Although private radio stations had already prepared for the election, article 23 stipulated that ‘during the entirety of the media campaign for the presidential election of 2001, all political debates and debates of a political character shall be banned

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from the airwaves on private or community radios’. Article 35 specified that radio stations ‘that do not heed this decision will be suspended for the duration of the election campaign’. The HCC’s president invoked technical reasons to justify this limitation: The rules we have adopted for the electoral period require us to attend all the recordings or shows on the elections. And that is something that is materially impossible, since most of our councillors have been dispatched to monitor public media in the countryside.

The ban was thus supposed to be due to a shortage of staff at HCC level. But the head of the organization also invoked a second reason: Private community radio stations … were created to support development efforts, to educate the population in matters of its development and growth … The primary purpose of these radio stations is not to be politically involved.104

He further stressed that the ban did not affect the coverage of election information within news bulletins and radio broadcasts: only organizing election debates and programmes was expressly prohibited. This prohibition outraged the two main private radio stations in N’Djamena. Radio Liberté’s administrative director, Sosthène Ngargoune, took umbrage: It is unacceptable, almost revolting. It is clear from this decision that the HCC is playing along with the authorities … We cannot create radios just so as to observe the political scene from the sidelines. We created these radios so that citizens could express themselves.105

Gilbert Maoundonodji, vice-president of the board of directors of Radio Liberté, believed that the decision constituted ‘a flagrant violation of the measures provided for in Resolution no. 007/HCC/P/SG/96 on the mission statement of private radios. It also violates the freedom of expression and deprives public opinion of its right to information.’106 Zara Yacoub, director of Dja FM, insisted that, ‘for the first time in the history of Chad, private radios were taking part in electoral debates, and it is regrettable that the HCC should prohibit this from happening’. Her radio station was already prepared for the elections: ‘We had scheduled programmes and debates with the various presidential candidates. We had even created a special programme for this campaign.’107 As we shall see further, this controversy was going to aggravate relations between the radio stations and the regulator throughout the election campaign and harm what had until then been mutually respectful relations. In 2006, the regulatory authority was composed of a new team that had less legitimacy – as indeed had the entire electoral process, since the credibility of the Chadian democratization process had not ceased to be undermined over

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the previous decade. On 16 March 2006, the HCC, presided over by Moussa Dago, adopted a resolution that set out working conditions for the media during the election campaign. This time, private radio stations were authorized to cover the campaign fully, but article 6 of the resolution stipulated that ‘during the election campaign, programmes and debates with a direct link to the campaign are authorized on private radios so long as the programmes are not broadcast live’. The HCC wanted them to be pre-recorded in order to avoid any excesses live on air, especially during phone-in programmes, when listeners are invited to express themselves. Article 8 of the resolution indicated that ‘journalists must handle information fairly. They must avoid publishing articles that, directly or indirectly, promote or discredit national politicians.’ Article 9 concluded that ‘in the event of any serious and recurrent violation of the above measures and of the Code of Ethics, the High Council for Communications will have the right to suspend the offending media for the rest of the campaign’. The wording was relatively flexible, but newspapers were nevertheless on their guard, having been ‘victims in the past of clumsy and very subjective interpretations of the texts’.108 However, the media were not going to pay much attention to these restrictions, since their interest in an election whose outcome was a foregone conclusion was rather limited.

Self-regulation initiatives  This overview of regulatory authorities shows not only that media regulation had become an unavoidable element of Central Africa’s elections, but also that local media actors, who for a long time had operated without this type of control, were in favour of its establishment. Where the authority was slow to be set up, as in the CAR, journalists demanded it. Where it was weak, as in the Republic of Congo, they demanded its strengthening. Where abuse was likely, as in the DRC, its intervention was sought. Where it lacked financial and administrative independence, as in Burundi, the media demanded that it should be granted more autonomy­. Although regulators were still criticized for their politicization, many media demanded that the authorities be given the financial and human resources necessary to do their jobs. The very principle of independent regulation during elections was not being questioned, and nobody suggested the AngloAmerican type of regulation, which would only regulate the channels of transmission and not the content. Does this approach to regulation weaken or strengthen the media sector’s self-regulation dynamics? Does the adoption of those external rules encourage or discourage the notion of professional journalists getting together to draft their own principles so as to avoid too much interference from outside? In the six countries under consideration, media professionals did indeed already have their own organizations, which were willing to guide practices in the media.

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Five of the six countries had a professional general union or organization (coexisting with scores of specialized media groups): the Congolese National Press Union in the DRC, the Association of Burundian Journalists, the Rwanda Journalists Association, the Union of Central African Journalists, and the Union of Chadian Journalists. Only in the Republic of Congo had journalists not set up an organization of media professionals. Some of these organizations existed before freedom of expression was granted at the beginning of the 1990s, and some were born in the wave of democratization. The organizations were expected to contribute to the identification, training and professional solidarity of journalists. They also encouraged the adoption of a code of ethics, which sought to remind media professionals of their responsibilities, duties and rights. New codes had been adopted in 1992 in the Republic of Congo, in 1994 in Chad, and in 2004 in the DRC, while existing codes were updated in Burundi in 2004 and in Rwanda in 2005. In order to promote respect for ethical norms and to prevent too many cases from being brought in front of tribunals, media professionals also started to set up self-regulatory bodies in the first years of the new century. The Congo Media Observatory was created in March 2004 in the DRC, the Burundi Press Council in 2004 in Bujumbura, the Congo Media Council (OCM) in 2003 in Brazzaville, and the Chad Media Council for Ethics in 2004 in Chad.109 During the pre-election period, these professional bodies acted in three ways. First, they often initiated training projects that were intended to prepare their members to cover the elections. In the Republic of Congo, the OCM organized a workshop in July 2007 for Congolese media professionals on the topic of ‘Media and Elections’. This workshop led to the adoption of two documents: a roadmap for electoral coverage, and a ‘Code for Journalist Peace-Builders’, which aimed to ‘prevent journalists from contributing to the deterioration of a peaceful climate during elections’.110 In Kinshasa, the OMEC also developed its own awareness-raising tools: in 2005 it published, with UNESCO support, a Practical Guide for Journalists during Elections.111 Secondly, these organizations of professionals tried to set up their own media-monitoring mechanisms to scrutinize the campaign and the behaviour of the media. In the DRC, the OMEC recruited a team of eight analysts specially for the electoral period to examine media content. Thirdly, some professional organizations collaborated with the regulatory authorities and set up co-regulation mechanisms. The most remarkable coregulation initiative was that implemented in the DRC through the CVEM, with which the OMEC and the UNPC were associated. This short-lived operation had a very positive impact: by involving media representatives in the handling of complaints lodged against the media, in the country’s 11 provinces, the CVEM established a dialogue between the regulator and the professional organizations. However, this collaboration between regulator and self-regulator did not endure beyond the election period.

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The organizations of media professionals or media managers were also systematically involved in the adoption of codes of ethics, initiated by the regulatory body and co-signed by representatives of political parties (in Burundi, the CAR and the DRC). This joint moral commitment aimed to limit any future abuses that one could draw others into: abusive political speeches might be broadcast by the media, which could thus be induced to violate their own ethical principles, just as partisan journalists might treat political parties unjustly and so prompt excesses. Although these bodies often undertook initiatives, their projects rarely lasted for any length of time. The projects were often limited in terms of both their volume and their scope, since the organizations were often run by journalists, who found themselves rushed off their feet during the polls. Finally, alongside the profession’s collective initiatives, some media defined their own rules, such as Radio Okapi, which adopted its own ‘Electoral Charter’. This 14-page document reminded journalists working for the station and the website (www.radiokapi.net) of the principles that should always guide their work. Drafted jointly with the HAM, the CEI, the main political parties and the MONUC, the Charter sought to anticipate any difficulties the radio station might face and establish measures to deal with potential disputes. The Charter’s first section enumerated the profession’s basic principles that journalists should follow more vigilantly than ever during election periods: accuracy, fairness, clarity, identification of sources, primacy of facts over opinion, handling of opinion polls and respect for the human person. It also urged journalists to remember that ‘the fundamental right to information is not superior to the fundamental right to privacy’. The Charter’s second section set production standards for radio programmes: non-payment of sources; a ban on journalists using false identities; fair and respectful treatment of guests; avoidance of songs with a political content; equivalent technical quality for all contenders; professional editing that does not distort what is said. In particular, the Charter reminded journalists who ran the news programmes: ‘The audience is not interested in your opinion.’ Finally, with Radio Okapi being linked to the United Nations, a third section aimed in particular at framing the staff ’s activities: while Radio Okapi’s journalists were allowed to vote as they pleased, they were formally forbidden from ‘taking sides publicly in a referendum, a plebiscite, or an election; campaigning in favour of a party or a candidate; or from taking part in an election’. Okapi’s journalists had to remain ‘irreproachably honest’: they were prohibited from working for another employer, they could accept neither gifts nor benefits, and they were not allowed to wear clothes representing a candidate. In Burundi in 2005, the RTNB also adopted its ‘Rules of Conduct for

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RTNB Journalists during Elections’. Article 1 of this document guaranteed equal access for political parties to the RTNB’s airwaves, and article 4 prohibited ‘partisan or harmful comments’, as well as those ‘denigrating political parties or their candidates’. Donor interventions: anticipating or reacting to the first symptoms

The principles set out by law, by regulatory authorities or by the media professionals themselves to ensure balanced information and equal access during elections is one thing; but the resources that the Central African media have at their disposal to fulfil these functions is quite another. The previous chapter looked at the material and financial difficulties facing most media in the region on the eve of those post-conflict elections. These weaknesses often became more visible during the pre-election period, and concerns arose about the serious consequences they could have during the polls. External partners and the local administration became aware of the importance of paying atten­tion to the media sector, as the first symptoms of dysfunction appeared.

Symptoms of the media sector’s frailty  In the DRC, the Republic of Congo or the CAR, warning bells sounded in the form of the proliferation of veiled advertorials and flattering articles sold to candidates or political parties before the start of the official campaign. The financial frailty of media outlets and the low salaries of journalists made the prospect of receiving money for interviews or flattering portraits very tempting, as they sought to supplement their income. In the Republic of Congo, contributing to the media visibility of political figures was a survival strategy for most papers. As one journalist acknow­ ledged: ‘Newspapers wishing to appear on the market are obliged to publish the obtrusive declarations of party leaders.’112 Even La Semaine africaine, which had not received any funding from the Catholic Church since 2001 and relied on its own resources, started to publish political advertisements in 2007. Long before the start of the official campaign, print space was sold to candidates. The editor, Joachim Mbanza, aware of the fact that some readers were uncomfortable with such practices, claimed that, despite the situation, ‘editorial print space remains as important as before’.113 The benefits were major, as many politicians wanted to appear in La Semaine africaine, known for its popularity and credibility, regardless of the cost. In 2006 in Kinshasa, a local newspaper published a luxurious colour magazine that purported to present the ‘33 competing programmes for the country’s redevelopment’. In fact, the magazine only profiled some carefully chosen presidential and legislative candidates.114 Similarly, prior to the legis­ lative elections, the Rwandan press underwent ‘a number of visible changes that were probably due to the generosity of some parties’.115 For impoverished media, the increase in the number of paid official

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announce­ments was also welcome, but it often led to a decrease in the space available for journalistic input. This was the case in the CAR, where there is no Official Journal or government publication: as a result, private newspapers were frequently called upon to publish official communications regarding the arrangements for the election. Moreover, newspapers published the electoral programmes of some candidates in full, arguing that there was no postal system that would enable candidates to send their programmes to potential voters. Yet the word-for-word publication, with no critical distance or analysis – sometimes over 8–12 pages – was a sign of true journalistic abdication.116 This practice was also prevalent in the public media. In Chad, where the public media had become dependent on material from state communications departments, the national television was filled with programmes produced outside the TVT newsroom, leaving almost no airtime for the journalists’ own work. In the DRC, one generally had to pay to have a report broadcast on the television news: weeks before the campaign started, only those who paid the ‘broadcasting expenses’ had the opportunity to see their concerns aired on television. With limited editorial staff, the handling of information was often reduced to a minimum during the pre-election period. Observers realized that most media outlets would probably be content, throughout the process, to reproduce announcements by parties, civil society organizations or institutions, and would not provide any critical analysis or context. A second symptom in many media was the increasing number of articles or reports indicating that candidates had probably ‘embedded’ journalists from the newsrooms in their campaign teams. Only very few newsrooms in any of the six countries under consideration had their own transport (apart from those media that were supported by foreign donors). In the Central African Republic, Maka Gbossokotto, editor of Le Citoyen, was the only editor who owned a car. Others used taxis or waited for the person or institution seeking media coverage to arrange for their transport. Lack of transport made it difficult to do reports out of Bangui, although elections were a national process and most voters were to be found outside the capital. This situation led to a concern that, during the campaign, only wealthy parties and those candidates who had transport resources would be able to include journalists in their campaign team and thus benefit from media attention. Staff turnover was a third source of concern. In the pre-election period, opportunities abounded to obtain a better-paid position as a ‘communications adviser’ for candidates and political parties. In countries where the inter­ national community was investing especially heavily in the electoral process, several UN- or EU-funded electoral support projects opened positions for public relations professionals or even journalists. For instance, in Burundi, the programme Tribune Bonesha, the most popular discussion programme on Radio Bonesha, was withdrawn from the schedule for the entire period

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of the election because its main presenter, Alice Hakizimana, was recruited to take part in a short-term project set up by the United Nations (Palmans 2008: 33). At a time when great awareness and skills were required, many private and public media thus found themselves in the hands of mostly young and inexperienced people who lacked training. In the public media in the CAR, the DRC, Chad and the Congo, where there had been no recruitment for years because of public service cuts, the airwaves were left to freelance journalists and trainees with no experience of political coverage. Most of these unofficial human resources were recommended by various authorities and were not only ignorant of the basic principles of electoral reporting, but were also in debt to the politicians to whom they owed their positions. With electoral periods being particularly sensitive, it was very worrying to see the airwaves left to callow youths, unable to control a debate or stand up to a politician. The impoverishment of the public media, especially in those four countries, constituted another risk factor. During elections, public radio and television had to meet their particular obligations and responsibilities to citizens. But in those countries the heads of state blatantly injected greater resources into the private media they controlled – and which were not, of course, subject to the legal requirements governing public services. The most striking example of this is the Republic of Congo, where, on the eve of the 2007 elections, the public weekly La Nouvelle République faced substantial difficulties that threatened its very survival (decrepit buildings, a shortage of IT equipment, lack of transport, a non-existent operating budget), whereas Les Dépêches de Brazzaville enjoyed a comfortable existence. Les Dépêches, as a private publication, was not subject to the same obligation to ensure balance and equal access. And it was the same in the DRC, where Digital Congo, the property of Kabila’s sister, benefited from substantial investments, including paid political advertisements from the president’s political allies, at the same time as the RTNC was on its sickbed. The authorities’ lack of interest in the public media, which were sometimes on the verge of collapse, was thus a fourth area of concern ahead of the polls. A fifth worrying sign was the increase in the number of media set up by political contenders. In the DRC and the Republic of Congo, that increase was significant, long before the election campaign, especially in the provinces, in areas where prospective candidates wished to be elected. In countries where there was an official frequency allocation procedure, the incompatibility between occupying a political position and owning shares in a media outlet was almost never mentioned. The risk, of course, was that during the polls, each of these media outlets would become a campaigning tool at the service of a single individual.

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Lastly, a sixth point worthy of note was just that the general population remained poorly informed. The media’s geographically limited coverage and the rift between the few large cities and the smaller towns were a true source of concern. In the CAR in 2005, national radio was only able to cover a very small part of the territory (and only for a limited time each day, to prevent the transmitter from overheating). Broadcasting in the 16 prefectures and 77 sub-prefectures was impeded by technical problems caused by the poor state of repair of the equipment and also by the lack of electricity locally. How could a free and fair election be held in a country where the overwhelming majority of citizens had no access to public information? Taken all together, these symptoms led to the identification of a real threat: that the media were neither ready nor able to perform their tasks, so vital if the elections were to have any meaning or credibility. Indeed, what would be the point of organizing an election if citizens only had access to partial, biased, self-promoting information, and if the journalist’s critical and analytical role was waning, or if there was no information available at all?

The international community’s support: varying levels of investment  In an attempt to tackle these symptoms and to limit the risks for those elections they were injecting money into, members of the international community launched actions to support the media and ensure that they would indeed contribute to raising awareness and informing citizens. Once they realized the chasm that existed between the great expectations of the media that had been raised by the electoral process and the frailty and vulnerability of those media, foreign donors started to encourage media support projects. Often these were arranged hastily and sometimes had little impact, but at other times they were better prepared and more coherent. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, for instance, in 2005 and 2006 the media sector benefited from a huge amount of support, running into tens of millions of dollars (Frère 2009c).117 The UK, one of the main donors to the Congolese transition, contributed a substantial amount (more than $8.5 million over two years). Important contributions went to the Hirondelle Foundation (for the budget of Radio Okapi), the IPP (for a support programme for professional institutions, organizations and associations, and for community media) and to SFCG (for the Lokole Centre, which produced radio programmes). Many other donors supported the media sector during those two strategic years: France, Belgium, Switzerland, the US, the Nether­ lands, the EU, UNDP, UNESCO and Catholic charities. Most of them entrusted their funds to international NGOs, such as the French GRET, the Netherlands Institute for Southern Africa, Syfia International or Radio France Internationale. Some of the funded projects aimed at creating new media (such as Le Journal du Citoyen); producing electoral awareness-raising content to distribute

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to existing media; supplying equipment to certain media (mainly provincial community radio); reinforcing the regulatory authority; supporting the activ­ ities of professional organizations in training and mobilizing their members; etc. Of course, a plethora of training courses was organized on ‘journalism in election periods’, the ‘journalistic Code of Ethics during elections’ and ‘reporting the polls live’. With an annual grant of more than $728,000, the High Media Authority was, with Radio Okapi (which received $5–5.5 million per year, on top of $6  million contributed directly by the MONUC), one of the main bene­ ficiaries of the international community’s generosity towards the media sector. As was mentioned above, this support enabled the regulatory authority to develop its listening and monitoring centre and its complaints investigation secretariat, as well as to establish branches in the provinces and to support the Election House, set up with the CEI118 to provide information on the electoral process. The better to coordinate these various support projects, donors set up a discussion group – the Inter-Donor Group for Media (GIBM) – in Kinshasa in 2005. An information-sharing network, the GIBM managed to coordinate its members’ interventions on several occasions, notably to present a common front in the face of certain incidents that occurred in the course of the campaign. In this way, it was possible to provide joint support when the president of the HAM received death threats and employees of the NGO defending freedom of the press, JED, were targeted. However, the GIBM did not prevent a rise in the number of uncoordinated initiatives, each donor wanting to preserve its own strategies, privileged partnerships and visibility.119

Implementing emergency plans  Not everywhere was support as massive as in the DRC. In the CAR, in 2005, it was only belatedly that financial partners became aware that the media had a role to play in the electoral process, and also that they had to be supported if they were in fact to accomplish their mission. Concerned by the fact that large parts of the CAR’s territory would remain beyond the reach of electoral information, the French embassy decided to take charge of the broadcasting on short wave of Radio Centrafrique’s signal, for six hours a day, using RFI’s transmitter in Paris. The signal was thus sent via telephone line from Bangui to France, and then broadcast by the network of RFI short-wave transmitters to the CAR. This was a costly operation ($300 an hour), but it was the only solution that would guarantee a minimum level of national coverage during this crucial electoral period. These costs were unsustainable in the long run, however, and from the start France had made it clear that it was a temporary solution and that this emergency intervention would not be prolonged beyond the polls. This makeshift broadcasting solution did not solve production short-

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comings. In January 2005, by an unexpected stroke of good fortune, an application that Radio Centrafrique had made to UNESCO’s International Programme for the Development of Communication one year earlier was approved. The radio received funding worth $50,000, which enabled RFI to provide it with three computers and to upgrade the radio to digital production and broadcasting standards. There was still the issue, though, of how to collect sound material in the field: the rural radio stations’ correspondents, who were responsible for transmitting pieces from within the country, did not have the necessary equipment. None of them had a tape recorder, and communications with Bangui were only possible via fixed phone lines (no mobile phone network was available in the CAR’s provinces at that time). And phones were only available in the mayor’s office or at the police s­ tation – something that hardly ensured the reporters complete independence. Even though the general director of the radio, Christian Aimé Ndotah, made several applications for support to buy digital recorders, the project could only be funded and implemented 18 months after the polls. As for the private media, Radio Ndeke Luka also benefited from emergency measures. Since it broadcast on FM only, across Bangui and its immediate surroundings, it gained from a one-off grant to extend its range. Thanks to the support of BONUCA and the US embassy and a technical partner based in England, it began broadcasting its programmes on short wave, initially for one hour per day, then two. Costs were exorbitant: whereas the radio normally operated on an annual budget of around $265,000, the yearly cost of a one-hour programme on short wave was $177,000. Moreover, an expatriate project manager was sent by the Hirondelle Foundation to monitor the development of the short-wave system. Radio Ndeke Luka also benefited from an additional grant worth 5 million CFA francs ($9,773) to enable it to perform its awareness-raising tasks properly.120 With the support of the French embassy, for a couple of months it set up a news service, which sent text dispatches by email to recipients interested in following the electoral process. Also in an advanced state of dilapidation, CAR national television benefited from the support of French development aid and UNESCO, which provided material and technical support. Trainers from the International Council of Francophone Radio-Televisions121 coached television staff in the use of the digital production and broadcasting equipment donated by UNESCO. The television was given two cameras and an editing desk. However, the lack of training led to fears that the new equipment would not be used properly and in the event the new kit was not used during the elections. The case of the CAR is interesting in that it reveals the hastiness with which financial partners can become involved. However, while initiatives may have been limited and of short duration, there is no doubt that they rescued the media’s coverage of the CAR elections.

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Uncoordinated and redundant projects  While many donors suddenly became aware of the strategic importance of supporting the media before the polls, it was only very seldom that they consulted each other in order to coordinate their operations. In the DRC, the GIBM to some extent helped donors to avoid redundant initiatives and to inform one another of their intentions, but this was not the case elsewhere. In Burundi, the government had, as early as July 2004, drawn up a ‘Media and Elections Emergency Plan’ that was to be submitted to its financial partners. This document noted that the difficult consensus among politicians regarding an electoral calendar marking the end of the transition period in Burundi leads to fears of possible consequences, which could be as serious as during earlier polls if preventive measures are not taken. The media can play a crucial role in preventing this type of situation.122

The plan then listed a series of priorities to give the media a better chance of achieving their mission. Most donors, however, decided not to back this plan in its entirety, but to support a number of other initiatives, all the while pledging to make an effort to support the media. Uncoordinated initiatives abounded, and there was no reference to this document listing the Burundian government’s priorities. One of the most heavily criticized projects was the UN radio production centre. Although there were already six successful public and private radio stations and two local production studios, the United Nations Operation in Burundi (ONUB) created its own production centre, Radio ONUB, recruiting the best journalists from the local media by offering them higher salaries. Thus, a few months before the elections, the project robbed the local media of some of their precious staff members. Radio ONUB produced programmes and then purchased airtime from radio stations to ensure they were broadcast. In this way it claimed to be stabilizing local operators by providing them with financial support.123 During the election period, the ONUB also set up a monitoring centre that followed the content of the Burundian media, but its reports were strictly for internal circulation to UN agencies and were never communicated to the local press. Yet, no fewer than four other media-monitoring structures already existed before the start of the election campaign. The IPP, within the framework of a programme supported by Swiss development aid, had equipped the CNC with monitoring equipment. Since September 2004, four employees had been listening to Burundian radio stations and reading the local papers every day, producing weekly reports. They had been trained especially to be ready to monitor the elections, as they were supposed to ensure that the media kept to their pledges, in terms of both quantity (equal access to

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the media and adherence to the schedules drafted by the CNC) and quality (appropriate content). The EU election observation mission had also set up its own media observation centre, as it generally does on all its missions. Moreover, a local initiative by citizens to monitor media content had been launched by the Conflict Alert and Prevention Centre (CENAP), a civil society organization that monitors media content and the various forms of public discourse (from political speeches to statements issued by civil society). As the elections drew near, its reports paid particular attention to the media’s role as a communications platform and to the circulation of information. In particular, it produced a specific report on ‘the proliferation of rumours on the eve of the elections’. Finally, in June 2005, the executive secretariat of the Central African Media Organization (OMAC) – a regional group of media professionals based in Burundi – received equipment, courtesy of US development aid, in order to set up a sophisticated monitoring centre. The belated creation of this initiative prevented it from being operational during the high points of the election period (communal and legislative elections in May and June), but it started working in July. Thus there were five monitoring centres in Bujumbura that were geared up to recording, archiving and analysing media content during the polls. As Eva Palmans has observed, these various media observation and monitoring initiatives, whether stemming from local or international organizations, remain dispersed, and no real efforts have been made to ensure coordination. (Palmans 2008: 160)

An epidemic of training projects  In the months preceding the elections, the increase in the number of journalist-training initiatives organized by donors or international NGOs was striking. Most sessions were short (from a couple of days to one week) and sought to remind journalists of their duties before, during and after the polls. Generally, no follow-up was given to these training sessions – something that severely jeopardized any impact they may have had. In the CAR, for instance, in March 2005 (two weeks before the first round of the election), UNESCO and French development aid organized two three-day sessions on ‘collecting, processing and diffusing information in election periods, post-conflict situations and transition periods’. The training project was welcomed by the media, but many complaints arose later on, especially over the selection of participants and the theoretical content that was taught. Regarding the participants, the media had chosen the delegates themselves, and some had a background that did not match the theme of the training. Furthermore, the managers of newspapers that had not been in circulation for years took part. Regarding the content, some participants

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complained that the training was not grounded in CAR realities, and that it was unlikely to enhance their practical ability to cover the elections. Feeling that this collective initiative was inadequate, Radio Ndeke Luka went on to provide in-house training for its journalists. In Chad, the UNDP organized a seminar in April 2001 on ‘the journalist’s role in election periods’ and on ‘the role of the press in a constitutional state’. Participating journalists questioned the possible implementation of the principles they were taught. As L’Observateur concluded after the training session: With no administrative, technical or financial backing, in a political environment not quite open to debating ideas, with no significant workforce in the newsrooms enabling one to cope with the coverage of electoral operations, it is very difficult, if not impossible, for journalists to do their job.124

Journalists thus called on the authorities: It falls to the government and other institutions involved in managing the elections (HCC, international institutions, etc.) to give the press sufficient means, to train or recycle journalists so that they can best perform their tasks.125

Indeed, the short and occasional training sessions organized by international NGOs or development agencies and using foreign trainers were probably not the best way to reinforce the skills of journalists and provided no solution to the critical lack of resources. In Burundi, the new private radio stations had ushered in a new generation of journalists with no previous experience of election coverage. In 2005, the communications minister, Albert Mbonerane, remarked that ‘these soldiers of communication have not all experienced elections: the 250 registered journalists could not have experienced the 1993 elections as journalists’.126 Once again, the response to this diagnosis was that of short-term workshops. In February 2005, SFCG trained a hundred journalists to cover the elections. When, in May 2005, UNESCO financed a week-long training course on the same theme, the organizers did not bother to find out who had participated in the earlier session, or what training content or documents had been used. In the Republic of Congo, in September 2007, it was again UNESCO that funded the organization by the Ministry of Communications, the CSLC and the OCM of training for media professionals on the electoral process, democratic culture and peace culture. The training took place a month after the second round! Lastly, in the DRC, numerous operators (notably the French GRET and the IPP) organized training in Kinshasa and the provinces to prepare journalists to cover the elections, and a ‘training’ sub-group was created within the GIBM in order to share information on the various initiatives. After assessing

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the cost of organizing such seminars (transport and accommodation expenses for the expatriate trainer and participants from the provinces, the trainer’s fee and the hire costs for the training venue), Le Journal du Citoyen came to the conclusion that each of these workshops cost between $800 and $1,000 per participant, which is about a year’s salary for a local journalist.127 The impact of these short and often rushed training courses is difficult to assess, but observers generally agree that it is limited.128 Because they could claim a daily allowance that was sometimes quite substantial, the training was frequently attended by delegates who were either not interested, or else not willing to learn or change their work methods. Moreover, these occasional courses rarely involved the few institutions that taught journalism locally. In post-conflict countries, journalism education is indeed often limited and precarious. Communications departments have been created at several public universities (in Brazzaville, N’Djamena, Kinshasa, Kisangani, Lubumbashi, Butare) and at private universities (Bujumbura), but their capacity is limited. Furthermore, courses are too theoretical, there is a shortage of training equipment, and some lecturers have no specialized knowledge of the subjects they teach. Although these institutions have come in for criticism for offering a course programme that is too far removed from the reality of life, the distance from reality of foreign – and especially European – trainers does not seem to be an obstacle so far as the donors who organize the short courses are concerned. No satisfactory strategy has so far been carved out to ensure better results in strengthening the ability of journalists in Central Africa to cover elections. First of all, the training of journalists is a day-to-day matter that should take place in the newsrooms, through critical and vigilant supervision by the editor in chief, within the media outlet, and through ongoing collective discussion of what is produced each day. Workshops lasting only a few days will never be able to replace this ongoing support. They only offer donors a clear conscience. Conclusion

The media’s role in each of the forthcoming great electoral pageants was defined back in the pre-election period: electoral law and the body in charge of organizing the elections outlined measures to be taken to inform voters, and the regulatory authority detailed the framework that would guide (or constrain) the media’s actions. The first steps in the process – from the organization of the electoral system to voter registration – provided early indications of how the elections would unfold and how independent, committed and rigorous the authorities in charge of organizing the process would be, including the electoral commission and the media regulator. These first steps also helped outline the strengths and weaknesses of the various media, ahead of the challenges they would have to face.

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It was often in this phase that the frailty – perhaps even the short­ comings – of the media and the journalists suddenly became clear to the various financial partners. The financial backers of electoral processes in post-conflict countries certainly assigned the media a role in their projects, but they sometimes forgot to tell the people in the sector what it was. And so, late in the day, questions came to be asked: were the media capable of playing their part? It suddenly seemed obvious that the overwhelming majority of local media, even if they showed themselves to be enthusiastic, courageous and willing, were neither prepared nor trained to provide electoral information and coverage. In the 1960s and 1970s, the politicians had set the agenda for the African media (i.e. national unity and development), but then had often failed to put the theory into practice. Now, again, the region’s journalists were being called on to contribute to raising awareness and popularizing the elections, but often without having been involved in defining the strategies that concerned them. Moreover, no thought had been given to the journalists themselves, who always seemed to have to put themselves at the service of some cause. However noble the cause (such as raising awareness among citizens), is that what journalists are really for? If the media were to fully assume their responsibilities at times of elections, a number of obstacles had to be surmounted. It is hard to achieve the overnight transformation of heavily politicized opinion media into neutral civic education tools; poorly trained professionals into constitutional and electoral popularization specialists; newspapers aimed at the capital’s literate elite (or community radio stations with a limited range) into far-reaching tools; or media outlets that had been reliant on foreign aid (or that were constantly looking for ways to survive) into entirely independent voices. Moreover, this was not always what the local politicians wanted. An atmosphere of excitement then seized the media sector: new supports were created; election awareness-raising programmes were produced; the regulatory authority’s operations were financed so that a framework could be established that would guide the media’s interventions in the electoral process; journalists were hurriedly trained, with attempts being made to teach them in a few days what can only be learned after a long spell on the job; and the media were sometimes equipped in such a hasty and haphazard manner that it almost resembled humanitarian aid. Was this the best strategy? Did the media emerge sufficiently well resourced to face the campaign and the polls? The next chapter will detail how the Central African media actually covered the crucial moment of the election campaigns.

3  |  The Media during the Election Campaign

Having described the political and media landscape during post-conflict elections in Central Africa (chapter 1), and having observed the way the media reported during the preparatory phase of the elections (chapter 2), we now turn to the way journalists worked during the few weeks of the official election campaign. All the major issues to do with the relationship between the media and political parties or candidates, the media’s interactions with other stakeholders and possible misconduct by journalists will be covered. Although the media play a key role in the months leading up to the polls, it is during the election campaign that their activities are most important and most closely observed. During these few weeks, the media are not only bound by their mission to serve the general interest, leading them to keep voters informed, but they also have legal obligations, which are governed by laws and regulations. The communications regulatory authorities play a crucial role here in identifying and penalizing any abuse. Indeed, the campaign is the period when the media are called upon most often by candidates and parties alike, since they constitute one of the privileged communication instruments for candidates.1 One of the main challenges during a campaign is to offer citizens a clear distinction between electoral information, political information, political communication and advertising. Political parties and candidates have a right to express themselves, but journalists must ensure that they are not mere mouthpieces for political propaganda, and also that they treat all contenders fairly. Not only must they present the candidates’ programmes, but they should also identify the challenges that lie at the heart of the campaign and highlight the solutions that voters are offered. Fairness implies honesty and impartiality. Besides paying heed to the guidelines issued by the regulatory authorities and the instructions aimed at ensuring that the private media are balanced, journalists must constantly check their actions against the profession’s code of ethics. And that is why the media are watched closely throughout the campaign. In the Central African post-conflict elections, the risk of abuses during the campaign was an important factor. One risk was that too little (or too much) attention could be paid to a particular candidate or party; another was that speeches could get out of hand as a result of agitation by former belligerents, and that the disruption could be broadcast by the media. It was feared that such abuses could lead to acts of violence, especially in volatile

128  |  three Table 4  Summary of the media’s role during the election campaign The media’s role Possible state interventions Outside • Inform citizens (fully, honestly • Legislation: press law the electoral and rigorously) (guaranteeing freedom of period • Monitor the activities of public the press and terms of and private actors on behalf of implementation); review or citizens repeal of oppressive laws • Serve as a platform for society’s • Regulation: independent various components administrative authority • Public information: guaranteeing access to information • Supporting diversity and pluralism • Financing public media Pre-election • Provide information on the • Specific legislation: electoral period electoral process (voter registra- code or law tion, voting procedures, etc.) • Specific regulations:direc • Analyse electoral stakes tives, orders, decrees • Supervise implementation of • Specific joint regulation tools: the election (denounce any codes of conduct, pledges lack of transparency or rigour) • Production of electoral • Assess the outgoing govern- information and awareness ment raising tools to be communi cated through the media Election • Allow parties and candidates • Regulation (to guarantee campaign to express themselves fairness): • Cover the various aspects of the of political information campaign of political communications • Present, criticize and compare of political advertising programmes of electoral information • Follow the organization of the of the dissemination of polls election • Monitoring the media • Allow citizens and civil society and imposing sanctions if to express themselves necessary • Guaranteeing access to infor mation and the protection of the rights of journalists

circumstances, as militants saw the elections as vital, linked to their very survival. The election campaigns promised to be a highly sensitive affair for journalists, whose ideal role might be difficult to fulfil. Some media, however, also expected it to be a very profitable period, with politicians willing to be quite generous in order to ensure their visibility. This chapter will describe

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how the media behaved during the election campaigns, the obstacles they faced and the solutions some of them came up with. Presenting the campaign’s issues and protagonists

Whether they work for public or private media, journalists have an obliga­ tion during a campaign to inform voters about each political party and candidate, and help them identify the views of the various protagonists on each of the main election issues. Given the particular situation in post-conflict countries, where those who had brandished weapons often occupied the political stage, this was frequently a delicate mission – not to say perilous.

Throngs of candidates, empty programmes The first free elections after a war often draw vast numbers of candidates, and those who claim to want to contribute to their country’s redevelopment are legion. The case of the DRC is, nevertheless, exceptional. The 2006 elections involved 264 political parties, 33 presidential candidates, 9,709 parliamentary candidates and 13,474 candidates in provincial elections. As a result, guaranteeing these candidates or their parties a minimum level of visibility was a real headache for the media. Le Journal du Citoyen was the only publication to present a potted biography of each of the 33 presidential candidates. Printed over eight pages and with a print run of 25,000 copies, this special issue was hugely popular and came to be used as a guide by many voters. The director of Radio Télévision Mwangaza in Lubumbashi, Rose Lukano, attested to the complexity of the operation: Each candidate in the legislative and provincial elections was entitled to a three-minute broadcast. The city of Lubumbashi had 500 candidates for the National Assembly. It’s true that not all of them showed up, but even with 200 it was overwhelming.2

Radio Okapi’s ‘Electoral Charter’ listed a number of criteria used to identify parties with ‘provincial or national roots’ that would have access to the airwaves. These parties had to prove to the radio station that they had a structure (an address, a head office, a steering committee), a formal organization (meetings and a list of members), committed activists (not just a group of friends) and a formal manifesto. Moreover, parties had to prove their viability and designate a representative who would be the radio’s contact person throughout the electoral period. As the former project manager Yves Laplume explained: After verifying the data received by Radio Okapi, there were only some 40 political parties left. It is those parties that were entered into a draw to be featured in our two main programmes, Journal de Campagne [‘Campaign News’] and Débats électoraux [‘Election Debates’]. We decided not to give

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independent parliamentary candidates any airtime, because we believed that they had no chance of governing. Since they were alone, they would never obtain a majority in the Assembly.3

Aside from the sheer number of contenders, the fair presentation of all candidates was often impeded by the lack of an actual programme or campaign manifesto. Journalists in many Central African countries tried asking parties and candidates for their programmes, especially on some important social or economic issue (such as the fight against corruption, the exploitation of the country’s natural resources or security), but failed to receive a detailed or argued response. The Chadian press lamented the inconsistency of the programmes it received during the 2001 elections: ‘It was hard to see in what way they were consistent or coherent. Déby’s programme was particularly vague: there was no clear or detailed position on any single national issue.’4 And in the Republic of Congo, the president of the OCM, Bernard Mackiza, noted: ‘Covering elections is difficult when parties have no political identity, no programme, and no ideology, and when their only arguments are regional, ethnic or clan related.’5 During the presidential elections in the DRC, Le Journal du Citoyen tried in vain to contact one of the presidential candidates, who never answered any call or sent a copy of his programme. As polling day drew near, some Congolese journalists came to believe that certain ‘candidates did everything they could to avoid the press at a time when they should communicate a lot’. They observed that some candidates did not even have a communications department, as if they didn’t have anything to say either to the press or to the citizens.6 In Burundi, candidates were also suspected of shunning the media because their programmes were empty: ‘They knew very well that they did not have a vision; that they had nothing to say on important issues such as education or healthcare. That is why they avoided expressing themselves in the media.’7 Journalists’ work was also hindered by the lack of organization of political parties and by their lethargy between elections, as they only became visible on the eve of the campaign. In Brazzaville, La Semaine africaine noted that political parties only woke up quite late: As an election draws near, national politics becomes more active. Parties hold meetings and assemblies, reorganize their bodies or start mobilizing their activists … Even parties one might have thought dead come back to life.8

And in Chad in 2001, Tchad et Culture made the same observation: ‘They were lethargic for five years and are only now waking up.’9 Between campaigns, opposition parties generally slip into a deep slumber.

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Campaign media strategies: from ubiquity to absence  Parties’ campaign strat­ egies heavily influence the way in which the media cover the electoral period: not all candidates are equally media hungry or mobilize the same resources to approach journalists. In the DRC, for instance, several television stations owned by candidates did not hesitate to flood viewers with footage and speeches of their owners. While in Burundi, especially during the legislative election campaign, parties and candidates made little use of the media and even seemed to go out of their way to avoid them. After the CNDD-FDD won a landslide victory in the first communal polls, having used a discreet door-to-door campaign, the other parties redefined their strategy for the legislative elections. They distanced themselves from the media and did not even use all the airtime or print space they were entitled to within the public media. They tried to maintain a presence in the radio and television news, but often failed to respect the schedule or deadlines set down by the CNC for broadcasting their campaign messages. Parties and candidates thus had only themselves to blame for any unequal access. For instance, all parties were entitled to a full page in the government paper Le Renouveau to publicize their programmes, but most failed to take up the opportunity. Whereas the 1993 elections had led to the emergence of numerous private newspapers, in 2005 the print media were virtually abandoned. According to the director of the civil society organization CENAP, Charles Ndayiziga, politicians avoided spreading their message through the media because they knew that their campaign arguments did not meet the ethical standards.10 By limiting themselves to small meetings that were reserved for activists (and not covered by the media), and by favouring the circulation of tracts and face-to-face communication, politicians sought to avoid being judged by journalists and controlled by the various monitoring mechanisms. For i­nstance, a tract distributed in camps for internal displaced people threatened: Dear residents of the camps for displaced people, you are strictly prohibited from voting … Anyone who votes on Monday will have his ink-stained finger cut off, and if he says anything, his head will be cut off.11

The International Crisis Group (ICG) testified to the presence of ‘xenophobic and tribalist tracts slandering the CNDD-FDD and some of its leaders … in several provincial towns’ (ICG 2005: 12). However, no candidates dared voice such comments on air or in print. In the CAR, in 2005, the print media, confined to the city of Bangui, were also shunned in the candidates’ campaign strategies. As Le Citoyen observed, ‘the campaign has unfolded rather timidly in Bangui in recent days, the city being avoided by presidential candidates … Almost all candidates have headed into the country’s interior.’12 Since the press could not follow them,

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and had not been invited to do so, the media campaign was quite dull. No public debate was possible between absent candidates, and nor could they be questioned by the public or any rival contender. The parties’ strategies also depended on two very important elements: a party’s presence throughout the country (and the network of activists that could relay its communications in each town) and the financial resources it injected into the campaign.

Organizational, territorial and professional capacities The most powerful parties were often those that managed to rejuvenate the structures of the former single parties that used to hold sway, reaching deep into the country and even into small villages. In 2003 in Rwanda, the campaign was marked by the ‘clear pre-eminence of the RPF’, the only party with ‘financial means to ensure its visibility’ (EU-EOM 2003b: 10), but also the only party to have deep roots outside the capital, thanks to its well-organized pyramidal structure. According to the director of Contact FM, Albert Rudatsimburwa, ‘the RPF reclaimed part of the political structure of the former single party, the MRND: much like the MRND in the eighties, it is ubiquitous’.13 The other parties contented themselves with door-to-door campaigns, mainly in the capital city, for reasons that were both financial and related to their weak internal organization. Their inability to reach all the corners of the country contributed, according to the HCP and media reports, to the fact that ‘the population in the countryside expressed the common complaint of not knowing the candidates that they would vote for at the end of the day’ (HCP 2003: 11). As a result, three personalities emerged as the main source of more than 65 per cent of news items analysed by the HCP (ibid.: 13): President Paul Kagame (who was also president of the RPF), the president of the NEC, Professor Chrysologue Karangwa, and the vice-president of the RPF, Christophe Bazivamo. The RPF and its key figures were, in fact, the only ones to undertake a widespread public campaign. In 2008, the RPF remained the best organized and established party throughout the territory. It was the only party that paid attention to ­local ­media in the provinces, whereas many candidates concentrated their campaigns on the capital city. The RPF-led coalition was the only one to use the slots provided for political parties on the provincial private radio stations: Radio Salus, the radio station of the School of Journalism and Communications of the University of Butare, and Radio Izuba, a community radio station based in Kibongo. Local public radio stations also reflected the party’s predominance in the countryside. In Huye, 58 per cent of news items broadcast on the public community radio were devoted to the RPF (22 per cent to the PL, 19 per cent to the PSD and 1 per cent to the independent candidate). Other figures were 81 per cent in Rubavu (13 per cent to the

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PSD and 6 per cent to the PL), and 54 per cent in Rusizi (24 per cent to the PSD and 22 per cent to the PL) (MHC 2008b: 10–11). The RPF was not only the most widely rooted, but of the parties ‘the RPFled coalition was the only contestant in this election conducting a professional campaign in the media, highlighting government achievements, economic growth, future development and success in foreign policy’ (EU-EOM 2008: 33). The media were unable to provide equal coverage to the other parties and candidates because the latter did not have proper campaigning material and failed to provide adequate information.

The impact of money on media visibility  Besides the organizational capacity of a party, its territorial presence and the professionalism of its campaign, the financial resources of candidates are also important in any campaign. In the DRC, the presidential campaign was dominated by two candidates, Joseph Kabila and Jean-Pierre Bemba, both of whom injected considerable amounts of money into their political communications. A Belgian journalist estimated that the former had invested $50 million and the latter $22 million in the campaign for the first round.14 Moreover, both candidates had an impressive air fleet at their disposal (four planes and two helicopters for the outgoing president, five planes and one helicopter for his challenger), which enabled them not only to get around, but also to transport journalists and television crews. In the CAR in 2005, Le Citoyen noted that ‘Bozizé is campaigning by plane while others are using four-wheel drives.’15 And in Chad in 2001, N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo reported that Idriss Déby ‘deployed more than one hundred four-wheel drives and had even requisitioned the only plane at the disposal of Air Tchad for his travels’. His rivals were just equipped with one or two personal cars and ‘a lot of goodwill’.16 Touring the provinces is a costly operation in any campaign, but it is especially necessary for candidates who wish to make use of their regional strongholds. No one knows the real impact of these tours, however. When in 2001 Idriss Déby was the only candidate to set out on large-scale tours, Tchad et Culture questioned the real impact of this strategy on Chadian voters. Spending a few hours in each village does not necessarily mean conquering the town’s electorate, especially ‘if one does not have reliable people in place to maintain these different networks afterwards’. Moreover, ‘it is difficult to imagine the miracle that would allow the four million voters throughout the country to be reached by this system’.17 There is, however, a name for that miracle: public media. Since they were capable of offering an audience that was much wider than such walkabouts could muster, they were systematically invited to accompany the incumbent president on his travels around the country. Besides financing vast tours covered by the media, money can also be used to purchase promotional space in the media. In 2002 in the Republic

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of Congo, the EU observers noted ‘the constant and massive publication of advertisements in favour of Mr Sassou Nguesso, in violation of the measures provided for by law’. In 2007, newspapers were once again filled with fullpage advertisements promoting the contenders. Competing ministers, many of whom were running in the legislative elections, bought pages in several newspapers and also transported journalists to their rallies using helicopters hired from the army.18 Bernard Mackiza, president of the self-regulatory OCM, was quite critical: ‘One cannot talk of any media coverage of the elections. There was no journalistic work: the press published accounts of political rallies and politicking reports, but provided no analysis.’19 In the neighbouring DRC, in some provincial towns the campaign for the legislative elections ended up being ‘dull’ because of the ‘lack of means of some candidates. Some of them notably complained that they had not received the funds promised by their party’s HQ. This meant they had no access to local radios, since these did not offer free slots’ (EURAC 2007: 18). No money equalled no media coverage. Money was also used by parties to mobilize the supporters who had to appear on their television and promotional programmes. In the Republic of Congo, La Semaine africaine noted that for many youths, the elections are an opportunity to earn quite a bit of money. How so? Many of them organize themselves into groups and present the candidates. They volunteer to campaign for them. Canvassing neighbourhoods on foot, equipped with megaphones, hosting carnivals or acting as spokesmen, they urge people to vote for candidates in exchange for cash … Some of them are delighted to receive between 3,000 and 5,000 CFA francs per day [$5.86 to $9.77], depending on how rich the candidates are, for posting their photos in front of their houses.20

In 2006 in Chad, L’Observateur also reckoned that the campaign offices of political parties, where the media could seek information, were in fact the ‘meeting points of all the capital’s unemployed who are looking for something to do’ and who went there to ‘sip their green tea quietly and play cards’.21 As a young activist told N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo: ‘The election campaign is an opportunity for us to eat something, regardless of the political programmes. We want to eat first, we’ll see about the rest later.’22 And Tchad et Culture stressed that ‘some people are even willing to swap one party’s banner for another because the candidate was a “better speaker”, which is to say that they were offered or promised more money’.23 In such a context, there was little information to be collected in the parties’ HQs and very few recognized spokespersons to talk to.

The abuse of public resources  The disparity in the resources available to can-

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didates leads to a sensitive issue, especially in countries ravaged by conflicts: those who control the state machinery can put the administrative machine and public logistics at the service of their campaign, giving them a crushing advantage over their rivals. In Central Africa, the press paid a lot of attention to this type of abuse, which some media kept denouncing. In 2005 in Burundi, newspapers and private radio stations accused both parties in power (FRODEBU and UPRONA) of using publicly owned transport and fuel for their campaigns. In the Republic of Congo, administrative staff were also mobilized. As La Semaine africaine explained, during the 2007 legislative elections, ministers and their collaborators are mobilized in all the country’s departments. They will all go out to campaign in the districts where they are running. Offices are already empty, all the more so since most of these ministers’ collaborators are related to or are members of their political parties or organizations. The latter thus accompanied their superiors so as not to lose their privileges, it seems, when rewards will be handed out in the event of victory.24

The Chadian press denounced the same phenomenon: ‘Since the start of the campaign, public services have been working at a slow pace because civil servants, at least high-ranking civil servants, are campaigning for an MPS candidate,’ complained N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo in 2001.25 Indeed, the latter knew that their involvement in the campaign to gather votes in their home regions was key to their future: ‘Their political-administrative careers depend on the voice of their relatives.’26 Besides using state transportation and staff, some candidates did not hesitate to dip into the state budget. During the 2001 campaign in Chad, Idriss Déby’s MPS was particularly generous towards voters on the campaign trail. The press questioned Déby’s national campaign director about rumours concerning the use of public funds for this purpose. David Ngarimandem responded: ‘If people believe the MPS is guilty of such manoeuvres, I think they themselves are guilty of the same thing.’27 N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo and the opposition hastened to remind citizens that the money being handed out, coming as it did from the state budget, was ‘their’ money. An opposition leader explained that ‘we are telling URD activists that all the money that these people are handing out is not their money. The money is simply being embezzled. They can take it so that they can eat, but they shouldn’t let themselves be bribed.’28 ‘Eat widely but vote wisely’ recommended opposition candidates in neighbouring countries … The confusion between public funds and the president’s personal fortune is not a new phenomenon: it is reminiscent of the way in which, at a time when all these countries were under single-party regimes coupled with a strong cult of personality, each public investment was presented as a gift

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to the population from the nation’s fatherly benefactor. N’Djamena BiHebdo  recalled that Idriss Déby’s great mystification is to present the achievements of the President of the Republic as a personal gift. And yet what Déby spends (lavishly, moreover) comes from the Chadian Treasury and is the fruit of the labour of the Chadian people or development aid intended for them.29

Another edition of the newspaper reminded readers that the president went so far as to ‘offer equipment to the television paid for with the presidency’s funds, while the Treasury was unable to give the television its budget. But where do the presidency’s funds come from if not from the Treasury?’30 Such practices not only violate political ethics, but are also infringements of the law. Indeed, most of the electoral laws of those six countries explicitly prohibited the use of public funds and civil servants in an election campaign. In Burundi, article 34 of the 2005 electoral law stated that ‘public officials are prohibited from distributing, during work hours, any document or other support used for electoral propaganda’. Article 37 of the 2001 law in the Republic of Congo provided for a similar ban, and article 128 stated that any administrative authority which, in one way or another, participates in electoral propaganda shall be penalized with a fine of 100,000 CFA francs [$195], without prejudice to disciplinary sanctions provided for by the general statutes of the public civil service relative to breaches to the obligation of reserve.

The electoral law in the CAR distinguished between the use of state property in the context of the government’s normal activities and in an election campaign. Article 61 specified: Candidates are prohibited from using, in any form whatsoever, state property and staff, except for those that are authorized by the position of Head of State, if he is a candidate, and that are strictly necessary to the exercise of his functions in the course of the campaign.

Article 118 added: Civil servants or public service officials who are neither candidates, nor available, and who take part in electoral propaganda during office hours or who use public services for this purpose shall be punished with a fine ranging from one hundred thousand to five hundred thousand CFA francs [$195 to $977].

In Rwanda, moreover, article 36 of the 2003 organic law prohibited ‘the use of state property or its institutions’ for electoral purposes, and article 118 specified that offenders shall be ‘sentenced to one month to two years imprisonment and a fine of one hundred thousand to two hundred thousand Rwandan francs [$170 to $340]’.

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The 2006 electoral law in the DRC was even more precise. Article 36 stipulated that: For purposes of electoral propaganda, it is prohibited to use state property, finances and personnel, public and mixed-economy companies, establishments and organizations. The use of said state property, finances and personnel shall be punished by the cancellation of the candidacy or the annulment of the list of the political party, the political organization or the independents who are guilty thereof or of which the candidate is guilty.

Article 99 of the 2000 law in Chad said: Any person who uses or authorizes the use of the attributes, property and means of the state or of a public body shall be sentenced to between one and three years imprisonment and a fine of three to six million CFA francs [$5,864 to $11,729].

This legislation is worth underlining, since public media and their staff members might be considered state ‘property’ and ‘agents’, and yet we shall see that their neutrality in the process was quite problematic. Overall, in none of the six countries was appropriation of the state apparatus and resources by one candidate or party brought to court, and none of the threats in the laws was ever implemented.

Versatile politicians  In Central African elections, the media sometimes had a hard time presenting the various candidates ‘fairly’, in a consistent way, because of the politicians’ versatile and unexpected about-turns and contradictions. In some countries, incumbent presidents presented themselves as ‘independent’ candidates, although they were backed by a party machine. This was the case of Joseph Kabila in the DRC, who was supported by the PPRD, yet wished to be seen as a unifier, free of any partisan label. In the provincial elections, held on 29 October 2006 at the same time as the second round of the presidential elections, numerous candidates were dubbed ‘chameleons’, successively claiming to be affiliated to one or the other presidential candidate. In Mbandaka (Equateur Province), where the first round was largely favourable to Jean-Pierre Bemba, candidates from parties allied with Kabila had the name of their party removed from their banners for the second round. The banner of a party close to Bemba stated explicitly: ‘Let’s remain vigilant. Let us back our own candidates first. We can never be sure of others.’31 Nor could the media avoid reminding voters of the sometimes murky past of most of the candidates, who had been previously politically involved with the same figures they were now lambasting. In the CAR, Le Citoyen recalled that candidates in the presidential elections had all (bar one) already been involved in politics. If

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all candidates systematically paint an apocalyptic view of the country’s sociopolitical and economic situation … not one of all these ‘candidates above all suspicion’ has the courage to recognize his historical, moral and political responsibility in the well-known decline of the country and its people.32

In Chad, L’Observateur likewise complained: ‘It will always be the same candidates. The very ones who haunt the “Pink Palace” [the president’s official residence] at night but claim to be radical opponents when facing the crowds.’33 These candidates, in fact, ‘all learned from Déby’.34 And Notre Temps explained: ‘Political parties in Chad do not aim to seize power. The blatant ambition of the leaders of political parties is to participate in power. They are willing to turn their backs on their supporters and betray them to participate in power.’35 Moreover, the alignment of defeated contenders from the first round behind one of the two remaining candidates in the second round was often rooted in personal concern and ambitions, and this caused rifts between candidates and parties. In 2005 in the CAR, several defeated candidates decided to support Bozizé in the second round, thereby going against their party’s wishes and doing the opposite of what they had been claiming they would do a few weeks before. And in 2006 in the DRC, many members of the historical opposition party UDPS decided, for personal reasons, to take part in the elections despite Etienne Tshisekedi’s refusal to participate. Citizens certainly needed to be informed of these sometimes obscure decisions; but it was not always easy for the media to do so without casting some doubt on the politicians’ credibility, and therefore over the potential democratic change expected of the electoral process itself.

The publication of opinion polls  In countries where polling organizations are well established, their surveys have become so influential and important to competing candidates and parties that the regulatory authorities have begun to control they way in which they are conducted and how the results are disseminated by the media. In Central Africa, no polling organization had any real credibility at the time of the elections we are considering. However, informal opinion polls were circulating, and several regulatory authorities decided to control their publication. In the Republic of Congo, for instance, the CSLC stipulated in 2007 that ‘the publication, dissemination and commenting of any opinion poll during the week preceding the election and during the election are prohibited’. What was then presented as an opinion poll was often closer to rumours or disinformation. In 1993 in Burundi, the media had published predictions, presented as opinion polls (in a country in which there was no infrastructure to organize anything serious). These predictions, which announced the clear victory of one side or another, allegedly contributed to an increase in tension

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between the communities and exacerbated accusations of fraud (Palmans 2008: 221–7). In the CAR, various forms of predictions were repeatedly published ­during the 2005 elections. During the campaign for the first round, an opinion poll that put Kolingba out in front and with Bozizé only fourth, circulated in papers close to the RDC candidate, and was soon disputed by Bozizé’s team. Later, Le Confident wrote, in an article dated 3 May: if the general election had been held on 1 May, as suggested by the CEMI, the outgoing president would have lost. According to an opinion poll carried out by a colleague who wishes to remain anonymous, two out of five Central African citizens were not going to perform their civic duty.36

In neighbouring DRC, three Congolese institutions shared the field of opinion polls: Berci, Experts and Les Points. All three were criticized for their political allegiances. Although the three companies published a number of opinion polls during the election period, they never revealed who paid for them to be commissioned. A first survey, conducted by Les Points in partnership with Le Soft International, placed Joseph Kabila far ahead, followed by Pierre Pay-Pay and Antoine Gizenga. These results were published only by those papers close to the serving president.37 The opposition press then cited another poll, supposedly conducted by a company that nobody had ever heard of, Stadde (Statistics for Development and Democracy), which claimed that 51 per cent of those polled thought the elections were rigged; 31 per cent thought the international community was playing a negative role; and 19.4 per cent regarded the international community as neo-colonialist, while just 31 per cent applauded what it was doing.38 Radio Okapi’s ‘Electoral Charter’ required the reliability of any opinion poll to be evaluated by the editorial board prior to publication. That is, the radio station had to know the name of the company that conducted the poll, who had commissioned it, the questions asked, the methodology used, the population sample, the procedures used, the level of response and the margin of error. Moreover, ‘Radio Okapi shall, as a rule, never refer to an opinion poll in its headlines … Results can be mentioned on air according to a previously established procedure and a precise wording.’ The fair allocation of print space and airtime

Not only do the media have to cover all contenders and give citizens access to the content of the political parties’ programmes, but they are also supposed to do so in a fair and equal manner. In the previous chapter, we outlined the regulations adopted by the regulatory authorities before the campaigns to ensure equal access by protagonists to the public media and balanced coverage in the private media. In most countries, the electoral law itself imposed restrictions and obligations in this domain.

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However, setting down the regulations in black and white is not enough to guarantee balanced coverage. Independent authorities need to be able to enforce the measures and penalize offenders. Hence the supervising and monitoring mechanisms set up either by local bodies (notably the regulatory authorities) or by foreign partners (generally the EU and the UN).

Media-monitoring mechanisms  Initiatives to supervise election campaigns in the media vary in size and scope. Some projects rely on sophisticated recording equipment; others are more makeshift, limiting themselves to reading the press, listening to the radio and watching television news. Some centres have significant storage capacities and computers with statistics software; others focus on qualitative analysis of the speeches and the media content. Some need to produce reports immediately, so as to redress the balance or issue warnings and sanctions; others only finish their reports months after the elections. The methodology selected thus depends on the task facing the monitoring team and on the material and human resources available.39 In the DRC, there were three monitoring centres supervising the media during the elections. These were dependent on the HAM, the EU and the MONUC. Occasional observation mechanisms were also established by the self-regulatory body OMEC and the organization defending press freedom, JED. The HAM’s CEMPC had sophisticated equipment, a team of 18 analysts in Kinshasa, and two staff members in each province who were equipped with the basics to follow the local media. However, on 27 July, three days prior to the first round, the HAM was looted by militants leaving Jean-Pierre Bemba’s campaign rally in the Tata Raphaël stadium. Every piece of the regulator’s equipment was either destroyed or stolen. The HAM had to move into small rented offices in a secure building in the city centre, and the monitoring team was hastily relocated to two small rooms on the premises of an international NGO. A dozen cheap television sets, recorders and radios were purchased. Despite these precarious conditions, the CEMPC dutifully fulfilled its archiving and analysis tasks during the rest of the electoral process. In Rwanda, in 2003, the HCP’s monitoring team consisted of three people. The media material was gathered and analysed afterwards, with a significant delay between the polls and publication of the report. Such delayed feedback meant that the monitoring reports were of no use to the regulator during the campaign in calling to account those media that were blatantly biased. In Burundi, the CNC’s monitoring centre employed four analysts who produced weekly and monthly reports detailing, for each radio station, the main subjects discussed, as well as the airtime allocated to the various protagonists. This work did not, however, result in a final summary report outlining recommendations for the media and the regulator. In 2005 in the CAR, the HCC, with neither office nor equipment, mon­

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itored the media in extremely precarious conditions. It dispatched its members to national radio and television to follow the recordings of the campaign messages of parties and candidates and to report any potential violations. Two councillors took turns daily in the public broadcasting outlets, monitoring the radio news and the candidates’ advertisements.40 Equipped with only a notepad and a pen, they followed the programmes live. Because of a lack of time and equipment, these went out without having been screened by either the radio or the regulator. In any case, the candidates’ messages were generally delivered live from the radio’s studios. In some cases, such as in the Republic of Congo in 2002, the only media-monitoring operation was that of the EU election observers, who did not share their results with local stakeholders during the election process. A self-regulatory authority, the OCM, had been set up in February 2001 but had neither technical equipment nor staff. The EU observer mission, which consisted of a team of five coordinators, 18 long-term and 19 shortterm observers, carried out quantitative and qualitative monitoring of Radio Congo and Télé Congo. A total of 91 news broadcasts on Radio Congo and 78 hours of programmes on Télé Congo were recorded and analysed, but these important archives left the country with the mission. By the time of the 2007 legislative elections, the CSLC had been set up, but was in a precarious position. Although the regulator was responsible for drawing lots for the order in which candidates’ campaign messages would be broadcast and for supervising their recording, it was unable to verify if these campaign messages had been aired accordingly.

The quantitative imbalance in state media  The main focus for the monitoring operators was the public media – more specifically, the actual airing of campaign messages pre-recorded under the supervision of the regulator, and the balanced coverage given to contenders in news bulletins and political debates. All monitoring centres first demonstrated the profound imbalance of  the public broadcaster in favour of the outgoing president. In the DRC, the  CEMPC report on the first round showed that RTNC ‘did not respect its obligations founded on the principles of equal access, balance and fairness’ (CEMPC 2006a: 12). Figures showed that, during the three-week campaign, RTNC spent almost two hours of its television news on Joseph Kabila (1  hour 56 minutes 59 seconds), whereas it devoted 1 minute 27 seconds to Jean-Pierre Bemba, 3 minutes 11 seconds to Azarias Ruberwa, and 16 minutes 30 seconds to Pierre Pay-Pay. All other candidates were given less than a minute’s coverage. Only those programmes sponsored by the HAM guaranteed a minimum of on-air presence to the various candidates. La Référence Plus reported that: ‘The RTNC, which is, in theory, a public medium, has been privatized by the head of state’s political family. It is as

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if we were back in the worst days of the single-party regime.’ The newspaper denounced ‘a dangerous move towards the cult of personality’ and recommended that the RTNC ‘be placed, between the two rounds, under the supervision of the HAM, which will be able to guarantee neutrality’.41 This imbalance grew during the campaign for the second round: between 14 and 26 October, Joseph Kabila and his allies from the Alliance of the Presidential Majority (AMP) occupied 2 hours 24 minutes of airtime during television news on RTNC1, against 10 minutes for Jean-Pierre Bemba and his Union for the Nation. The president and his political party were granted 1 hour 48 minutes on radio news, whereas Bemba and his supporters were given 1 minute 55 seconds (CEMPC 2006b: 4–6). On 27 October, two days before the second round, the RTNC decided not to broadcast the last interview recorded with Jean-Pierre Bemba and scheduled in the programme for the campaign, although a long interview with President Joseph Kabila was aired. For a long time the HAM remained inactive in the face of this blatant imbalance. The regulator claimed that it was trying to breathe some diversity into the RTNC by means of the programmes it sponsored. But ‘the negotiation of space in the public media for all opinions soon led to a head-on clash between the regulatory authority and the Ministry of Information, which was generally run by the ruling party’s allies’.42 The HAM ultimately penalized the RTNC by decreeing, on 31 October, the suspension for 48 hours of  the public station from 1 November, i.e. the day following the last stage in the polls. As was underlined in the EU’s provisional report, ‘the RTNC was long exempt from any control. Indeed, the HAM only denounced the public network’s partiality belatedly, and without accompanying it with any punitive measures.’43 Yet the CEMPC report was explicit: RTNC1 clearly favoured Joseph Kabila, his party, the PPRD, and his political alliance, the AMP. Kabila thus benefited from an undeniable advantage during the election campaign for the second round, with a coverage rate of 90 per cent airtime compared to 10 per cent for Jean-Pierre Bemba.

However, this report was only published several weeks after the election. How is one to explain such an imbalance? First and foremost, as civil servants, public media journalists probably lacked any room for manoeuvre: ‘RTNC journalists wanted to protect their interests and thus their relationship with their employer, which is to say with the minister.’44 Others believed that: ‘Within the RTNC, a small number of journalists became aware of the fact that it was necessary to work more professionally to reduce the ministry’s grip. But so far they have not had the space to do so.’45 How could things have been otherwise when the managing director of RTNC, Kipolongo Mukambilwa, was also a member of Kabila’s campaign team?

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Although no specific document regulated the campaign in the Republic of Congo in 2002, the CONEL recommended that the public media should ensure equal access for candidates. The EU observers noted, however, that this recommendation was only partly met. On Radio Congo, Sassou Nguesso and his support committees were given 65 per cent of airtime devoted to politics and the election. The main challenger, André Milongo, received only 12 per cent. Three of the ten candidates were given no visibility at all. As regards Télé Congo, it devoted 52 per cent of its airtime on electoral and political news to the president and his support committees, compared to 12  per cent for the candidate Milongo, and between 2 per cent and 8 per cent for the other eight candidates. Only in the programme devoted to the election campaign, Echos de campagne (‘Campaign Echoes’), was access to the airwaves fair during the presidential election: all candidates who wished to were able to present their manifesto. Even the opposition cartel benefited from some coverage in news broadcasts. However, President Sassou Nguesso was dominant in all other programmes: The President and his support committees were the main subjects of all news programmes in the public broadcasting media, since coverage of their activities made up more than half the time devoted to politics and the election. Moreover, the support of government members also contributed to increasing the space available to that candidate. (EU-EOM 2002: 20)

In the case of the Republic of Congo, other factors have been put forward to explain this imbalance in the public media, besides the work habits of staff members who had been accustomed for years to receiving orders. During the 2007 campaign, the CSLC drew attention to the public media’s financial and material difficulties: ‘The media cannot provide simultaneously 17 reporting teams that need to follow on a daily basis each candidate’s activities. Campaign managers have to be dynamic enough to provide information to the newsrooms.’46 In the CAR, the HCC also believed that parties and candidates bore some responsibility for the lack of equal access, since some did not use their allocated slots. The same went for the DRC, where some candidates ‘did not make the effort to respond to the invitations of the organizers of public debates, much to the regret of viewers who were eager to discover the men who wanted to govern them after the elections’.47 In 2008 in Rwanda, equal access was not guaranteed either, since the independent candidate was unable to get to the regional public radio stations to make use of his free airtime. The PL and the PSD only used half their allocated time.

Qualitative imbalance: more complex indicators  The imbalance in the public media is often a qualitative issue, as well as a quantitative one. The EU monitoring team in the Republic of Congo in 2002 revealed that President

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Nguesso’s activities were not treated in the same way as those of other candidates: An analysis of the tone of radio coverage shows that the President was almost always presented extremely positively (71% of the airtime devoted to him), while other candidates were the subject of neutral coverage. A similar trend was apparent on television, where the tone of the coverage of Sassou Nguesso’s campaign was 72% positive. (EU-EOM 2002: 22)

Sassou Nguesso’s candidacy was systematically associated with a peaceful future for the country and with positive – even enthusiastic – assessments by journalists of his actions as head of state. Another illustrative example in this respect is that of Rwanda in 2003, where, given the belated creation of the HCP’s monitoring team, the EU was alone in analysing media coverage of the presidential campaign. The final report of the observation mission concluded that the public media were careful to ensure that the various parties and independent candidates were sufficiently visible, according to their legal obligation. They presented each candidate’s programme and granted each one 10 minutes of free airtime in the evenings. However, concluded the report, ‘in general information programmes, the balance clearly leaned in favour of Kagame and his party, the RPF’ (EU-EOM 2003b: 4). While Kagame benefited from 60 per cent of the total airtime devoted to the four candidates, he also had a qualitative advantage: he was systematically presented in a positive light. In contrast, the media kept reminding people that his main challenger, Faustin Twagiramungu, was accused of ‘divisionism’ and that some activists had left his party. Twagiramungu even publicly protested during a press conference, accusing the public media of being partial and of manipulating information. In 2008, the MHC decided to devote a specific monitoring report to the public media. It once again observed a blatant imbalance in the coverage of the RPF and its candidates over the coverage of other parties. According to the MHC, this imbalance in the treatment of candidates was, in part, due to the disorganized nature of the campaign. Contrary to the provisions of Directive no. 008, ORINFOR had not given the regulator or all contending parties a detailed schedule of the news bulletins and talk shows planned for the campaign. The talk shows were organized at the last minute, and were dependent on a lucky phone call and the good will of ORINFOR journalists. ‘It is thus not surprising’, the report noted, ‘that politicians either came on air unprepared, or did not attend last-minute programmes’ (MHC 2008b: 26). The independent candidate claimed only to have been informed – via a third party – of his right of access to the public media on 9 September, four days before the end of the campaign. He then made his way to the ORINFOR offices to seek an explanation, but was told that he should make his request in writing.

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Qualitative analysis of the public media material is thus a significant contribution to the monitoring of the campaign, since the notions of fairness and balance are not strictly mathematical. However, such analysis requires the use of indicators that are harder to measure in absolute terms, such as the  positive or negative tone of reports or the derogatory or flattering character of the words used to describe a candidate.

President of the republic or candidate in the race?  One of the most problematic of all questions to do with the allocation of airtime is that of the distinction between electoral initiatives and normal institutional activity. How is one to distinguish normal coverage of presidential activities from the flattering coverage of a presidential candidate seeking to renew his term in office? The monitoring centres of the DRC and Rwanda underlined the difficulties they faced in attempting to establish distinctive criteria to decide between these two kinds of content. In the CAR, when observers denounced a blatant bias in the state media in favour of François Bozizé, the HCC maintained that a distinction needed to be drawn between Bozizé the candidate and Bozizé the serving president, and concluded that there was no real bias. Most of the information disseminated by public broadcasters was on ‘government activities related to the elections’.48 An observer has remarked that, back in 1996 in Chad, although slots devoted to the campaign were balanced, ‘this was not the case as regards national news programmes broadcast by these same media’, which paid disproportionate attention to President Déby’s activities (Buijtenhuijs 1998: 138). The same happened in 2001, when all candidates were, in fact, allowed to present their electoral messages in the order set by the HCC, but where there was a blatant imbalance resulting from coverage of presidential activities. In 2002 in the Republic of Congo, the EU observers showed that 91 per cent of the media coverage of the president’s activities dealt with his campaign, and only 9 per cent with his function as president. The confusion persisted: in a report on a meeting between the DRC’s foreign minister and President Sassou, the latter appeared wearing his campaign T-shirt (EU-EOM 2002: 20). Running presidents often behave as though the public media were mere instruments to promote their actions. This attitude dates back to the days of the single-party regimes and seems deeply rooted in many presidents’ cabinets. During the election campaign in the CAR, for instance, Bozizé’s campaign director took over national radio and television to respond to a press release put out by the opposition in the private press. The HCC intervened to emphasize that ‘national radio and television are public bodies at the service of the Central African people’ and that ‘the right of reply can only apply in the media that published the article or the litigious statement’. The HCC also advised the general managers of Radio Centrafrique and Télé Centrafrique that ‘in the event of a second offence, they shall be liable

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to disciplinary proceedings, in accordance with the law’.49 The president’s entourage did not take this threat seriously, however. In Chad, the private press repeatedly denounced the fact that ‘Chad National Radio, which is normally meant to be a public station, is now merely the personal property of the ruling party’.50 And Le Temps denounced the ‘official media’s overkill’ in the service of President Déby’s campaign.51 The only example considered in this book in which the serving president was not a candidate in the post-conflict election is that of Burundi. In this case, the imbalance was less striking, although the party of the serving president still did have an advantage. The CNC and the EU monitoring team reported that the public media gave more coverage to FRODEBU, the party of President Domitien Ndayizeye, who had not been authorized to compete in the presidential elections. FRODEBU was given 70.8 per cent of the airtime devoted to politicians on national television and 48.4 per cent on national radio (EU-EOM 2005: 43). But Radio Burundi also disseminated unfavourable information about FRODEBU – for instance, when the party was suspected of trying to stir up ethnic conflict, when it refused to accept the results of communal elections, and when a journalist was arrested on the orders of the serving president. The public newspaper Le Renouveau was also more nuanced in 2005 than it had been during the 1993 elections. It was still in the service of the government, but power was now shared between the various parties involved in the peace agreements, and this led to greater pluralism in the paper. According to Eva Palmans, the newspaper was content to report events and had lost its propagandist tone (Palmans 2008: 329). It was thus thanks both to the absence of the incumbent president in the contest and to political power-sharing that the Burundian public media displayed increased pluralism.

Balance and neutrality in the private media  Unlike public media, private media are not bound by any legal obligation of balance. However, they are often enjoined to be fair by regulatory or self-regulatory bodies. Those media that have been freed from local political pressure thanks to foreign aid, and that usually claim to perform public-service missions, are often committed to covering the campaign in a neutral and balanced manner. This was certainly the case with Radio Okapi in the DRC, Radio Ndeke Luka in the CAR and Radio Isanganiro in Burundi. Radio Okapi’s ‘Electoral Charter’ stipulated: During an election period, it is absolutely necessary to be careful to give balanced coverage of the competing political forces so that they are treated fairly, which is to say in a just and reasonable manner. The relative weight of a party and its real importance are determining factors. (p. 13)

As a result, ‘balance must be achieved in programmes and in a group

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of programmes’ (p. 11). The Charter provided for a disputes procedure, authorizing a party that was dissatisfied with the allocated airtime to make a complaint, though none was lodged during the 2006 campaign. In the CAR, Radio Ndeke Luka supplied the HCC with its schedule for candidate slots in order to obtain the regulatory authority’s approval. The 11 presidential candidates were allocated rigorously identical slots: ten minutes per candidate per day. For the legislative elections, it was once again impossible to have all candidates express themselves: a special ‘Elections’ slot was created, during which candidates (or their spokesmen) could have their say. The radio made sure that no party monopolized the slot. In Burundi, in 2005, various monitoring reports showed that, of the private radio stations, Radio Isanganiro made a real effort to be fair. The only private radio that was identified as being partial was RPA, even though the imbalance was essentially qualitative. RPA ‘gave more attention to the CNDD-FDD (34.3%), FRODEBU (20.8%) and the MRC (20.8%)’. But it was at the qualitative level that the imbalance was really obvious: ‘RPA clearly seems to favour the CNDD-FDD and the MRC. Both parties benefited from equivalent “favourable” airtime on the RPA, respectively 77.9% and 85.7% of their allocated time. This is due primarily to the lengthy and live broadcasting of their rallies’ (EU-EOM 2005: 44). In Rwanda, in 2003, the EU underlined the private print media’s efforts at impartiality, since the papers covered all candidates (although coverage of the serving president’s candidacy was more favourable). One notable exception was that of the newspaper Umuseso, the only one to publish Twagiramungu’s criticism of Paul Kagame’s position in the army, which should, from the legal perspective, have prevented him from taking part in the elections (EU-EOM 2003b: 46). Finally, it is worth remembering that, in a country such as the DRC, some of the private media (38 broadcast media and 15 newspapers) were obliged to provide a certain minimum coverage of the various candidates since they had been paid to do so. On several occasions, the HAM called the media to order because, although they had accepted the subsidies, they had omitted to broadcast the debate programmes recorded under the supervision of the regulatory authority. The media’s lack of enthusiasm was understandable: an audience survey in July 2006 in Kinshasa showed a drop in the audience figures of some private stations (Antenne A and Raga TV) that had broadcast the electoral evening shows produced by the HAM. Meanwhile, Mirador TV’s audience, which had been showing a Nigerian television series, had grown by 29 per cent (Experts 2006: 9). The risks of going off the rails

Absence of equal access, quantitative and qualitative bias, lack of neutrality and fairness – these were not the only pitfalls lying in wait for the Central

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African media during the election campaigns. Despite efforts to regulate the sector, to set up monitoring and sanctions, to support the media and to train journalists, not all the media kept on the rails of ethical and responsible coverage. Both public and private media are obliged to respect the law, be that electoral law, press law or even the criminal code. However, in post-conflict countries, the power of this ‘norm’ had often been weakened by years of arbitrary violence and impunity, not least in the media sector. Infractions (by or against the media) often went unpunished, although they could have had serious repercussions in the tense periods surrounding the elections. Ignorance among journalists and media owners of the principles they had to abide by often mixed with a certainty that they would go unpunished if they transgressed those rules. The following section illustrates the most frequent forms of abuse – cases where journalists or the media actually deviated from the path laid down by the legal and ethical framework. It also shows how, on occasion, steps were taken to bring them back on to the straight and narrow.

The campaign prior to the campaign  A first, recurrent (and relatively trivial) offence was for the media to launch themselves into the campaign long before it officially started. In the DRC, where many media belonged to presidential candidates, the 2006 campaign started long before the date set – 29 June. Back in April, the media had begun to promote their favourite candidates (or, as the case may be, to target their rivals). The media close to Bemba kept referring to the two main candidates as ndeke (for Kabila: a bird ready to fly off to new pastures) and soso (for Bemba: a rooster, always present in the farmyard). On 15 April, the president of the HAM was forced to state that these words would be unacceptable during the election campaign. The regulator began a tour, visiting all the television stations in order to call them to order: ‘We have noticed that several media have indeed started the campaign early  … We remind them of what the law says in this regard.’52 It did not have much impact and, in May, RFI reported that a real media war had started between media belonging to Jean-Pierre Bemba and those supporting Joseph Kabila. CCTV and CKTV (on Bemba’s side) and Digital Congo and the national RTNC (on Kabila’s side) did battle on the airwaves. The HAM drew attention to ‘the responsibility of political actors to put an end to these reciprocal smear campaigns that are distancing us from the democratic ideal’.53 On 12 June, the HAM’s president, Modeste Mutinga, expressed his concerns to a UN Security Council delegation that was visiting Kinshasa: ‘These candidates, notably those from the presidential sphere [ Joseph Kabila and the four vice-presidents], are the owners of media that have already taken part in a hate campaign that could threaten the electoral process.’54 The campaign

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was inevitably going to be hot, but the fact that it was launched months before the fixed date was a major source of concern. For the population would spend months and months surrounded by aggressive and fearsome propaganda. In 2003 in Rwanda, the campaign also started before it was legally supposed to. Prior to the constitutional referendum campaign, President Kagame undertook a tour of the provinces that was widely covered by the public and private media. The reports, photographs and articles devoted to this tour often bore the tone of an election campaign (EU-EOM 2003a: 26–7). The members of the EU mission called Kagame a ‘master of broadcast media’: His official visits throughout the country, his declarations and press conferences took up 59% of the total time given over to political communications in general in the country’s electronic media.

His party exploited rallies that had been organized for other purposes in order to convey its campaign messages. It also used ubusabane ceremonies of unity and reconciliation and other activities held in the context of development programmes, the mobilization of women and young people, and even festivities recalling the RPF’s victory (HCP 2003: 13). In the Central African Republic, too, Abel Goumba – the country’s vicepresident and a presidential candidate – was so annoyed at President Bozizé’s activism and the extensive media coverage he had enjoyed since early 2005 that he published a memorandum in the press, drawing attention to ‘the recurrent excesses that are now an integral part of the official ceremonies and other activities in the provinces, which all constitute blatant election campaign actions’.55

Partisan media Electoral regulations often prohibited news media from exclusively serving one political party. Yet many media in Central Africa were, at the time of those polls, politically oriented, or even profoundly partisan. The print media were still marked by a tradition of opinion journalism and often clearly voiced their political allegiance. Although a large number of broadcast media claimed to be ‘community’ or ‘private commercial’ outlets, and thus not the property of a political party, many nevertheless had close ties to parties or candidates. Though not illegal as such, and though they did not contravene any regulations, such allegiances often pushed the media off the rails of balance and fairness while covering elections. In Central Africa, relations between the media and political parties are a very tricky subject, as the issues of media ownership and of the sources of financing for press outlets are nowhere clearly defined, regulated or available to the public. In the region, after the conflicts, there were almost no remaining media officially attached to a political party. But some media did belong to key

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political figures whose careers were primarily in politics and who had created media outlets to serve those careers. Others were owned by professional journalists or businessmen who later decided to enter politics. Yet others were run by media professionals who, during a campaign, placed their experience in communications at the disposal of a candidate, while retaining their position in their media outlet. Unable to muster any legal measures that could clarify these ambiguous situations, the media watchdogs were often reduced to calling media to order during the campaigns – largely to no avail. In the DRC, four days before the launch of the official campaign for the first round, the HAM was already reporting numerous violations of the Directive on the election campaign, which urged the media to be balanced and impartial. The regulator thus reminded the managers of broadcast media that ‘they were exposing their media outlets to severe sanctions that could lead to the immediate suspension of their participation in the campaign, and even to the suspension of the television or radio station at fault’.56 On 11 July, the HAM organized a press conference and publicly denounced blatantly partisan media. Aside from RTNC, Digital Congo and Congo Web Television (which all supported Joseph Kabila) and CCTV (which backed Jean-Pierre Bemba), many other media outlets were singled out: RTGA and the newspaper L’Avenir (property of Pius Muabilu Mbayu), Global TV (Nzuzi wa Mbombo), Tropicana TV ( Jean-Pierre Kibambi Shintwa), Afrika TV (Azarias Ruberwa), Radio Télévision Lisanga (Roger Lumbala), Molière TV (Léon Nembalemba) and the daily Uhuru (Colette Tshomba). All these media outlets were owned by key figures who were running either in the presidential or the parliamentary elections. All these individuals continued their media activities despite being candidates, placing their media businesses at the service of their campaigns.57 Therefore, media managers always used doublespeak: either they were expressing themselves as party members or political figures, or they were expressing themselves as journalists who were aware of their responsibilities.58

Despite the HAM’s official warning, the media did not embark on more impartial coverage, and one week later, faced with this ongoing situation, the HAM announced a first and very important sanction: it banned six stations (RTNC1, CCTV, CKTV, Digital Congo, Global TV and Afrika TV) from airing electoral debates for 72 hours.59 Digital Congo and RTNC were the only two stations not to comply with the injunction, though the HAM had no effective means at its disposal to force them to observe the ban. Bemba’s militants’ resentment of the HAM was obvious and probably motivated the looting of the institution ten days later, on 27 July. It should be noted that the owner’s rule did not apply everywhere. In Chad, N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo belonged to Saleh Kebzabo, a presidential candidate in 2001, and Le Progrès to an ally of Idriss Déby. Nevertheless, this

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did not noticeably affect their handling of information. N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo clearly expressed its relationship to its owner and founder, who was on the campaign trail: ‘His business is his business; our business is our business.’ However, he was the only candidate that the paper could follow on his campaign throughout the country.

Journalists as activists or advisers  Journalists and media managers are entitled to their political opinions and can define the editorial line of their newsrooms accordingly, but can they act as party activists or as the communications adviser for a candidate during an election campaign? Professional ethics would suggest that the answer is ‘no’. But there is sometimes a fine line between what is acceptable and what is not. In the CAR, each newspaper supported his or her candidate, but that did not prevent it from paying attention to other candidates. Some editors were directly involved in the campaign of a presidential candidate. For instance, Mathurin Momet (Le Confident) campaigned openly for Olivier Gabirault and acted as his communications adviser. Judes Zossé (L’Hirondelle) and Ferdinand Samba (Le Démocrate) clearly showed their support for André Kolingba, while Bruno Bafio Ganzoui (Les Dernières Nouvelles) supported François Bozizé. However, as the BONUCA information officer noted, ‘their sympathies were not very visible during the elections. All parties were ­allowed to express themselves, even though each newspaper had a political colour.’60 During the 2003 presidential elections in Rwanda, the director of the newspaper Umuseso, Ismail Mbonigaba, was also the spokesman for the candidate Faustin Twagiramungu, but this did not prevent his paper from covering other candidates’ campaigns. But the question has then to do not so much with the quantitative aspect (the fact that all candidates could get some attention) as with the qualitative: to what extent could those journalists actually ensure honest, fair, unbiased and impartial coverage for all candidates? In the DRC, aside from the staff working in a media outlet that belonged to a candidate, journalists campaigned for an assortment of parties. Sur­prisingly, the activism of journalists with different political affiliations but working on the same paper could lead to some internal diversity in the published information. Some journalists also attempted to preserve their independence, but this proved difficult in tense times on account of the ‘strong political pressure that is often exerted on them and that in fact limits the room for manoeuvre they enjoy in the exercise of their functions’ (EURAC 2007: 27). Moreover, this overlapping of the political and journalistic fields had a major impact on the solidarity of media professionals. Since the media continued to reflect political affiliations, ‘so long as the political class remains divided, so too will the media remain divided, and any professional consensus will be impossible’, noted the president of the private broadcasters’ association ANEAP, Kibambi Shintwa.61

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Choosing for democracy or peace Some media also justified their political support for a party or candidate by arguing that it was necessary to have a political change, consolidate democracy or ensure peace. Far from considering themselves partisan, these media first and foremost believed that they were campaigning for democratic values, and their support for one or another actor in the process was simply intended the better to safeguard these values. That was the case with the so-called ‘opposition’ newspapers and radio stations in Chad, especially in 2001. Their aim was less to support opposition candidates at the polls than to show their animosity to Idriss Déby, who was viewed as unable to bring either peace or development to the country. Nevertheless, the journalists were accused of serving opposition political parties. This was also the position defended by RPA, which was the only private radio station in Burundi to be accused of political bias during the 2005 elections. The close association between RPA and the CNDD-FDD was, in fact, the source of a major incident that pitted private radio stations against the CNC during the election campaign. Just after the legislative elections on 14 July, the CNC announced the suspension of RPA for breaching the regulations on information pluralism and balance during the election campaign. The station was condemned for having broadcast live political rallies of just the CNDD-FDD and the MRC: ‘Other parties held rallies at the same time. FRODEBU, for example, held a rally in Kinama, a neighbourhood of Bujumbura-Mairie. But these parties were not given any airtime.’62 The CNC concluded that RPA had violated articles 6 and 10 of Resolution no. 100 of 16 May 2005. Article 6 stipulated that ‘the broadcast media and the print media shall ensure that each political party and each list of independent candidates taking part in the elections is treated fairly’. Article 10 recommended that ‘as regards media coverage of events related to the elections, the media shall enforce the rules of neutrality, objectivity, impartiality and fairness’. RPA refused to recognize its faults, however. In an interview aired on several radio stations, its director, Alexis Sinduhije, defended his point of view, using strong words against the members of the CNC, and in particular the head of the regulatory authority, Jean-Pierre Manda. After mediation by the Association of Burundian Journalists and other professional organizations, RPA accepted suspension of its programmes for 48 hours. On 20 July, when the deadline expired, the CNC refused to lift the sanctions, as had been agreed during the mediation. RPA then decided to resume broadcasting. The police intervened to shut down the station by force on 22 July. Radio stations stood by RPA and so began a trial of strength over the airwaves that led to Jean-Pierre Manda’s resignation. RPA finally resumed broadcasting on 30 July. Alexis Sinduhije later acknowledged that his radio station had deliberately supported the CNDD-FDD, which he saw as ‘the only party likely to consolidate peace’. He would even acknowledge that he had advised this

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party on its campaign strategies. The newspaper Arc-en-Ciel would justify the radio’s attitude thus: ‘One is not born a member of the CNDD-FDD, one becomes so. If Alexis Sinduhije ended up in the arms of the victorious party, it is due to President Ndayizeye, who harassed him and continues to harass him administratively.’63 Support for the former rebel movement was, for the RPA, governed far more by the desire for political change than by any affinity with the political opinions of the CNDD-FDD. Still, it probably did undermine the credibility of the radio among a section of its audience. This commitment to peace by one of the major radio stations was unsurprising in a country that for a decade had been a ‘laboratory of peace journalism’ (Burton 2006). Are journalists free to pursue their professional work according to an objective other than that of providing honest, rigorous and impartial information, even if that other objective is something as noble as peace or democracy? This question has been at the root of much debate over the past ten years on the issue of peace journalism (Howard 2005). The issue is not whether journalists can have their own opinions, their personal beliefs and ideological affinities (of course they can); rather it is a matter of deciding whether or not they should be able to steer their professional practices if they see that the opinions that are most likely to guarantee peace and stability need to be promoted and supported. In Rwanda, the DRC and the Central African Republic, where workshops on peace journalism have regularly been organized, some participants underlined the fact that when journalists support a political party that is considered to be the best option for stabilization of the country, they are (negatively) accused of being biased; but when they praise the actions of a UN peacekeeping mission, while omitting any criticism that might attach to it, they are (positively) called ‘peace journalists’ … In journalism manuals, the issue of journalistic commitment is resolved by two well-known rules: the distinction between fact and commentary, and the systematic use of multiple and diverging sources. Beyond these two principles, the choice of what can or cannot be said is the journalist’s responsibility, in dialogue with his colleagues and guided by his conscience.

Inciting hatred and abusive comments  In all countries under consideration, the criminal code criminalizes defamation, abuse, racist or xenophobic comments that are harmful to a person’s reputation or integrity. Some electoral laws (in Burundi, the CAR and the DRC) reiterated the prohibition on defamation and attacks on the human person. Journalistic codes of ethics also confirmed these legal and ethical limitations. For instance, article 13 of the Rwandan Code of Ethics enjoined journalists never to ‘incite violence of any kind whatsoever, including hatred, tension and animosity based on ethnicity or religion’. Article 3 of the Burundian Press Code of Ethics recommended that ‘a journalist must exercise his profession

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honestly and objectively. He must abhor lies and seek truth as the ultimate goal. He shall consider libel, abuse, defamation and the manipulation of facts as the most important forms of professional misconduct.’ Article 5 of the Code of Ethics in the DRC called on journalists to ‘ban abuse, defamation, malicious gossip, slander, unfounded allegations, tampering with documents, manipulation of facts, lies, incitement of hatred (whether religious, ethnic, tribal, regional or racial)’, and insisted that they should not promote any ‘negative moral principles’ in the daily practice of their profession. Despite all this, the post-conflict election campaigns generated a radical­ ization of political and media discourses, and some journalists lost sight of their professional (and even their legal) obligations. Xenophobic comments appeared in the DRC media even before the start of the campaign for the first round. These comments targeted ‘Westerners’ (the international community was accused of manipulating the electoral process in order to impose its preferred candidate) and ‘non-Congolese’, President Kabila in particular.64 In May 2006, an article published in the newspaper Le Phare, close to the UDPS, was titled: ‘Blinded by mercantilism and negro-phobia, the Belgians are rubbing salt in our wounds.’ The article denounced the Belgians’ desire to ‘subjugate’ the Congolese people ‘once and for all’, and claimed that they were ‘sadistic’, using ‘oppression’ and ‘tyranny’ against the people of the DRC. The soldiers of the EU peacekeeping force EUFOR were described as ‘European legionnaires’ and the UN Blue Helmets as ‘only having the aim of introducing a new war in the Congo’. Listing all the lies and acts of hypocrisy perpetrated by the Europeans to dominate and exploit the Congo, the paper concluded: ‘it is from the mouths of white men that these vices have spouted’.65 Throughout the campaign, the media close to Bemba insisted that he was the mwana mboka (‘native son’) and worked to disqualify his main rival by insisting on the ‘dubious nationality’ of Joseph Kabila and by questioning his family connection with the man he claimed as his father, Laurent-Désiré. These media widely relayed the MLC candidate’s xenophobic slogan: ‘100% Congolese’. But both sides hit below the belt. Between the two rounds, several newspapers were cited by the HAM for attacking Jean-Pierre Bemba. Tryphon Kin Kiey Mulumba’s Le Soft International received a one-month suspension for having published an article entitled ‘Bemba, son of Mobutu’,66 which was, according to the HAM, ‘a mixture of defamation, malicious gossip, an incitement to hatred, an attack on human dignity, privacy and the intimacy of third parties and the public authority’.67 Kin Kiey Mulumba, who had been elected to parliament in the first round, was personally ‘reprimanded’. At the same time, the newspaper L’Avenir was also criticized by the regulatory authority for having published an article entitled ‘Is future President Bemba a harbinger of death?’68 That same newspaper also

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received a five-day suspension for having reported on its front page the theft of 60 million Congolese francs ($138,000) at the Ministry of Public Works and Infrastructure, while illustrating the article with a photograph of Jean-Pierre Bemba. In August 2006, given the rise in the number of abuses, mainly libel and personal attacks, the HAM forced the directors of the six main television and radio stations (including RTNC) to sign a ‘Pledge to Respect Ethical Rules’ in the presence of MONUC and CIAT delegates. This document imposed a series of restrictions on the broadcasting of political information and violent images. Some 40 radio and television s­ tations broadcasting from Kinshasa were later invited to sign and joined the Pledge. The signatories had different views on this declaration, however, and probably their only common position was that they did not really feel too concerned by its content. On the one hand, Stéphane Kitutu O’Leontwa, the managing director of CCTV, Jean-Pierre Bemba’s channel, believed that there was a misunderstanding over what incitement to hatred was: ‘If, from my own ethical and philosophical perspective, I believe that one can discuss any topic freely, maybe others believe that some things cannot be spoken of, either in public or in another manner.’ By contrast, Frédéric Kitenge Kikumba, of Digital Congo, denounced the HAM’s collective approach: ‘It is not because one member was found guilty of misconduct that all others should repent for mistakes they are not guilty of.’69 The recurrent intervention of the HAM, backed by international partners, to push the media back on track irritated many journalists, who believed there was too much external interference in professional issues. Nevertheless, others saw it as a necessary counterweight to the lethargy of the self-regulatory authorities (the OMEC and the UNPC’s disciplinary commission), which were unable to make journalists aware of their responsibilities. Facing criticism, the self-regulatory OMEC eventually gathered together 80 journalists in mid-October, before the campaign for the second round started, for two days of self-criticism that culminated in the adoption of a ‘Consensual Code of Conduct’.70 It detailed once more all the principles that had to be respected by journalists, but also clearly identified politicians as the source of trouble. Thus, the Code enjoined the media ‘to abstain from relaying comments likely to incite violence, tribal, ethnic or racial hatred’ (point 7); but it also recommended that journalists ‘follow their conscience in the face of orders issued by political decision-makers or the owners of press outlets that are contrary to professional ethics’ (point 6).71

Politicians’ abuses In the DRC, as elsewhere, the media often sought to exonerate themselves by arguing that politicians, and not journalists, were responsible for the abuses: the goodwill of media professionals could not resist the pressure from their political sponsors, whose abuses were beyond

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the control of journalists. Acknowledging the lack of change in either the broadcast or the print media, the HAM decided, in the middle of the campaign, to make politicians who manipulate the media aware of their responsibilities. ‘The media have always respected the Code of Ethics,’ stated the HAM president, Modeste Mutinga, in an interview. ‘Generally speaking, it is politicians who use and abuse the media to convey reprehensible messages.’72 The HAM then opted for a strategy centred on individual embargoes. On 13 September 2006, it publicly announced an ‘embargo’ that banned access to the media for two politicians close to President Kabila who had made unacceptable comments during a debate programme entitled Grandes Questions (‘Important Questions’): a gagging order was placed on Bernadette Aena Tokwaulu (a member of the AMP) for having made strongly accusatory remarks against her political rivals, and Lambert Mende Omalanga (permanent deputy secretary and AMP spokesman) was deprived of access to any radio station for having incited hatred. Grandes Questions, produced jointly by RTNC1, RTGA and Digital Congo, received a 30-day suspension, and its three co-presenters were given formal notice to quit. This was the start of a long series of sanctions that would have a direct impact on politicians, rather than just on the media that had given them a voice. The HAM argued that many presenters claimed not to be able to control their interviewees – probably because of their own incompetence (since journalists were not trained for this type of exercise) and a certain deference (since high-ranking politicians could be close to the owner of the media). Given the urgency of the situation, the HAM explained that it could not afford to wait for the outcome of any judicial proceedings, and had to go ahead with the embargoes, based on the Code of Conduct.73 The HAM imposed sanctions on both the Kabila and the Bemba sides. And both sides kept a strict tally of those sanctions, so that they could point to the HAM’s partisanship and bias (even as they called on it daily to punish their rivals’ abuses). According to some observers, the strategy of the individual embargo marked ‘a truly important step in the election period. Attitudes changed. From then on, the more radical speakers launched themselves into convoluted speeches, in order to say things without appearing to say them’.74 According to the coordinator of the HAM’s monitoring centre, these tactics had a positive impact: ‘We prevented things from getting out of hand. We heard a politician tell a journalist who was trying to lead him down a dangerous path: “I cannot answer that question, or else I will be sanctioned by the HAM.”’75 For some, however, the HAM was once more overreaching itself. Politicians presented themselves as victims of an institution that was exceeding its powers and launched unnecessary provocations against the regulatory authority and its president.76

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The HAM was not the first to adopt this type of embargo. The previous year, in the CAR, the HCC had noticed that ‘some candidates, including party leaders, have started using their allocated airtime to voice abuse, diatribes and hateful comments unworthy of a public representative’. It warned that, in the event of a second offence, it ‘would unfortunately be compelled to suspend the slots allocated to offenders in the public media’.77 On 27 April, the HCC carried out its threat: it adopted a resolution that confirmed ‘the formal prohibition on Mr Fidèle Ngouandjika, supervisor of the KNK Convergence, of intervening henceforth in the airtime allocated to the candidate François Bozizé, and for the KNK Convergence both on Radio Centrafrique and Télé Centrafrique’.78 The reasons for the sanction were ‘inciting tribal hatred, abusive and defamatory comments on air’ and violation of the Code of Conduct. The HCC also imposed a ‘formal ban on Mr Joseph Bendounga, president of the MDREC [the Democratic Movement for the Renaissance and Evolution of Central Africa], from making use henceforth of the airtime allocated to his party for the legislative elections of 8 May 2005’, due to his ‘irreverent attitude towards a government institution’ and abusive and defamatory comments.79 Even though the DRC’s HAM and the CAR’s HCC became widely unpopular among some political parties, in fact they found a way of applying Article 19’s ‘Guideline no. 6’, which argues for the ‘limited responsibility of the media’. It recommends that the media be exempted from legal liability for unlawful statements made by candidates or party representatives and broadcast during the course of election campaigns, other than those which constitute clear and direct incitement to violence. The parties and speakers should be held solely responsible for any unlawful statements they make. (Article 19 1994: 81)

Sensitive issues: congolité and divisionsim  In some countries, the regulator went so far as to identify specific campaign themes as being likely to generate abuse, and these themes became the target for particular measures. In the DRC, a recurring reason for bans and embargoes was use of congolité, a word coined to refer to complete and unquestionable belonging to the Congolese nation. The HAM warned before the campaign: ‘Now is not the time for a campaign based on identity issues. One must put a stop to those who appear in your television and radio studios and incite hatred and talk about congolité.’80 Many of Jean-Pierre Bemba’s partisans were banned from the airwaves because they used a violent tone against all foreigners, strangers and anybody who was not a ‘true Congolese’.81 Molière TV, Tropicana TV, CCTV and CKTV were targeted in particular. This near formal ban on the theme of congolité provoked much debate among journalists. On the one hand, for some of them,

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this ban made it possible to save the electoral process. The issue of congolité had already been used in the first round and could have created more division. The distribution of the votes on a geographic and regional basis was apparent, as was the problem of ostracizing foreigners. The HAM banned these topics from debate. In doing so, it probably prevented a number of dangerous abuses.82

As a result, ‘some questions were certainly avoided, but one has to understand the consequences they may have had; and after all, it wasn’t absolutely necessary to raise them’.83 On the other hand, critics of the ban accused the HAM of having ‘appro­ priated the democratic debate in the election period’ and this ‘with the support of the international community’.84 According to JED, ‘there should be no taboo during an election campaign, and, from the moment an issue is there (whether nationality, congolité or one-sided contracts), journalists should not be prevented from discussing it’. Others claimed the international community was behind the ban on the issue of congolité: ‘The issue of congolité has become the favourite topic of all the EU plenipotentiaries staying in Kinshasa and of Western diplomats who are members of the CIAT,’ claimed La Tempête des Tropiques. This newspaper, close to Etienne Tshisekedi’s UDPS, also believed that the ban would serve an election ‘in which the winner had already been designated by the people behind the process … whose shameful aim it is to weaken the country by giving it a simulacrum of institutions run by yes-men in the pay of their foreign sponsors’.85 For that paper, raising the issue of congolité would necessarily have put the candidate supported by the international community in a difficult situation. While the ghost of congolité hovered over the DRC elections, that of ‘divisionism’ haunted the 2003 elections in Rwanda. In that country, traumatized by genocide, a law on discrimination and sectarianism came into force in 2002 which defined sectarianism or divisionism as ‘any comment, written statement or act which creates a conflict liable to generate troubles that could degenerate into dissensions between people’ (HRW 2003: 12). Though the notion seemed unclear, its criminalization could have serious repercussions. The public incitement of divisionsim was legally punishable by imprisonment of up to five years and heavy fines (up to 2 million Rwandan francs –  $3,400). A political party that was found guilty of promoting divisionism could be suspended, and individuals could be deprived of their civic rights. The manner in which the notion of divisionsim was exploited has raised questions for years, because the argument was frequently used by the ­ authorities to criticize the opposition, civil society organizations and sometimes the media (HRW 2008: 36). In 2003, a few months prior to the elections, the main opposition party, the MDR, was accused of divisionsim by a parliamentary commission and the government was advised to suspend it:

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the MDR would thus not take part in the elections. Two candidates – Pierre Gakwandi and Léonard Kavutze, who had both submitted their candidacy for the elections – were also arrested for divisionsim. A few weeks later, on 12 August, during the campaign for the presidential election, the NEC seized campaign leaflets for the candidate Faustin Twagiramungu, in which a clumsy use of words led to accusations of divisionism. According to the EU observers’ report, the NEC’s accusations against the candidate were widely reported in the press, but few media gave the accused an opportunity to defend himself (EU-EOM 2003b: 29). From then on, the campaign grew more tense, culminating in the arrest, just before the election, of a dozen of Twagiramungu’s activists. The EU mission had noted that ‘accusations of separatism and of divisionism, grave accusations in the Rwandan context, tended to be used as arguments to restrict the freedom of speech of political opponents during election campaigns’ (ibid.: 10). In 2008, accusations of divisionsim were absent from the campaign. The EU mission report simply reiterated the fact that: The political and regulatory setting of the 2008 elections must be seen against the background of past disputes relating to ‘divisionism’ and the way these have shaped and shattered the political landscape in Rwanda. The necessity to regulate debate and any restrictions to fundamental rights should always be carefully weighed against the need to encourage political debate. (EU-EOM 2008: 9)

The use of national languages To avoid being controlled and penalized, politicians and the media have often reserved their most outrageous comments for their speeches in national languages. In the media-monitoring centres set up by international partners, only French-language content was generally understood and followed. Local monitoring teams of regulators and self-regulators were able to decipher the articles and programmes in the vernacular languages, but generally had limited resources to do so. In the CAR – a country which, like Burundi and Rwanda, has a vernacular that is understood by all – it was often the Sango versions of political speeches that were problematic. On 28 February, as the campaign started, the HCC published an initial warning, having observed that ‘some candidates have given in to invective, abuse and personal attacks, disregarding the Code of Conduct’.86 Labelling the comments ‘a defence of violence, hatred and intolerance’, the HCC stressed that ‘in the event of a second offence, disciplinary or judicial proceedings shall be launched’. Several candidates were reproached for having, in their speeches in Sango, systematically linked the MLPC (the party of former President Ange-Félix Patassé, of which Martin Ziguélé was the official candidate) to Jean-Pierre Bemba’s troops and the acts of violence they had perpetrated against Central

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African civilians in 2002. Thus, Mireille Kolingba (the wife of the candidate André Kolingba) triggered the population’s fear at an electoral rally on behalf of her husband, when she warned that the return to power of the MLPC would lead to the return of the ‘Banyamulenge87 who would kill, loot and rape’.88 Likewise, François Bozizé also stated at a rally in Sango: ‘If I am not elected, the Banyamulenge will come back.’ Following the announcement of the results of the first round – and given the prospect of a run-off with Martin Ziguélé, the serving president claimed, again in a statement made in a local language, that it was the MLPC that had brought the ‘Banyamulenge’ to Bangui. The French translation of Bozizé’s campaign speeches in Sango was illuminating. In a speech given in Ngassima before the second round, he denounced ‘the policy of the MLPC, of Hitler … The MLPC’s policy is that of the Banyamulenge who killed and raped our sisters and looted our property… The MLPC’s policy is to drop bombs on civilians.’ He concluded: ‘My policy is that your wives will wear golden bracelets and earrings. That is the policy of well-being of Central Africans and not the deceitful policy of the MLPC.’89 None of these arguments appeared in his French speeches. In the DRC, too, the coordinator of the HAM’s monitoring centre acknow­ ledged that broadcast speeches and declarations in Lingala (on Bemba’s side) and Swahili (on Kabila’s side) were often different in tone and content from the French versions.90 Especially the charismatic Bemba’s most inflammatory statements were made in Lingala, the most popular language for the 8 million inhabitants of Kinshasa.

Phone-in programmes and talk shows  One final tricky situation that could drive the media to commit abuses lay in the many participatory or phonein programmes scheduled by the broadcast media. These formats emerged thanks to technological developments, notably the widespread availability of mobile phones. They also raised fresh concerns, which led some regulatory authorities to apply specific regulations to this type of programme. Indeed, listeners’ comments were sometimes as uncontrollable as those of politicians. In April 2006 in Chad, during the presidential campaign, the HCC ordered the suspension of the phone-in programme La Perche (‘The Boom’) on Dja FM. A listener, commenting by phone on the issue of corruption in the country, had declared that Chadians had become thieves and that the main thief was the head of state. The director of Dja FM argued that the  listener’s comments were hardly the responsibility of the station, which had only done its job by giving citizens the chance to express themselves. The HCC, however, held that private radio stations were responsible for all the content they broadcast. In the DRC, the HAM decided to impose a total ban on this kind of programme during the campaign, and in August, after the first round,

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ordered the suspension of all political phone-in programmes ‘until further notice’. The organization defending press freedom, JED, strongly opposed this measure, claiming that ‘until proven otherwise, the election period is not an exceptional period that requires exceptional restrictive measures on certain constitutional liberties’.91 In Rwanda, in the middle of the campaign for the 2008 legislative elections, President Kagame appeared on a question and answer programme on the private radio Contact FM. For four hours, he answered, live, questions raised by journalists and the public by telephone, email or text message.92 In the course of the debate a listener sent in a text message, complaining that a third of the meagre salaries of teachers in the district of Nyamasheke had been deducted to finance the RPF’s campaign without them having been consulted.93 The issue was put to President Kagame, who commented on it live. Many journalists held their breath, as a previous incident with a listener, in 2006, had led the HCP to ponder whether phone-in programmes should be forbidden.94 The question is thus clear: to what extent are the media responsible for the nasty comments that may be voiced on their airwaves by citizens? In its Guidelines, Article 19 underlines that ‘a growing number of governments and courts which respect freedom of expression are choosing not to hold the media liable for unlawful statements published by the media (other than statements made or endorsed by media personnel)’ (Article 19 1994: 58). In Central Africa, no definite answer has yet been given to that question, either by law or by regulation. Informal media campaigns

Although monitoring centres focus their analyses on information slots during the electoral period, the media are not only about disseminating news. Alongside campaign coverage on radio news and paid campaign messages, there are other programmes and columns that can be used to promote a candidate or a party. Veiled promotion initiatives can find their way into musical, religious or entertainment programmes, or be channelled via foreign media. These are tools in an informal campaign, unconcerned with equal coverage, which runs in parallel with the formal campaign, which is supervised and regulated by the media watchdog.

Popular songs  The DRC is famous throughout Africa for its musical creativity. The 2006 election campaign could hardly avoid also being a musical campaign, and several Congolese pop stars placed their music (and their popularity) at the service of one or other of the candidates. The media served to relay and amplify the most committed tunes as they broadcast video clips, commercials and recordings. And yet, as early as September 2005, the president of the National

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­ ommission for the Censorship of Songs and Shows had published a circular C prohibiting Congolese bands from singing during the elections: ‘In recent days, we have increasingly observed in your songs, in public or intended for the public, mention of the names of civil and military authorities. This behaviour does not do honour to our music.’95 Libanga is the Congolese term for the practice of mentioning perhaps dozens of names in a song, with each person named paying for the privilege or showering the singer with luxury gifts.96 It is an ancient tradition in the Congo, but it has become more systematic and widespread since 1998. In a country where the music market remains poorly organized, where there is no copyright office or any public support for musical activities, it is thanks to the libanga that musicians find the resources they need to survive and produce their music. Radio Okapi had explicitly stated in its Electoral Charter: ‘Radio Okapi staff members must, on the grounds of objectivity and independence, avoid broadcasting political or religious mabanga, those citations included in the lyrics of musical songs.’ Key figures in Congolese music, such as Papa Wemba, Koffi Olomide, Werrason and J. B. Mpiana, decided to lend their musical support to Joseph Kabila. One of them paid a heavy price for this decision, when, on 27 July 2006, Jean-Pierre Bemba’s militants looted the HAM. For they went on to pillage Werrason’s studio La Zamba Playa, located a few hundred metres away: the musician was targeted because of his support for the PPRD. Music played such an important role in an increasingly bitter campaign that the HAM decided, on 15 October, at the start of the campaign for the second round, to prohibit the airing of two specific songs: ‘Bawuta’,97 which supported Jean-Pierre Bemba (aired on CCTV and CKTV, as well as on Radio Liberté), and Joseph Kabila’s campaign ‘clip’, sung by the artists Madilu and Lacoste Muke Tonga and played continually on Digital Congo FM. The HAM banned those songs ‘to ensure the election campaign could continue with calm and serenity’ and reiterated the fact that ‘all communications products of the campaign must be approved by the HAM’.98 On 16 October, the HAM set up a department specifically to analyse the content of these songs, clips and campaign jingles. Musical broadcasts served to accentuate the imbalance on public radio and television, and the CEMPC report stated that ‘the clips, songs and documentaries broadcast by RTNC1’ were systematically biased (CEMPC 2006b: 3). In Burundi, too, though the situation was not as extreme, several radio stations widely broadcast songs and sketches denigrating politics and politicians. Some observers noted that this type of message, undermining the population’s trust in politics and its actors, was inappropriate ‘just when citizens were being urged to vote and lay the foundations of a democratic society’.99 In 2008 in Rwanda, the RPF also had its own campaign song, played

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regularly and freely on the private radio Contact FM. As the station’s director explained, the RPF had far greater resources than the others and it bought up all available airtime after the news broadcast in Kinyarwanda. That was quite a lot of money, although, unfortunately, it did not last very long. In exchange, we agreed to play their song for free, like any other normal song.100

Religious programmes and denominational stations  In general, denominational stations are not authorized to cover political news or debates. Yet in many African countries, the churches – and particularly the Catholic clergy – are regarded as political actors. Catholic and Protestant radio stations are often involved in raising awareness among voters and in civic education. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, Radio Elikya (Catholic) and Radio Sango Malamu (Protestant), among the oldest private radio stations in Kinshasa, have long been involved in civic education. They were, however, prohibited from broadcasting paid political advertisements and from organizing debates between candidates during the electoral period. Even if the Catholic clergy in Kinshasa adopted firm positions before and during the polls, Radio Elikya did manage to stay out of the fray.101 But some other denominational radios muddied the waters, confusing evangelization with the promotion of a party. Some preachers of the numerous Awakening Churches (several of which ran their own radio and television stations) placed their sermons at the service of a candidate. Reverend Sony Kafuta, the owner of RTAE (Radio Télévision Armée de l’Eternel – Army of the Lord) put his media at the disposal of Joseph Kabila. His stations broadcast sermons supporting the incumbent president so fervently that the HAM, in August 2006, had to call it to order for ‘inciting violence’. In July, just like the Zamba Playa and the HAM building, the church building was looted by MLC militants. On the other side, RTMV (Radio Télévision ­Message de Vie – Message of Life), which belonging to the ‘rival’ Archbishop Fernando Kutino, supported the positions of Jean-Pierre Bemba and was penalized accordingly. Kutino’s Church of the Victorious Army had launched a political-religious programme and project entitled ‘Sauvons le Congo’ (‘Let Us Save the Congo’) which mixed patriotism, calls for civil disobedience and xenophobia.102 Analysing these relations between the Pentecostal preachers and ‘prophets’ on the one hand and political candidates on the other hand, JED concluded: Churches are breeding grounds of potential voters. Pastors and politicians are aware of this. The former promise the latter the votes of thousands of their followers, while politicians make generous donations in kind or in cash. Pastors no longer hide their support for one or other candidate or party, thereby politicizing their ministry as well as their media. ( JED 2006: 19)

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Indeed, the Awakening Churches were important allies in a city like Kinshasa, where they controlled more than half of all broadcasting outlets. In order to retain their support, and to attract God-fearing voters, candidates often showed themselves to be particularly pious while campaigning. During their rallies ‘before the candidate addresses the crowd, we pray’, remarked the Congolese daily Le Phare. Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Kimbanguism were all mentioned in sermons. ‘Only Buddha, Zoroaster and Confucius were missing,’ the newspaper remarked sarcastically.103

Charitable and community activism  In some countries, the election periods saw scores of charitable associations and projects springing up. Though their interests and activities were wide-ranging, their real objective was to draw attention to a candidate or a party. By devoting coverage to the charities and the initiatives, the media were, in fact, highlighting one or other of the contenders. And since they did not feature on electoral news bulletins or programmes, these elements were not included in any analysis of airtime or column inches that was intended to measure equal access. In the Republic of Congo, even before the start of the election campaigns of 2002 and especially of 2007, the media were full of accounts of the activ­ ities of local organizations, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be political submarines. For instance, in its ‘Society’ section, La Semaine africaine reported on the foundation of a new organization called Buka-Buka Jericho, whose aim was to ‘take part in the country’s social, economic and political development’.104 Further on in the article, readers would learn that Buka-Buka Jericho was ‘a political organization whose principal objective is to support Denis Sassou Nguesso’s ideas and actions’. In a later edition, the p ­aper devoted half a page to the launch of the Association for the Reforestation of the Congo, an organization that was launched by the administrator-mayor of the district of Moungali (in Brazzaville) and whose honorary president was Edith Lucie Bongo-Ondimba, the daughter of President Sassou Nguesso.105 Ten days later, another association for the development of Moungali was profiled. Its president, Serge Ikiemi, announced in passing in his speech, as reported by the newspaper, that he had ‘agreed, as requested by the members of his organization, to run for parliament’. He went on: ‘If I am elected, I intend to donate 10% of my parliamentary salary to support a solidarity fund for various social issues: funerals, medical prescriptions …’106 The newspaper nevertheless confined the reports to the ‘Society’ pages, as if they were unconnected to the ongoing campaign. This practice was already widespread in 1996 in Chad, when the public media devoted considerable coverage to the activities of civil society organ­ izations that openly supported President Déby: ‘a practice which the HCC seems to have protested against, but too late’ (Buijtenhuijs 1998: 211). In the DRC, it was the brand-new First Lady ( Joseph Kabila got married

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in June 2006, a few weeks before the first round), who embarked on much charitable and pious work between the two rounds of the presidential elections. The Congolese media, especially those close to Joseph Kabila, covered her activities widely. For example, Uhuru reported: After touring the markets of Kinshasa and relieving to the best of her ability the sufferings of the men and women who work there, Olive Lembe is now visiting the ill in four hospitals of the city-province of Kinshasa, in order to bring comfort to the poorest social categories.

The First Lady ‘started her day with a prayer with other believers’ and would again have ‘the opportunity to pray with staff and patients’. Even though the paper insisted on her charitable attitude, it nevertheless mentioned that Olive Lembe called on Kinshasan men and women to ‘cast a useful vote’, which is to say ‘a responsible choice based on democracy, national unity, national redevelopment’.107 A few hours later, in Kisangani, she held a rally to thank the inhabitants ‘for the trust they had in Joseph Kabila in the first round of the presidential election’. She encouraged them ‘to rally even more for the final struggle in the second round’. There is no doubt that Mrs Kabila was actually not just fulfilling her duties as First Lady, but also campaigning. L’Observateur, which also devoted much coverage to the First Lady’s social work, concluded that: ‘Mrs Kabila has understood that, in order for her husband to avoid any unpleasant surprises, she had to get involved in the fight.’108 And La Référence Plus described her many activities as a ‘charm offensive’.109 Jean-Pierre Bemba’s wife was also quite active. However, although she ‘comforted triplets in the Ngaliema clinic’, a ‘moving gesture that was negotiated against an emotional background that will have moved some hearts’,110 the media paid much less attention to her. These charitable activities multiplied, as both second-round candidates apparently decided not to campaign any more throughout the country. They delegated their walkabouts to their wives. These were covered by the media, which were rewarded by the candidates for doing so. But these ‘social activ­ ities’ were not counted by the monitoring centres as political communications.

Campaigning through foreign media  Another kind of ‘informal’ campaign, bypassing the local legal framework and monitoring operations, can also develop through the channel of foreign media, which, located outside the country, are beyond the control of the regulator. In all French-speaking countries on the continent, the Paris-based panAfrican weekly Jeune Afrique was courted by various presidential candidates seeking positive coverage. Even if the magazine is expensive and does not circulate much outside the capital cities of Africa, some of its articles are reproduced in the local media, thus expanding their reach.111

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The international French radio RFI, which is rated highly by audience surveys in those countries, is also seen as an important actor in domestic politics.112 In the DRC, RFI was seen for many years by those close to Kabila as too favourable to the Congolese opposition, having even been accused of granting too much airtime to the rebels. In 2006, RFI’s special correspondent, Ghislaine Dupont, arrived in the Congo a few weeks before the start of the election campaign, but she was not granted accreditation and ended up being expelled when the campaign started. The Congolese political authorities were obviously sensitive to RFI, which had the second highest audience ratings in Kinshasa (behind Radio Okapi). Other incidents during the election period were due to information channelled through the Belgian media. Ten days before the campaign, for instance, a private Belgian television station broadcast an interview with the European Commissioner and former Belgian minister of foreign affairs, Louis Michel, in which the latter said that the incumbent president ‘was an opportunity for the Congo’. The DRC press, part of which was accusing the international community of supporting Kabila, was indignant and decried this declaration as unacceptable interference in Congolese domestic politics and blatant bias in favour of Kabila (Willame 2007: 179). The Belgian dailies Le Soir and La Libre Belgique were also assiduously read by the contenders and the political elite, who sometimes seemed to care more about the analysis and predictions of those papers than the local press.113 In the Republic of Congo, too, the pro-government press heavily criticized the international media (RFI in particular) during the election campaign. The foreign media were accused of relaying the views of opposition members, ‘talking in the name of a people they do not represent and claiming to lecture leaders and representatives on democracy’.114 According to Les Dépêches de Brazzaville, as the major foreign media ‘attach greater importance to appear­ ance than to reality, there is always a microphone, a pen or a camera to collect these lofty thoughts and to broadcast them to the insignificant people we are’. The international media were accused of paying too much attention to the political opposition just because of its sensationalist bias: ‘He who attacks, insults or reviles has a good chance of being heard by so-called “major news corporations”.’115 But suspicions of foreign partisan interventionism in the Congo did not stop at the large international media based in Europe. On the eve of the 2007 elections, the authorities also feared the possible role of Kinshasa-based radio and television stations in the Republic of Congo’s campaign. Indeed, the two capitals are so close that all broadcasters are received on both sides of the river, and opposition figures could have found (or bought) available airtime slots in Kinshasa, beyond the control of the CSLC. Finally, aside from the foreign media, communications technology, which has been spreading in Africa since the start of the twenty-first century, also

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offered activists and candidates fresh opportunities to campaign ‘informally’, outside the control of the regulatory bodies.116 The DRC’s diaspora in Belgium notably made its voice heard in the domestic political debate, thanks to the internet and mobile text messages. The Belgium-based branch of the UDPS, strongly opposed to the electoral process, poured its arguments on to mailing lists and into discussion forums, seeking to promote a boycott by Congolese voters.117 Text messaging was also used to urge family members and relatives living in the DRC not to head to the polls. The political weight of the diaspora was probably limited, mainly because Congolese living abroad were not given the vote. Access to the internet was still very low in the DRC, but mobile phones were spreading rapidly, often thanks to the diaspora members, who would equip their relatives. Several Congolese testified that these technologies helped to reconnect the diaspora to political debates at home and predicted that they could become an important issue in future polls. Provincial media on the campaign trail

In several countries, the provincial media, which consisted essentially of community and denominational (and occasionally for-profit) radio stations, posed a particular challenge during elections: on the one hand, they were often run by poorly trained young people, ill-prepared to deal with the polls; on the other hand, they were geographically out of reach of the monitoring centres and of the regulator. The risk that those isolated broadcasters could be hijacked by local political authorities was evident. The ongoing decentralization process in several countries had led to the development of new ambitions around the local mandates, thereby generating interest for the media established locally. Moreover, many politicians from the capital wished to get elected ‘at home’ and were therefore willing to have a local mouthpiece serving their needs. They thus often set up their own radio stations, or else set their sights on an existing station. In very vast countries, such as the DRC, Chad or even the Republic of Congo or the CAR, the local radio broadcasting on FM was often the one accessible media outlet in the town or village. Political pressure on the media outlet could then lead to no pluralism at all for the audience, as the number of nationwide media received on medium or short wave was quite limited. For instance, in the Mweka region of the DRC, the only radio available belonged to a PPRD parliamentary candidate. Set up three months prior to the elections, it imposed itself as ‘the only source of electoral information for the people’ (EURAC 2007: 14).

When war is fought on the airwaves Fearing possible abuse of the 200 private radio stations that broadcast inside the DRC but that were beyond its control, the HAM decided to set up ten provincial branches, supplied with a minimum of technical equipment and two staff members. Many abuses were

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reported in the strongholds of the various politicians. In Boende (Equateur Province), the local branch of Radio Liberté (owned by Jean-Pierre Bemba) and another station, Radio Bonanga (close to the PPRD) clashed violently during the campaign. In Zongo, a small town separated from Bangui, cap­ ital of the Central African Republic, by the Oubangui river, Radio Liberté ­accused President François Bozizé of the CAR of supporting Joseph Kabila and threatened to attack Central Africans living on the Congolese side of the river, thereby generating a wave of panic. The HAM thus also penalized these provincial radio stations, generally through suspension. During the campaign for the first round, KFM in Kindu, Radio Liberté in Gbadolite, Sankuru Liberté, Grand Tam-Tam and Radio Losanganya in Lodja were all suspended for seven days for ‘inciting hatred and violence and for calling for the rejection of other candidates’. All these stations belonged to political figures. In the second round, anticipating a radicalization of the campaign, the HAM called for extra resources and established sub-sections of the CVEM in the ten provinces, enabling better monitoring and the adoption of immediate sanctions without the need to refer back to the regulator in Kinshasa. In Lodja, radio stations nevertheless did become increasingly radical. In October, a fight between supporters of Lambert Mende Omalanga (who backed Kabila) and of Jean-Pierre Bemba led to the death of a shop owner. The deceased’s relatives then made for the head offices of Radio Losanganya and Radio Grand Tam-Tam (which belonged respectively to Jean-Charles Okoto, general secretary of the PPRD, and Lambert Mende), in order to loot and burn them. Mende’s supporters, on the other hand, set fire to Radio Sankuru Liberté, owned by Joseph Olenghankoy, campaign manager for the coalition surrounding Bemba. The sub-CVEM of Kasaï Oriental ended up suspending Radio Sankuru Liberté for 45 days for having broadcast ‘a discourse of violence, attack on human dignity and honour, hatred, demonization of political rivals and unfounded allegations’. In Gbadolite, Nzanga Mobutu, one of the sons of the former president and an ally of Joseph Kabila, was detained for 24 hours in the offices of Radio Liberté. He had come to the station to claim a right of reply after a dispute with Bemba’s supporters. Throughout the campaign, Radio Liberté called Nzanga the ‘illegitimate son’ of Mobutu (because he was born of his second wife, Bobi Ladawa) and said he was unfit to compete with Mobutu’s ‘ideological heir’, Jean-Pierre Bemba, in his homeland. In Mbuji Mayi, another merciless war was fought between the radio stations of the two candidates (both of whom were diamond dealers) for the position of governor. Ngoyi Kasanji’s RTOP (Radio Télévision Océan Pacifique – Pacific Ocean) and Auguy Ilunga’s RTDK (Radio Télévision debout Kasaï – Stand Up Kasaï) committed systematic abuses in order to build up their owners and discredit the other contender.

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Nevertheless, not all provincial community radios were partisan and warmongering; some, such as Radio Maendeleo in Bukavu, were exemplary. In Maniema (one of the Congolese provinces that has suffered most violence over the past years), Radio Sauti ya Mkaji (‘The Peasant’s Voice’), established in Kasongo, also tried to do its job properly. Together with other community radios broadcasting in the same province, the staff organized discussions with candidates or their spokesmen at the start of the campaign. ‘We discussed the Code of Conduct during the elections and other directives established by the HAM in order to popularize the respective responsibilities of journal­ists and politicians,’ recalled its director, Modeste Shabani ( JED 2006: 21). Other reports noted that in Kikwit and Buta, community radios had also shown themselves to be ‘independent and professional; with limited resources, they guaranteed balanced and pluralist coverage of electoral news’ (EURAC 2007: 28).

Frail and isolated radio stations  There were several reasons why supposedly ‘independent’ provincial radio stations often had greater difficulty resisting pressure. On the one hand, because of their limited resources, they were often dependent on the local authorities for access to electricity, transport and information. On the other hand, because of their isolation, they received little attention from organizations that support the media or defend freedom of the press. It was especially difficult for them to find, in the capital or abroad, the support they needed to strengthen their independence or to make known the pressure they were under. In the CAR, the HCC dispatched, for the second round, two-member delegations to Berberati, Bouar, Bambari and Bossangoa, to visit the local radio stations. Broadcasting schedules for electoral messages were drafted and monitored for several days. The HCC delegations observed how difficult it was for these local radios to resist political pressure. In one village, a candidate paid the radio to change the schedules planned by the HCC, so that he was last on air. In Berberati, the support committee for General François Bozizé, backed by the prefect of the province, kept requesting more free airtime to promote its candidate (while other candidates paid for their broadcasts). One evening, the HCC delegation witnessed a revealing scene: youths from the support committee, having reached the end of their slot and having been asked to round off, refused to comply and physically attacked the station manager and presenter inside the studio. The HCC delegations also noted numerous on-air abuses. For instance, a parliamentary candidate urged Muslims not to vote for the other candidate on the grounds that he was not of their religion. The regulator’s delegation immediately suspended the candidate and his spokesman. In the Republic of Congo, almost all provincial radio and television stations belonged to political figures close to the regime. The EU observers underlined

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the fact that the general attitude of these local media was characterized, in 2002, by unstinting support for the candidate Sassou Nguesso. It also noted the control exerted by regional authorities on broadcasting. In some areas, these authorities deliberately replaced the slots devoted to rival candidates with other regional programmes (EU-EOM 2002: 25). Another reason for the local radio stations’ imbalance resided in their geographic isolation. In 2008 in Rwanda, local provincial public radio stations were particularly biased, more so than Radio Rwanda. The independent candidate was entirely absent from their broadcasts (except for a single news item in the community radio of Huye). He himself told the MHC that he was not able to reach these stations ‘geographically’ (MHC 2008b: 7). Journalists’ difficulties in following the campaign

Imbalance in the allocation of airtime, total support given to one candidate, aggressive and unsuitable campaign arguments, and informal campaigns: all these elements could be observed in the six countries, and the regulatory authorities tried to take a stand against them, with varying degrees of success. While some of the media’s shortcomings were due to a lack of professionalism or an excessive politicization of journalists, others were the consequence of an unfavourable environment that was beyond the control of journalists and the media themselves. Journalists faced a number of difficulties during those post-conflict election campaigns, which, though they do not excuse the observed shortcomings, prevented the media from covering the elections as well as they could have. These problems were discussed above, in chapter 1, and their impact on the pre-election period was illustrated in chapter 2. The following section explores in more detail how the essential features of the media’s environment influenced their capacity for action at the very moment of the election campaigns.

Violations of press freedom As mentioned before, electoral periods in ­ ost-conflict countries are marked by heightened tension that can lead to p violence, in which journalists are sometimes the first victims. The sense of impunity that reigns supreme in countries where the judicial system is often paralysed, eroded or manipulated politically leads to a generalization of violence: everyone feels entitled to take the law into their own hands, and nobody feels there is any associated risk. Election campaigns may be more than usually sensitive for journalists, who often fall victim to intimidation and violent intervention in their work, even though they should enjoy special protection.118 In its 2006 report, the DRC’s organization JED listed 125 cases of press freedom violations (a 16 per cent increase on the preceding year), including the murder of two journalists. Most of the attacks took place during the election campaign. These attacks on the freedom of the press have important consequences for journalists, who may, as individuals,

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be traumatized and driven to self-censorship, or for the media, which can be rendered mute. A first type of attack consists simply in preventing a media organization from broadcasting or being published. During the 2006 election campaign in the DRC, the signals of CKTV and CCTV, Jean-Pierre Bemba’s two television stations, were arbitrarily interrupted on a number of occasions by the government, without the HAM’s knowledge. On 21 August, after some disturbances (to which we shall return), the National Intelligence Agency shut down their transmitters, as well as those of Radio Liberté Kinshasa, RTMV, RLTV (Radio Télévision Lisanga) and, the next day, Molière TV. The HAM officially requested that the various channels should have their signals restored, and reminded the government that: ‘for any other flagrant abuse or violation, the Government and its specialized services must address themselves to the High Media Authority’. The HAM demanded that the government should set out a media strategy that was both ‘legal’ and ‘rational’.119 After a 21-day interruption, Bemba’s stations resumed broadcasting, but a week later, on 28 September, a mysterious fire ravaged CCTV and CKTV: the general manager, Stéphane Kitutu O’Leontwa, was seriously burned and had to be flown to Belgium for medical treatment. None of the stations (radio or television) was able to broadcast for four days.120 A couple of weeks later, on 12 October, CCTV’s transmitter in Lubumbashi was destroyed by an unidentified commando-style raid. Lastly, on 27 October, two days before the second round, first CKTV’s and then CCTV’s transmitters were once again interrupted without the HAM being informed. The HAM urged ‘the public service that interrupted the signal to comply with the law forthwith’, and emphasized that ‘any public or private institution harmed by one or other production of CCTV or CKTV has the legal obligation to lodge a complaint with the HAM’.121 After ‘repairs’ performed in the presence of a MONUC representative, the stations resumed broadcasting on 3 November, five days after the polls. Probably in revenge, on 29 October, polling day, MLC activists in Bumba, in Equateur Province, ravaged and looted Radio Boboto, which was close to Joseph Kabila’s party. As for the print media, it was technically more difficult to prevent a publication from reaching the market, and no instance of the destruction of a printing press was reported during any of the elections under consideration. Nevertheless, in 2002 in the Republic of Congo, print media were indirectly prevented from appearing, as the main printing works in Brazzaville were ‘­instructed’ to print the ballot papers and posters for the presidential campaign. According to the International Federation for Human Rights, ‘this measure by the Ministry of the Interior…was taken to prevent the publication of the main newspapers that were critical (though there are not many of them …) during the presidential election’ (FIDH 2002: 4–5).

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A second type of reported attack consisted in arresting and imprisoning journalists in the middle of the campaign, on grounds that were often farfetched or unfounded. In 2006 in Chad, Tchanguiz Vatankah, the director of Radio Brakoss in Moïssala and president of the Chad Union of Privately Owned Radio Stations (URPT), was arrested by the police on 28 April. An Iranian national who had been living in exile in Chad for more than 30 years, he was accused of interfering in the political affairs of Chad because he had signed, in the name of the URPT, a press release demanding the postponement of the elections. Questioned by the newspaper L’Observateur, the minister in charge of human rights, Abderamane Djasnabaille, claimed: Tchanguiz is officially a refugee. When one is a refugee, there are limits and one cannot act like citizens of this country … He cannot behave like a Chadian, even if he has been here 30 or 50 years, regardless, since legally he is not Chadian. So long as he continues to get involved in sensitive issues and even to ask for the elections to be postponed, which is none of his concern, he is going too far.122

Having started a hunger strike, Tchanguiz was released after three weeks, after he pledged in writing to resign as head of the URPT and no longer to get involved in Chadian domestic politics. The previous year, in Burundi, in the middle of the campaign for the legislative elections, Etienne Ndikuryio, a journalist with Radio Bonesha who also ran the Zoom.net private press agency, was arrested. He was accused of having alleged in a dispatch that the outgoing president, Domitien Ndayizeye, was ‘depressed’ following the defeat of his party in the communal elections. He was charged with ‘contempt for the head of state’ under the law on the press. However, it was the national intelligence service (the Documentation nationale) that arrested him, by order of the presidency and without informing either the regulator or the minister of communications. The newspaper Arcen-Ciel called this arrest ‘illegal, unjust and unpopular’ and Umuntu-Lumière and Le Renouveau devoted much coverage to the CNC’s position, which defended the journalist and contested the modus operandi.123 Private radio stations also covered this arrest in depth. Etienne Ndikuryio spent nine days in prison and was released from Bujumbura jail, after paying bail set at 500,000 Burundian francs ($510). Thirdly, journalists were sometimes attacked physically, and some of them were severely injured. In the DRC, for instance, targeted physical violence against journalists abounded throughout the election campaign: several journalists were brutalized by MLC militants in Kinshasa, beaten up by UDPS partisans in their stronghold of Mbuji Mayi in Kasaï and violently deprived of their equipment by zealous police officers and soldiers, and many received anonymous phone threats (JED 2006: 31–3). Between the two rounds, JED published a reminder of basic measures media professionals should take to

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ensure their personal security during the election period: ‘never underestimate the threats, always identify yourself clearly as a journalist in crowds and rallies, avoid walking the streets or taking taxis alone …’ JED underlined the fact that ‘no news item is worth a life and no report is worth dying for’.124 The most serious attack on journalists’ security is, of course, murder. In the DRC, on 8 July 2006, the journalist Bapuwa Mwamba, a correspondent for Jeune Afrique Economie, was murdered at his home: it has never been proved that his death was linked to his work as a journalist (or to the elections), but the reporter was well known for his critical views of the transition government. Two days prior to his death, in the daily Le Phare he had published an analysis entitled ‘Why is the Transition Blocked in the Congo?’, in which he noted that ‘frequent human rights violations generally caused by the armed forces of the DRC are now a part of the Congolese landscape’.125 A few days after his death, Le Phare raised the question: ‘How are we to have free, democratic and transparent elections in a state in which the only response reserved for the men and women of the media is a brutal and violent death?’126 And the newspaper Le Potentiel added: Why such intolerance and animosity towards a profession whose ambition it is to account for the facts, to explain them and comment on them? ­Especially during this election campaign when the truth about candidates must be known so that the people, the sovereign power, can decide.127

Press freedom violations can have two kinds of consequence: on the one hand, they can encourage self-censorship; on the other hand, they can promote journalistic solidarity, in an attempt to resist those who are guilty of this kind of violence.

Restrictive regulations Besides such arbitrary acts, special legislation and media regulation were used to hamper the media’s activity. In several countries, the legal route was used to prohibit one or other of the media from covering the campaign. In 2001 in Chad, as was detailed in chapter 2, two days before the election campaign kicked off, the HCC prevented private radio stations from airing election debates. Only Radio Liberté defied this ban. While negotiations were under way between Radio Liberté’s board and the HCC, the radio broadcast a trail announcing its new schedule, as adjusted for the campaign. Its usual programme Invité du journal (‘The Guest of the News’) would become Question à un candidat (‘A Question for a Candidate’), during which each candidate would be invited to present his political platform. A panel of journalists from the private press would also comment regularly on the media’s coverage of the election campaign, on a programme called Club de la presse (‘Press Club’). The HCC reacted violently to the airing of that trail and ordered the radio

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to postpone its new schedule, which violated the Resolution regulating the media campaign of the presidential election.128 The HCC sent FM Liberté formal notice, threatening to shut it down. According to the head of the HCC: ‘FM Liberté deliberately chose to clash with the regulatory authority and forced it to take difficult decisions.’129 The press close to the government supported the regulator: Legislation distinguishes clearly between the role of private community ­radios and a private commercial radio. Because the programmes of the former are limited and are aimed at a particular audience, they only pay a deposit of 500,000 CFA francs [$977]. The latter, which embraces a wide range of programmes, has to pay an annual deposit of 3 million CFA francs [$5,864]. The human rights organizations only want to pay a deposit of 500,000 CFA francs for their station yet broadcast programmes equivalent to those of a private commercial radio.130

Radio Liberté chose to resist and invited its partner organizations and its members, as well as its listeners and supporters, to an exceptional outdoor general assembly, at which the radio’s managers outlined their position: ‘The HCC is imposing a blanket of silence,’ claimed Massalbaye Tenebaye, general secretary of the Chadian Human Rights League. ‘We live in a democracy, where one is free to express oneself. There can be no half-liberty: either there is freedom, or there is none.’131 Listeners voted to demonstrate their support in the event the radio was shut down. In the meantime, negotiations between the radio’s managers and the HCC had resumed, and the radio argued that the trail had been misunderstood: the scheduled programmes already existed and were simply being renamed to fit the electoral context. On 12 May, Radio Liberté and the HCC came to an agreement: the radio would be allowed to continue covering the campaign, but without the programme Club de la presse. In the DRC, a similar controversy marked the relations between the HAM and community radios. Indeed, the HAM first announced that the community radio stations would not be authorized to cover the election campaign, which caused uproar within the community radio association ARCO. The ban was ultimately partially lifted, as the HAM selected 38 radio and television stations and some 15 newspapers that would be paid to broadcast messages recorded under its supervision.132 Besides these programmes, media outlets were not authorized to broadcast political programmes that had not been approved by the HAM. This measure might have been very restrictive, had there not been a long tradition in the DRC of getting around rules and regulations …

Obstacles to accessing information  A third obstacle for journalists covering the elections in Central Africa was the lack of access to information in countries where conflicts had reinforced a cult of secrecy and the principle

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of withholding information. And yet, during election campaigns, if journalists are prevented from direct and easy access to essential information (such as election preparations throughout the country, lists of polling stations, etc.) they can hardly be expected to do their job. In some countries, the private media were deliberately ostracized by the administration, because they were seen as a tool of the opposition. During the 2006 election in Chad, the administrative services were openly instructed not to inform the press, but to keep it at a distance. Idriss Déby reminded MPS activists that the press was an enemy, to be classified in ‘the category of Chadians who want his death’.133 He reminded them that, for 15 years, the press had systematically criticized the government’s actions and denied the achievements of the MPS regime. Throughout the campaign, the media had to confront the hostility of the administrative authorities, which went out of their way to restrict the room for manoeuvre of both the media and civil society organizations. Access to information also simply meant the ability to get to where the action was; this could be problematic, given the private media’s limited capacities and the ongoing insecurity in some areas. In Chad, during the campaign, journalists could ‘only go where opposition parties or the government are willing to take them, if not the French army’.134 Some of the regulatory bodies then remembered that their job was not only to identify journalists’ violations of the established rules, but also to guarantee freedom of the press. In the CAR, the HCC issued a press release stating that: ‘the HCC has been informed of restrictions imposed on journalists from the independent private press in the exercise of their functions’. It recalled that ‘journalists are entitled to be protected and assisted by the political and administrative authorities and by police officials in the exercise of their functions’ and ‘to investigate freely all facts of public interest’.135 Since this type of recommendation rarely had any effect, investigative reporting remained rare at this crucial moment in the country’s history. Of course, the lack of journalistic investigation is not solely due to public information being withheld. But the lack of access to important data can foster a tendency to indulge in bland protocol reporting, to cover rallies, meetings and press conferences, and to publish party statements word for word, rather than to undertake in-depth analysis of electoral issues. In Rwanda, the regulator pointed the finger at the Rwandan public media for their tendency to cover only conferences, seminars and meetings, rather than issues of national public interest (MHC 2008b: 16). An EU report had already concluded, after the constitutional referendum in 2003, that the Rwandan media ‘often found themselves unable to move away from communications at the service of the institutions’, with the exception of the newspapers Umuseso and Grands Lacs Hebdo (EU-EOM 2003a: 27). But it is important to look at the type of information that those institutions were communicating to the media and

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why journalists had to rely so often on rumours when they were seeking detailed data that were not even always sensitive. Without wishing to absolve journalists of responsibility, it is important to recognize that the lack of mechanisms to supply transparent public information rapidly and efficiently (not just to issue communiqués) is a major obstacle in the path of rigorous and thorough professional work.

The impossible face-to-face television debates One of the media’s valuable inputs in election campaigns consists in being able to bring the various contenders face to face by organizing debates on issues of national importance. Since the rise of the mass media, duels promoted by television or radio stations have become strategic and much-anticipated highlights of any campaign in the West. In Central African countries, where political pluralism is a recent phenom­ enon, there was no previous history of live public debates between the contenders in an electoral contest. That was why the audience was generally eager for such debates, which were sometimes provided for under electoral law (as in the DRC). Nevertheless, in post-conflict countries, such debates were also feared, as the move from the battlefield to the verbal boxing ring could be hard to negotiate. In recent elections in each of the countries, the organization of face-to-face debates between candidates was often planned, though there were frequently some hasty departures, so that the public was left waiting. In the CAR, the media made several attempts to organize a debate between the two candidates in the second round, François Bozizé and Martin Ziguélé. Radio Ndeke Luka had planned one in mid-April, but the serving president did not show up and the programme was cancelled. ‘Large numbers of listeners called in to criticize the president’s withdrawal. We couldn’t broadcast all these interventions on air, because we would have been accused of being partial’, remarked Zéphyrin Kaya, the programme’s presenter. The KNK Convergence argued that ‘there is no obligation to hold a political debate between two candidates’ and that ‘a candidate can withdraw for one reason or another’.136 Indeed, both candidates held radically opposing attitudes to the media. While Martin Ziguélé used each of the slots he was allocated on national radio and television, personally answering each invitation from journalists, François Bozizé generally sent delegates to talk in his name, arguing that he had to campaign in the provinces. He only appeared once on television during the campaign for the second round. While Ziguélé’s campaign team called for a televised face-to-face debate, the HCC rejected their demand. Both candidates recorded a separate interview, to be broadcast on television consecutively, the order to be determined by the toss of a coin. In the DRC, a huge controversy blew up around the debate provided for by electoral law and programmed by the HAM between the two candidates

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in the second round of the presidential election. Article 112 of the electoral law stated that: The High Media Authority shall organize, in addition to the airtime allocated to each of the two candidates in the second round of the presidential elections, debates broadcast on radio or television, which will allow each candidate to intervene. The number, duration and schedule of the programmes as well as the practical measures of their realization will be determined by the High Media Authority in agreement with the Independent Electoral Commission.

On 24 and 25 October, representatives of both sides met to discuss the practicalities of this televised debate, but failed to reach an agreement. While Jean-Pierre Bemba wanted a live face-to-face debate, which ‘makes it possible to check the candidates’ intellectual aptitude to govern the country’,137 Joseph Kabila wanted each candidate to record an interview separately, with the same journalists asking the same questions. No agreement was reached on the format, the place or the journalists. The HAM was ultimately led to announce officially that the muchanticipated debate would not take place.138 ‘The debate has been stifled!’ screamed Le Phare.139 The regulatory authority was seen as responsible for cancelling the debate that had been ‘anticipated like a first-born baby in a village’.140 The HAM was blamed for failing to convince Kabila to play along and appear in front of the cameras. Once again, this failure was viewed as proof of its inability to ensure balance in the public media. During the 1996 presidential elections in Chad, the HCC had also planned a debate between the two candidates in the second round, Déby and ­Kamougué. But it never came to fruition, as ‘Kamougué’s representatives had given their agreement, but the Republican Front, which had not answered in writing, made its refusal known orally on the last day before the deadline’ (Buijtenhuijs 1998: 270). In each of these three cases, it was always the outgoing president who seemed to dread the confrontation and ended up backing out. It was true, of course, that the challenger had nothing to lose and everything to gain. But these escape strategies also revealed once more the incumbent’s attitude that he was not accountable for his previous mandate to a contender, journalists or the public.

The price to pay for being neutral Another difficulty that journalists had to face during these post-conflict election campaigns was that, in a deeply partisan political and media context, attempts to remain neutral could be really troublesome – even dangerous. There was a high price to pay for being neutral, in two senses: in the literal sense, for balance and neutrality required sufficient financial resources to ensure independence; and in the figurative

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sense, for efforts to be neutral meant the media faced incomprehension, anger and threats from the authorities. The remarkable experience of Radio Okapi showed the cost of neutrality in the literal sense. Everyone acknowledged that ‘Okapi contributed a lot, through its balanced coverage, to the return to peace, awareness-raising among the population and mobilization for the elections’ ( JED 2006: 20). Moreover, it undeniably served as a model for other private radio stations, many of which reran Okapi’s programmes or drew inspiration from it to produce their own. But neutrality and professionalism came at a cost: during the electoral period, the operating costs of Radio Okapi reached more than $10 million per year, and that required constant and generous support from donors. As for the second ‘cost’ of neutrality, Radio Okapi was protected by its status and did not fear reprisals.141 In a conflict or post-conflict environment, neutrality is often regarded by the government as direct support for the opposition. ‘Whoever is not with me is against me’ is a principle that has taken deep root in the mindset of any belligerent (Frère 2007a). And it was probably according to that continuing rule that the RFI special correspondent, Ghislaine Dupont, was expelled from Kinshasa on 3 July 2006, after two months spent awaiting her accreditation (see above). Although some newspapers initially talked of a dispute between the journal­ist and the minister of information,142 as far as JED was concerned, ‘Ghislaine Dupont [was] simply the victim of her professionalism.’ The organization recalled that, throughout the years she had reported on the DRC, she had never shied away from denouncing the political manoeuvres of the president’s entourage. Accused by the authorities of devoting too much attention to the opposition, the journalist was personally blacklisted by pro-Kabila media.143 It was alleged that the presidency of the DRC even asked the French Foreign Office if RFI could replace Dupont with another journalist to cover the elections. When this request was turned down, the Congolese authorities found a pretext to expel her ( JED 2006: 33). ‘Granting a foreign journalist a press card is the prerogative of the state,’ argued a counsellor for the minister of information. ‘We do not want a journalist who adds fuel to the flames.’144 Probably in reprisal, RFI chose to provide only minimal coverage of the DRC elections, depriving its Congolese listeners, who were quite keen on the international radio’s morning news broadcasts, of an important source of information.145 Ghislaine Dupont’s expulsion was, for some journalists, a warning shot fired across their bows at the start of the election campaign. ‘Shall we have to watch without seeing? Listen without hearing? Write without thinking?’, wondered La Référence Plus. For, ‘in post-conflict countries in which fear and suspicion reign supreme, there are countless sensitive issues, and the truth will often remain unspoken though everyone discusses it in private’.146

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Given the risk for the local media of remaining neutral and balanced, some chose to be silent. The two most balanced television stations (Antenne A and Raga TV) tried working in an open and pluralist manner, but when the situation became too tense they preferred to cease broadcasting their television news, sometimes for up to four days in a row. They had little room for manoeuvre, since, although the stations did not belong to politicians but to businessmen, their shareholders were wary of crossing the authorities. The same was true of the print media: some titles (such as L’Observateur), wary of being accused of being biased, became excessively prudent, limiting themselves to publishing information delivered by the CEI. Not producing their own papers became a way to avoid spreading rumours and information too difficult to cross-check, but also to avoid displeasing the authorities with well-balanced analysis.147 Aware of the ‘sword of Damocles’ of the HAM and of the government over their heads, these media ultimately provided rather bland coverage of the electoral process. In the CAR, too, Radio Ndeke Luka’s efforts to allocate airtime fairly led the media to be blacklisted by the Ministry of Communications. The latter even complained to the HCC, denouncing the ‘bias’ of the radio ‘which excels in the presentation of partisan information’ mainly ‘used in favour of the candidate Martin Ziguélé’. In particular, the ministry denounced the coverage by Radio Ndeke Luka of a dispute between members of Ziguélé’s team and security forces at the airport of Bangui. The ministry saw in this proof of the fact that ‘Radio Ndeke Luka has chosen to defend the candidate Ziguélé.’ It also claimed that the radio gave the mike all day long to Bozizé’s opponents in order to ‘report facts or incidents they impute to their rival from candidate François Bozizé’s KNK Convergence’.148 So, while all observers were congratulating Radio Ndeke Luka on its efforts to ensure balanced and fair coverage, the government had a totally different opinion. In Burundi, the Republic of Congo and Chad, some neutral media were the target of similar accusations. Just as they had been accused during the war of being traitors, enemies of the state or insufficiently patriotic each time they gave a voice to the various belligerents or to a traumatized population, so they remained under suspicion during the post-conflict election campaigns.

A shortage of material and human resources Understaffed, inadequately trained, deprived of means of transport, of sound and video recording equipment, most media in the Central African region struggled to cover election campaigns that required ubiquity. Suddenly, for a few weeks, the media were meant to be everywhere at the same time, to follow in parallel a multitude of candidates or parties, to be present in several places, in the capital and in the countryside. In 2001 in Chad, although candidates were focusing their campaigns on the provinces, most newspapers were limited to N’Djamena. Only N’Djamena

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Bi-Hebdo was able to dispatch a journalist to follow the campaign of Saleh Kebzabo (who, incidentally, owned the newspaper), while another journalist joined the team following Alingué. Other candidates’ campaigns were not covered. The DRC situation was no different. ‘I don’t know how many media can afford the luxury of sending out journalists into the country’s largest towns,’ noted Francine Mokoko, editor of the newspaper Le Révélateur.149 In the Republic of Congo, Radio Brazzaville, the local public radio, which had no vehicles at its disposal, could only respond to the invitations of candidates who would cover the reporter’s travel expenses. As the director Godefroid Yombi noted, ‘the opposition, having fewer resources, organized fewer rallies. Moreover, for material reasons [Radio Brazzaville is located 11 km north of the city], it was not possible to send teams into the south of the city to Bacongo, where opposition candidates were campaigning. It really was not possible to be balanced.’150 As regards training, the rushed and short sessions initiated by local organ­ izations or international partners during the pre-election period could not make up for the shortcomings of journalists who had never covered elections. In 2008 in Rwanda, a report by the MHC noted that, in the public media, very few questions or discussions regarding issues and policies of national concern were raised. It was clear that journalists did not prepare for these shows and maybe did not know the public’s expectations of them in hosting these shows. What dominated the shows were the political party background and achievements, rather than the strategies to address present and future challenges of Rwandan people. (MHC 2008b: 15)

Other material problems also emerged during the election campaigns. In Lubumbashi, newspapers ceased to be published once the DRC campaign began in early July 2006, as printers preferred the more lucrative market of election posters: ‘Newspapers pay us 14,000 Congolese francs ($32) for 50 copies. But with that amount of paper, we can print 100 posters, which will bring in 22,000 Congolese francs ($50),’ explained a printer in the city.151 Moreover, the massive orders led to a shortage of paper: while local newspapers normally printed between 50 and 500 copies, orders for posters ran into the thousands of copies. In the face of these shortages, some newspaper publishers went to Zambia to get paper, but were unable to have their newspapers printed abroad. In the middle of the election campaign, because of a lack of material inputs, the readers of Lubumbashi had to content themselves with photocopies of newspapers brought in from Kinshasa. Material precariousness and the shortage of staff thus constituted major handicaps for media wishing to cover the campaign. Unfortunately, goodwill and professionalism were not enough.

Ubiquitous political advertising  Lastly, news reports could also be impeded or

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smothered by an increase in paid-for political advertising. Even if ­reporters attempted to be balanced in broadcasts or articles, their efforts would be in vain if their reports were surrounded by advertisements for a single candi­ date or party. The appeal of paid-for political advertising was, of course, understandable for media outlets with poor budgets, living from day to day. Election campaigns offered important opportunities to generate revenue and temporarily make up for the chronic budget deficits. In the DRC, the election campaign was seen by many media managers as an opportunity to make money. Rose Lukano, the director of Radio Télé­ vision Mwangaza in Lubumbashi, publicly declared: ‘The election campaign enabled Radio Télévision Mwangaza to bring in considerable revenue … This is a commercial station, and advertising spaces were well filled.’152 Such enthusiasm was understandable from the manager of a station that was struggling to survive and raise a monthly budget of $25,000. The vice-president of the private broadcasters’ association ANEAP and general manager of the television station Antenne A observed that, for its members, ‘The elections were seen first of all as a means to make money. There were many “indulgent” interviews.’153 The regulatory authorities could have tried to control somewhat this large market by fixing fees for political advertisements or by setting limits for campaign expenses. But it was probably too sensitive an issue. In the DRC, the HAM itself tried to arrange some of the paid-for election advertisements in the media, but the monitoring centre noted that, in the first round, ‘many media signed enormous financial agreements with candidates for paid political advertisements for the slots authorized by the HAM. Towards the end of the campaign, some media started putting out more adverts, regardless of the slots established by the HAM’s Directive’ (CEMPC 2006a: 14). There was thus a parallel market for electoral messages, in violation of the principles laid down by the HAM, and the media benefited unequally from it, depending on their networks and allegiances. In fact, two fees were applicable for political advertisements: the fee fixed by the regulatory authority, and the fee imposed by media that were clever enough to push up the bidding. In the Republic of Congo, too, the revenue generated during the campaign made it possible to fill the coffers of struggling media. Joachim Mbanza, the editor of La Semaine africaine, acknowledged this: It was a period in which we had more resources because there were a lot of advertorials, but it also cost us a lot of money because there were more travel expenses, too, and more allowances to be paid to journalists who had to work longer hours.154

Radio Liberté’s general director, Line Georgette Ndengue Khongo, made a similar point: ‘The legislative elections mainly helped us raise funds. The

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problem is that those who are better off can buy more airtime. We also tried to give some airtime to those who could not afford to pay.’155 Journalists’ efforts to be balanced can easily be swept aside by the irresist­ ible flow of profitable press releases. For media managers, replacing a journalistic report with an advertisement will always mean financial gain, and they will always be tempted by this. In Rwanda, where there were no measures governing paid-for political advertising, the EU observers noted that ‘the RPF dominated the airwaves with 65 political clips per day on various radio channels’ (EU-EOM 2008: 5). The RPF financed the broadcasting of ‘five different political clips, each of them addressing a specific target audience on all four private radio stations with national coverage. Each clip was aired three times per day and per radio station, representing 78.9% of all airtime of political clips’ (ibid.: 33). With fewer resources, the other parties were much less visible: 5.3 per cent of political clips concerned the PL and 15.8 per cent the PSD. The PL broadcast messages indicating the schedule for their meetings and rallies on radio Flash FM and four clips per day on radio Contact FM. The PSD contented itself with two adverts per day on Radio 10, and, over the last five days of the campaign, three clips daily on City FM and Flash FM. The independent candidate did not have the financial resources to broadcast any paid-for political adverts on the radio. The director of Contact FM, whose radio widely relayed the paid messages of the RPF, was realistic: It is true that it is a profitable period, but it does not last long. Two or three weeks. And we sell airtime at 300,000 Rwandan francs [$510] per half hour. I have a monthly budget of $40,000, so an election campaign is not going to make much difference in the medium term.156

Conclusion

Is an election campaign a moment of truth, when the media’s relations with both political and financial forces are revealed – even the most ambiguous links? It is undoubtedly an ideal moment in which to gauge the public and private media’s level of independence, but also a time when pressure is such that journalists have sometimes less room for manoeuvre. Throughout the world, there is a wide spectrum of relations between the media and politicians: allegiance, distrust, rejection, ideological complicity, submission, manipulation, venality, criticism, aggressiveness … These relations manifest themselves in election campaigns in the way the main concern of politicians (to communicate) and of journalists (to inform) either coincide or clash. During elections, communication and information vie for the available print space and airtime to reach the public. The challenge for journalists is to keep putting out rigorous and balanced information without being

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infected or contaminated by promotional communications serving a party or a candidate. During the post-conflict election campaigns in Central Africa, the media were, more than ever, immersed in the political arena – as observers and actors, but sometimes also as manipulators or victims of manipulation. Within the political arena, campaigns provided a moment of truth for the media and the government. The media could measure the extent to which the electoral administration was actually committed to circulating adequate, transparent and impartial information about the process. Moreover, the capacity of the authorities both to ensure proper public information, and to provide press freedom and a minimal level of protection for journalists was particularly on display. The media also had to face financial dilemmas, and the way they handled their resources appeared in their content: the production or absence of special campaign programmes, closer coverage of some candidates, an imbalance in print space and airtime between information and communication (and even confusion between these two types of message). Depending on its origin and the amount involved, money could, for a media outlet or a journalist, become an instrument of allegiance to a party; or alternatively it could reinforce their independence and capacity to resist political and financial pressure. It could also help the media to fulfil their duty of informing the wider population in countries where the bulk of voters were in the countryside – something that politicians and parties based in the capital cities (as well as the media) tended to forget. Though money certainly did play a crucial role in all the election campaigns, not everything can be explained in terms of simple cash: some media may have pledged to support a candidate not for the money, but because they believed in him or because they had come under some form of pressure. Then again, money did not ensure the media either safe passage or an easy run: it did not necessarily provide protection against attacks on freedom of the press; it did not really help in breaking through the tradition among public authorities of withholding information; it did not provide a way around restrictive regulations; and it did not calm abusive interviewees. And when too much of a media’s budget came from abroad, that created other forms of dependency and put the media outlet under other forms of pressure, or even sometimes contributed to its alienation. In such a sensitive environment, the only real safeguard was the sense of responsibility felt by journalists. That responsibility needed to be encouraged in two ways. There needed to be external vigilance, with regulatory watchdogs and other monitoring mechanisms to identify problems and penalize irresponsible media. But any measures could only be reactive, taken after the event, when the harm had already been done and damaging comments or ideas had already contaminated the public space. So there also needed

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to be internal vigilance, within the media, so as to forestall the publication of material that violated ethical and legal considerations. In Central Africa, where both regulatory and self-regulatory bodies were still weak, and where media managers and owners viewed election campaigns as an excellent opportunity to generate revenue, journalists often went through the campaign with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. And indeed sticking to their profession’s principles and to the rules imposed by the regulator and their own codes of ethics sometimes put them in a very lonely position. And on polling day, while throngs of citizens, state officials, activists and observers mobilized themselves, the media found themselves right at the front and even more isolated, as we shall see in the next chapter.

4  |  From Polling Day to the Results

Once the polling stations open, the media’s role ceases to be what it was during the campaign (as described in chapter 3) or in the pre-election period (discussed in chapter 2). Specific rules may be introduced to regulate the media more closely: an embargo on reports covering political campaigns; a ban on the publication of opinion polls or data on voter intentions; a ban on candidates’ access to the airwaves; regulation of the way in which partial and provisional results are made public. These rules are intended to protect the integrity of the election process and the security of the vote, while at the same time ensuring that the dissemination of information does not influence voters unduly. In Central Africa, as elsewhere, the media could be an independent force observing the polling operations, and, if necessary, denouncing any irregu­larities. They could thus play an important role in guaranteeing trans­ parency and enabling the rapid flow of useful information, without interfering inappropriately in the process. It was a delicate mission, all the more so in post-conflict states where the authorities organizing the elections were suspected of not being neutral. In such vast countries as the Democratic Republic of Congo, where voting took place in more than 50,000 polling stations spread out over various different time zones, supervising all the polling operations was virtually impossible. After the polls, another challenge for the media consisted in managing the period of uncertainty following the election. Unlike in the West, where votecounting mechanisms are sophisticated, in Central Africa it could be three weeks or more between the elections and the announcement of the outcome. The media were thus faced with the challenge of continuing to ­inform without giving in to dangerous speculation or attempts at manipulation. Lastly, the publication of final results was often a very tense moment, since it could lead to protests, both non-violent and violent, in countries where, despite disarmament efforts, weapons still circulated widely. In any election, if any results are challenged, it is normal for the media to cover the ensuing demonstrations. If the media themselves are involved in challenging the results, it is important that they do so in a responsible and professional manner. Once the results have been announced, the electoral authorities cease to intervene in the media’s work, even in countries where media regulation is important throughout the election process. But journalists have to keep working and remain vigilant. Though voters have expressed themselves, they

The media’s role

Possible state interventions

Newly elected • Cover newly elected authorities as they take office representatives • Remind newly elected representatives of their campaign take office pledges

Announcement • Announce/publish final results of final results • Comment on final results • Cover the reactions of the various parties and candidates, and of civil society

Challenges and • Report on the reasons behind any challenges/appeals and appeals how the appeals procedure develops

Announcement • Announce overall and/or detailed results (and tell citizens • Regulating the publication procedures of overall results of provisional where detailed results can be found) results • Analyse results • Cover the reactions of the various parties and candidates, and of civil society • Cover any potential demonstrations

Polling day • Observe and report on voting operations • Regulating the publication of partial results • Denounce irregularities • Regulating candidates’ access to radio/TV, the publication • Publish partial results (if authorized) of opinion polls, phone-in talk shows • Analyse available data (turnout, etc.) • Monitoring the media and imposing sanctions if necessary • Cover accounts given by independent observers • Guaranteeing access to information and the protection of the rights of journalists



Table 5  Summary of the media’s role from polling day to the final outcome of the election

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have no way of knowing whether their elected representatives will keep their campaign promises. Unable to sit in every day on parliamentary sessions, citizens depend on the media if they wish to follow their representatives’ activities. Therefore, journalists are left with the duty of comparing campaign promises with the actions of elected representatives and keeping an eye on the daily operations of the authorities. The preceding chapter focused on the numerous difficulties faced by journalists during election campaigns in Central Africa. In this chapter we shall see how, on polling day and in the days and weeks up to publication of the results, fresh obstacles arose. We shall describe how several groups of professionals showed themselves to be creative and supportive of one another in trying to set up initiatives that would better enable them to fulfil their responsibilities during this crucial time. Collaboration with civil society and the support of the international community, which could be important for the media at this very specific time, will also be discussed. Covering voting operations

On polling day, the media aim to report on voting operations and to verify the transparency of the process. Journalists must therefore be able to observe and attest to what is happening in polling stations. Their task is similar to, but also distinct from, that of independent observers appointed by civil society or international organizations. The media must first ensure the collection, processing and dissemination of information for citizens, limiting themselves to providing contextual information that will not influence voters. It is thus not necessary for a journalist to be present at each polling station. Conversely, observers must aim to cover as many polling stations as possible, so that they are in a position to draw the attention of election officials to any problems and thus encourage the transparency and rigour of voting operations. Nevertheless, it is absolutely essential for the mechanism ensuring the optimal flow of information to be clearly established in advance, and for the media to provide special coverage of those polling stations identified as strategic or symbolic. Contacts should also be made in advance with local experts or key people who are likely to be able to comment on voting procedures or incidents. If the media have only small teams available, these must be rigorously prepared and well organized. In post-conflict Central Africa, the local media have tried, in several places, to be more efficient by pooling their limited resources.

Chad: shared correspondents and joint coverage  One example of journalists grouping together to cover post-conflict elections can be found in Chad’s presidential contest in 2001. The opposition feared at the time that there would be massive electoral fraud. In a joint statement, the six opposition candidates called for ‘the mobilization of the population desirous of change

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to prevent this electoral hold-up which is being planned against the Chadian people’.1 Kamougué, a former challenger of Déby in the 1996 elections, made a statement in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo claiming that, if Déby won the first round, it would ‘perhaps be due to fraud, but not thanks to Chadians’ and that ‘if he is guilty of fraud, Chadians will react’. The private press also anticipated manipulations. N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo believed that ‘I[driss] D[éby]’s strategists want to force their way through the first round.’2 However, the Chadian media had almost no resources to cover the election itself or to report any potential abuse. What could a newsroom with four or five staff members, deprived of all communication tools, do to monitor the transparency of the polls in a country of almost 1.3 million square kilometres? With the support of the OIF, the Chadian Association of Private Press Publishers set up a mechanism enabling better coverage of the country’s elections.3 After four days of training (which was ‘late in coming’4 but did at least take place), journalists from various papers were brought together to create a joint editorial board. Each newspaper designated a correspondent, who would be equipped with a mobile phone (still rare at the time) and be dispatched to one of the towns in the provinces to follow voting operations and communicate information to the central newsroom in N’Djamena. Each newspaper could benefit from the information collected wherever a correspondent was present. Given the limited capacities of the papers, this pooling of resources enabled them to provide better coverage of the election process inside the country. It was a positive experience, as Begoto Oulatar, editor of N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, recognized, ‘even if our presence and our work did not have any impact on the results’.5 The Chadian press managed to collect information from various towns all over the territory, and denounced many technical shortcomings and irregularities: polling stations that lacked ballot papers; voters with several voting cards; polling stations that did not use indelible ink; places where military personnel voted several times without their identity being checked; places where polling station officials were threatened by soldiers; places where opposition members, who were meant to participate in monitoring voting operations, were prevented from taking part in the election procedure … In many polling stations, minors presented themselves with cards: ‘­Mahamat Hissein is six years old’, the correspondent of L’Observateur reported, ‘but his card, no. 0432 series 085462, indicates that he is 42 years old.’6 In Moundou, the correspondent of N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo also spoke of ‘voting cards whose numbers do not correspond to the bearers’ names, children who claim ill health has made them shrivel up with age.’7 The reporter discovered ‘a network of dealers trafficking in voting cards. They pay 5,000 CFA francs [$9.77] to citizens who are willing to sell their souls.’ He also noticed that some ballot boxes had gone missing and that others were overflowing. The press also questioned the regularity of the votes of the nomadic

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populations, who were authorized to go to the polls four days before other voters and without voting cards. Votes from Chadians from the diaspora were also contested, as some voted in countries where they were not meant to be authorized to vote (such as Gabon), whereas others, who should have been able to do so, were not allowed to, since not enough ballot papers had been sent (as was the case in Ottawa).8 Finally, newspapers denounced the visibly partisan behaviour of election officials in some polling stations: administrative and traditional leaders are trying to outdo one another to get scores that would put their district above suspicion … Administrative and/ or traditional authorities are keen to answer the following question: what will become of me if my district does not elect the ruling party?9

Not all problems were on account of the administration, however. Journalists remarked that ‘there are many people who do not know how to vote’. L’Observateur described a voter leaving the polls holding the ballot papers of seven candidates. He had left the envelope in the polling booth … We pointed out his mistake, and he returned to get the envelope and put the seven ballot papers into it before slipping it into the ballot box.10

But the press also stressed that voting operations went well in certain towns. The Chadian press believed this joint coverage project to have been very positive, but the experience would not be repeated in 2006, given the lack of interest in polls with no real competition.

CAR: joint electoral supervision  The Chadian experience was so successful that it inspired similar initiatives elsewhere. In 2005, in the CAR, aware of the Chadian experience, journalists set up a joint electoral supervision project, through the journalists’ association, the UJCA.11 It gathered a pool of seven media (Le Citoyen, Le Confident, Le Démocrate, L’Hirondelle, Radio Ndeke Luka, Radio Centrafrique and Télé Centrafrique), which were regarded as the most stable on the market. Each one assigned a correspondent. These journalists (nine in the first round, sixteen in the second) were sent inland equipped with a ‘Thuraya’ (a powerful satellite phone, which enabled communication with Bangui from any town in the Central African Republic).12 In Bangui itself, reporters were spread out through the electoral districts. A central editorial board was set up in the offices of Le Citoyen and equipped by the UNDP with such equipment as phones, computers and an internet connection. Correspondents were responsible for monitoring the counting of the votes and for reporting precise data to the central newsroom as results came in. As in Chad, the data were then made available to all the media participating in the project.

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The journalists who were dispatched to the provinces were not commissioned to provide live coverage of the election, report on the atmosphere or comment on events; their job was simply to use their Thuraya to convey results as soon as they were made available at a polling station. The project was thus one of electoral supervision rather than coverage: the main aim was for journalists to be able to compare their results with those published by the CEMI, whose neutrality was contested. It was a matter of controlling the work of the electoral supervision authority, and journalists had more or less the same role as that of election observers. The correspondents’ mission reports underlined numerous anomalies: the presence of police officers in polling ­stations; violent attacks by the police on the representatives of some candidates; the aggressive posture of the head of state’s campaign team towards the CEMI, the activists of other parties or civilians; confusion in some polling stations due to the presence of too many people. But these incidents were not aired on polling day. This was what the UNDP, the main donor for this operation, wanted. It feared the potentially inflammatory political editorials of some correspondents. Correspondents in the provinces were thus prohibited from using their stay in the provinces to dispatch reports on the elections. A number of difficulties marred the project, including the choice of correspondents to be sent into the provinces. Of the nine reporters selected for the first round, ‘three did not play the game because they were too politicized’, claimed Maka Gbossokotto, head of the UJCA.13 These three correspondents chose not to communicate figures that were unfavourable to their candidates: ‘In Paoua, for instance, the correspondent was a fervent partisan of the MLPC: he conveyed results only to the MLPC … and not to the media pool.’ The problem stemmed from the UJCA’s decision to send to each town a person from that region, in order to facilitate communication with the local population, to overcome its suspicion and to guarantee the journalist’s security. Knowledge of the local language was necessary to follow what was being said (and any potential attempts at manipulation) during the counting of the votes. ‘However’, admitted Maka Gbossokotto, ‘we forgot that if that person is too closely connected to the local context, he may no longer be neutral.’ The second major difficulty was travelling to and between polling ­stations. Even in the city of Bangui, each journalist was only able to visit a limited number of polling stations, given the problems of local transport. Most journalists dispatched to the prefectures had to rent motorbikes or private vehicles to travel from one polling station to the next. In Vakaga, the corres­ pondent had to pay a high price (40,000 CFA francs or  $78.20 per day) to rent a four-wheel drive vehicle so that he could travel in an area where there were no roads.14 Connections between cities and small villages were not easy. One journalist complained that ‘mass public transport between the administrative centre

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of Bossangoa and other sub-districts is only available once a week or every second week’.15 He thus could not move from this main town. Reaching the administrative centre of each of the prefectures was quite an undertaking. One correspondent reported: ‘We were only meant to have a nine-day tour in total, but we ended up spending 15 days because there were no flights.’ Most correspondents spent three to five days on the road to reach their destination.16 The journalist who had been dispatched to Haut Mbomou never made it: his flight was cancelled because of bad weather and the roads were impassable.17 Holed up in Bangassou, he nevertheless managed to obtain the results for the towns he was meant to cover thanks to an improvised collaboration with the local gendarmerie, which let him use its radio to contact the units based in the towns of Haut Mbomou and ask agents to go to the local CEMI and send him the results. Thirdly, security was also a concern in some areas. Ouham Pende is a region where ‘road blockers’ were at work. One correspondent claimed that ‘the population and travellers live and move in a total lack of security … The mission, with no means of transport and no escort, was exposed to danger.’18 Some journalists were ‘systematically prevented from renting a vehicle by the owners because of the lack of security’.19 Hence the need to use precarious means of transport, with sometimes serious repercussions. The correspondent sent to Berberati, for instance, was involved in two accidents: one involving a motorbike on the night of the elections and the other with a car on the road to another town.20 Moreover, there were too few journalists to deal with such a large under­ taking: each journalist had to cover several polling stations, and that was not enough to guarantee real transparency. As one correspondent lamented: ‘Direct observation of voting operations in one town cannot be achieved by a single observer in all polling stations on the same day, given the distances between them and the difficulties in accessing them.’21 Furthermore, some journalists were not committed to providing rigorous coverage of the elections, but had other, purely mercenary, reasons – ‘collecting their daily allowance [10,000 CFA francs or  about $20] without doing the work for which they were being paid’.22 Despite those obstacles, the project was deemed a success, notably thanks to the involvement of Radio Ndeke Luka. Some participants believed that the presence of journalists in the first round was sufficient to prevent Bozizé from ‘stealing’ the victory and forced him to accept a second round. Other observers, however, believed that the media’s monitoring capacity was limited, since their complaints were not followed up by the authorities. For instance, in the second round, in the fourth district of Bangui, the media reported widespread fraud, having witnessed soldiers supporting one of the candidates to take away the ballot boxes and drop them off at the CEMI. There was no follow-up to the reports.

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Lastly, some participants regretted that this short-lived project did not have any long-term effects. Once the elections were over, correspondents returned to Bangui and handed back the Thurayas to the organizers; the media went back to their usual editorial habit of focusing exclusively on the capital city and forgetting about the rest of the country.

Burundi: editorial ‘synergy’  The most far-reaching experiment in the collective coverage of elections was the ‘media synergy’ organized in Burundi in 2005, in which the media not only pooled their human resources and information, but also broadcast jointly produced programmes. Backed by SFCG, the Burundian media had two motives. On the one hand, they wanted to pool their human resources to create a network of correspondents that could cover the elections nationwide. On the other hand, the creation of a joint editorial board would enable donors to support a single collegial body, instead of having to support each media outlet individually. The project was backed by Planning and Development Collaborative International, an international development consultancy firm financed by the US Agency for International Development (USAID) and its Office of Transition Initiatives, French development aid, UNESCO, the non-profit organization Kabondo, and even a commercial sponsor – Brarudi (Burundian Breweries). During the constitutional referendum, seven media took part in the pool: Radio Bonesha, Radio Isanganiro, Radio Culture, Radio Scolaire Nderagakura, Renaissance FM, the press agency ABP and Studio Ijambo. A total of 65 journalists were mobilized: ‘Some 50 journalists were sent out into the field, first and foremost into those communes where political tension risked being high, since they were the communes of the main candidates. The 15 remaining journalists formed a joint newsroom in Bujumbura,’ explained Adrien Sindayigaya, the director of Studio Ijambo, which led the pool.23 All participants worked together to produce 16 radio news programmes (half in French, half in Kirundi) broadcast simultaneously on their airwaves or in their dispatches. It was thus a real editorial synergy, which is why some media refused to take part. ‘We couldn’t all speak with a single voice. There had to be some diversity,’ said Alexis Sinduhije, director of RPA, which did not wish to take part in the initiative.24 The process required considerable preparation, starting with the training of journalists: Each correspondent had to have a clear and proper understanding of his role. Each had to know at what time he had to call to communicate his information, but also whom he had to talk to if he encountered difficulties in the field, whether with regard to transport or the local administration … We requested five additional fixed lines and each journalist knew what number to call for editorial or logistical assistance.25

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This initial experience was so well received by the participating media and the public that, during the communal elections on 3 June and the legislative elections on 4 July, around a hundred journalists from 11 Burundian media outlets took part in the project. Radio Burundi, CCIB FM+, Radio Ivyizigiro and Studio Tubane joined the team, as did two media outlets established in the DRC (Radio Maendeleo and the Lokole Centre in Bukavu). The group produced and broadcast 24 joint special editions of radio news broadcasts for the communal elections and 26 for the legislative elections. Each broadcast was followed by a collective assessment by the newsroom in Bujumbura: ‘We wanted to assess what had gone well and what needed to be improved.’26 The pooling optimized the flow of information. ‘The media synergy ­allows you to experience the elections live and in real time!’, according to the jingle at the start of each programme. Thanks to Radio Isanganiro’s internet website, the programmes could also be heard online. Nestor Nkurunziza, a Burundian journalist living in the DRC, remarked that broadcast over the internet, the synergy made it possible for Burundians in the diaspora to know what was happening. The diaspora was able to have access to information in real time, whereas what is happening inside the country is often reported by foreign radio stations, which distort reality.27

The many contributions of the synergy to the elections  This joint cooperation occurred in all electoral districts on polling day. It was rated highly by the network of national observers COSOME, which claimed that the journalists had been ‘irreproachable’ (COSOME 2005b: 18). Moreover, the synergy proved very useful to the electoral administration. The head of the CENI, Paul Ngarambe, admitted that he had not immediately grasped the benefits his institution could derive from the cooperation, but as soon as he understood, he decided to get the most out of it. He thus intervened in almost every one of the joint radio news broadcasts and devoted attention to the problems raised by journalists in the various towns they visited. ‘During the week prior to the election, it [the CENI] launched a media campaign explaining the types of fraud violating the law, and insisted, on election day, that the police penalize any case of fraud’ (ICG 2005: 13). On polling days, the synergy facilitated communications between the CENI and the provincial CEPIs and communal CECIs, as well as with voters. For instance, during the local community elections, the head of the CENI used it to inform his colleagues that the closure of the polling stations would be delayed by a few hours: It rained last night, so many voters first went to sow their fields. We have to wait for them to finish their work to see turnout increase … So I’m using this opportunity to tell my colleagues who are organizing the elections in the

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polling stations that they can be flexible and remain open beyond 4 p.m., but not beyond 6 p.m.28

Throughout the polling days, the synergy’s correspondents reported on problems: the lack of indelible ink; the lack in some polling stations of some parties’ ballot papers or the lists of independent candidates; the deliberate removal of some lists by members of other polling stations. The synergy uncovered an attempt by UPRONA to mobilize Banyamulenge Congolese refugees based in a camp in the province of Mwaro. But the synergy did not wish to be totally critical and strove to remain balanced. For each complaint, the radio stations interviewed the party that had been accused, so that it might justify or explain its behaviour. According to an expert, the synergy’s actors were beyond reproach in ­giving fair access to all, and managed to avoid the temptation of ‘inopportune opinions’, providing instead raw information.29 The synergy was generally applauded. For many Burundians, it ‘made it possible to reduce the risk of fraud by virtue of the fact that the election was reported live and throughout the country’ (Ntiyanogeye 2008: 95). Its impact could especially be felt within the profession: ‘It helped reconcile the media and politics’ and ‘it proved the capacity of most Burundian journalists to move away from the dark years of journalism and overcome their own prejudices’, wrote an observer of the Burundian media sector.30 It has shown that ‘when the media come together, they can achieve a lot’, claimed the synergy’s coordinator.31 Lastly, it improved the quality of the information: according to its main organizer, ‘it made it possible to fill the shortage of human resources facing each media outlet, but also to better check the content of the broadcast information, since there were various news sources and several people to control this information’.32 However, some journalists regretted that the synergy was only effective on polling day and in the few days following, and not throughout the election campaign. According to RPA (which, as noted above, did not take part in the project), such joint coverage also weakened information, since citizens no longer had access to a plurality of voices. RPA’s founder, Alexis Sinduhije, said that its refusal to participate was also motivated by the fact that the initiative stemmed from SFCG: ‘the RPA does not wish to be under the  umbrella of SFCG, thereby giving credit to foreign NGOs and donors for the successful media coverage of the election’ (Palmans 2008: 163). Several journalists who took part in the synergy have also underlined a number of shortcomings: besides technical and logistical difficulties (a shortage of vehicles, overloaded telephone lines at the central newsroom, in­ suffi­cient daily allowances for the correspondents, unequal quality of ­reporting equipment), some correspondents were frustrated by such editorial synergy (Nindorera 2005: 3–4). Some of them believed that they had not been allowed

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to contribute sufficiently to the news broadcasts, and that the presenters based in the central newsroom had monopolized the airwaves. Moreover, a number of journalists who had been dispatched to the provinces did not respond to calls from the main newsroom, and seemed preoccupied with matters other than the tasks for which they had been sent out into the field.33 RPA journalists, deployed independently of the synergy, were also proud to have been able to broadcast some pieces of information ahead of their fellow journalists from the synergy, who had to wait for cross-check and approval from the main newsroom.34 Nevertheless, the initiative was so successful that the media decided to pursue it beyond the elections, and even the RPA eventually joined the network. Burundian radio stations have continued regularly – and especially when freedom of the press has been at stake – to cooperate, simultaneously broadcasting programmes initiated and produced jointly.

A model worth reproducing and exporting  The success of Burundi’s synergy spread beyond its borders and inspired similar initiatives in the DRC the following year. Thus, in Mbuji Mayi, Bukavu, Kisangani and Lubumbashi, community radio stations, aware of their weak individual means, pooled their resources to create joint editorial teams, thereby making it possible to share information and broadcast it simultaneously.35 In Sud-Kivu, the community radio network RATECO organized the cooperation. Journalists from the participating radio stations were sent to various towns and reported to a central newsroom set up at Radio Maendeleo. ‘For four days’, explained the director of Radio Maendeleo, Kizito Mushizi, ‘listeners were able to follow not only the way the election unfolded, but also the atmosphere reigning in Sud-Kivu.’ A delighted listener from Bukavu claimed: ‘If journalists work like this throughout the country during the elections, politicians who are used to bribing the media risk being ridiculed. It will be very difficult to bribe or threaten such a network.’36 In Katanga, where relations between community radio stations were tense, the cooperation was not easy to organize. A final report on the project mentioned misunderstandings between the coordinator and radio directors, who believed that the pooled broadcasts should be paid for. ‘Most directors did not immediately see the benefits the radio had as regards equipment, credibility, increased audience ratings and joint productions’ (Bulambo 2006: 19). In the end, eight radios joined forces, each delegating two journalists to a centralized newsroom established at Katanga Community Radio. From 23 July onwards, the group produced a one-hour programme each Saturday in Swahili and in French, relayed by all partner radio stations. Then, for the five days surrounding the polls, the joint editorial staff produced 36 joint editions of the radio news, of which 12 were in Lingala, 12 in Swahili and 12 in French. The commercial director of Radio Phoenix Université acknowledged:

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The synergy enabled journalists and even their various directors to con­­ solidate their relations and create a harmonious atmosphere. Harmony has been achieved because these radios used to be at war with one another, but now they exchange programmes, files and broadcasts. Solidarity at work is now a reality.37

Several participating journalists also insisted on the formative aspects of the training, which led radio professionals to discover new methods of working and exposed them to collective and constructive criticism from other colleagues. Encouraged on this path by their international partners –  in particular, the IPP  – these Congolese community radio stations also benefited from the ‘Okapi impact’. The presence of this respected UN-backed radio helped catalyse the professional solidarity of local radios, which were eager to demonstrate that they, too, could rise to the challenge. Ultimately, the local cooperative efforts sometimes even surpassed the model they sought to emulate. According to François Pascal Mbumba, a programme officer at IPP: community radios were more present in the field than Radio Okapi, which was unable to have correspondents everywhere, despite its near total coverage of the DRC. In rural and urban areas as well as in the provinces, more listeners tuned into the synergy of community radios which broadcast local news, with local details, while Radio Okapi’s correspondents gave a more general overview of the situation.38

The head of a secondary school in Bukavu simply cried out that this time ‘we did not have to wait for Radio France Internationale to learn about the electoral process in Sud-Kivu’ (quoted in JED 2006: 22). In Rwanda, too, following the Burundian model, a radio synergy was set up in 2008 with the support of the Media High Council. The aim was not to prepare joint editions of radio news, but to send correspondents from various private and public radios into the country’s important towns. Each radio had at its disposal a list of names and contacts of some 20 journalists mobilized within the country, and could call these various special correspondents to obtain information. No such initiative was undertaken in the Republic of Congo. ‘We know it exists in other countries,’ acknowledged the editor of La Rue meurt, ‘but it isn’t possible here because each media outlet has its own allegiances. People don’t want to work together.’39 Direct intervention in the elections

If the media are closely regulated on polling day, it is because they can have a direct impact on voting operations and voters’ intentions. They constitute, probably more than the independent observers, a sort of watchdog – but one

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that not only observes the process, but can also influence the way the elections are held. Observers can suggest changes locally: they might notice problems in polling stations and inform the head of the station, who will then seek a solution. Nevertheless, observers are not able to communicate widely what they witness. Their conclusions will be presented in press r­eleases or reports that will only be published hours or days after the polls. By contrast, the media broadcast widely throughout polling day, and may therefore influence the voters as well as the organizers.

A decisive impact on turnout In the first post-conflict elections, turnout was an important issue and, at the same time, a great imponderable: in a context of great tension and ongoing insecurity the population may have been afraid to go to a polling station to cast their vote. In Burundi, where elections had revived old fears, the media synergy played an important role in encouraging turnout on polling day, although reports on the security situation were alarming. As the International Crisis Group put it: on the eve of the elections, fear was at its highest in several towns in the country, especially those towns where the FNL rebellion was active. On polling day, people did not turn out to vote in large numbers as usual. But as time passed, they did make their way to the polling stations, reassured by the radio news broadcasts, which reported on how quietly the elections were unfolding. (ICG 2005: 13)

In Bururi, a serious incident occurred in a school: grenades were thrown, injuring five people and triggering panic. The synergy’s journalists refrained from any sensationalism: ‘They interviewed the school and local authorities, the governor, the medical team. Listeners heard that the situation was under control and that there was no need to panic.’40 Prior to the legislative elections, the media reported that during the previous communal polls threats had been made and pressure exerted on voters by various groups: Several reports on local radios reported the case of peasants, notably in the polling stations of the capital’s periphery and of Bujumbura Rural, who begged polling station officials not to put indelible ink on their finger for fear of reprisals upon their return home. (ibid.)

This kind of report supposedly contributed to the drop in turnout on 4 July. However, on polling day, radio stations covered the orderly voting operations, prompting those who were hesitant to go and vote before the stations closed; this ultimately led to a decent turnout. As Adrien Sindayigaya explained, ‘during our assessment sessions, we realized that the synergy focused too much on negative things and that it was necessary to talk about what was

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going well so as not to discourage voters’.41 In September, during the local community elections, the media synergy interviewed Major Manirakiza, the army’s spokesman, so that he could reassure all Burundians: ‘No incidents have been reported since this morning. The situation is calm throughout the country. People can go to the polls without any problem.’42 In 2008 in Rwanda, the media also influenced turnout by helping to guide voters. TV Rwanda and Radio Rwanda provided a special daily programme, broadcast at peak times – before and after the evening news – giving information about where the polling stations were. On the day of the polls, it broadcast partial turnout figures, and this helped encourage voters to head to the polls. For the first time in its history, TV Rwanda used teleconferencing equipment to broadcast voting operations live from four districts (Rwamagana, Huye, Musanze and Karongi). The executive director of the Rwanda Information Technology Authority exclaimed triumphantly: ‘This is an exciting step forward which shows how [communication technology] can contribute to good governance and transparency in a democratic process.’43 Even back in 2003, the issue of turnout was highly political in Rwanda, and the media had encouraged voters to participate. Throughout the day of the constitutional referendum, ‘news reports were very positive and stressed the exemplary behaviour of the population, which had responded to the call from the authorities with enthusiasm and a sense of duty in this fundamental phase for the future of Rwanda’ (EU-EOM 2003a: 27). In the DRC, Radio Okapi, whose reporters were dispatched to all provinces, also encouraged turnout in 2006 by giving hourly reports on the enthusiasm of voters and the smooth running of the election. Listeners were given the opportunity to send in their accounts by text message, and these were then read on air. By updating its website regularly, Radio Okapi also informed other media, which, in turn, reported on the peaceful voting. The cooperating groups of provincial community radio stations also encouraged voters to head to the polling stations by reporting on the good security conditions in most places. For those countries emerging from an armed conflict, the issue of turnout was crucial: indeed, in post-conflict situations, the outgoing president had generally not been elected, but had seized power by force or had been ­appointed to lead the transition, amidst deep divisions. Therefore, having the population head en masse to the polls was the only way to restore democratic­ ally chosen leaders who would have a chance of being well received by all. Not only did the election have to be transparent, but participation had to be adequate to provide those elected with a mandate from the majority of the people, so that they had more chance of being recognized by the minority.

An attempt to influence polling operations On polling day, the media in post-conflict Central Africa did more than have an impact on the turnout.

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In Burundi in 2005, they also influenced the decisions taken by the electoral commission. Adverse reports by synergy correspondents led the electoral commission to revise some of its mechanisms on polling day. ‘In Ruyigi, there were 3,000 former soldiers, but no polling station. The synergy’s correspondent reported the situation, and the president of the CENI, Paul Ngarambe, immediately had a polling station set up.’44 Also, on the eve of the legislative polls, the synergy denounced the existence of proxy trafficking and the CENI banned voting by proxy, using the synergy to inform voters and election officials of this decision. During local community elections in September, voting by proxy was again authorized, since it was deemed that the risk of fraud was limited. It was through the synergy that Paul Ngarambe informed his agents and reminded them of the procedure: ‘If someone cannot write, we want him to give his authorization to someone who can read. But if that is not possible, whoever is sent will be able to make use of the scribes, as provided for by law.’45 Therefore, the CENI made full use of the synergy to convey its instructions and put an immediate end to certain irregularities (EU-EOM 2005: 47). The head of the CENI also often used the radio stations to answer questions on his institution’s work, and thus to reinforce its position. When, in a speech in Kirundi, the serving president of the country, Domitien Ndayizeye, made veiled allegations against ‘foreigners’, whom he accused of wanting to run the CENI, Paul Ngarambe defended himself on Radio Isanganiro by listing the many partners working with his institution: ‘I have never seen any of these partners wanting to take my place.’46 The radio stations thus undeniably helped to give a voice to the CENI and reinforce its credibility, and therefore the electoral process. This impact was priceless in a context where the mission of the electoral commission was previously regarded as ‘confused’ and ‘sensitive’ (ICG 2005: 13). This direct influence on the polling operations and the credibility of the whole process in Burundi was nevertheless a rather isolated experience. In other countries, denunciations by the media did not seem to have any impact, for relations between the media and the electoral administration were built neither on trust nor on collaboration.

The limits to the media’s interventions on polling day  Several factors limited the work and the impact of journalists on polling day. The same factors that could be observed during the election campaign came to the surface and assumed greater importance. First of all, the security of journalists was more than ever under threat during voting which took place in a tense environment. Journalists were often the target of attacks inside or outside polling stations, where their cameras and tape recorders were not always welcome. In 2001 in Chad, a journalist

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with the newspaper Le Temps was roughed up in a military camp, where an improvised polling station had been set up. Some journalists were held by the military, though they claimed they were doing nothing wrong and could not have an impact on results. In the CAR, in the first round in 2005, a journalist reported on Radio Ndeke Luka that troops had entered the Kutuku polling station. He was immediately threatened by soldiers, and a car had to be sent to get him out discreetly. In the second round, Maka Gbossokotto, the director of Le Citoyen, and Carine Franck, an RFI correspondent, were threatened by the police in the fourth district, as were two reporters from Radio Ndeke Luka. In the days preceding and following the election, journalists were forced to spend the night in their offices, since they feared going home late because of the lack of security. Besides journalists’ physical security, access to information was once again a concern on polling day. In the CAR, journalists generally had to face the reluctance of administrative personnel and local authorities, the police and activists. CEMI officials often prevented journalists from accessing polling stations, and reporters were sometimes jostled. A journalist sent to Ouham deplored a near impossible collaboration with the local CEMI despite an order signed by the president of the UJCA and an accreditation approved by the president of the national coordination of the CEMI. The members of this institution at the local level systematically refused to communicate any information and other data in their possession.47

The same held true of Bambari, where the local CEMI office showed ‘no intention of being transparent’ with the UJCA delegate.48 Many journalists were prevented from entering counting centres, and were only allowed to witness the posting of the results. In Kanga-Bandoro, the sub-prefect questioned the synergy’s journalist several times as to the reason for his presence in the counting centres. ‘Local authorities are not always keen on having journalists present’, given that a large part of the local administration was working on Bozizé’s re-election.49 It was not only suspicion of journalists that caused the local administration to withhold information; sometimes the reason was ignorance or discontent. In some cities, training sessions for the CEMI staff had been organized just a few days before the elections and the staff were expecting to receive some cash. A journalist reported that in Bangassou election officials had been trained only three days before the election and that ‘the members of 84 polling stations who had been trained did not receive any daily allowance for the training … except for their allowances on election days [13 March and 8 May 2005]. This is regrettable.’50 The CEMI itself was prompted to acknowledge ‘insufficient assimilation of the training sessions organized

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for polling station officials on the various aspects of the electoral process, the rigorous management of polling stations, and the handling of electoral papers in particular’. Access to information could also be limited to selected media. In Rwanda, during the 2008 legislative elections, only public television was allowed to be present in polling stations. Thirdly, the lack of material resources and funds was more than ever an obstacle to proper coverage of the polls. In the Republic of Congo, where there was no synergy mechanism, none of the private newspapers had a motor vehicle, with the exception of La Semaine africaine and Les Dépêches de Brazzaville. In 2007, journalists with Tam Tam d’Afrique tried to visit polling stations in Brazzaville. As Laudes Martial Mbon recalled: We hired a taxi to go from one polling station to the next. We saw that things weren’t going well: some polling stations didn’t open on time, while in others electoral registers did not correspond to voting cards. But we weren’t able to do more.51

No trips out of the newsroom were planned at La Rue meurt: ‘We were unable to cover events on polling day. We listened to RFI and the national radio, and we followed events on television.’52 When the outcome of elections seemed to be a foregone conclusion, the media were not always willing to bestir themselves. During the 2006 presidential elections in Chad, the media stuck to a strict minimum: ‘We targeted a few places where we thought there might be some competition,’ explained Begoto Oulatar. ‘But no one was sent out into the provinces.’ On polling day, civil society organizations and some of the newspapers called for an ‘election day of mourning’, based on the preamble to the Chadian constitution, which authorizes citizens to ‘resist any individual or group of individuals, any state body which would seize power by force or exercise power in violation of the constitution’. Lastly, in countries where independent coverage of the elections was performed by the print media in particular, the capacity to have any impact on the way the election went was limited purely because of the infrequency of publication. At the time of the 2003 elections in Rwanda, only the print media had been liberalized, and private newspapers were all periodicals. Though all newspapers did publish articles on the polls, these only appeared several days after the election. It was thus too late to have any impact on the process, and it was only possible to comment. The same was true in Burundi, where private newspapers (Arc-en-Ciel and Umuntu-Lumière), published weekly, were unable to provide critical reports on the polls in the same way as radio could. Neither of those newspapers, nor indeed the Net Press agency, was associated with the synergy.53 In the CAR, reports by UJCA correspondents highlighted numerous problems in the prefectures: lack of

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equipment (calculators, ballot papers, etc.); election officials’ ignorance or political commitment; lack of means of communication. But these reports were only available days or weeks later, when the correspondents returned to Bangui. Working with, alongside or against independent observers

Even though the media and the election observers have distinct missions on polling day, fruitful collaboration between them can be important for journalists, as it can help them to gain access to impartial information and benefit from more widely spread out observation networks. Over the past 20 years, national and international observers have become regular stakeholders in the electoral processes of post-conflict or transition countries: Given the weaknesses of transitional elections, such as insufficient separation of powers, lack of a level playing field for contenders, lack of capacity of the state to manage elections, etc., observation became and has continued to be, a standard response to transitional elections. (Meyer-Resende 2006: 2)

In post-conflict countries, independent election observation seeks to witness the genuine democratic character of the elections and, at the same time, to exert pressure and so increase the quality of the polls. As flawed elections may lead to rejection of the results by the contenders, and recall the threat of war, observation is viewed as a tool that can contribute to stability and conflict prevention. International observation missions, initiated by the United Nations and the European Union, have become widespread in Africa ever since the first post-apartheid elections in South Africa in 1994. Many other multilateral and bilateral organizations (such as the African Union or the OIF) subsequently established their own mechanisms. Each observation mission has its modus operandi, and often deals directly with the authorities in order to be invited and get itself approved. In the post-conflict elections organized in Central Africa, the EU election observation missions have generally been the most important, in terms of size, cost and duration (missions have included both short- and long-term operations, ranging from a few days to a few months). In 2003 in Rwanda, for instance, the EU observation mission was active between 29 April and 7 June for the constitutional referendum, and between 22 July and 11 October for the presidential and legislative elections. The long-term team included five people based in Kigali and twelve observers dispatched to the provinces. Another 40 short-term observers were posted throughout the country for a week during the presidential election and for another week for the legislative elections.54 Missions to the CAR, Burundi, the Republic of Congo, the DRC and Chad generally followed the same pattern, with smaller or larger teams.

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Alongside those international groups, national observation organizations originating in civil society have also been active. The foreign donors and international partners that supported them often played an important role in leading these local organizations to rally as one and observe the elections in a collegial manner. In the polling stations, journalists thus had to coexist with those inter­ national and national observers, as well as with the delegates sent by all p ­ olitical parties or candidates, all of whom were watching the voting. ­Relationships between the media and the independent observers were sometimes good. At other times they were terrible, especially when journalists openly criticized the observation organizations.

Many observation organizations, minimal collaboration  In the DRC in 2006, there was a whole army of observers monitoring the polls, and several journalists questioned the massive investment necessary to organize those missions, at a time when the media were suffering from a lack of funding and equipment. There were more than 50 foreign observation organizations; in other words upwards of 1,700 people arrived from abroad.55 ‘Do all observers have a common view of the stakes involved?’ asked Le Potentiel in the face of such numbers. ‘The Congolese will observe the observers …’56 As regards national observers, the CEI issued more than 111,000 accreditations for the second round of the presidential election to various networks from civil society and religious denominations (EU-EOM 2006: 53). Some specialized international partners tried to train the networks of local observers: the International Foundation for Election Systems, the National Democratic Institute and the Electoral Institute for the Sustainability of Democracy in Africa organized training sessions for them, but doubts remained about how many of them actually had the required level of knowledge. The Congolese media collaborated little with those various observation bodies and hardly had anything to do with them. In Burundi, the COSOME worked closely with the media. Its head, the human rights activist Jean-Marie Vianney Kavumbagu, appeared regularly on various radio stations to call on citizens to ‘denounce any attempt at intimidation and threat which the authorities might be guilty of’.57 The ­COSOME deployed several hundred observers throughout the electoral process: 640 observers for the constitutional referendum, 883 for the communal elections and 895 for the legislative elections (COSOME 2005b: 3). It set up 17 provincial coordination centres and there were 142 supervisors.58 The presence of this observation network facilitated the work of certain media in obtaining information on polling day. For instance, the Net Press news agency, which was not part of the synergy, was able to work with COSOME observers to learn what was happening in those regions where it did not have anybody in place. The COSOME was joined in the field by local human rights organizations

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(the Association for the Protection of Human Rights and the Burundian League for Human Rights) as well as the National Council of Churches, which also deployed observation teams. Moreover, international observers were mandated by the ONUB, the European Union (12 long-term and 64 short-term missions), the European Parliament and the African Union, as well as by several NGOs. The COSOME report mentioned towns where more than a dozen different observation missions were present (ibid.: 18). In some provinces the lack of coordination within this plethora of organizations made itself felt. In the CAR, in 2005, only 318 observers were approved by the CEMI, including 250 national and 68 international observers, spread out over 15 of the country’s 17 prefectures. Observers noted in their final report that they had visited 2,500 polling stations, or half of those that were operational during the first round. Relations with the Central African media were limited: newspapers and Radio Ndeke Luka limited themselves to repeating the summary report made public two days after the election by the committee of national observers, which underlined ‘the generally proper conduct of the election and especially the enthusiasm and the serenity shown by the Central African electorate, despite a number of reported irregularities and shortcomings’.59 In the Republic of Congo, during the legislative elections of 2007, some of the newspapers provided a voice for groups of local observers who complained about numerous irregularities: missing ballot papers, unavail­ able  elec­ toral  equipment, considerable delays in the opening of the polling ­stations, electoral registers that were not posted, that included fictitious names or that omitted people who had registered during the 2002 elections … ‘No representative should be proud to have been elected under such circumstances,’ concluded Roger Bouka-Owoko, head of the Congolese Human Rights ­Observatory (OCDH) in La Semaine africaine.60 The dozens of international observers also concluded that the election had been a fiasco, but the less audacious newspapers only dared to reproduce their findings in full, with no comment.61

The undermined credibility of international observers  Not only was there little collaboration, but relations between the media and election observers became quite tense in several places, as the lack of credibility and independence of some organizations was heavily criticized by the media. In 2001 in Chad, the press started by criticizing the inadequate number of observers and the lack of organization of the observation mechanism. In Moundou, for instance, 20 observers were supposed to watch a hundred polling stations spread out over four districts. Fresh off a French Army plane, they had no local transport and nor were they taken care of: ‘They each would have to cope on their own to fulfil their mission.’62 Abroad, voting

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was possible at a number of diplomatic representations, but observation missions were only sent to Sudan and Saudi Arabia, where irregularities were reported.63 The press also complained about going to polling stations only to find obscure delegations of observers from unknown associations, and it questioned ‘the very profile of observers sent out to cover this event’.64 As for the international observers, there were only around 40 of them, mandated by the OIF, the OAU and the Community of Sahel-Saharan States. After visiting only 250 polling stations, they gave a mixed assessment at a press conference prior to their departure. They acknowledged that the candidates had been able to campaign and express themselves freely, that the CENI had put in considerable effort to organize the process in often difficult conditions, that voters had been able to vote in a calm and serene atmosphere without intimidation, and that ‘the counting of the votes took place in accordance with the law’.65 They gave their ‘general’ and ‘overall’ approval to how things had gone, but nevertheless underlined a number of shortcomings at the organizational and technical level. Questioned by the press, the head of the delegation acknowledged that he had not had the means to monitor two sensitive issues: the votes of nomads and the votes of the diaspora. The Chadian press denounced this mission’s lack of credibility and indepen­dence, criticizing the very principle of observation missions dispatched by international organizations of which the country organizing the elections is a member. Le Temps called the observers ‘respectable gentlemen, bloated with mission daily allowances’, ‘international tourists’ and ‘performers working for international institutions’.66 Tchad et Culture underlined the fact that the participants in these missions had a major strategic and financial interest in not disowning the process. But the paper remarked that they ran the risk of passing for ‘accomplices in a simulacrum of elections’ and of ‘losing some of their credibility’.67 Even the pan-African weekly Jeune Afrique would conclude that the observers appointed by the OIF were ‘manifestly struck with onchocerciasis [river blindness]’. Such blindness among the international observers could create a sense of isolation for the local media, particularly since these foreign missions spent very little time in the country, which prevented them from observing other sensitive steps in the process. In the DRC, for instance, journalists observed that, on the day after the polls and as soon as their observation report had been released, ‘the majority of observers started to leave the country. For them, the essential part of the job had been done’ ( JED 2006: 16). Though  the compilation and consolidation of results is just as crucial a step, the media were left alone to cover them, and very few observers stayed on. If some international observation missions were accused by the local media of lacking credibility or of being blind (or absent) during important phases

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of the electoral process, others were suspected of being politically biased. In the DRC, the newspapers close to the UDPS accused the foreign observers of ‘intoxicating the population daily by taking positions or adopting views which hardly differ from those that always openly supported the regime in Kinshasa’.68 Observers were also accused of doublespeak: ‘In the past few days, there have been confidential reports by some observation missions, circulating in Kinshasa, which generally contradict their public statements by revealing colossal irregu­larities and massive fraud.’ Lastly, their competence and motivation were also questioned: ‘Observers or electoral “tourists”?’ read one headline in Le Phare, which believed that ‘they often fail to see irregularities which strike the common run of people’.69 By contrast, the press that was favourable to Kabila congratulated the international observers, who ‘left their families, their homes to bear witness to the fact that the Congolese people can behave responsibly … The quality and impartiality of the reports they have so far made public are proof that the troublemakers are living in a different age.’70

National observers: ad hoc organizations Local observers were sometimes even more mistrusted by the media than were the international delegations. In 2001 in Chad, human rights organizations and the Association of the Trade Unions of Chad had set up the Independent National Observatory for the Monitoring of Electoral Procedures and Democracy (ONIPED), whose mission it was to train observers and lead them into the field. For financial support, ONIPED turned to the UNDP, which had been commissioned by the international community to manage the funds provided to support the elections. In order to get funding, ONIPED was told that it should join other organizations that were requesting funds and that had also been accepted by the CENI for the observation of the elections. The General Coordination of National Observers of the Presidential Elections in Chad (COGONEPT) was then formed, including ONIPED and more than 50 civil society associations. It deployed over 1,000 observers nationwide with the support of the international community. But most of the private press believed that this coalition was merely ‘an artificial alliance’ between two categories of organizations: those fighting for the re-election of Idriss Déby and those longing for his departure. Their fusion ‘only took place because it was demanded by donors to release the funds necessary for the observation of these elections’.71 This ad hoc coalition would in fact split up shortly after the results were announced: COGONEPT and ONIPED published contradictory reports, the former accepting and the latter rejecting the election results. For ONIPED, the ballot ‘was marked by serious irregularities which tended to undermine its credibility’. It claimed to have covered the eight districts of N’Djamena and almost all departments, and demanded ‘the annulment of the election

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on 20  May’. By contrast, COGONEPT followed the opinion of the Constitutional Council, which validated the election of Idriss Déby. In 2006 again, the 924 national observers approved by the CENI belonged to three distinct collectives, each of them with a particular political line: the General Coordination of Civil Society Organizations for Election Observation in Chad, the Coordination of Civil Society and Human Rights Organizations (CASCIDHO) and the General Coordination of National Election Observers in Chad. CASCIDHO openly called on the population to vote en masse for Déby’s political party, the MPS. According to Le Temps, ‘those who pompously call themselves national observers are nothing but MPS activists or sympathizers dressed up as leaders of so-called civil society organizations which only emerge during elections’.72 And Notre Temps defined the observers as ‘partially sighted, far-sighted, short-sighted, colour-blind people who will overlook all irregularities during operations’.73 After the polls, national observers reported that ‘the election was perfectly legal’,74 thus agreeing with the 81 international observers who had come to the same conclusion. The opposition press concluded that ‘observation has truly become a commercial if not a political business’. Criticizing the incompetence and partisanship of observers, L’Observateur believed that ‘it is now time to raise once again the question of election observation in Africa. Although it was useful at the time, it now only serves those for whom it is a political guarantee.’75 The emergence of a large number of local observation bodies with limited credibility raises the broader question of civil society in Central Africa. This vague and poorly defined concept includes civic organizations created by communities wishing to impose certain topics on the agenda of decisionmakers, defend specific rights or take charge of their future in specific fields. But it also includes organizations with very different aims. As René Otayek put it, ‘the civic objectives of these organizations do not always serve the common good and are likely to serve private interests: their contribution to the crystallization of democratic citizenship is not always guaranteed’ (Otayek 2009: 217). Moreover, authoritarian regimes put up with such organizations so long as they remain apolitical, which means they are supportive of the regime. In 2002 in the Republic of Congo, numerous organizations claiming to represent civil society were created shortly before the election, with the  aim of supervising voting operations. The European observers claimed: ‘the true origin and objectives of these “mushroom” organizations need to be clarified’ (EU-EOM 2002: 16). Ultimately, most of them came together in a Coordination that deployed 120 national observers, but ‘serious doubts were raised as to the coordination’s non-partisan character’. The same situation occurred again in 2007, as two structures emerged: the civil society forum FOSOCEL, which included some 50 member organizations and associations, and the Support Committee for the Electoral Process,

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another platform which included the human rights organization OCDH. A few days before the elections, the president of FOSOCEL agreed to join the very controversial CONEL, thereby undermining even further the credibility of local observers. After the fiasco of the polls, some newspapers wondered aloud: ‘Fraud or electoral improvisation?’76 For La Griffe, the polls were no surprise, but a ‘premeditated fiasco, programmed long in advance’.77 Therefore local observer organizations could be seen not only as the product of personal positioning strategies, but also as an attempt to cover up organized manipulation. Last, but not least, the mistrust between the media and the observer organizations could also be a consequence of interference by the authorities in the organization of the monitoring process. In some cases the electoral commission could bring pressure to bear on the observers, through the procedure of invitation and accreditation, and sometimes through the coordination of local observers. In 2003 in Rwanda, the electoral law both authorized and regulated election observation. At a national level, a unique body had been set up in 2000: the Programme for Observing the Elections in Rwanda (POER), which gathered more than 150 local organizations joined in federations. The POER was thus an official and permanent body, which became very active in the March 2001 district elections, the March 2002 sector elections, and the December 2002 elections of the Gacaca court judges. During the 2003 constitutional referendum, the POER mobilized 449 observers and for the presidential and legislative elections 1,130 (Samset and Orrvar 2003: 33). The POER’s intervention in the elections was limited by its lack of financial means. The available funds were not enough to pay the observers as planned, and so some of them were less motivated. After the elections, the POER reported only some minor irregularities, and the much more critical report by the EU observers concluded that ‘a certain degree of self-censorship was perceptible, the POER not wishing to clash with the electoral authorities and the government in general and minimizing the “few noted imperfections”’ (EU-EOM 2003b: 7). So, as a matter of fact, the relationships between the media and observers have not always been smooth in post-conflict elections in Central Africa. Observation missions have often criticized the media’s behaviour, but the media have also noted the shortcomings of these monitoring mechanisms. From the polls to the results: covering uncertainty

When the polling stations close in North America or Europe it takes just a few hours before the provisional results are known and can be commented on by the media. In post-conflict Central Africa, logistics and material constraints meant that this was not the case. It took from a few days to a few weeks after polling day for the complete provisional results to be ­announced.

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This period was everywhere one of great tension, when rumours spread like wildfire and the risk of manipulation increased: a period during which voters were ‘caught between impatience and suspicion’.78 Even though journalists had just partial and unconfirmed results to go on, they had to keep informing, broadcasting and publishing. Three main topics were under discussion on air or in the newspapers in the days following the polls: the overall assessment of the polls, the issue of turnout and the ongoing dissemination of provisional results, if allowed by the electoral commission. As time passed, trends emerged and speculation about the results blossomed, often based on partisan rumours.

Overall evaluation of the election: a political position?  In post-conflict countries, assessing the transparency and credibility of the polls often means adopting a political position. For, in such a context, the very fact of organizing elections is a campaign issue: a ruler who has campaigned on the issue of maintaining peace and pursuing a policy of redevelopment hopes to be able to benefit from the success of the election. Therefore, assessing the manner in which the polls were held not only involves judging the administration in charge of the electoral process, but also the whole political regime. In the DRC, the Republic of Congo, the CAR, Chad and Rwanda, assessing the post-conflict elections meant assessing how the countries had been managed by Kabila, Sassou Nguesso, Bozizé, Déby and Kagame. After the 2006 election in the DRC, the press opposed to Kabila wrote of the irregularities and problems in the voting operations. ‘Anger in ­Tshikapa, Demonstrations in Matadi’, ‘Electoral Fraud: Riots in Kingabwa’, ‘BrokenDown Electoral Equipment’, ‘Two Dead in Mweka’: these were the headlines of Le Phare (a daily newspaper close to the UDPS). And the inside pages were similar in tone: ‘Incidents in Kinshasa. Voters Bribed’, ‘Burned-Down Polling Stations’, ‘Disoriented, Some Voters Were Unable to Vote’.79 On the other hand, newspapers supporting President Kabila provided an altogether different perspective: ‘A Dream Becomes Reality’, read Uhuru, which claimed to have seen ‘Congolese voters make their way peacefully to polling ­stations’.80 More nuanced, Le Potentiel headlined: ‘The Congolese Have Voted with Dignity’, despite ‘some events inherent to the organization of any election’.81 When reading the headlines of the Kinshasan press in the wake of the election, one might have wondered whether these papers were discussing the same event, given the diverging interpretations. It was the same in 2007, in the wake of the legislative elections in the Republic of Congo, where state media, the first to express themselves after the election, adopted a triumphant tone. Indeed, 12 hours after the polling stations closed, Les Dépêches de Brazzaville, the only daily paper, was triumphant: ‘First Round Passes Off Peacefully’, ran the headline. The paper reported that ‘on the night polling stations closed, no incident or any act

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liable to disturb the election of 24 June was reported’.82 The high turnout simply constituted ‘a snub which the Congolese electorate inflicted on the parties and politicians who … had called on their fellow citizens not to vote’. La Semaine africaine came out the next day, and offered a very different analysis, claiming that the election was nothing more than the expression of political robbery, amounting to cheating with the laws of the country, despising the democratic opposition, even when the latter advances pertinent suggestions, tripping one another up even when one is on the same side, only in order to protect one’s own interests.

‘Never before have the Congolese witnessed so many irregularities,’ stated the paper.83 The headline of La Rue meurt ran: ‘Shameful Elections!’84 And Le Choc spoke of a ‘muddled’ and ‘chaotic’ situation.85 La Griffe claimed these were ‘anti-democratic elections’.86 Even the state-owned weekly La Nouvelle République recognized that the election had taken place ‘despite the chaos’.87 La Semaine africaine believed that turnout was no higher than 25 per cent. In the wake of this, Les Dépêches de Brazzaville was forced to moderate its tone and acknowledge a couple of days later that ‘shortcomings were observed here and there, but they were not generalized’. Critical voices were immediately mocked as being the product of ‘professional critics of the Congo’, ‘newspapers and institutions whose only purpose seems to be to deform anything that comes from Africa in general and the Congo in particular’.88 On 27 June, the president of the CONEL, Henri Bouka, made a televised appearance to acknowledge difficulties in Brazzaville and Pointe-Noire. He claimed that ‘the general administration in charge of electoral affairs is responsible for these failures, although the government had put the necessary financial, technical and human resources at their disposal’.89 He acknowledged that his teams had also been lethargic, with ‘financial difficulties in setting them in motion’,90 and that ‘computers had gone crazy’.91 He blamed his colleagues from the General Directorate of Electoral Affairs (at the Ministry of the Interior), which had had five years to prepare for these elections. He claimed that ‘there was no organized chaos to rig the elections; there was chaos at the level of the [General Directorate]’. ‘In another era’, he concluded, ‘you would have been guillotined.’92 Eventually, two high-ranking civil servants, the general director of electoral affairs (Armand Baboutila) and the director of documentation and informatics (Lambert Daniel Ossere) were relieved of their duties.93 A total of 62 annulment requests were addressed to the CONEL. Questioned by La Semaine africaine, President Sassou Nguesso finally acknowledged the problems, and simply declared:

from polling day to the results  |  211 Naturally, I did not appreciate the fact that there were so many dysfunctions in the organization of the first round of the legislative elections … We will organize a second round in a rigorous and transparent manner. That way, we will certainly have saved the democratic process we initiated.94

For La Semaine africaine, the election was catastrophic, due to a public administration characterized by ‘a culture of rigging and dishonesty … a culture which prospers unpunished’. ‘High-ranking civil servants openly support their candidates … Influence peddling, losing the registers of opposition candidates, increasing or lowering the electorate to benefit a candidate  …’ Given the situation, ‘those who abide by the law and behave as decent citizens come across as cowards and are doomed to fail’.95 In Burundi, assessment of the 2005 polls by the media was totally different in tone. The elections were truly open and, though the CENI was called to account for a number of problems, its head, Paul Ngarambe, explained quite openly on the airwaves of the media synergy and of RPA the difficulties that had been encountered and the measures taken to deal with them. Once again, the media targeted less the electoral administration and more the political parties: ‘The political process functions properly as a whole,’ concluded a journalist with the synergy. ‘Unfortunately, a number of irregularities tarnished the communal elections: rigging, corruption, reciprocal demonization, intimida­tion, flagrant violations of the Code of Conduct by political parties which had signed it.’96 Journalists claimed, however, that these irregularities were unlikely to have altered the outcome of the elections. By contrast, certain political parties accused one another of having attempted to destabilize the other camp’s activists. After the communal elections, FRODEBU denounced, on Radio Isanganiro, the murder or imprisonment of some of its activists and accused the CNDD-FDD. The latter’s spokesman responded that these were ‘unfounded allegations’, simply ‘pathetic’ and that FRODEBU was in desperate straits, in a situation of ‘mandate’s end’ and was thus ready to use any means to remain in power.97

The issue of turnout  The second topic widely discussed by the media after the polls was the electoral turnout, which was particularly crucial in postconflict countries and was also a political issue. Regardless of who the winner was, the newly elected president and ruling party would have to be able to count on sufficient support to legitimize their position and ensure their authority over a population often divided by a sense of allegiance to distinct warring factions. Moreover, in many of the elections under consideration, the opposition (or part of the opposition) had openly called for a boycott, and so turnout could be interpreted as some indication of the kind of influence the opposition actually had. In 2006 in Chad, since the opposition had refused to put up a candidate

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and had called on voters to stay at home, the only real issue was that of turnout. Journalists, who limited themselves to visiting polling stations in N’Djamena, had no real feeling for turnout in the country, and could only extrapolate on the basis of what they had seen in the capital city. Le Temps concluded that, at the ten polling stations they had visited, 1,112 people had voted, out of the 5,000 registered voters. In a polling station in the neighbourhood of Chagoua, where a journalist witnessed the counting of the votes, 455 people were said to have voted, out of the 1,850 registered voters, and 175 ballot papers were blank.98 Calling it a ‘fiasco’, L’Observateur pondered: Did people follow the opposition’s call for a boycott or civil society’s call for a day of mourning? Or was it due to the fear caused by the rebels’ threats? Some claim it is the fear caused by the endless comings and goings of heavily armed troops that prevented them from heading to the polls.99

In N’Djamena, some families preferred to leave the city, anticipating violence. Questioned about these many departures, the president of the CENI answered: ‘If people have left, maybe they went on holiday.’100 On the day after the elections, while the minister for the administration of the territory and the president of the CENI announced a very high turnout of around 70 per cent, the human rights organization FIDH published a preliminary report which claimed a ‘very low’ turnout and numerous cases of fraud. ‘In general, turnout was very low,’ said the vice-president of the FIDH, Dobian Assingar, at a press conference held to present the first conclusions of his observation mission. ‘We noted the presence of many uniformed men in the polling stations and the massive distribution of voting cards to minors on election day.’101 The poll was described as a ‘masquerade’. All human rights organizations agreed on this point. ‘The non-participation of the population in the election on 3 May confirms that neither a military takeover by force nor an electoral or institutional takeover by force can be a solution to the socio-political crisis the country is going through,’ said Delphine Djiraïbe, coordinator of the Committee for the Monitoring of the Call for Peace and Reconciliation. ‘Having come to the conclusion that there is definitely no point in voting, given that their vote is not respected, citizens have deserted the polls.’102 N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo called the elections a ‘pretence’ and a ‘non-event’.103 If so many minors did vote – children ‘mostly aged between 10 and 13’ – it was because they ‘were picked up in their homes to fill in the void left by adults’,104 adults who were either unmotivated or scared by the rebels’ threats. Le Temps spoke of a ‘preposterous political-electoral performance’,105 while Notre Temps described it as an ‘electoral joke’.106 In the CAR, too, as Bozizé sought to use the polls to legitimize the power he had seized by force, turnout was an important issue. In the second round

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of the presidential elections, the media claimed to have observed a real desertion and worried about a very high level of abstention. A headline in Le Confident read: ‘An Intruder Has Just Joined the Battle: Lady Abstention’.107 Nevertheless, the official media, distancing themselves from this analysis, announced a respectable level of turnout.

The dissemination of partial and provisional results Besides general views on the polls and predictions about turnout, the media were eager to publish analyses of emerging trends. Disagreements often occurred between those who favoured the gradual publication of results, as they were posted in the polling stations (which could limit fraud, but could also provide scope for dangerous extrapolations), and those who believed that only the complete results, validated by the electoral commission, should be transmitted to the public in order to avoid any manipulation. In some countries, the media were authorized by law to publish partial and provisional results before they were made public by the electoral commission. In those cases, journalists could be present at the counting of the votes and the posting of the results in each polling station, and could publish or broadcast those results immediately. In Burundi, for instance, journalists from the media synergy were authorized to communicate the results from the various polling stations to the main newsroom as soon as they were posted. ‘We were working in difficult conditions,’ Adrien Sindayigaya explained. Sometimes there was no electricity and one had to resort to candlelight or the light from a mobile phone to decipher the reports. Journalists sometimes had to climb up trees so as to get the cell phone network, to be able to call Bujumbura.108

In the Central African Republic, disseminating partial results was also allowed. The CEMI wanted to monitor the process by organizing ‘electoral evenings’ with the public media on the nights of the first and second rounds. The aim was to disseminate the results live, from the UNDP headquarters, as soon as they were made available by the CEMI. But because of the difficulties in transmitting and processing the results from the prefectures, only results for the city of Bangui were known on the first evening. In the coming days, the CEMI published provisional results polling s­tation by polling station, and these results were broadcast by Radio Ndeke Luka and published in the newspaper Le Citoyen, which devoted five to seven pages each day to them. Journalists who had been dispatched out of Bangui also sent the results from the polling stations they were covering as soon as they were posted. Contradictions soon emerged between the figures given by journalists and those issued by the CEMI. The international community then wanted to prevent the dissemination of provisional partial results, f­earing

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that these discrepancies would undermine the credibility of the electoral process. But the international partners did not find a way to put an end to the dissemination. In the DRC, the publication of provisional partial results was not prohibited by electoral law. But the delay in obtaining official provisional results compiled by the CEI promised to be long, given the procedure. Indeed, data obtained in some 50,000 polling stations and transported to 62 compilation centres had to be filtered and consolidated before being sent to Kinshasa. After the first round, the media decided they could not wait that long: ­using partial results from one or another polling station, radio and television s­ tations close to one or another candidate launched into speculation, claiming victory for ‘their’ candidate. Three days after the polls, on 2 August, at the weekly MONUC press conference, William Lacy Swing, the UN secretary-general’s special repres­ entative to the DRC, warned that: In the superior interest of the nation, one must resist the temptation to ­announce victory unilaterally and hurriedly, one must resist the temptation to make allegations of fraud even before the Supreme Court of Justice and the CEI have fulfilled their responsibilities.109

That same day, with growing speculation in the media, the HAM and the CEI reiterated that only the CEI was authorized to publish complete provisional results. The head of the electoral commission, Father Malu Malu, intervened to ‘denounce the improper exploitation and manipulation of partial election results by some media’.110 Some Congolese media responded that it was a matter of free expression and reminded ‘national and international opinion that the Congolese people’s suppositions on the possibility of an electoral victory of its candidates were part of the right of each people to express itself freely’.111 A couple of days later, Radio Okapi, which had set up a system to collect results via text messages, drew up a first compilation (on the basis of approximately 10 per cent of polling stations) and announced trends that ran counter to the claims of victory uttered by partisan media. ‘We played a really essential role in that regard,’ insisted Yves Laplume, who was then project manager of Radio Okapi. ‘I am certain that Radio Okapi prevented something.’112 From 10 August, the dailies L’Observateur and Le Potentiel also published provisional results validated by the CEI, filling up to eight pages per issue. But these long and tedious lists did not allow any conclusions to be drawn, whereas the predictions of the partisan media continued unabated. Each side went on announcing the confirmed victory of its candidate. In 2001 in Chad, the minister of the interior had threatened to impose sanctions on any media that published results early. He reminded the media, ‘notably public and private radios, that the provisional announcement of the

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results of the presidential election is a matter for the CENI, in accordance with article 146 of the Electoral Code’. As far as the print media were concerned, this ban constituted ‘yet another flagrant violation of the laws on communications and a desire to cover up the elections’.113 The association of Chadian press publishers protested, insisting on their right to publish official results as soon as reports were made public by the various polling stations.

Managing suspense and rumours   Whatever rules govern the dissemination of partial results, the delay between polling day and the publication of the complete results is conducive to the circulation of contradictory rumours, often promoted by the political parties and candidates. Even if the electoral commission meanwhile chooses to hold regular press conferences, presenting partial results, these can be interpreted and manipulated to feed ‘pavement radio’. The media may be hungry for information in a period of uncertainty, but they need to be careful not to voice unverified facts or broadcast partisan rumours that might encourage political radicalization. In those Central African polls, when the delay was short, ‘pavement radio’ had little opportunity to operate. In Burundi, for instance, given the small size of the country, complete results came out quite quickly, just four or five days after the polls. During the legislative elections, as soon as the polls had closed, on the evening of 4 July 2005, the first trends from the provisional results were published in the private and public media … As results came in, confirming once again the crushing victory of Pierre Nkurunziza’s party, FRODEBU leaders kept a low profile, preferring to resign themselves to these unfavourable results. (COSOME 2005b: 20)

The synergy gradually broadcast the figures as they were announced officially, and compared them to those results sent in by correspondents. Political leaders, activists and voters thus had reliable information at their disposal quite quickly and no rumours were echoed by the synergy. In Chad, the delay before publication of the 2001 presidential election results was only one week, but that was enough time for the newspapers to predict a second round run-off between Déby and Yorongar. Le Temps headlined ‘Déby’s Defeat’ and claimed: ‘Let us be ready to head en masse to the polls for a second round … And the vote in the second round must be a sanction against Déby.’114 For N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, it was also un­deniable that ‘voters have gone from one extreme to the other’ – they had voted for the extremes, Déby on the one hand and (the federalist) Yorongar on the other. The newspaper published a statement issued by a political party from the opposition, which said it was ‘delighted with the undeniable victory of the opposi­tion in the first round of the presidential elections’ and requested ‘that international opinion and notably the donors [UN, IMF, US, France and the World Bank] respect our people’s wishes’.115 Most of the press, as well as

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Radio Liberté and Dja FM in N’Djamena thus expected a second round, even though they had little firm information on which to base that expectation. In the CAR, the process of compiling and validating results after the first round of March 2005 took 17 days, so political parties had plenty of time in which to interpret the partial provisional results as they saw fit. The media became increasingly cacophonous, as they reflected the moving alliances and positions of the parties, thereby disconcerting voters. Eight opposition candidates gathered together under the UFVN,116 opposing the KNK Convergence of the running president, Bozizé. Newspapers became the conduits for a press-release battle between the two groups. But political strategies were unclear and, once the results were announced, those hapless candidates who had denounced fraud seemed to be more concerned with negotiating their support for one or the other candidate than with continuing to contest the result. For the second round, the CEMI stated that ‘only results communicated by the CEMI to national radio and television may be taken into account’, and it reminded ‘press enterprises participating in this process that they must also make a positive contribution to the ongoing electoral process and avoid disseminating disinformation, which has negative consequences for the country and for the communities concerned’.117 The HCC and the European Union reiterated that the media were prohibited from publishing any kind of prediction. In the event, it was a foreign television channel, the French TF1, which was the first to announce a Bozizé victory, before the CEMI’s declaration, which created much frustration among the CAR’s journalists, who felt left out while they had tried to abide by the rules.

Wars of predictions and post-election campaigns Sticking to the rules and resisting rumours was not the behaviour of some powerful media in the DRC. In particular Kinshasan television channels played an extremely malevolent role between polling day and the announcement by the CEI of the complete provisional results, more than three weeks later. Partisan media started by discrediting the electoral commission. The slow pace of the consolidation and validation process in the compilation centres (dubbed ‘complication’ centres by the opposition118) led newspapers to question the efficiency of the CEI and its head, both of which were accused of ‘procrastinating’. Accused of being manipulated by the international community and the country’s presidency, the commission was allegedly getting ready to ‘publish results which risk angering the Congolese people, who are intent on bringing change to the head of state’.119 Father Malu Malu was accused of ‘hiding the truth from the Congolese people’,120 while some media denounced ‘the pressure exerted by the West to anoint J. Kabila in the first round’.121 By contrast, the media close to the presidential party poured scorn on

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those critics. They remarked that the very people who were denouncing a process ‘marred by irregularities curiously went along with it to the end’ and that these belated denunciations strangely did ‘not come from the national and international observers authorized to report such irregularities on the grounds of verified facts’.122 L’Observateur thus asked whether one should talk of ‘ballot stuffing or brainwashing’.123 The media on either side then turned to personal attacks against the other contender. On Kabila’s side, newspapers questioned the reputation of Jean-Pierre Bemba, this ‘former war lord, who has been accused of massacres, rapes, summary executions, acts of anthropophagy against pygmies in the DRC, economic crimes in occupied territories, war crimes and crimes against humanity’. They insinuated that Bemba would need this victory to avoid the International Criminal Court. They attributed the delay in the announcement of the results to the ‘deplorable and shameful state of our communications infrastructure, the legacy of villainous Mobutism’, of which Bemba was the representative.124 Bemba’s television stations immediately hit back, recalling that Kabila’s nationality was dubious and that the country should never be governed by a ‘foreigner’ defending interests from abroad. A real post-election campaign unfolded on the television channels close to the two main candidates. On the one side, RTNC1 repeatedly broadcast footage of a policeman being lynched by Jean-Pierre Bemba’s supporters during the outbreak of violence on 27 July, the day the HAM was looted. On the other side, CCTV broadcast daily archival footage of the bombing by the army of civilian populations in Equateur Province in 1998, as well as footage showing the national police force throwing tear-gas grenades into demonstrators at the funeral of the murdered journalist Bapuwa Mwamba. On 9 August, ten days after the polls, the HAM appealed to the media for calm ‘in order to maintain peace and national harmony’.125 The regulatory authority ordered the suspension of ‘live reports or staged live reports of popular demonstrations or any public demonstration with a political character and a ban on the dissemination of speeches and images with a strong emotional content on radio, television or in the print media’. Reporters Without Borders, the international organization for the defence of freedom of the press, addressed a letter to Joseph Kabila and Jean-Pierre Bemba: Turning on the television in the Democratic Republic of Congo today is like throwing oneself into a free-for-all of people screaming and making dangerous imprecations. Every morning, on the stations which you both control, people swear to avenge ‘their’ dead and show ‘their’ victims to the population … The vocabulary used on your television stations is the same as that used in merciless wars, not in an electoral debate.126

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The newspaper La Référence Plus could not help but notice that ‘leaders who intend to preside over the future of the Congolese sow hatred and vengeance and thus violence’. And the newspaper even yearned for the election of ‘a candidate with neither an army nor a television station, who would bring the Congolese together instead of dividing them’.127 On 16 August, complete provisional results were still not ready to be released, and the media backing the two favourites had not changed their tone. The HAM thus ordered a 24-hour suspension of RTNC1, CCTV and RTAE for having repeatedly aired shocking and strongly emotional footage. The regulatory authority accused those media of having turned themselves into ‘a libertine platform, manipulated by political and financial powers’ and of using ‘violent and shocking images for political purposes; images which incite the police and the population to seek revenge’. The opposition press took advantage of the delay to continue undermining the CEI, speaking of ‘a profound rift between the staff of the CEI’, as the results received were ‘full of serious alterations which would not encourage the authorities to validate them’.128 More balanced newspapers were concerned about this delay, which was leaving the road open for a campaign that was ‘still ongoing, as if to influence results’.129 Media excesses continued, and on 20, 21 and 22 August, just before, during and after the publication by the CENI of the provisional results, the presidential guard and Jean-Pierre Bemba’s personal guard clashed violently in Kinshasa. At least 23 people (100 according to the UN) were killed. The media were blamed for having incited this violence by relaying the aggressive messages of their political backers. The head of the HAM deplored ‘the manipulation of radio and television belonging to presidential candidates’ and established a direct link between the programmes broadcast on these channels and the armed clashes that occurred in the vicinity of CCTV and CKTV. Organizations for the defence of press freedom confirmed this assessment and recognized that these violent events were the result of a real war of nerves, via broadcast media in particular, between the supporters of these two main candidates who have used and abused media that are completely devoted to them to circulate hateful propaganda and to demonize one another, often with the complicity of, or thanks to the benevolence of, presenters and journalists. ( JED 2006: 11)

L’Observateur remarked that Kinshasans were the ‘victims of chronic disinformation and indoctrination [and were] wholly in the grasp of pavement radio’.130 And Le Potentiel confirmed that the capital’s inhabitants were the subjects of ‘such an indoctrination campaign that they are mentally ready to reject results that are contrary to “their” electoral truth’.131 Le Journal du Citoyen openly asked: ‘Are the Congolese media at the root of the armed clashes that took place in Kinshasa …?’132 The secretary

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general of the UNPC responded that ‘the primary responsibility for what happened in Kinshasa falls on politicians, not the media … These journalists became like bodyguards. They followed their masters’ orders.’ And the head of IFASIC, the largest training school for journalists in Kinshasa, called for ‘a media ceasefire’.133 It was in this extremely tense context that, on 21 August, Jean-Pierre Bemba’s two television stations found their signals suddenly interrupted, as, soon after, did three other stations favourable to that candidate (RTMV, Molière TV and RLTV). The order came not from the HAM, but from the National Intelligence Agency, whose agents were sent to shut down the transmitters. Hours earlier, Bemba’s stations had repeatedly shown the bloody footage of police officers and civilians killed in front of the stations’ buildings the day before. Radio Okapi was a powerful counterbalance. As was set out in its Charter, Radio Okapi never broadcast any rumour during these tense moments before the results were announced. And the radio even became trapped by its own prudent principles. In August, although RFI had already announced that shooting had broken out in the city centre, Radio Okapi delayed broadcasting information on the situation. According to the radio’s former project manager, Yves Laplume, this delay was due to the absence of any verified information: We were working in the studio when clashes started and we did not know what was happening out there. We could not leave the studio and in any case we did not want to put our journalists at risk. We tried calling everyone to find out what was happening in the various neighbourhoods, but no one dared move. No one knew. We had not thought of setting up a procedure that would have allowed us to continue working even though we were locked up in the office.135

Weeks later, while assessing the role of the media in the electoral process, the daily La Référence Plus remarked that, even if ‘one can argue that Radio Okapi has the necessary means’, one should acknowledge ‘the professionalism of its employees’, who strove to ‘provide verifiable and undeniable firsthand information’ and who ‘managed to avoid indoctrination and favour only  information’.136 Several observers underlined the professionalism of provincial community radio stations, which attempted to calm matters, especially in the four cities where media synergies had been set up. The organizer of one of the synergies observed: There was a good working relationship between the CEI and the radios. All the provisional results announced by the radios were those that had been posted in the various polling stations. Radios did not speculate, and no general results were disseminated if they had not come from the CEI.134

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Thus, after the synergy’s operations, the governor of Katanga, who did not ­normally welcome community radio delegates for discussions, agreed to grant them a meeting. He congratulated staff members on the quality of their work and solicited the support of the synergy in future, while also promising to help the radios in future. (Bulambo 2006: 11)

As was noted in a final report on the electoral synergies in the DRC, they contributed to ‘the peaceful cohabitation of different communities with different political sympathies because, wherever correct information is made  available, there is a better chance for peace since people are calm’ (ibid.: 19).

Dissemination, interpretation, bans and sanctions  During the second round of the DRC polls, in order to avoid the excesses that followed the first round, the Congolese press encouraged the CEI to ‘shorten the delay in the publication of provisional results … so as to leave no room for speculations that could make things worse’.137 A mixed commission (HAM-CEI) was set up to follow the publication of results, and the early dissemination of any partial results was banned. Journalists saw this step as an abuse of power, since they felt they had been robbed of one of their main missions in the election.138 Disregarding this ban, many media and politicians proceeded with the early announcement of results or pronounced on the validity of the election. On the day after the polls, RFI broadcast interviews with senior members of the political parties of the two contenders, the MLC (François Mwamba) and the PPRD (Vital Kamerhe). They both claimed to have proof of their candidate’s victory and of fraud by their opponent. The HAM undertook a long series of sanctions. On 2 November, it suspended the newspaper Top Info for a month for publishing an article alleging that the election results (which had not yet been released) were false.139 The newspaper Alerte Plus was then suspended for a month for having run the headline ‘Jean-Pierre Bemba Seizes Power’. The paper refused to comply with this decision, and so was then suspended for two months for its ‘rebellious attitude and blatant insubordination to the established authority’.140 On 3 November, the HAM imposed an embargo on five political figures, including Joseph Olenghankoy, Gaston Dindo and Roger Lumbala, who had all announced the victory of Jean-Pierre Bemba on Hope TV and RLTV. (Olivier Kamitatu, who did the same for Kabila, was also penalized.) A public warning was issued to the programme directors of both stations, as well as to Global TV and Canal Numérique TV and the newspaper L’Avenir: all were guilty of disseminating electoral results that had not been obtained from the CEI.

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Two days later, the HAM had to call an urgent meeting because, having taken these decisions, its president, Modeste Mutinga, had received death threats from three of the accused figures, all of whom were close to JeanPierre Bemba. Warning the international community of the situation, the HAM also encouraged Bemba to ‘call his collaborators to order’.141 Speculation and sanctions also stacked up on the other side. On 6 Nov­ ember, Le Soft 2 International was heavily criticized for its headline claiming: ‘It’s Kabila’.142 Both L’Avenir and Africa News were given two-day suspensions for having made ‘harmful allegations which are likely to create a psychosis that could generate a climate of suspicion and hatred, readying the population for trouble’. Media with less political protection were on the defensive, even though they criticized the HAM’s authoritarian control. ‘We were facing a police system,’ said Dieudonné Ilunga, editor in chief of Afrika TV. ‘It was more or less like Pravda here. We had to censor each sentence. You know that you’re being recorded, that you’re being followed closely. It’s kind of scary. Information suffers as a result. Instead of being pluralist, it’s monolithic.’143 And according to Fidèle Musangu, a journalist at the newspaper Le Phare, by preventing the publication of results ‘the HAM violated the freedom of expression’ again. This supposedly liberty-threatening attitude on the part of the regulatory authority might have acted as a constraint on some media that were not committed to either side; but it did not prevent Bemba’s or Kabila’s radio and television from continuing to spread misinformation. As partial results were gradually published by the CEI and as Kabila seemed to be emer­ ging victorious, on 11 November, almost two weeks after the polls, violence broke out near Bemba’s residence in Kinshasa, leading to the death of three civilians. Tracts were still being distributed, claiming that Bemba had won. These claims were supported by some electronic media run by the Congolese diaspora in Europe, which were beyond the control of the regulatory authority. As during the campaign, the internet was once again used from abroad to circulate rumours and predictions. The pro-Kabila Uhuru remarked that ‘the wealthy, making use of IT tools, are misleading internet users by allowing them to garner false results on the internet’ while ‘the less wealthy have to be content with leaflets’.144 By the time the results and the victory of Kabila were finally announced by the electoral commission on 15 November, the media close to Bemba and Etienne Tshisekedi’s UDPS had had plenty of time to prepare the minds of their audience to discredit the polls and reject the verdict. And the fact that the delays had been so great and that so many civilians had died in violent incidents related to the announcement of the results served to radicalize Kabila’s opponents.

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Accepting or challenging the results The publication of complete results is a crucial step in any electoral process. It reveals both the winners and the losers, but it also shows the extent to which the electoral authorities may have taken heed of criticism and any reported shortcomings, which might have led them to suspend or reorganize elections in some areas. Once the results are announced, candidates and political parties decide whether to accept the results or to challenge them, and what kind of challenge strategy to choose – from demonstrating in the streets to lodging a claim with the appropriate institution. In post-conflict elections, there is often a third option for anyone who contests the results: taking up arms again and going back to war. Very often, the media also face dilemmas. When the elections have been fairly transparent and the results are credible, should the media help the losers come to terms with the outcome or keep pointing out what went wrong? And when the elections and the results are flawed, should journalists keep denouncing electoral manipulations, even if this threatens the peace? In all the electoral processes previously described, the shortcomings and weaknesses occurred before and during the polls. In some cases, the journalists believed that those problems did not have a significant impact on the poll’s results and that the elections had been free and fair. According to JED, journalists had then some kind of commitment and educational mission: they had to ‘explain to the population so that they accept the results and to the representatives so that they know they will be working for all citizens, even for those who did not vote for them’ (JED 2006: 17). But in other cases journalists were convinced that the elections had not been free and fair and that the results announced did not reflect the reality of the vote. Therefore, they had two options: either to protest or to accept the situation for the sake of peace and stability.

What coverage to give challenging parties?  If an election has been honest and transparent, the media should refrain from undermining the credibility of the polls, but they should still give voice to any potential challenges by the opposition. The question is to what extent. In Burundi, the media had to decide what coverage to give the challenges of defeated parties, especially after the first polls (the communal election of June 2005). After the official results were released, FRODEBU (the former ruling party) claimed that massive fraud had taken place and that the CNDD-FDD owed its victory (55 per cent of the communal seats) to the threats it had made against voters in rural areas. The state newspaper Le Renouveau published an official statement issued by FRODEBU outlining its main grievances, but the daily was careful to point out that the statement was being published ‘as a document’ and refrained from commenting on it.145 PARENA, the party of former President Bagaza, also challenged the

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credibility and fairness of the poll, believing that the party had been deprived of at least 10,000 votes. The media synergy enabled challengers to express themselves, but it also gave the head of the CENI the opportunity to remind listeners that: When an election is irregular or not credible, one does not draw attention to this four days later. One has to do so on the day itself or on the following day. The FRODEBU party waited for results to be known before challenging them … When the poll was being held, delegates of this party were indeed present at the polling stations. They should have reported any irregularity immediately.146

The synergy insisted, moreover, on the small number of towns in which there had in fact been real problems: Some parties aimed to have the whole poll cancelled, claiming that the elections had not been free, that they had taken place under threat, in insecure circumstances. But the synergy identified the small number of towns in which things did in fact unfold poorly.147

In the end, elections were rerun in a limited number of places only, and all protagonists ultimately accepted the outcome. In the CAR, the press and the opposition also accepted the proclaimed victory of Bozizé (who beat Ziguélé with 64 per cent of the votes), which could probably be explained by the voters’ longing for stability and security and their desire to see public order restored and the country rebuilt (ICG 2007: 18). Moreover, after the first round, political leaders had been so inconsistent, negotiating their support for one or the other challenger in the second round and sometimes making decisions contrary to those of their own political party, that no one knew exactly who was from the opposition any more. André Kolingba had circulated a list of conditions for his support of Bozizé (demanding ministerial positions and a financial package for himself, his political friends and relatives). Having met with a rebuff, he eventually asked ‘his activists to remain neutral’,148 but several members of his party still rallied behind Bozizé. Jean-Paul Ngoupandé, Abel Goumba and Charles Massi also moved closer to the KNK Convergence,149 after having pledged ‘to unanimously support Mr Martin Ziguélé’.150 When Ziguélé tried to have Bozizé’s victory invalidated by the Constitutional Court (arguing that there had been too much intimidation of voters by the army), the media did not support him, and nor did the defeated politicians pressure activists to take to the street.

The risk of discrediting the whole process In the DRC, by contrast, when provisional complete results for the second round were made public by the CEI on 15 November 2006, Jean-Pierre Bemba’s media at once attacked

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the credibility of the process. In his first official statement, Bemba declared: ‘I cannot accept these results … which are a long way from reflecting the true outcome.’ He nevertheless pledged to ‘use all legal channels to ensure that the will of the people is respected’, which seemed to mean that he would not call for open rebellion. The newspapers opposed to Kabila devoted much coverage to the disappointment of Bemba’s partisans: ‘Kinshasans are sulking’, ‘Celebrations in the east … Mourning in the west’, ‘Moroseness and frustration’, ‘A sullen atmosphere’.151 By contrast, papers supporting Joseph Kabila were quite different: ‘Victory Square resonates to the sound of joyful songs’, ‘Kinshasans celebrate the victory of Joseph Kabila’, ‘Tshangu is jubilant’.152 Once more, readers might have wondered whether the journalists were in fact reporting the same events, from the same city. Newspapers close to the opposition insisted that the poll had been marred by irregularities: above all, they claimed that Kabila should not have been allowed by law to stand as a candidate. As La Tempête des Tropiques insisted: ‘The public should remember that in late 2004, Kabila was registered by the CEI though he was a Major General in the military … From the legal perspective Kabila’s election is undeniably unconstitutional.’153 Secondly, these media believed the elections had been manipulated by the international community. Indeed, La Tempête congratulated Bemba on having ‘understood the hidden motives of international predators who ordered an electoral hold-up in the DRC’.154 Le Phare added to this idea by ­exposing ‘How the outcome of the election was known in advance!’ The paper devoted much coverage to comments made on RFI by Cardinal Frédéric Etsou, the archbishop of Kinshasa, who accused Kabila of being in the pay of ­foreigners.155 The cardinal had claimed that ‘the results published by the CEI are false’, and had lectured: ‘As a pastor, I cannot accept lies. As a priest, Malu Malu cannot condone lies.’156 And Le Phare remained convinced that, no matter what the ‘alleged winners of the presidential election’ said, ‘the heart of the Congo is elsewhere and not necessarily where the results of the CEI wanted it to be’.157 The idea of manipulated ballots, controlled by the international community, was thus widespread in some Congolese media in Kinshasa and the other areas that had voted heavily for Jean-Pierre Bemba. In Kinshasa (where 68 per cent of the voters had chosen Bemba), ‘Radio Okapi no longer had the trust of those who believed that Westerners and thus the MONUC had wanted to impose Kabila’s victory.’158 The same was true in the Equateur Province, Bemba’s stronghold, where he collected 97.2 per cent of the vote: the audience tuned in to partisan Radio Liberté and kept Radio Okapi at a distance. In the Bas-Congo (where Bemba had received 74 per cent of the vote), the population also turned away from the UN radio, but instead listened to the synergy organized by the community radios that were part of the

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Community Media Network of Bas-Congo. The synergy had decided to throw its weight behind accepting the result and, in order to convince a population that was overwhelmingly disappointed by the outcome, it relayed the information transmitted by the other synergies of Sud-Kivu and the Orientale Province. The fact that other media were testifying that Kabila had indeed polled very well in other areas (98.3 per cent in Sud-Kivu and 79.5 per cent in the Orientale Province) helped the radio stations of Bas-Congo explain the crushing victory of the serving president in the east of the country and therefore his election. This collaboration between the various provincial networks thus ‘contributed to calming emotions that were running high at a time when the other media were happy to defend their positions according to their allegiances’.159 Eventually, the tension in Kinshasa reached a peak when, on 21 November, MLC militants set fire to the Supreme Court of Justice, which was then reviewing the appeals filed by Jean-Pierre Bemba and was suspected of lack of independence. The press unanimously condemned this incident, which was labelled (including by Jean-Pierre Bemba’s camp) an act of ‘unjustified vandalism’ and ‘incivility’.160 Bemba’s militants were described as ‘pyromaniacs and extremists’.161 But rumours continued to spread about the possible manipulations of the Supreme Court of Justice, and, in order to put a stop to these rumours, Digital Congo was asked to broadcast the ongoing procedure live until it was over. The verdict was announced on 27 November, when the Supreme Court confirmed the provisional results announced by the CEI. The next day, d ­ uring a televised broadcast that was also shown on RTNC, Jean-Pierre Bemba announced that, although he felt ‘deeply disappointed and frustrated’, he had chosen to constitute ‘a strong and republican opposition’.162 The broadcast media grew less strident, and the atmosphere gradually became less tense. The threat of sliding back into civil war seemed to be over.

Covering challenges or participating in them?  In the DRC, Burundi or the CAR, most of the international and national observers, as well as a large part of the local media, believed that the polls had been more or less free and fair, and that the irregularities observed could not have reversed the final outcome. That is why one major concern of the media was the extent to which critics from the disaffected candidates and parties should be covered. But things were different in Chad and the Republic of Congo, where the elections were flawed. In Chad, in 2001, most of the private media and the political opposition had predicted a second round in the presidential elections. The Chadian print media and the opposition were thus shocked when, one week after the poll, the CENI announced that Idriss Déby was the clear winner in the first round with 67 per cent of the vote. Following that announcement,

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the vice-president of the CENI and two other members representing the opposition resigned, denouncing irregularities orchestrated in the computer processing of the results. The six defeated candidates spoke of an ‘electoral masquerade’. For the press, too, the results had clearly been manipulated, proof that the I[driss] D[éby] regime is not willing to play by the rules. For them, democracy is just a means to have access to power. They have used it, and its use is a one-off. This thing should now be shelved. Chadians who had believed them have now got their comeuppance.163

The opposition, the private press and civil society denounced ballot mani­ pulations and massive fraud, but were unable to provide alternative results. Indeed, defeated candidates and human rights organizations did have their own figures for some polling stations (which did not coincide with CENI figures), but they were unable to provide overall results. As Tchad et Culture remarked, the opposition ‘was unable to have representatives in all polling stations. As a result, many candidates were unable to know their real scores.’164 The media decided not only to report on, but also to join in the movement launched to challenge the results. The day following the announcement, demon­ strators organized a rally in N’Djamena’s hippodrome, but it was banned by the minister of the interior, and activists who attempted to attend the rally were blocked by the police. Some of them made their way to the home of one of the politicians, Saleh Kebzabo, where all six opposition candidates were gathered. The police intervened forcibly in that neighbourhood, killing a 22-year-old activist for an opposition party, Brahim Selgue, and wounding several other demonstrators. A journalist with N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, who was taking photographs, was taken to the police station and his camera was confiscated. Déby’s six challengers were arrested by the police, only to be released a few hours later. Two days later, as they met to organize the funeral of Brahim Selgue, the six challengers were arrested again, along with their campaign managers, and were taken to various police stations across the capital. The minister of the interior accused them of inciting violence and civil disobedience, and notified them that ‘No rallies are authorized between the publication of results by the CENI and of the final results by the Constitutional Court.’165 The press drew attention to the fact that those arrested included the president of the National Assembly and seven deputies, who benefited from parliamentary immunity. After they had been detained for a few hours, the minister of the interior himself ordered their release. Brahim Selgue’s funeral received wide coverage in the private press. The six defeated candidates were present, and a large crowd attended the ceremony. Newspapers published pieces by readers who were outraged or discouraged: ‘We can keep screaming till our lungs hurt, but things will remain the

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same, and the outcome of elections will still be known in advance.’166 All the messages published testified to a bitter resignation in the face of the authorities, which were ‘betting that the current discontent will pass and that the movement will soon fade, because the opposition is not united and the population is afraid of violence’.167 On 11 June, three weeks after the polls, women’s organizations mounted a demonstration in front of the French embassy to complain about foreign support for a flawed electoral process. This demonstration, too, was brutally suppressed by the police. A reporter with N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo was arrested and his roll of film confiscated. ‘Only Télé Tchad was allowed to film – and only once all the women had been dispersed with tear gas and clubs, of course.’168 France was singled out by the demonstrators, who had the feeling that their authorities felt more accountable to the former colonial power (or more concerned about its assessment of the electoral process) than to their own population. While local journalists were unable to meet President Déby, the latter gave an interview to the French daily Le Monde on 4 June, which was reprinted in the local press. The country’s president refuted the accusations of voting irregularities: The opposition is eager to come to power and they are impatient. As a last resort, they are questioning the validity of the ballot they lost … and for ­reasons that are easy to explain: I have woven an alliance of 28 parties around me, each of which campaigned for me in its electoral stronghold.

Eventually, on 13 June, the Constitutional Council validated Idriss Déby’s election and rejected all annulment requests – including the one made by Déby, who, as a candidate, had claimed that ‘religious authorities and human rights organizations have violated their obligation of neutrality by ordering their flock and supporters to vote for the candidate of FAR [Federation Action for the Republic, his main challenger’s party].169 The Council rejected all the complaints ‘for lack of proof’, but invalidated the results of 1,495 polling stations, mainly the contested ones abroad and in the nomadic region.170 The opposition then called for a nationwide ‘ghost town’ campaign set for Monday, 18 June. To prevent this initiative, the authorities published a circular demanding that the various public services ‘proceed with the verification of the actual presence of their employees at their work place during so-called “ghost town” days, and report to the head of government’.171 A few days later, L’Observateur assessed the impact of this campaign and noted that the city of N’Djamena was divided: Populations in the southern neighbourhoods more or less respected the opposition’s call. Bars and small shops were closed all day. N’Djamena BiHebdo, seen as a southern paper, postponed its publication by one day. FM

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Liberté played patriotic songs all day, unlike other radios. In the north, by contrast, the ‘ghost town’ operation did not have much of an impact. People went about their business as usual.172

The opposition movement soon faded: in early July, the opposition was resigned to its fate and the press noted that ‘Déby’s “victory” is now a given … The page has been turned for good and all political actors must now – if they have not done so already – turn to the future.’173 The press also, with the exception of the pro-government daily Le Progrès, had to resign itself to operating in front of elected leaders regarded as illegitimate.

The international community’s position  When the international community has financed the organization of an electoral process, it can hardly distance itself from the outcome of the vote, since any assessment of the transparency and fairness of the poll is also an evaluation of its involvement. Bilateral donors that support financially and logistically the organization of post-conflict polls are accountable to their own taxpayers, who wish to make sure their money has not been invested abroad in vain, in failed peace-building and democratization efforts. As a result, on the one hand, when elections go fairly well, the international community may be overly keen to ensure that the process is valued and that the results are accepted by the local population. This is what some DRC journalists reproached the CIAT with after the 2006 elections: Through sustained media overkill, the international community called on contenders and the population to accept the outcome of the elections of 30 July. From simple and repeated calls, it proceeded to threats. This is neither more nor less than a ‘taming’ of the indigenous populations. No matter! What matters is that we achieve a constitutional state, of which there are in fact very few on planet earth.174

In the DRC (and also in the CAR and Burundi), the UN, the EU and other foreign diplomats put pressure on the local politicians, reminding them of the huge amounts of money invested in the electoral process and of the need to reach the minimum standards of free and fair elections. This led the press close to the UDPS opposition to view the electoral process as ­nothing but a strategy ‘by the West to impose a candidate at any cost, namely Kabila’, after ‘having deliberately ousted Tshisekedi from the presidential race’.175 For La Tempête des Tropiques, even foreign military troops deployed to guarantee the security of the process were simply at the service of this foreign plan. The European troops were not in the DRC to guarantee election security, but to put down any possible contestation that could emerge after ‘an electoral pretence’. On the other hand, when elections end up being flawed, despite significant

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financial and technical assistance, the international community finds itself in a very uncomfortable position. And indeed, faced with disputed and disputable results, the media often call on that international community – and especially on those foreign partners who provided financial support to organize the elections – to say something. This was the case in 2001 in Chad, where, in protest against the provisional results, demonstrators gathered in front of the French embassy and the private press published columns demanding the annulment of the elections, ‘the outcome of which is a denial of the fundamental rights of the Chadian people’. N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo published a ‘call on the international community to assist the Chadian government in organizing free, transparent and truly democratic elections, and to give its support to a government formed in the wake of elections that respect the will of the Chadian people’.176 But, despite such questioning during this troubled period in the wake of the elections, the international community remained very discreet. As Tchad et Culture noted, it seemed as though ‘no “friendly” institution or country wants to bear the cost of political instability’.177 The international community’s passivity was denounced by the FIDH and six other organizations which expressed their indignation over this silence. It was only in late June, after the Constitutional Council had confirmed Idriss Déby’s victory, that the EU, which had largely financed the polls, issued a statement lamenting ‘the numerous shortcomings in the organization of the election and the ensuing irregularities’. It declared itself ‘concerned about the restrictions on freedoms noted during the election period’ and deplored ‘the use of force against civilian demonstrations as well as the momentary but brutal arrest of all opposition candidates’.178 The statement concluded with a reminder that ‘the European Union will pay close attention to the measures that the Chadian government adopts to ensure that progress is made in the organization of elections’. The lack of political commitment, in particular from the European ­Union (which provided far and away the greatest financial support for those transi­ tional electoral processes), has been underlined on many occasions. As MeyerResende (2006: 1, 13) puts it, the linkage between the findings of observers and general political follow-up by the EU can be weak, in particular in cases where observers report significant flaws. The EU should be more coherent in these cases … In the case of flawed elections, the EU may not be able to remedy or reverse the process, but it should use its instruments of foreign policy to respond.

When elections are financed by the state itself, there is less dependence on the international community, and the latter’s point of view does not matter much. This was the case in the Republic of Congo in 2007, and was one reason why the press, though convinced the elections were flawed, did not

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back the opposition’s demand for their annulment and reorganization. La Semaine africaine cited the extra cost that would be involved in any such election rerun: To refinance the elections with our own funds would mean depriving other public services of funds they need to operate. Politics here has become too fond of public funds, and vital sectors such as healthcare and education are the poor relations of an overly politicized state.179

Thus, foreign electoral assistance is not a fail-safe ensuring that polls are democratic, but it does at least help to professionalize the organization of elections and provides an opportunity (and some legitimacy) for foreign partners ‘to raise the issue of flawed elections with relevant governments and create incentives for better performance in the future’ (ibid.: 13). This financial and organizational involvement of the international community may transform some foreign countries and organizations into key players in the local electoral game; it can lead to accusations of foreign manipulation of the process from the outside. But it can also give the media precious allies in the  period following the polls, as the consolidation of democracy, human rights and the rule of law in a post-conflict country is not a foregone conclusion in any election and will necessarily need additional inputs. Epilogue: covering what comes next …

Once an electoral process has ended, regardless of its outcome, the media’s work still goes on. Journalists return to their daily task of covering the activities of elected representatives, giving voice to civil society, informing citizens rigorously and honestly. Thanks to the manifestoes on the basis of which representatives were elected, journalists now have a yardstick by which to measure the leaders’ achievements. As Alexis Sinduhije explained on RPA: The people now have the power, the power to vote. Any elected government will necessarily have to serve the people, because the people have the power to vote. The press must act as a windscreen wiper between government and the people so that the people see clearly whether the government is man­ aging its affairs as it promised to do.180

Such a dynamic seldom takes root peacefully in post-conflict countries, since elections produce winners and losers, in both the political field and the media sector. The winners can make full use of their new position to transform their environment and impact on the losers. On the one hand, newly elected authorities benefit from a new legitimacy granted by the polls. Thus, Joseph Kabila in the DRC, François Bozizé in the CAR, Pierre Nkurunziza in Burundi, Idriss Déby in Chad (in 1996), Paul Kagame in Rwanda (in 2003) and Denis Sassou Nguesso in the Republic of Congo (in 2002) became ‘democratically elected’ presidents. The legitimacy

from polling day to the results  |  231 Table 6  Back to regular work: the media’s role outside the electoral period The media’s role Possible state interventions Outside • Inform citizens (fully, honestly • Legislation: press law the electoral and rigorously) (guaranteeing freedom of period • Monitor the activities of public the press and terms of and private actors on behalf of implementation); review or citizens repeal of oppressive laws • Serve as a platform for society’s • Regulation: independent various components administrative authority • Public information: guaranteeing access to information • Supporting diversity and pluralism • Financing public media

they drew from these polls allowed them to govern without having to worry, as during the earlier transition periods, about finding a consensus or about national unity. On the other hand, the transition was also over in the media landscape, and the media now found themselves faced with a clearly established authority, endowed by popular vote with responsibility for running the state. In the long term, among the various other tasks they faced, the new authorities would have to organize the media landscape through renewed legislation, regulation or new strategies for the state media. More immediately after the polls, the media also risked being labelled according to the position they had adopted during the election period: the winner might tend to think that whoever had not been with him during the contest was against him. And indeed, two kinds of reactions have been observed in several countries: either the elected ruler wished to settle scores with any media that did not serve him, or else, because of the media’s proven influence during the election period, he decided to develop his own information tools. The media sector could thus be reconfigured according to both its involvement in the election and the redistribution of political power. A third important factor is the attitude of foreign donors, who, once the electoral process is over, may decide not to keep the media as a major concern and instead turn to other kinds of local partners.

Time to settle scores In several of the countries under consideration, the winner of the elections used his new position to punish the media that had not helped him win (or those that had been too close to a rival candidate). In mid-June 2001 in Chad, the tax department shut down two newspapers,

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Le Temps and L’Observateur, both of which were close to the opposition and were accused of owing back taxes (4 million CFA francs for the former and 6  million for the latter – $7,820 and $11,730, respectively). L’Observateur ended up paying 1 million CFA francs ($1,950) to have the seals removed from its offices, but Le Temps refused to comply with what it called a racket.181 Although this action was supposedly motivated by the fiscal authorities, the editors of both papers believed they were being made to pay the price for their involvement in the campaign against Idriss Déby’s re-election. The winner of the polls frequently associated the defeated opposition with those media that had given it a voice during the campaign. In the Republic of Congo, when 40 opposition parties denounced elections that were neither free nor fair but tarnished by massive fraud, Les Dépêches de Brazzaville called them ‘a strictly media-based opposition. Claiming the elections were rigged and systematically denouncing an election they had few chances of winning, they have come up with a useful excuse to ignore the outcome of the polls.’182 Mocking the strategy of the opposition, which had refused to take part in the elections and would therefore be absent from parliament, Les Dépêches de Brazzaville noted: ‘They will only voice their opposition in the media, for there will always be indulgent radio and print journalists willing to interview men who only represent themselves.’183 In the DRC, Jean-Pierre Bemba’s media (like their owner) would soon go through purgatory. Although the defeated candidate claimed he was willing to play his role as the leader of an opposition explicitly recognized by the new constitution, his relations with the government soon deteriorated when he refused to part with his personal armed guard. In March 2007, fighting broke out between government forces (essentially Kabila’s presidential guard) armed with heavy weapons and Bemba’s men. The latter were crushed with excessive violence, and numerous civilians (between 300 and 600 according to various estimates) were killed. Jean-Pierre Bemba found refuge in the South African embassy before leaving for Europe, where he would be arrested, at the end of May, to be tried by the International Criminal Court.184 The signals of both his television stations and of Radio Liberté were once again interrupted. Seriously damaged, his media would only resume broadcasting a year later, when Bemba was already behind bars in The Hague and therefore off the local political scene. By no means all the other players on the media landscape demonstrated support for their harassed or threatened colleagues. Elections and subsequent political allegiances often damaged professional solidarity, and the media identified as victorious or defeated did not necessarily wish to sit down together at the same table.

Changes in the media landscape  Elections can bring other changes in the media sector, since the newly elected authorities can, once they are legitimized

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by their victory, privilege and consolidate their grip on their own media, or else create new outlets. In Burundi, for instance, the media were praised for their role in the electoral process. In an interview given before he resigned, the president of the CNC, Jean-Pierre Manda, congratulated the Burundian media: The press has proved that it is able to remain above the fray. It was able to guard itself from politicians’ appeals. The proper unfolding of the elections is due to the media. Irregularities, rumours, demonizations and cases of fraud were immediately made public once they had been reported.185

A few days later, the president of the CENI, Paul Ngarambe, paid homage to the media, underlining their ‘independence, honesty and neutrality’.186 Aware of the importance of the media, but unable to have direct and total control either on the public or on the private media, the newly elected authorities soon understood the strategic point of having their own outlets. The CNDD-FDD thus created the newspaper Intumwa (‘The Messenger’), subtitled ‘The People’s Newspaper’. In August 2007, this paper shocked many citizens and worried media organizations when it published a list of 40 opposition deputies, together with their photographs and family details: they were being reprimanded for not having voted in favour of a bill supported by President Nkurunziza. The idea of publishing a list of names of people presented as the regime’s enemies conjured up very dark memories in the region, and outraged private Burundian radio stations, which condemned their fellow journalists (Deslaurier 2007). In order to get around the popularity and wide audience of these private radios, the ruling party decided to set up its own radio stations, not only in Bujumbura (where it created Rema FM) but also in various provinces. These stations quickly became quite popular, with listeners claiming that they were more entertaining and more diverse than the other private radios. Indeed, all the awareness-raising programmes on peace and reconciliation had led to ‘the development of a rather monolithic radio discourse and programmes which were often similar and serious in tone’ (Fyon 2007: 14). A 2007 survey based on a sample of more than 1,900 Burundians in seven cities showed that, besides the RTNB, the three private radios (RPA, Isanganiro and Bonesha FM) still dominated the sector, but they were followed closely by Rema FM, whose growing popularity rested on music programmes and its closeness to people (IMMAR 2008).187 The elected authorities also progressively tightened their grip on the RTNB by appointing new managers, the RTNB becoming increasingly less diverse and less open to the opposition than it was during the elections. Several private television channels (Télé Renaissance, Salama TV) somewhat shook up state television’s monopoly, but the latter remained an unavoidable actor in the media sector.

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The emergence of political radio stations in the Burundian media sector significantly weakened professional solidarity in the Burundian media, so much so that before the 2010 elections many journalists wondered whether it would in fact be possible to set up another media synergy. Studio Ijambo, which headed the synergy in 2005, tended towards an inclusive approach, in which the synergy would encompass these new radios with their pronounced political allegiances. But some past members of the synergy were wary of  including the newcomers, which fail to respect professional ethical standards.

Alone again?  During those post-conflict elections, the media generally bene­ fited from particular attention from donors and partner NGOs. The end of the electoral period posed the threat that financial partners could either withdraw or reduce their support, in order to channel it into state-building oriented projects, for instance, or else into other countries in crisis. After the 2005 elections, Burundian radio stations were concerned about their future, as was Le Journal du Citoyen and even Radio Okapi. In May 2009, the president of the Burundian Association of Radio Broadcasters, Jean-Jacques Ntamagara, voiced his fears about the survival of radios and their independence in covering the next elections: Of course there are still donors, but the fact that the media’s advocacy actions are often at odds with public policies does not incline them to be generous, since they want to keep up good relations with governments. The media are constantly struggling for their survival, advertising revenue not being sufficient to make them viable. This situation makes them vulnerable to various requests from the authorities or opposition movements.188

Just as electoral assistance has very seldom given way to proper political follow-up, so support for the media in times of elections is often a one-shot operation, with no strategy for the mid-term future. Innocent Muhozi, the director of Radio and Télé Renaissance in Bujumbura, acknowledged the important role of the Burundian media synergy, but regretted the fact that the project did not leave behind at least some equipment to help a lasting improvement in radio programmes.189 In the DRC, several community radio stations, equipped hastily by foreign partners a few weeks prior to the elections, realized later that they could not maintain or repair the sophisticated kit they had received during the elections. Likewise, for months, national television in the CAR did not make use of the digital equipment it had received as part of the emergency plan set up by the French embassy and UNESCO, since it was not certain how to use it properly. As for the initiative involving collective coverage of the polls, the UNDP had warned that all the equipment would have to be given back to the donor after the elections.190 In the CAR also, the French support that enabled the national radio to be

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heard on short wave right across the country ended after the second round, leaving millions of inhabitants deprived of access to national news. An assessment of the massive foreign support for the DRC media during the transition and the electoral process shows how much the Congolese journalists remained critical of the real outcomes of those projects. ‘Capacitybuilding was for individuals, not for the media outlets themselves. It’s a waste of effort,’ remarked one editor.191 ‘Supporting media outlets is not worth much if an appropriate legal and regulatory framework is not adopted and implemented,’ believed the leader of a professional organization.192 And when regulatory authorities were indeed supported, ‘it was a rushed one-shot operation’, acknowledged an expert.193 The issue of sustainability – whether of a media outlet or of political pluralism – has probably been neglected, by both foreign donors and internal key players, too focused on the specific goal of the polls. Though elections are an important step, peace and democracy, as well as a truly independent and diverse media landscape, can only be built in the long term. Conclusion

On the path of (or to) democracy, polling day constitutes a specific test to measure the democratic commitment of the political elite and of the national administration, and obviously also a test of journalists’ professionalism. In Central Africa, the media faced two main challenges on polling day. The first was to perform the impossible yet necessary feat of reporting what was taking place in thousands of polling stations where they could not be present. The media had to be able, based on a limited number of isolated cases, to convey to the public an overall view of voting operations. This was a delicate exercise, which could only be successful (a) if the proper preparations had been made, and (b) given the peculiarities of the Central African context, if there was good coordination between a number of media outlets and sound collaboration with the civil society organizations observing the election. The second challenge was the physical security of journalists. As the president of JED noted, ‘Elections constitute a period of hostility that does not speak its name.’194 In post-conflict countries, journalists must remember that the armed forces are not interested in protecting media professionals, or indeed the population at large. Journalists must be aware of the risks they are taking if they set out to cover the election in areas where armed factions are still active. They should also know that wearing T-shirts or watches bearing the image of a candidate as they head for the polls, or khaki-coloured clothes when travelling in areas where armed factions are still active, is not only professionally unethical but also breaches basic security measures. For those reasons, as the president of JED put it: ‘One does not cover an election campaign as one would an evangelization campaign; one does not cover elections in a post-conflict country as one would a game of football.’

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By setting up synergies – in the CAR, Burundi, the DRC and Chad – journalists tried to address those two challenges. Working together enabled them to respond better to the first challenge, by sending reporters all over the country or the provinces, while at the same time strengthening one another to face the second challenge. These dynamics and strategies made it possible for the local media to override international media, which generally benefited from better protection, more sophisticated technical equipment and easier access to information. ‘Small local radio stations are generally refused access where foreign correspondents are welcomed,’ remarked Pascal Chirhalwirwa.195 Within the synergies, they often managed to increase ten-fold their capacity to collect information, as well as their credibility. These two important challenges were not limited to polling day, but extended to publication of the complete results, and sometimes even beyond that. Though only the DRC experienced high levels of violence between the polls and the declaration of the results, in all countries the media’s professionalism and sense of responsibility were challenged by the growing controversies, rumours and predictions that filled that waiting period. Those media that managed, like Radio Okapi or the Burundian synergy, to keep out of the fray and to stick to professional principles certainly helped the countries steer clear of dangerous escalations and speculations, which could threaten peace. After the announcement of definite results, the defeated parties’ acceptance of their defeat was another crucial moment in the process. Both the commitment of the vanquished to put the cause of peace before their own political ambitions, and the level of goodwill of the victor to proceed down the path of true pluralist democracy then became obvious. In that moment, journalists often had to face a third challenge: loneliness. First, because local  journalists were left alone to report the post-election tensions and demonstrations, since international observers and foreign reporters had already returned home. And secondly, because the support offered by donors to facilitate media coverage of the polls dried up quickly. And even the moral support provided to journalists by the international community, concerned as it was with ensuring a free and fair electoral process that they were financing, often faded when the donors were faced with newly elected authorities that they could no longer patronize or lecture. The way the media in the six countries took up those challenges had consequences in the post-election period. In Burundi, for instance, or in some provinces of the DRC, covering elections collectively through synergies has strengthened professional solidarity and paved the way for extensive collaboration between radio stations. This experience has reinforced the stations’ capacity to provide alternative views that differ from the ones broadcast by increasingly controlled public media or by the newly established political outlets.

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In other media, however, subjected as they were to threats and violence, elections instilled fear and produced, according to Polydor Muboyayi, president of the Congolese self-regulatory body, ‘a new kind of journalist, who is essentially concerned with ensuring his own physical integrity’.196 In Rwanda, as in the Republic of Congo, where elections demonstrated the dominance of the established government’s point of view, the polls probably reinforced a certain editorial conformity in the media: criticism was muted, and they resigned themselves to providing ‘moderate presidential support’ and ‘recentring’ – the most likely guarantees of survival. In Chad, the confrontation with the third challenge has deepened the rift between the ruling authority and most journalists in the private press, to the extent that journalists now – more than ever before – are both despised by the authorities and viewed as their enemies. During the rebel attack and twoday bloody conflict in N’Djamena in February 2008, several journalists were personally targeted and had to flee the country. One of the first steps taken by the authorities was to re-establish prior censorship for the newspapers. Finally, a word on the subject of donor support: the experiences of ­Radio Okapi in the DRC, Radio Ndeke Luka in the CAR and the various media  synergies have shown how useful those foreign-backed independ­ ent  media were during the elections, in terms of circulating pluralist and professional information on polling day and in the following weeks. But the polls also highlighted how risky any move towards autonomy from the donors could be: if the media were left to fend for themselves in the local context, there was a grave danger either of financial suffocation or of political hijack.

General Conclusion

This book has looked at the way in which the media of six countries in Central Africa, all with different historical and political contexts, covered post-conflict election processes in the past decade. Despite the differences, various similarities have emerged from these accounts, and several recurring factors seem to have influenced the way in which journalists have fulfilled their mission. In all six countries, the elections were crucial for peace, for the establishment of a legitimate and representative government, and to determine the people’s opinion. In this context, the challenges and obstacles faced by the media were both different from and similar to those faced by journalists working in other situations. As so often, Africa serves as a magnifying mirror for behaviours and social dynamics that are at work elsewhere and the experiences of media practitioners in that region contribute to a wider reflection on journalists and elections in general. Elections are a perilous period for journalists the world over: they bring about increased political pressure and a greater number of attempts at manipu­lation, and they also emphasize the need to work speedily. At a time when citizens expect the media to be ubiquitous, if the newsrooms encounter material and financial difficulties and a shortage of competent staff, the work of journalists risks being incomplete and unbalanced. The political and economic environment in which the media sector operates and the way it is structured play a key role in determining how the media cover elections. Lange and Ward (2004: 203) come to the conclusion that: ‘Where there is an unstable media environment, the reporting of elections according to the principle of fairness and non-discrimination becomes far more problematic.’ This book has attempted to show in what way and why it becomes problematic, particularly in the case of post-conflict polls, and to show how it is (or could be) possible to overcome some of the obstacles. The problems of electoral coverage in post-conflict countries

Based on the constraints identified in the previous chapters, Table 7 lists the main obstacles that impeded the work of Central African journalists at each phase in these crucial elections. From this table, we can deduce that there are nine major obstacles to balanced, fair, complete and professional coverage of the polls by the media. Some of the obstacles were already clear from our brief description of the media landscape in chapter 1. Our subsequent account of the media’s coverage of the polls has shown how those

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impediments (and more that emerged) actually impacted on the way journalists in Central Africa carried out their professional duty during the elections. Some of the nine obstacles identified below are also found in countries with a long democratic tradition and are not specific to post-conflict countries. Nevertheless, in Central Africa, scarred as it has been by war, each of these impediments has taken on a specific dimension. The obstacles are, therefore, both the product of local history and an illustration of larger issues related to journalistic practice generally. 1. Media without media enterprises When the media have few and in­­ adequately trained staff, no transport, sometimes no offices, an improvised budget managed a day at a time, and only limited resources to pay the journalists’ salaries and the phone bill, how are they to provide rigorous and complete coverage of national elections? The intrinsic weaknesses of Central African media outlets have been described in the previous chapters. The virtual absence of structured media corporations in those countries is above all a consequence of history: the private media sector in Central Africa is a recent development. It has emerged in a hostile economic environment and has not yet been able to develop or strengthen itself into business corporations. Except for the Rwandan media outlets, which are confronted by the increasing influence of the East African business model (from Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania), the media in Central Africa have kept operating in a rather informal way and can hardly even be called enterprises. Wars have also impeded the emergence of structured media businesses by paralysing or destroying the economic fabric, diminishing advertising revenue, sending investors fleeing, impoverishing readers, hindering the development of journalists’ education and training activities, and often pushing up production costs because of a shortage of raw materials and energy. During those post-conflict polls, complete and balanced coverage of the campaign and of voting was jeopardized by the difficult practical and financial conditions under which the media operated. Obviously, the bestperforming media were those such as Radio Okapi or Radio Ndeke Luka, which had, thanks to international support, a number of trained journalists and a level of organization and resources that was far superior to those of the local media. But the kind of budget that allowed those media to operate could not have been found on the local market, and their dependence on foreign funding raises the issue of both sustainability and editorial discretion. The media synergies, which sought to overcome a lack of resources through professional solidarity, were also dependent on foreign support. But at least these experiences indicate that, if they do find themselves with adequate technical, material and organizational conditions, journalists in Central ­Africa possess the capacity, the motivation and the courage, even

The media’s role

Obstacles

Election • Allow parties and candidates to express themselves • Disparity between candidates’ financial and material resources and campaign • Cover the various aspects of the campaign their media visibility strategy • Present, criticize and compare programmes • Blatant imbalance of state-owned media (encouraging the other • Follow the organization of the election media’s partisanship) • Allow citizens and civil society to express themselves • Structural and financial links between the media and candidates • Excessive and uncontrollable discourses of politicians • Weak distinction between information and paid-for political communication • Weakness and frailty of provincial media • Press freedom violations and journalists’ insecurity

Pre-election • Provide information on the electoral process • Limited audiences (illiteracy, FM broadcasting and media centred period (voter registration, voting procedures, etc.) in the capital city) • Analyse electoral stakes • Media outlets’ limited capacity to produce original material • Supervise implementation of the election • Lack of a journalistic tradition and skills as regards civic education (denounce any lack of transparency or rigour) • Obstacles to information access • Assess the outgoing government • Increasing politicization: due to financial frailty, material shortages (transport and equipment), lack of training, media ownership

Outside • Inform citizens (fully, honestly and rigorously) • Media outlets’ intrinsic weaknesses: low educational attainment, the electoral • Monitor the activities of public and private actors economic frailty, lack of material and technical resources period on behalf of citizens • Strong political connections • Serve as a platform for society’s various • Government’s grip on public media components • Poor ‘reach’: unequal access to the media • Attacks on press freedom • Inactive or politicized regulatory authorities



Table 7  Summary of the obstacles faced by the media at each phase of the election process

• Understaffed editorial teams • Shortage or absence of transport • Limited means of communication • Attacks on press freedom and lack of security • Limited access to polling stations and the counting of votes • Media’s intrinsic limitations (time between issues of periodicals)

Polling day • Observe and report on voting operations • Denounce irregularities • Publish partial results (if authorized) • Analyse available data (turnout, etc.) • Cover accounts given by independent observers

• Violent protests against the final results (journalists’ insecurity)

Newly elected • Cover newly elected authorities as they take office • Reprisals against media which did not support the winners representatives • Remind newly elected representatives of their • Emergence of new, politicized ‘rival’ media take office campaign pledges • Withdrawal or diminishing of support of international organizations and foreign partners (wishing to play it safe)

Announce- • Announce/publish final results ment of • Comment on final results final results • Cover the reactions of the various parties and candidates, and of civil society

Challenges • Report on the reasons behind any challenges/ • Opacity of the appeals procedure (lack of transparency of the and appeals appeals and how the appeals procedure develops administrative authority in charge of examining and giving a ruling on appeals) • Pressure from the international community to accept the results and validate the elections

Announce- • Announce overall and/or detailed results (and • Late announcement of results: need to cover a long period of ment of tell citizens where detailed results can be found) uncertainty and rumours provisional • Analyse results • Violent protests challenging the polls and the results (the media results • Cover the reactions of the various parties and being a potential target for this violence) candidates, and of civil society • Cover any potential demonstrations

• Obstacles to information access • Lack of material and human resources



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in a highly insecure environment, to report professionally and to play their part in the electoral process. The issue at stake is relevant for any journalist or newsroom in the world: is there a minimum level of equipment and qualified human resources necessary to ensure professionalism in the media? Of course, it goes without saying that, though there may well be a necessary minimum level, this in itself is not enough to ensure respect for the principles of the profession. 2. The ‘dangerous liaisons’ between media and politics  The private press in Francophone Africa was born less than 20 years ago, at the same time as political pluralism, and was initially a militant and often partisan opinion press (Perret 2005). Virtually unconcerned by questions of profitability and entrepreneurial positioning, and very often sponsored by political parties, the new media industry was more focused on the political debate – on promoting or criticizing the authorities – than on providing citizens with confirmed, verified and credible information (Nyamnjoh 2005: 231). Later, private radio and television stations were established, thanks to a fairly liberal and shallow regulatory framework, which did not always insist on clarifying who the owners or shareholders were of broadcast outlets. Therefore, many enterprises in the DRC or the Republic of Congo are actually owned by politicians, or by their straw men, and have underlying political interests. In such circumstances, media pluralism does not necessarily imply a plurality of editorial positions or of content, and nor does it guarantee the presence of diverse and ‘independent’ opinions and ideas in the public sphere. In four of the six countries under consideration, conflicts have reinforced the links between politicians and the media. Each belligerent group has tried to control one or more media outlets to make its propaganda heard, while journalists, under increasing pressure and threat, had to turn to political leaders to seek protection or to find the resources to keep their media alive. The conflicts have helped prevent the revision or further extension of legislation that would clarify the status of the various media. During post-conflict elections, in some countries (DRC, CAR, Republic of Congo), many media outlets remained or became the mouthpieces of candidates. The media’s frailty made them vulnerable to pressure from politicians and political parties keen to receive adequate media coverage. Some radio stations and newspapers were thus driven to sell airtime or print space to the highest bidder, regardless of equal access or balanced coverage. These ‘dangerous liaisons’ harmed journalists (who lost their credibility or were the target of personal attacks) and their readers and listeners (who were not adequately and impartially informed before they headed for the polls). Generally speaking, those media that managed to remain out of reach of political influence and away from the political market did so because they were supported by foreign aid. Such was the case, for instance, with Radio

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Okapi, Radio Ndeke Luka, Radio Maendeleo, Le Journal du Citoyen or the Burundian private radio stations. But many of their journalists had, at some point, to pay the price for their neutrality: many contenders, whether or not former belligerents, tended to think that any media outlet that did not stand with them was therefore an enemy. Such dangerous liaisons between the media and the political sphere are not specific to Africa: they have been present ever since the dawn of mass communications. As Thierry Perret (2005: 303) claims: Most of those who condemn the African press for being politicized have little knowledge, it seems, of the history of the press. Relations between the press and politics have never been ambiguous, but were for all times perfectly clear. They constantly feed on one another, struggle against one another, assess one another.

Historically, in the West, the media’s independence from political parties has owed much to the development of commercial advertising and to the involvement of journalists themselves in the capital of press companies. Another question thus arises: is such a scenario possible in post-conflict countries, where, except through foreign support, the media have almost no way of surviving outside the political arena (which also infiltrates the economy) and where journalists are poorly paid? 3. The government’s ‘public’ media  In the six countries, although electoral law stipulates that the public broadcaster should ensure equal and fair coverage for all candidates and parties, the national media have demonstrated blatant quantitative and qualitative bias in favour of the contending incumbent president or the outgoing party. This tendency, well-anchored among political leaders and in the state media’s newsrooms, dates back to military rule and single-party regimes, which held a state monopoly on the media for decades before 1990. In many African countries, as military regimes made way for civil governments and political pluralism 20 years ago, the public media tried to evolve into a public service, with more administrative and financial independence from the government. Nevertheless, in countries that endured conflict, such an evolution was short-lived and the state media soon returned to being instruments of propaganda – strategic weapons used to defend the government. After the conflict, the government would maintain its control, especially during elections. And, in countries where the public media were appropriated by the incumbents, the opposition media often used this as an excuse to justify their own radical and unbalanced positions, as in Chad or the DRC. In all six countries, regulatory measures were adopted before the postconflict election campaign, in order to ensure that all candidates and p ­ arties were allocated equal airtime and space in the public media. This was already

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a step in the right direction, but little was done to bring into line those public media that did not comply, or that used indirect means (such as music, religious programmes or the coverage of presidential activities) to promote the incumbent. All around the world, the benefits of editorial independence and a ‘public service’ (rather than ‘government’) identity have only come after a long quest by major state broadcasters. And setbacks are always potentially just around the corner and pressure from the Executive remains an issue. Nevertheless, the question when it comes to Central Africa is as follows: are public service broadcasters not more easily and more lastingly established in countries that have managed to develop a non-political civil service and that have public services other than just in the broadcasting sector? ‘Presidential public media’ seem to be merely a reflection of the overall lack of depoliticized public services, in whatever domain. 4. The media’s limited scope and the information blackout  How is one to ensure that citizens can take part in fair elections when a large part of the population has no access to pluralist information? In Central Africa during the elections, the print media generally remained confined to the capital, had small print runs and were too expensive for most people. Although newspapers did circulate between readers, they nevertheless only reached a small, literate urban elite. Likewise, television, which requires the purchase of a costly set (as well as access to electricity), had very limited scope: in Bangui, N’Djamena, Bujumbura and Brazzaville, national television, which still had a near monopoly, did not broadcast outside the capital. With very few exceptions, private radio stations generally broadcast on FM within a very limited area. And public radio, which historically was responsible for disseminating vital information to the population, was, in four of the six countries, unable to cover the whole territory due to technical problems and a lack of public investment. Because of war, infrastructure had deteriorated, reducing even further the range of the media. Since the military had been the focus of government spending, roads, the electricity network and telecommunications facilities (all of which are necessary for collecting and disseminating information) had received no investment for years. Therefore, during the post-conflict polls, a large part of the population had no access to balanced and fair reporting – not just because the public broadcaster (with the widest coverage) was biased, but also because in the DRC, the Republic of Congo, CAR and Chad sections of the population simply had no access to any private media, whether during the election campaign or on polling day. Citizens in some areas were deprived of pluralist information as radio transmitters often lacked a stable source of power. The overwhelming majority of the media in the countryside – and even (in

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Chad, the Republic of Congo, the CAR and Burundi) in the capital – were dependent on generators, if only for a few hours a day; and only well-off outlets like Radio Okapi could count on sufficient fuel supplies to ensure permanent broadcasting. Apart from not having access to a diverse range of information providers, people in the provinces could also feel that they were excluded from the media content, since the lack of roads, transport facilities and the high cost of telecommunications prevented journalists from covering the election process outside the capitals. Those populations that were excluded from any pluralist electoral information were a source of concern in all six countries, which sometimes prompted emergency measures, such as in the CAR. For democratic elections lose all meaning when the percentage of citizens who have access to the candidates’ programmes and who can make a choice based on enough relevant information is too limited. More generally, the existence of sections of the population who are excluded from election information (even if it is they who choose to ‘tune out’) is a source of concern in many countries throughout the world, particularly in those countries where election turnout is on the decline, as this jeopardizes the basic principle of representative democracy. What do democratic elections mean when the percentage of citizens concerned by the manifestoes of candidates is limited by their lack of access to information or by their lack of interest? There is, of course, a fundamental difference between self-excluded citizens, who choose to turn off their television sets when election debates are on, and people who do not listen to the debates because they do not have access to a radio. But the outcome is the same: the polls that take place without their informed participation result in the election of ‘representatives’ who do not represent their concerns. 5. Attacks on the press  In Central Africa, although the right of freedom of expression has been recognized since the early 1990s, media professionals have been the victims of numerous acts of violence and repression, especially during periods of armed conflict. In Rwanda in 1994, half the media professionals were killed. In the DRC, 1998, when the second war broke out, was one of the darkest years in the profession’s history. During the wars and transition periods in the Republic of Congo, Burundi, Chad and the Central African Republic, journalists were threatened, arrested arbitrarily and thrown in jail. During the post-conflict elections, a wide range of press freedom violations were carried out by various parties: the military, rebels, private militias, intelligence services, politicians, their supporters. These violations included the silencing of media that did not favour one particular candidate; preventing the circulation of newspapers by monopolizing the supply of paper or ink or the printing facilities; brutalizing or arresting journalists on duty; confiscating equipment; threatening reporters in person or on the phone; even, in the

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DRC, the assassination of a journalist. All of this happened during these polls, in a context where arms were still widely available. Attacks on press freedom have led journalists to practise self-censorship, which is sometimes reminiscent of the decades of stonewalling under oneparty rule. This is perfectly understandable in countries where conflict has meant that countless crimes have gone unpunished and where attacks on journalists are rarely investigated and the perpetrators seldom convicted. In some countries, such as Burundi, journalists reacted collectively by jointly denouncing violations of press freedom, and their professional solidarity served to reinforce the entire sector in the face of potential threats. Elsewhere, in the Republic of Congo, for instance, the fierce competition between heavily politicized media meant that political allegiances outweighed a sense of professional identity, which hindered journalistic solidarity. In such an atmosphere of tension, threat and impunity, journalists cannot feel totally free; and if they do not feel free, then neither can the electoral process be viewed as such. In Central Africa, as elsewhere, journalists’ selfcensorship could be the first obstacle to the right of citizens to access information, and therefore a main impediment to free and fair elections. 6. The regulatory authorities’ weaknesses and bias Countries in Central Africa have a tradition of civil law inherited from French or Belgian rule. Unlike the American tradition, this generally provides for laws that govern not only the establishment of media companies, but also the content disseminated by the media. During election periods in particular, the public media’s activities are closely defined, and private broadcasters are often subject to significant regulation. The media regulator is in charge of organizing the media’s involvement in the election campaign, but also of dealing with complaints lodged against them. Such authorities are quite new to the African media landscape and emerged either in the wake of the liberalization of the media sector or in the course of the peace processes, and often had as their primary goal to ensure fair access to the media during elections. This promised to be a sensitive task in countries where some media were under the influence of political parties and had even channelled ‘hate speech’ during the war. In the six countries under consideration, the regulatory authorities proved, during the election process, to be institutionally fragile, underfinanced and ill-equipped, often inactive, sometimes inept and generally politicized. Most of them nevertheless did try both to adopt the necessary regulatory framework and to monitor the way airtime was allocated to the different candidates and parties. But they often had to face both distrust on the part of journalists (who challenged the excessive interventions by the public authorities) and attempts by government to control and manipulate the media regulation mechanism. They were accused, by at least one portion of journalists, of

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unduly restricting their freedom to report (in the DRC, Chad and Burundi) and of remaining unable to force the public media to be balanced and fair. They were generally regarded as either useless or pro-government, and, as a consequence, some of them were even attacked or confronted directly. In Burundi, private radio stations struggled against the CNC until the president stepped down, and in the DRC, the HAM’s facilities were looted by political militants, forcing the institution to work almost clandestinely in temporary offices for the rest of the election. The very idea of an ‘independent administrative authority’ regulating the media sector has been difficult to assimilate in countries where ministries of information or communications had controlled the sector for decades before those institutions were established. Everywhere, the regulators were faced with difficulties in their relationships with the relevant government department, with the public media and with private broadcasters. These regulatory bodies are very different from the models that have emerged in Europe and North America, and there have been continuing debates on the extent to which such bodies should interfere in moderating (or forbidding) hate speech, limiting political advertising or establishing content constraints. The balance between freedom of speech and control of media content is under constant review and negotiation in any democracy, particularly during elections, when a legitimate, neutral and impartial regulatory authority can (and should) intervene directly in the media sector. 7. Informing while not informed: obstacles to information access  In countries that for decades had state monopolies on the media, followed by murderous conflicts, and where information has been treated a spoil of war, there is a strong tradition of withholding information. Free and democratic elections require transparency and communication, whereas opacity, deliberate lies and propaganda were the rule for years. This is a radical change of culture, both for administrations, which now have to make information public, and for journalists, who have to learn where to find it or how to demand it. During elections, journalists in Central Africa were often underinformed on major issues because of a lack of collaboration and goodwill on the part of the administrative authorities, which prevented the reporters from gaining access to the field and to information. In Chad, the media were presented by the government as enemies of Idriss Déby’s regime; civil servants were instructed to keep them at bay. In the CAR and Burundi, election officials sometimes prevented reporters from accessing the polling stations. In some cases, the lack of access to public information could encourage the media’s tendency to report rumours, fake opinion polls and dodgy forecasts. Debates also emerged, in the CAR, Burundi, the DRC and Chad, between those who wanted the media to be allowed to broadcast results immediately (which would limit fraud, but would open the way to dangerous extrapolations)

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and those who believed that only complete results that had been validated by the authorities should be transmitted to the public. In the history of journalism, access to information is a comparatively recent demand, and the issue of knowing exactly what information should be available is still debated in many countries. Freedom of the press first meant the freedom to publish without any prior authorization, hence a free publishing market. It was only two centuries later that the idea emerged of the public’s right to information, in which the media played an essential role. The citizen’s right to be informed, which translates as the journalist’s obligation to inform, thus implies access to information.1 Such access remains problematic everywhere, since it is one of the journalist’s primary tools in fulfilling the role of watchdog and counterbalance. 8. The candidates’ campaign strategies The parties’ campaign strategies heavily influence the way in which the media can cover elections: not all candidates mobilize the same resources to approach journalists, nor use the same tone to attract voters. The campaign strategies might, first of all, rely on very different budgets in countries that have no strict legislation limiting the financing of campaigns. For the media, it can be a real challenge to provide equal coverage to candidates who have very different levels of resources at their disposal. In particular, politicians who have access to state funds do not hesitate to use them in their campaigns, becoming much more visible than their challengers. How could the media in Chad, the CAR, the DRC or the Republic of Congo give equal coverage to a serving president who organized a wide range of rallies, tours of the provinces (with ‘embedded’ journalists taken on board), charitable and public events, and to opposition parties that could hardly organize a rally in the capital? As La Semaine africaine reminded us, citing former Gabonese President Omar Bongo, these presidents ‘don’t organize elections only to lose them’.2 Moreover, in these post-conflict countries, the six major presidential candidates all had a military background, and election campaigns were run like military campaigns. They were designed to seize (or keep) power and were planned like combat missions, requiring all available manpower and matériel to be mobilized. Military leaders do not ask their workforce, even if they are paid with public money, to serve the population, but to defeat the enemy. All six presidents eventually elected (Bozizé, Kagame, Kabila, Nkurunziza, Déby and Sassou Nguesso) had something in common: before entering the election campaign, they had all previously led battalions in the regular army or in a rebel movement (or both). The way they related to the media likewise reflected their military background. Media coverage is also heavily influenced by the tone used by the political candidates – for instance if they make inflammatory statements. In the DRC

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in 2006, when accused of broadcasting xenophobic statements or direct attacks on the honour of other candidates, journalists often exonerated themselves by saying that they were just channelling the politicians’ addresses; that the tensions resulting from the programmes broadcast or the papers published were due not to the journalists but to the politicians. That is why, in the DRC and the CAR, the regulatory bodies eventually decided, rather than imposing sanctions on the media, to declare an embargo on politicians. The whole issue is tied to that of the strategies and political programmes of candidates and parties. Many studies put forward the weakness of African political parties, centred around a ‘big man’, as well as their ethnic or regional foundation (Basedau, Erdmann and Mehler 2007). In our six post-conflict countries, the contending political parties are often of three kinds: former single parties used to one-party rule; former armed rebel movements that have hastily converted themselves into a political party; and opportunistic initiatives set up to serve personal ambitions and limited to a few members in the capital. The campaigns are often based on the rejection of others, the threat of a return to war or false promises of lasting peace, rapid development and instant well-being (after years of declining living standards) – arguments that journalists and the media end up relaying, sometimes involuntarily. The responsibility of journalists and the media, especially during elections, has been declared to be ‘limited’ by international press freedom organizations such as Article 19. But these limits vary. While in some countries, xenophobic candidates or parties are boycotted by all major news media (in Belgium, for instance), in other countries the mainstream media might relay the pronouncements of such candidates/parties, or might conduct an investigation that is financed by a candidate who is trying to reveal the moral weaknesses of a contender in his private life (as in the United States). Faced with these different patterns, the media in Central Africa still have to define their own principles and establish strong self-regulatory mechanisms, in order to ensure that the principles have more chance of being respected. 9. Confusion between information and communication  Finally, election coverage by the media in Central Africa is strongly influenced by a widespread professional practice: concealed advertorials or rewarded journalism. The words gombo (in Chad), camorra (in the Republic of Congo) or coupage (in the DRC) refer to the money that journalists receive from organizers for covering an event (or indeed from any source of information who wishes to have his message heard). Thus, interviewing a candidate, covering the rally of a second contender, and reporting on a civil society organization’s event in support of a third candidate are all opportunities for journalists to benefit financially from their ‘source’ of information. Reports based on this kind of deal are always presented to the public as news reports, not as advertorials, although they always praise the donor. These deals may prop

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up fragile media outlets and ensure that impoverished journalists are paid. But they also dupe the audience and violate the codes of ethics adopted by journalists themselves. Of those we have studied, the media that do not practise rewarded journal­ ism are generally those financed by foreign donors (for instance Radio Okapi and Le Journal du Citoyen in the DRC, Radio Ndeke Luka in the CAR, Radio Isanganiro in Burundi), all of which pay their staff adequate salaries so that the journalists do not have to look elsewhere. Years of a single-party system, followed by armed conflicts, have nurtured this type of behaviour. Indeed, for decades, African journalists were regarded first and foremost as ‘channels’ by which to communicate, and not as news professionals whose mission it is to collect, select, cross-check and disseminate facts independently. Journalists in Central Africa have been used to serve both the country’s national unity (after independence) and its development plans. More recently, they have been financially rewarded, by donors and international NGOs, to produce ‘peace-building’ programmes or articles. This practice of paid-by-the-source journalism is so common that many political figures only perceive journalists as mouthpieces, paid for channelling ready-made information. In such a context, equal access and balance are replaced by the potential balance of the gombo, camorra or coupage that is available from the different campaigners. The confusion between information and communication is also maintained by the increasing number of pieces produced by communications units that are outside the media but that still manage to insert the items, sometimes at great expense, into television news programmes, radio news bulletins or the editorial pages of newspapers, without any mention of their source and thus of their true nature. Such contamination of editorial space by products that strongly resemble promotional material is a matter of concern well beyond Africa. Everywhere, during election periods, the media should know that they are more than ever responsible for distinguishing between candidates’ free access to the media, paid access to the media, and journalistic coverage that involves editorial responsibility. Opportunities in the twenty-first century

These nine major obstacles certainly impeded the work of journalists during post-conflict elections in Central Africa. In ‘democracies with adjectives’, the freedom of the press also comes ‘with adjectives’: it is controlled, limited, supervised, endlessly reminded of its responsibilities, or simply neglected and stifled. Even when the media are supposed to be free, the numerous constraints impeding their daily operations often show that the public space is not as open as one might think. Therefore, the media should not be expected to achieve what is beyond their reach: in Central Africa, as anywhere else, they will never be able to

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render transparent electoral processes that are not; create competition in a tightly controlled context; or put an end to virulent election campaigns with ethnic or regionalist tendencies. However, they can be expected to fulfil the duties that are within their reach: to denounce ballot manipulations; promote expression by all in as balanced a manner as possible; and ease tensions by banning discourse that incites violence. Even in a context of huge pressure from dominant political parties, the recent electoral experiences of Central African countries show that a number of opportunities exist for the media to perform professionally – especially if they work together, if they anticipate, and if they make the most of the little they have. Table 8 summarizes these opportunities. During the polls we have been examining, some of the media could already be found seizing some of these opportunities to surmount the obstacles they faced. A first opportunity lies in the fact that never before have there been so many media in Central Africa, and never before have they been so diverse or enjoyed such freedom of expression. Despite ongoing instability and a decade of widespread violence, hundreds of newspapers, radio and television stations are now operational throughout the region. Elections offer an ideal opportunity to observe the extent to which a space has opened up where critical and contradictory opinions are voiced and discussed, and to observe how far these countries have come since the days of single-party rule, some 20 years ago. Secondly, the technological revolution offers the media unprecedented opportunities to gather and disseminate information. Mobile phones and the internet have already changed the way many journalists work. As was shown in several cases during the polls in Central Africa, technology has revolutionized the circulation of information and has increased the possibility for isolated journalists to access information and communicate with fellow journalists; it has also enhanced their visibility, thereby reinforcing the impact their work can have. Moreover, media professionals can now count on many professional associ­ ations and organizations, whose aim is to strengthen professional solidarity in the sector (associations of journalists), guarantee self-regulation (press councils and observatories), set up training programmes and projects (press houses) and defend the freedom of the press and the rights of journalists. Professional solidarity came about in the early 1990s on the basis of organizations of journal­ists that existed under single-party regimes and state media monopolies. These associations found it difficult to open up to journalists from the new private media, and there is often still a gap between journalists  in the private and the public sectors. Then wars and conflict paralysed the associations and often led to profound divisions between members, depending on which ‘side’ they chose during the conflict. Now peace has brought fresh opportunities to gather and work together. In some countries, such as

The media’s role

Obstacles

Opportunities

Election • Allow parties and candidates to express them- • Disparity between candidates’ financial • Existence of independent and permanent campaign selves and material resources and their media monitoring mechanisms visibility strategy

Pre-election • Provide information on the electoral process • Limited audiences (illiteracy, FM broad- • Donors’ support provided to specialized period (voter registration, voting procedures, etc.) casting and media centred in the capital international NGOs and local NGOs • Analyse electoral stakes city) • creation of new media • Supervise implementation of the election • Media outlets’ limited capacity to produce • production of awareness-raising content (denounce any lack of transparency or rigour) original material • equipment for the local media • Assess the outgoing government • Lack of a journalistic tradition and skills • training courses as regards civic education • support for the regulatory authorities • Obstacles to information access • support for self-regulatory mechanisms • Increasing politicization: due to financial • Ongoing lobbying for greater access to public frailty (the lure of a reward), material information shortages (transport and equipment), lack of training, media ownership

Outside • Inform citizens (fully, honestly and rigorously) • Media outlets’ intrinsic weaknesses: low • Media pluralism: existence of diversified the electoral • Monitor the activities of public and private educational attainment, economic frailty, private media period actors on behalf of citizens lack of material and technical means • Technological developments opening up new • Serve as a platform for society’s various • Strong political connections forms of participation (mobile phones, the components • Government’s grip on public media internet) • Poor ‘reach’: unequal access to the media • Donors’ interest in the media sector: support • Attacks on press freedom budgets available • Inactive or politicized regulatory • Existence of self-regulatory associations and of authorities professional organizations of journalists and media managers • Increase in the number of training centres for journalists • Reforms in journalism training to make it more appropriate to local contexts



Table 8  Summary of the opportunities likely to help overcome the obstacles facing the media in Central Africa

Announce- • Announce overall and/or detailed results (and • Late announcement of results: need to • Consultation mechanisms of media ment of tell citizens where detailed results can be found) cover a long period of uncertainty and professionals: adoption of joint positions in provisional • Analyse results rumours relation to the regulatory authority or the results • Cover the reactions of the various parties • Violent protests challenging the polls and electoral commission and candidates, and of civil society the results (the media being a potential • Existence of guidelines likely to help ensure • Cover any potential demonstrations target for this violence) journalists’ security in the event of violence

Polling day • Observe and report on voting operations • Understaffed editorial teams • Synergies (including the print media) • Denounce irregularities • Shortage or absence of transport • Possible collaborations with civil society • Publish partial results (if authorized) • Limited means of communication observation groups • Analyse available data (turnout, etc.) • Attacks on press freedom and lack of • Use of technology (mobile phones and the • Cover accounts given by independent observers security internet) to gather and transmit information • Limited access to polling stations and • Existence of mechanisms making it possible to the counting of votes respond rapidly and jointly to attacks on • Media’s intrinsic limitations (time journalists between issues of periodicals)

• Cover the various aspects of the campaign • Blatant unbalance of state-owned media • Evolution from government-controlled media • Present, criticize and compare programmes (encouraging the other media’s partisan- to public service media (projected or ongoing) • Follow the organization of the election ship) • Lobbying for greater transparency in private • Allow citizens and civil society to express • Structural and financial links between media’s capital themselves the media and candidates • Embargo mechanisms for political figures • Excessive and uncontrollable discourses • Attempts by the regulatory authority to better of politicians identify and impose constraints on pro • Weak distinction between information motional material and paid-for political communication • Professional solidarity (synergies) and collec • Weakness and impotence of provincial tive projects (pooling of available resources) media • Existence of local associations for the defence • Press freedom violations and journalists’ of press freedom and of mechanisms insecurity guaranteeing journalists’ physical security • Obstacles to information access • Decentralization of these mechanisms in the • Lack of material and human resources provinces

The media’s role

Obstacles

Opportunities

Outside • as above • as above the electoral • Lack of interest of donors and operators period in the media sector

• as above

Newly • Cover newly elected authorities as they take • Reprisals against media which did not • Existence of professional associations and selfelected office support the winners regulatory mechanisms represen- • Remind newly elected representatives of their • Emergence of new, politicized rival • Lobbying by the media associations to keep tatives take campaign pledges media media issues on the donors’ agenda office • Withdrawal or diminishing of support of international organizations and foreign partners (wishing to play it safe)

Announce- • Announce/publish final results • Violent protests against the final results • Contacts with international associations ment of • Comment on final results (journalists’ insecurity) and foreign colleagues to mobilize foreign final results • Cover the reactions of the various parties and solidarity candidates, and of civil society

Challenges • Report on the reasons behind the challenges/ • Opacity of the appeals procedure (lack • Development of specialized communication and appeals appeals and how the procedure develops of transparency of the administrative services in the institutions in charge of authority in charge of examining and examining the legal challenges giving a ruling on appeals) • Mechanisms enabling public appeal to foreign • Pressure from the international com- diplomatic representations (press conferences, munity to accept the results and validate open letters, etc.) the elections



Table 8  Summary of the opportunities likely to help overcome the obstacles facing the media in Central Africa (continued)

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the Republic of Congo, the fierce competition between heavily politicized media still hinders professional solidarity, as political allegiance outweighs professional identity. But in other countries, professional organizations have been revitalized and have developed joint projects to train journalists, cover elections or set up media-monitoring mechanisms. The adoption of common codes of conduct, the creation of self-regulatory authorities, the joint denunciation of violations of press freedom have all reinforced the entire sector and enabled it to consolidate its autonomy from politicians. Professional solidarity is thus a third opportunity, which undeniably reinforces the media’s capacity to cope with elections. A fourth opportunity lies in the establishment of communications regulatory authorities, even if the relationship between the media and the regulatory body has not always been friendly. If those institutions consolidate their autonomy and become more professional, they could help to promote the  public media’s greater independence and pluralism and even encourage public funding of private media – something typical of the Francophone media environment. Lastly, the conflicts and subsequent elections have led the international community to turn its attention to the media sector and to acknowledge journalists as key players in peaceful polls. The international community’s commitment to support the media was not the same everywhere: the greater its involvement in the peace process and in the financing of elections, the greater its tendency to support the media (as in the DRC and Burundi). In countries where the authorities exercised tight control over the organization of elections (Republic of Congo, Chad, Rwanda), fewer efforts were made to strengthen journalists’ capacities, though independent media had at least as many obstacles to face there. Though donor support was essential for the completion of many projects that had positive outcomes (such as the ‘media synergies’), there was one major drawback: it was often short-lived and centred on the elections themselves. The media thus risked finding themselves unable to pursue their work after the polls and failed to give citizens the information they needed to participate in monitoring and holding to account those people they elected.

The most strategic issues for future elections  Since the countries have emerged from the post-conflict period in its strict sense (which ended with the polls), elections should now be organized on a regular basis. Four issues remain crucial in reinforcing the region’s media ahead of forthcoming elections, whatever the quality of the polls might be: journalists’ freedom and security; the media’s financial and material independence; the consolidation of regulation and self-regulation; and better cooperation with actors in the election processes. As regards freedom of the press, any initiatives that ensure the rapid and

256  |  conclusion

nationwide availability of information useful to journalists and citizens are valuable. Professional solidarity and the collective mobilization of the sector facilitate both access to information and the verification and cross-checking of accumulated data. Training programmes likewise contribute to freedom of the press, since only educated journalists can work ‘freely’, in a ‘neutral’, ‘fair’, ‘objective’, ‘rigorous’, ‘honest’, ‘responsible’, ‘balanced,’ ‘professional’ and ‘independent’ manner. Each of these adjectives – all of which feature in journalists’ codes of ethics, directives and pledges of commitment – can be debated, especially before elections: such a discussion about basic principles should take place within the profession, within each editorial board, so that journalists are fully aware of the sense of these words for their daily work. Journalists’ security can also be improved by better informing media professionals: too few of them are aware of, and apply, the basic rules that each journalist should follow when venturing into sensitive areas. Awarenessraising sessions are thus necessary – not only for journalists, but also for media managers, who are too often unaware of their responsibility for the physical security and professional integrity of their employees. Journalists, media outlets and professional organizations should clearly identify, ahead of the polls, who can help in case of trouble. Providing mechanisms for a rapid response when press-freedom violations are perpetrated can save a lot of time and safeguard peaceful working conditions and also journalists’ physical well-being. It is important that journalists should be supportive of one another even beyond national borders, and that those who take the risk of expressing their views freely know that they can rely on the vigilance and commitment of their colleagues, whether in their own country or abroad. The second issue of the media’s financial and material independence appears to be a more arduous undertaking. Past experience has shown the chronic lack of resources and equipment that daily hampers the work of the overwhelming majority of media in the region. However, there are a number of possible solutions. First, it is important that the media themselves identify the shortages they suffer from (and not be ‘diagnosed’ by foreign experts) and take an active part in strategies developed to help them. The experiences we have discussed show that the pooling of resources through synergies that group together several media increases the capacity of newsrooms and strengthens solidarity. Such synergies must also figure out how to allocate the resources sustainably, so that the media benefit from the operation beyond the election period. Financial partners must be made aware of the need to offer medium-term intervention, and also be encouraged to pay attention to sustainability, so that they do not support projects that will never survive beyond the day they pull out. Contributions from institutions and public funding to support the media during elections can also be important, if allocation criteria are clear and widely accepted by the beneficiaries themselves. Lastly, the issue of financial independence also applies to the public

conclusion  |   257

media, which are funded by the taxpayer and so should feel accountable to all citizens, and not just to the ruling party. The third crucial issue is improvement of the media’s regulatory and self-regulatory mechanisms. In most of the countries under consideration, the regulatory framework needs to be fleshed out, making sure to adapt the constraints to the different types of media ownership. It seems necessary to tackle head on the issue of the ownership of media by competing politicians (an issue that is clearly problematic in some European countries as well). We have also seen how important it is to encourage media actors to commit publicly to codes of conduct, and to popularize these codes among themselves and also in civil society and among the population generally. In order to guarantee a fair share of media visibility for contending candidates and parties, clear guidelines must be established to ensure pluralism of the public media, which need to be controlled through truly independent monitoring activities. Regulators also need to take into account the issue of the provincial media and the use of vernacular languages in programmes. When sanctions are imposed on media outlets, they must follow transparent and regular procedures, but they must also be proportionate to the violation and be balanced, as well as publicly explained and reasoned. The regulatory authority’s responsibility as regards this third challenge is paramount: therefore it is important that its independence from other public authorities (including its budgetary and material independence) should be safeguarded as far as possible. As regards self-regulatory bodies, many of these have attempted to make journalists aware of their rights and obligations during elections, reminding them that they are accountable to citizens (and not to politicians who pay them). In most countries, however, self-regulators are hampered by, on the one hand, the lack of a clear definition of who is (or is not) a journalist, and on the other hand, by journalists’ indifference to the symbolic or verbal warnings issued by their fellow journalists. Co-regulation initiatives, a shared regulation mechanism with the regulatory authority, could help reinforce the self-regulatory body and give weight to its decisions. They might also help the professional organization to remain active between elections. Lastly, the fourth crucial issue lies in the quality of the collaboration between the media and the other actors in the election process. Successful joint electoral information projects are those where civil society, the media and institutions work together, at least partly. The early creation of networks to circulate information between the various parties can facilitate that collaboration. The media can also work more closely with civil society to crosscheck information, or to lobby and demand the clarification of measures that concern such important issues as the transparency of campaign expenses. The way those issues are handled in future will determine the transparency, fairness and balance of further elections. And people in the media sector

258  |  conclusion

need to tackle them without waiting for their contribution to the electoral process to be planned from outside the profession.

Optimism or pessimism?  Going back to the rift that separates scholars studying the development of electoral processes in Africa (as underlined in the Introduction above), the same question can be applied to the evolution of the media sector: should one be optimistic or pessimistic about the media’s role in building electoral democracy in Central Africa? Pessimists might wonder whether the Central African media are (like the elections themselves) not just ‘gadgets’ in the ‘democracy kit’, not fit for purpose; whether they are perhaps even dangerous arsonists who maintain perverse relations with governments and political actors. Indeed, the difficulty that countries in the region have in generating (without foreign aid) the economic and political conditions necessary for the development of professional media seems widespread. For pessimists, the media (as they currently stand) are, at best, impotent voices that address citizens who have no power; at worst, they are instruments in the service of political ambition. They contribute to a façade: rulers use them to show the outside world their commitment to democracy. But optimists (who regard any election as an opportunity for democratic principles to reinforce themselves) will argue that each media outlet is a voice that helps reinforce freedom of expression. Paradoxically, even abuses can contribute to consolidating a democratic media landscape, if they are identified, denounced and punished by the entire profession, as violating the principles guiding the responsible exercise of freedom of the press. For optimists, regardless of the media’s shortcomings, their contribution to the creation of a pluralist public space and to the anchoring of citizenship is in itself a huge step forward, and one that is irreversible. Following the flawed elections of 2001, the monthly Tchad et Culture wrote: ‘It is better at last to get Chadians used to the idea of picking up a ballot paper rather than a Kalashnikov.’3 Similarly, it is probably also better to get Central African populations used to free, diverse and contradictory media (even if they are sometimes clumsy, excessive or corrupt), rather than the controlled, uniform and sloganizing media of old.

Notes

Introduction 1 Numerous publications remind journalists of their rights and duties during elections. ­Examples include Howard (2004); Article 19 (1994); Marthoz (2000); Schnellinger (2001). 2 Ross Howard (2004: 5) identifies the following conditions for an election to be deemed democratic: there must be a real choice between several contenders or parties; the candidates must be free to campaign on the issues of their choice; the electoral process must be organized transparently; and the voters must be well informed. 3 For a comparative study of this type of public intervention, see Lange and Ward (2004). 4 Prior to independence, almost all colonies under British, French or Belgian rule had held multiparty elections. However, as soon as they became independent, single parties were established in most of the countries, on the grounds that they were necessary for the country’s unity and development. 5 The Sovereign National Conference was a mechanism that was used in several Francophone African countries at the beginning of the 1990s to create a new political order, grounded on political pluralism and an institutional renewal. The conferences lasted between ten days (in Benin in 1990) and sixteen months (in Zaïre in 1991–92) and gathered hundreds of representatives from the ‘old regime’, civil society, religious groups and national armed forces. They sought to allow an open debate about the former authoritarian regime of each country and to establish the conditions for a transition to democracy. 6 Schedler (2006: 3) defines these regimes as those which ‘play the game of multiparty elections by holding regular elections for the chief executive and national legislative assembly. Yet they violate the liberal-democratic principles of freedom and fairness so profoundly and systematically as to render elections instruments of authoritarian rule rather than instruments of democracy.’ 7  Brice Rambaut has made a comparison between the models of the press in Kenya and Burkina Faso (2008a). He has noted that, besides the major differences in the organization of the media market, ‘French-style’ journalism also fits into a literary tradition, emphasizing

style and often mixing facts with commentary, whereas Anglo-American journalism draws a clear distinction between news and analysis. Rambaut believes this distinction to be one of the pillars of the professionalization of journalism. 8 The 2007 and 2008 polls in the Republic of Congo and Rwanda were legislative elections. Presidential elections were organized in 2009 in the Republic of Congo and 2010 in Rwanda. These polls will not be analysed in this book, as the material for it was gathered during field trips between 2005 and 2008. Nevertheless, because of the lack of real free competition in both those presidential elections, it is unlikely that very much more would have been learned about the media’s coverage. 9 In 2009, Rwanda established English as the official language for education and administration. In 1996, English had been made the third official language, alongside Kinyarwanda and French, so that the country could join the Commonwealth. 10 Field research for this book was conducted in Burundi (September 2009, December 2009), in Central African Republic (April 2005, September 2007, September 2008), Republic of Congo (March 2008), Chad (November 2007), Democratic Republic of Congo (July 2006, April 2007, August 2008) and Rwanda (March 2007, September 2009).

1 Elections and the media 1 Countries are presented in this chapter in French alphabetical order. Their experiences will then be drawn upon in subsequent chapters, depending on how pertinent they are. Most of the data presented in this chapter were gathered directly by the author, during field trips organized in 2007 and 2008 in the six countries. 2 The donors pledged over $1 billion to support Burundi during the end of the transition (2004–06), including an estimated $21 million contribution to the cost of the elections. 3  Umuntu-Lumière, no. 37, 28 June 2005, p. 1. 4 The CENI was responsible for 17 Independent Provincial Electoral Commissions (CEPIs) and 126 Independent Communal Electoral Commissions (CECIs) established in the communes.

260  |  notes to 1 5 On this topic, see Eva Palmans’s doctoral thesis (Palmans 2008). This thesis presents a comparative study of the 1993 and 2005 electoral periods, based on an analysis of media content. 6 Radio Rutomorangingo (‘Democracy’) was founded in June 1995 outside Burundi (probably in Uvira, in what was then Zaïre). This radio station was allied to the FDD rebel movement. It ceased broadcasting in 1996, when the Alliance of Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Congo and the Rwandan army invaded the eastern part of the country (Chrétien and Mukuri 2002: 373–9). 7 All radio stations claimed to follow, to a greater or lesser degree, the principles of ‘peace journalism’ or ‘conflict-sensitive journalism’. For a critical reflection on this concept and its use by Burundian radio stations, see Burton (2006). 8 Studio Ijambo was at the height of its development in 2005, producing 20 weekly programmes (which were rebroadcast by most radio stations) and receiving funding from Belgian, Swiss, Swedish and American development aid agencies, as well as from the World Bank. 9 There is also a third public radio station – the school radio Nderagakura. For an overview of all Burundian radio stations, see Ntiyanogeye (2008). 10 The OIF is an international organization of 56 countries that use French as their official or customary language, or that have a significant affiliation to French culture. Its precursor was the Agency for Cultural and Technical Cooperation, established in 1970. In 1995 that agency was renamed the Intergovernmental Agency of La Francophonie (AIF), before the OIF was set up in 1998. 11  Le Confident, no. 854, 31 January 2005, p. 2. 12 As regards the legislative elections, only 18 contenders had already secured their seats in the National Assembly. The results of the first round were cancelled in the electoral district of Boganangone, where elections were held on 29 May 2005. 13  Le Citoyen, no. 2127, 19 March 2005. A clear pattern emerges in this respect: François Bozizé won in the prefecture of Ouham, Martin Ziguélé in Ouham Pende, Jean-Paul Ngoupandé in Kemo and Nana-Gribizi, and André Kolingba in Ouaka, Basse-Kotto and Mbomou. 14 Press release issued by the national secretariat of the CEMI, published in Le Confident, no. 930, 3 May 2005, p. 7. 15 The ‘KNK Convergence’ won 29 seats in the legislative elections, the MLPC 12 and the RDC eight. A total of 104 parliamentary seats out of 105 were filled (the Boganangone seat remained unoccupied). 16 The sole offset machine in Bangui used to be that of the former government daily Le

Forum de l’Unité (missing since it was looted on 25 March 2003). 17 In 2001, after the failed coup that was supposed to have been perpetrated by Kolingba, reprisals were aimed at those close to his party (the RDC) and ethnic group (the Yakoma); journalists who had supported him, including the editors of L’Hirondelle and Le Démocrate, fled the country for several months. 18 Personal interview, Bangui, April 2005. Christian Aimé Ndotah was relieved as general manager in 2008. 19 In 2004, the building housing Radio Ndeke Luka was struck by lightning and part of its equipment was damaged. At Bangui market the staff managed to find second-hand spare parts which clearly came from the national radio station. 20 The Hirondelle Foundation is a Swiss NGO based in Lausanne that was created in 1995 by Swiss journalists and humanitarian professionals. It seeks to establish independent and profes­sional news media in countries that are experiencing a war or are in a post-conflict situation. Its first project was Radio Agatashya, launched in 1995 in the Rwandan refugee camps of Eastern Congo. The Foundation manages six media outlets on the African continent: Radio Ndeke Luka in CAR, Radio Okapi in the DRC, Miraya FM in the Sudan, Star Radio in Liberia, the Cotton Tree Studio in Sierra Leone and the Hirondelle Press Agency in Arusha (covering the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda). 21 In 2009, Radio Ndeke Luka finally managed to be recognized and registered as an independent Central African media outlet. In 2010, it set up a marketing section, which within six months was generating about 30 per cent of the radio’s budget. 22 This 60-minute programme has also been available on the Hirondelle Foundation website since 2004. 23 On the eve of the elections, the head of the news department, Jean-Lambert Ngouandji, was subject to such intense political pressure that he had to be taken off air for a fortnight. The expatriate project manager, Reinhard Moser, requested an interview with President Bozizé to inform him that the station could not function under such pressure and that measures had to be taken to ensure that it would cease. 24 Africa No. 1 was created in 1981, jointly by the state of Gabon and the French company SOFIRAD, with the aim of becoming an international African radio station. At the beginning of the 1990s, the radio claimed to have 21 million listeners on the African continent and therefore the biggest audience in Francophone Africa. But even though the station established FM transmitters in 19 African cities, it could not withstand

notes to 1  |  261 the competition from local radio stations, which started to emerge in each country after the liberalization of the broadcasting landscape, and its audience has dropped sharply. In 2002, the French stakeholder withdrew and Gabon had to support the radio station alone until a Libyan company close to Muammar Gaddafi started to buy shares in 2006. In 2007, the Libyans became the majority shareholder, with 52 per cent of the capital. Gabon still holds 35 per cent of the shares, while the remaining 13 per cent belong to a private Gabonese investor. 25 For a brief history of the OIF and its precursors, see note 10 above. 26 Emmanuel Adjovi, media projects manager, AIF, personal interview, May 2005. 27  Until 2003, Télé Centrafrique had bene­ fited uninterruptedly from ongoing technical assist­ance provided by France. Instead of using this to develop its internal skills and thus to ­become self-sufficient, the station sank into a state of dependence and was unable to operate when the technical assistance came to an end. 28  Julien Ngoy, general manager of Télé Centrafrique, personal interview, Bangui, April 2005. 29 The Central African Press Agency is now available online at: www.acap-cf.info 30  La Semaine africaine, no. 2684, 6 April 2007, p. 1. 31  His real name is Frédéric Bitsangou. The follower of a Pentecostal church and practitioner of traditional medicine, his name was first mentioned during the 1998 war. He chose the name Ntumi (or Ntoumi) which means ‘the envoy’ or ‘the commander’, and called his troops ‘Nsilulu’ (‘Combatants of hope’). After the peace process was engaged, he refused to join and remained in the bush until 2007, when he decided to stop fighting and created a political party. 32  His challengers obtained derisory scores: Joseph Kignoumbi Kia Mboungou: 2.76 per cent; Angèle Bandou: 2.32 per cent; Jean-Félix Demba Tello: 1.68 per cent; Luc Daniel Adamo Matela: 1.59 per cent; Côme Manckassa: 1.25 per cent; and Bonaventure Mizidy: 1.00 per cent. 33  La Rue meurt, no. 610, 2 July 2007, p. 2. 34  La Semaine africaine, no. 2684, 6 April 2007, p. 1. 35 Statement issued by the Democratic Front for the Independent Electoral Commission, 9 January 2007, published in La Semaine africaine, no. 2660, 12 January 2007, p. 4. 36  Minister François Ibovi, quoted in La Semaine africaine, no. 2663, 23 January 2007, p. 3. 37  La Semaine africaine, no. 2670, 16 February 2007, p. 3. 38  La Semaine africaine, no. 2687, 17 April 2007, p. 3.

39  La Semaine africaine, no. 2699, 5 June 2007, p. 3. 40  La Semaine africaine, no. 2708, 6 July 2007, p. 3. 41  La Semaine africaine, no. 2717, 7 August 2007, p. 1. 42  La Semaine africaine, no. 2725, 7 September 2007, p. 1. 43 Emile Gankama, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 44 Ferdinand Kihoulou, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 45  Camorra is a Neapolitan secret society, very close to the mafia. 46 Radio Magnificat is a denominational community radio station linked to the Episcopal Conference. Planned since 1992, it only saw the light of day in 2006, with the agreement of the CSLC. Officially recognized in December 2007, it did not cover the 2002 or the 2007 elections, and thus will not be discussed in this work. 47 The broadcasting regulatory bodies in the DRC and Republic of Congo initiated a meeting in 2007 to attempt to solve this problem and obtain the ‘release’ of the ‘occupied’ frequencies. The intervention of Kinshasa radio and television stations in the election campaign in the Republic of Congo was also a source of concern for the Congolese authorities. 48 Personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. Godefroid Yombi was relieved of his functions in April 2009. 49 Next to the dilapidated building which houses Radio Brazzaville, an impressive new building was erected, 11 km away from the city centre. Radio Congo and Télé Congo moved there in late 2009. Fully equipped with digital equipment, this new complex includes five radio studios and four television studios. For many observers, this oversized state-run broadcast complex is ‘a consequence of war’. The purpose, it seems, was to ensure that, were conflicts to resume, radio and television would be established in the city’s northern neighbourhoods, mostly inhabited by Sassou Nguesso’s supporters. 50 The BBC is available thanks to rebroadcasting on Raga FM in Kinshasa. It should also be noted that the inhabitants of Brazzaville can listen to numerous Kinshasan radio stations broadcasting from the other side of the river. 51 Cabinda is a province of Angola that is separated from the rest of the country by a strip of land belonging to the DRC. On the north, it borders the Republic of Congo. Cabinda is of crucial economic importance as one of the biggest offshore oil fields in the world. 52 This mission is the largest ever to have been led by the United Nations. In 2006, it cost an estimated $1 billion per year.

262  |  notes to 1 53 The EU made the most important contribution (240 million euros), the DRC having ultimately injected $38 million. The CEI only had to find approximately 10 per cent ($43 million) of the overall amount invested in these elections. 54 Following the referendum, in which the population massively voted ‘yes’ – including in the UDPS strongholds (the two Kasaï) – ­Tshisekedi executed an abrupt about-turn in early 2006 and agreed to take part in the process, on condition that the electoral rolls were reopened to enable his activists to register; however this was no longer possible. 55 The results of the legislative elections were going to be announced on 8 September 2006 by the CEI. After having to consider more than 300 appeals, the Supreme Court was only able to publish the final results on 5 May 2007 (de Villers 2009: 404). 56 Data quoted by Tiefolo Banza, coordinator of the Centre for the Study and Monitoring of the Congolese Press, in IPP (2007). For updated data, see Frère (2009a). 57 At the beginning of the 1990s, when Mobutu granted freedom of the press, most of the critical newspapers, some of them supported by the UDPS, had their names printed in red. They were thus called the ‘red press’ and were in opposition to the newspapers that supported Mobutu, whose titles were printed in either blue or green. 58 Several stories explain the origins of the word coupage (a neologism which roughly denotes the action of being ‘cut off’). For a more detailed description of these practices, see Frère (2009a). 59 According to a study conducted by a private firm (Experts Sprl 2006: 3), television had a penetration rate of 98 per cent in Kinshasa in July 2006, with 71 per cent of viewers tuning in on a daily basis, mainly between 6 p.m. and 9 p.m. Radio followed with a penetration rate of 70 per cent, with 41 per cent of viewers tuning in on a daily basis, mainly between 6 a.m. and 9 a.m. The print media reached only 30 per cent of the people surveyed, and barely 6 per cent read papers on a daily basis. 60  Most television stations are coupled with a radio station and share the same staff: this is the case, for instance, with Mirador FM, RTGA, Raga FM, RTNC, Digital Congo FM, RTAE, RTP, Congo Web FM, RTMV, etc. According to the Media Regulation Authority, only 12 radio stations in Kinshasa were not linked to a television station. 61  Jean-Pierre Lifoli, manager of Radio Mwangaza (Kisangani), personal interview, 8 June 2006. 62 From 1994 to 1995, this Hutu politician had served as the prime minister of the govern-

ment formed in the wake of the genocide. After his resignation, he left the country and lived in exile in Belgium. In March 2003 he announced his desire to return to the country and join in the campaign. On this topic, see HRW (2003: 2). 63 The opposition PSD was created in 1991 during the Second Republic by a group of intellectuals centred around Butare and South Province. Nearly all its leaders were killed in the first phase of the genocide. The PL was also created during the wave of reforms in the early 1990s. 64 See, for instance, the statements issued by the Union of Rwandese Democratic Forces, which demanded that the international com­ munity should ‘not waste their money on the electoral masquerades of the Kagame regime consecrating the status quo and not resulting in a true political liberalization and genuine democracy’ – Press release no. 4/2003, ‘Rwanda. The culture of impunity impedes the real political liberalization’, available at: www.grandslacs.net (website of the International Documentation Network on the African Great Lakes Region). 65  Gacaca, meaning ‘justice on the grass’, is a justice mechanism that was inspired by the tradi­ tional participatory courts. It was established in Rwanda to handle the huge number of crimes committed during the genocide. 66 Statement issued by the FDU on 20 August 2008, available on the website of the Republican Rally for Democracy in Rwanda at: www.rdrwanda.org 67 In 2008, two East African media giants – the Nation Media Group in Kenya and the IPP in Tanzania – asked to develop various media in Rwanda (newspapers, radio and television), but their requests had not been approved by the time of the elections. 68 The new press law was finally adopted on 12 August 2009 (law no. 22/2009). For the measures provided for in the law and issues debated prior to its adoption, see Kayihura (2009). 69 In 2008, the MHC issued 306 press cards, which means that 34 per cent of professional journalists in Rwanda were not accredited as such. 70  Begoto Oulatar, director of N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, presentation at the ECCAS conference on ‘The Media and Elections’, Bangui, April 2009. 71 The other candidates in the first round were: Saleh Kebzabo (UNDR), 8.61 per cent; Jean Bawoyeu Alingué (UDR), 8.30 per cent; Lol Mahamat Choua (Rally for Democracy and Progress), 5.93 per cent; and ten other minor candidates who obtained derisory results. 72  Le Temps, no. 249, 11–17 April 2001, p. 2. 73  Le Progrès, no. 657, 8 January 2001, p. 3. 74  Le Progrès, no. 734, 26 April 2001, p. 3. 75  Le Progrès, no. 740, 8 May 2001, p. 5.

notes to 1 and 2  |  263 76  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo (no. 496, 17–20 May 2001, p. 6) had anticipated this development since, on the eve of the 2001 elections, it had claimed: ‘The opposition is convinced, and rightly so, that after he is elected, Idriss Déby, who will have a clear majority in the National Assembly, will proceed to amend the Constitution to remove any limit to the number of presidential mandates.’ 77  Notre Temps, no. 248, 28 February–6 March 2006, p. 10. 78  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 938, 30 March 2006, pp. 1 and 5. 79  Notre Temps, no. 254, 11–17 April 2006, p. 3. 80  Quoted in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 940, 6–9 April 2006, p. 8. 81  Quoted in Le Progrès, no. 1931, 27 March 2006, p. 1. 82 Albert Pahimi Padacket obtained 5.35 per cent of the ballot, Mahamat Abdoulaye 4.64 per cent, and Ibrahim Koulamallah 3.67 per cent. 83  Tchad et Culture had a monthly print run of approximately 4,000 copies, and Carrefour of 2,000 copies. 84  Le Progrès had its own printing press until the newspaper’s owner got rid of it since it was not profitable. He now owns shares in the IDT, whose main shareholder is the Cameroonian group Fotso. 85 Personal interview, N’Djamena, November 2007. The gombo is a vegetable that is used in many dishes in Africa to make the sauce more glutinous. In many countries of Western Africa, it is used to refer to the money that journalists receive from the organizers of an event or from a person wishing to publish an announcement in exchange for writing and publishing the relevant article. It thus refers to the same practice as camorra in the Republic of Congo and coupage in the DRC. 86  Both media shared the same head office and staff: 85 employees, including 12 journalists, presenters, technicians and administrative personnel. 87 Personal interview, N’Djamena, November 2007. 88 A dozen other denominational radio stations have a strictly religious vocation, including La Voix de l’Espérance (Protestant) and Al Bayane (an Islamic radio station located within the Great Mosque). 89  Besides the historic Congolese Institute for Information and Communications Sciences (IFASIC), founded in 1974, Departments of Communication have been created at the Catholic Faculties of Kinshasa, the Universities of Kinshasa, Lubumbashi and Kisangani, and the Universities of Brazzaville, N’Djamena and Butare. In Bujumbura, the public training school

for journalists was closed in 1991, and two private universities (Université Lumière and Université du Lac Tanganyika) have opened communications departments. All of these departments lack qualified teachers, as well as material and financial resources.

2 The preparatory phase 1  Zéphyrin Kaya, personal interview, Bangui, September 2007. 2  Zéphyrin Kaya, personal interview, Bangui, September 2007. 3  Arc-en-Ciel, no. 55, 24 June 2005, p. 2. 4  Arc-en-Ciel, no. 52, 3 June 2005, p. 1. 5  Arc-en-Ciel, no. 50, 19 May 2005, p. 2. 6  Yves Laplume, personal interview, Lausanne, November 2009. 7  Le Débat is the name of the French version, and the programme in Lingaga is called Lisolo, Kusolula in Kikongo, Muyiki in Tshiluba, and Mazun­gumuzo in Swahili. It was initially recorded in French, and then in the four national languages. These subsequent versions had to follow the arguments and structure of the French version. Each party had three minutes in which to present its position, and three minutes to challenge the positions of the other parties. A nine-minute debate was then held, during which interruptions were strictly forbidden. This rigid structure helped keep the debate under control. 8  Yves Laplume, personal interview, Lausanne, November 2009. 9 In September 2008, three years after it was launched, the JDC became a ‘journalism school newspaper’ and was integrated into IFASIC, where it is now prepared by journalism students (see Frère 2009a: 16–17). 10  Lena Slachmuijlder, director of SFCG in the DRC, personal interview, Brussels, September 2008. 11 Francine Umbalo and Antoinette Nvunda, vice-president and executive secretary of UCOFEM, personal interviews, Kinshasa, August 2008. 12 Freddy Mulumba Kabuaye, managing director of the newspaper Le Potentiel, personal interview, Kinshasa, August 2008. 13  Le Citoyen, no. 2121, 12 March 2005, pp. 6–7. 14  L’Observateur, no. 148, 4 July 2001, p. 3. 15  Zéphyrin Kaya, personal interview, Bangui, September 2007. 16  Quoted in Tchad et Culture, no. 198, May 2001, p. 4. 17 Albert Rudatsimburwa, director of Contact FM, personal interview, Kigali, September 2009. 18  Congolité (which might be translated as ‘Congolity’ or ‘Congoleseness’) is a neologism, coined by analogy with the concept of Ivoirité (‘Ivority’) in Côte d’Ivoire, which designates the populations that are actually native to the

264  |  notes to 2 c­ ountry, and even heirs of a mother and a father who are native to the country. In the case of the DRC, the congolité concept was used to try to discredit the candidate Joseph Kabila, who has regularly been accused of being of Rwandan origin. 19  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 469, 9–12 February 2001, p. 3. 20  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 940, 6–9 April 2006, p. 4. 21 Albert Rudatsimburwa, personal interview, Kigali, September 2009. 22 Press release issued by the UJCA on 13 January 2005, published in Le Confident, no. 840, 14 January 2005, p. 7. 23 The text of the Libreville Agreement was published in Le Confident, no. 848, 24 January 2005. 24 French is not the only official language. Other official languages are: English and Kinyarwanda in Rwanda; Kirundi in Burundi; Arabic in Chad; and Sango in the CAR. In the DRC and the Republic of Congo, national or regional languages are also recognized but do not have the status of official languages: Swahili, Tshiluba, Kikongo and Lingala in the DRC; Lingala and Kituba/Kikongo in the Republic of Congo. 25  Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 6, 7–13 November 2005, p. 4. 26 Sylvie Benguere Panika, a journalist with Radio Ndeke Luka, personal interview, Bangui, September 2007. 27  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 465, 26–29 January 2001, p. 1. 28  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 471, 16–19 February 2001, p. 1. 29 Two weeks before the first round, RFI caused an outcry when it announced that 1,200,000 voters had disappeared from the CEI’s computer files, a report that would be confirmed by the electoral authorities. 30  Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 8, 21–27 November 2005, p. 1. 31  Le Progrès, no. 684, 14 February 2001, p. 1. 32  L’Observateur, no. 129, 28 February 2001, p. 3. 33  Le Temps, no. 249, 11–17 April 2001, p. 2. 34  Le Progrès, no. 693, 27 February 2001, p. 1. 35  Minister Abderamane Moussa, interviewed in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 473, 23–26 February 2001, p. 3. 36  Quoted in Le Temps, no. 249, 11–17 April 2001 , p. 4. 37  Le Temps, no. 249, 11–17 April 2001, p. 4. 38  Notre Temps, no. 28, 12–18 April 2001. 39  Le Temps, no. 249, 11–17 April 2001, p. 2. 40  Le Progrès, no. 713, 28 March 2001, p. 1. 41  L’Observateur, no. 366, 1 March 2006, p. 4. 42  Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 8, 21–28 November 2005, p. 4.

43  Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 3, 17–23 October 2005, p. 4. 44  Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 16, 23–29 January 2006, p. 4. 45  La Semaine africaine, no. 2679, 20 March 2007, p. 3. 46  La Semaine africaine, no. 2687, 17 April 2007, p. 10. 47  Arc-en-Ciel, no. 52, 3 June 2005, pp. 1–2. 48  La Semaine africaine, no. 2660, 12 January 2007, p. 1. 49  La Semaine africaine, no. 2670, 16 February 2007, p. 3. 50  La Semaine africaine, no. 2683, 3 April 2007, p. 3. 51 ibid. 52  L’Observateur, no. 393, 7 May 2007, p. 8. 53  La Semaine africaine, no. 2698, 1 June 2007, p. 1. A twice-weekly publication with a lengthy pre-press process, the newspaper was, on this occasion, rather overtaken by events. 54  La Semaine africaine, no. 2702, 15 June 2007, p. 3. 55  L’Observateur, no. 129, 28 February 2001, p. 3. 56  Begoto Oulatar, paper presented at the ECCAS conference on ‘Media and Elections,’ Bangui, April 2009. 57  More than half its members (16) represented the government, while 12 represented political parties participating in the National Assembly, and three represented political parties that were not in the National Assembly. 58  L’Observateur, no. 137, 25 April 2001, p. 2 59  Notre Temps, no. 28, 12–18 April 2001, p. 2. 60  Tchad et Culture, no. 199, June 2001, p. 15. 61  Marie-Rose Kambere, Special CEI Commission for Information, Communications and Public Relations, interviewed in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 5, 30 October–6 November 2005, p. 1. 62  Law no. 1/015, dated 20 April 2005, on the Electoral Code. 63  Law no. 9-2001, dated 10 December 2001, on the Electoral Law. 64 Order no. 4/014, dated 11 August 2004, on the Electoral Code of the Central African Republic. 65 Organic Law no. 17/2003, dated 7 July 2003, on presidential and legislative elections. 66  Law no. 06/006, dated 9 March 2006, on the organization of presidential, legislative, provincial, urban, municipal and local elections. 67  Law no. 021/PR/2000, dated 18 September 2000, on the Electoral Code. 68 For a complete overview of press laws in the DRC, Rwanda and Burundi, see the training manuals published by IPP: M’Baya and Mushizi (2005) for the DRC, Ntahe (2009) for Burundi and Kayihura (2009) for Rwanda. 69 Its composition was renewed in 1995,

notes to 2  |  265 1998, 2001 and 2004, yet the lack of resources rendered the CNC virtually inactive (Ntiyanogeye 2008). 70 The process of formulating its organic law suffered a number of setbacks, and, until the adoption of an organic law in 2007, its only legal basis remained the government decree on the press dated 21 May 1997 (Ntahe 2009: 43). 71 Constitution of the Republic of Burundi, 18 March 2005, article 284. 72  Jean-Claude Kavumbagu, personal interview, Bujumbura, December 2009. 73 Alexis Sinduhije, former director of RPA, personal interview, Bujumbura, December 2009. 74 Respectively Resolution no. 100/ CNC/05/05, Resolution no. 100/CNC/06/05 and Resolution no. 100/CNC/07/05, dated 16 May 2005. The last one, obliging the media to remain ‘neutral’, somewhat contradicted Law no. 1/006, dated 26 June 2003, on the organization of political parties, which authorized the latter to create their own media. 75  UJCA press release of 13 January 2005, published in Le Confident, no. 840, 14 January 2005, p. 7. 76  Le Citoyen, no. 2106, 22 February 2005, p. 2. 77 ibid. 78  Le Confident, no. 872, 21 February 2005, p. 5. 79 The councillors had been appointed (by the head of state, the National Transition Council and their peers) in October 2004 and the order establishing the HCC had been promulgated on 31 December 2004. But the lack of a decree appointing the members prevented them from officially taking up their duties. 80 A first regulatory authority had existed under President Pascal Lissouba: the High Council for Information, established by Press Law no. 30/96, dated 2 July 1996. Its members were appointed in 1997, just a few months before war broke out. It was thus never operational. 81  Yves Ickonga, technical adviser to the country’s president, interviewed in La Semaine africaine, no. 2683, 3 April 2007, p. 5. 82 ibid. 83  Jacques Banangandzala, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 84 ibid. 85 The Congolese journalists we met wished to remain anonymous. 86  Jacques Banangandzala, quoted in La Semaine africaine, no. 2677, 13 March 2007, p. 7. 87  La Semaine africaine, no. 2683, 3 April 2007, p. 7. 88  La Semaine africaine, no. 2697, 25 May 2007, p. 5. 89 Its legal status rested on article 154 of the

transition constitution (dated 4 February 2003) and on an organic law promulgated on 30 July 2004. The 2006 constitution provided for the creation of a new regulatory authority entitled the High Council for Audiovisual Media and Communications. The organic law establishing the body was adopted by the National Assembly in 2011. 90 Proactive and an excellent strategist, Modeste Mutinga was a well-known activist in the media sector. He used his three years at the helm of the HAM to bring credibility to the institution which, with the CEI, would be the only civic transition institution to actually be operational. Mutinga would also use his time as head of the HAM to develop his own personal media empire (by launching a radio and television station), and to prepare his political career. Indeed he was elected a senator in January 2007. 91 Directive no. HAM/AP/065/2006, dated 3 February 2006. 92  Law no. 06/006, dated 9 March 2006. 93 Directive no. HAM/AP/074/2006, dated 10 March 2006, to which was added Resolution no. HAM/CP/101/2006, dated 23 June 2006, implementing the ‘Directive on election campaigns in audiovisual media’. 94 Code published in the Journal Officiel de la République Démocratique du Congo (special issue of 15 July 2006). 95 Resolution no. HAM/AP/077/2006, dated 19 April 2006. 96 The HAM asked the government to give the regulatory body part of the non-refundable deposits of the various candidates. Each presidential candidate had to deposit $50,000 (an amount that was deemed too high by many opposition figures) and the HAM insisted that the money be used to secure time slots for the candidates’ messages in the media. 97  Jo Tala Ngai (CEO) and Ngoma Di Tanda (programme director) of Antenne A, personal interviews, Kinshasa, April 2007. 98 It included a number of questionable articles: article 88, for instance, stipulated that printers and sellers could be held responsible for the contents of the publications they helped to distribute. 99 Privat Rutazibwa, former president of the HCP, personal interview, 12 December 2009. 100 Eugene Ruhinguka, director of Media Regulation, Research and Development at the Media High Council, interviewed in The New Times, 4 September 2008. 101 The new press law would finally be published in August 2009 in the Journal Officiel. 102  Le Progrès, no. 668, 23 January 2001, p. 3 103 ibid. 104 Emmanuel Touadé, president of the HCC,

266  |  notes to 2 and 3 interviewed in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 491, 27–30 April 2001, p. 9. 105 Sosthène Ngargoune, interviewed in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 491, 27–30 April 2001, p. 9. 106  L’Observateur, no. 140, 16 May 2001, p. 7. 107  Zara Yacoub, interviewed in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 491, 27–30 April 2001, p. 9. 108  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo no. 941, 10–12 April 2006, p. 3. 109 To which should be added the Central African Media Observatory in Bangui and the Rwanda Media Ethics Commission in Kigali, both of which were created after the elections discussed in this work. Self-regulation is a recent issue in Francophone Africa: the first selfregulatory body was established in 1995 in Côte d’Ivoire (Observatory of the Freedom of the Press and of Ethics); the second one in 1998 in Benin (Observatory of Ethics in the Media); and then progressively in all West African, then Central African countries. 110  La Nouvelle République, no. 289, 25 July 2007, p. 4. 111 It consisted in fact of a copy of Ross Howard’s manual on media and elections (2004), to which a document on the Congolese electoral experience had been added, as well as the Directives published by the UK organization Article 19 (1994). 112 Ferdinand Kihoulou, editor of La Rue meurt, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 113  Joachim Mbanza, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 114  La Référence Magazine, no. 56, July 2006. 115 Faustin Gacinya, president of the Rwanda Press House, personal interview, Kigali, September 2009. 116 See, for instance, Le Citoyen, no. 2112, 2 March 2005, in which eight of the twelve pages are devoted to the programme of the candidate Charles Massi. 117 This paper shows that foreign donors invested over 42 million euros in the Congolese media sector between 2004 and 2008, of which more than 18 million came from the United Kingdom. 118 The CEI repeatedly complained that it did not have sufficient means to pursue its electoral civic education mission. Indeed, out of an initial budget of $286 million destined for the institution and managed by the UNDP, only 3.8 per cent had been set aside for this purpose (Willame 2007: 176). 119 An anecdote will serve to illustrate this hunger for visibility at all costs. On 6 July 2006, the Congolese press devoted widespread coverage to a ceremony at the Association of

Com­munity Radios, attended by the information minister, to distribute equipment offered by UNICEF and UNESCO. For 65 partner radio stations, the two organizations had prepared 50 sound recorders with microphones and 250 packs of four batteries (Le Phare, no. 2876, 7 July 2006, p. 5)! 120 This grant would be renewed three times in order to mobilize the radio for each of the four phases (voter registration, referendum, first and second rounds). 121 Established in 1978, this organization mainly gathers together the public broadcasters from the countries belonging to the OIF. 122  ‘Plan d’urgence médias-élections au Burundi’, presented by the government of the Republic of Burundi, Bujumbura, July 2004. 123 Radio ONUB paid $100 for a one-hour programme, which amounted to an additional $4,000 per month for the radio stations Bonesha, Isanganiro and Renaissance FM. The RTNB broadcast these programmes without receiving any financial compensation. 124  L’Observateur, no. 136, 18 April 2001, p. 2. 125 ibid. 126 Comments reported on the FRODEBU website (www.frodebu.bi/htm/Actual/media. htm), Bujumbura, 7 October 2003; quoted in Palmans (2005: 78). 127  Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 5, 30 Oct­ober– 6 November 2005, p. 1. 128  ‘Monitoring-evaluation’, a widespread trend in the world of development aid, has invaded the field of ongoing training for journalists, as recently emerged from a meeting organized by the mediaME network. So far, results have proven inconclusive. See the collaborative website: www. mediame-wiki.net

3 The media duri­ng the election 1 In Central Africa, other strategies include political rallies and ‘door-to-door’ campaigning, poster campaigns, rumours (‘pavement radio’), presidential candidates’ tours of the provinces, dancers, orchestras and accredited singers, promotional material (T-shirts, caps, loincloths, etc.). 2 Rose Lukano, quoted in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 63, 25–31 December 2006, p. 3. 3  Yves Laplume, personal interview, Lausanne, November 2009. 4  Begoto Oulatar, editor of N’Djamena BiHebdo, personal interview, N’Djamena, November 2007. 5  Bernard Mackiza, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 6 Alain Kabongo (Le Phare) and Emmanuel Makila (The Post), quoted in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 39, 3–9 July 2005, p. 1. 7 Adrien Sindayigaya, director of Studio

notes to 3  |  267 Ijambo, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009. 8  La Semaine africaine, no. 2668, 9 February 2007, p. 3. 9  Tchad et Culture, no. 198, May 2001, p. 4. 10 Charles Ndayiziga, CENAP, interviewed on Radio Isanganiro (29 June 2005), quoted in Palmans (2008: 364). 11 One o’clock news, RPA, 3 July 2005. 12  Le Citoyen, no. 2116, 7 March 2005, p. 6. 13 Albert Rudatsimburwa, personal interview, Kigali, September 2009. 14  Marie-France Cros (La Libre Belgique, 23 November 2006), quoted in de Villers (2009: 389). 15  Le Citoyen, no. 2118, 9 March 2005, pp. 6–7, reprinting an article from Jeune Afrique L’Intelligent, no. 23404, 6–12 March 2005. 16  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 487, 13–15 April 2001, p. 4. 17  Tchad et Culture, no. 199, June 2001, p. 4. 18  La Griffe, no. 27, 25–31 July 2007, p. 4. 19  Bernard Mackiza, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 20  La Semaine africaine, no. 2704, 22 June 2007, p. 4. 21  L’Observateur, no. 373, 26 April 2006, p. 5. 22  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 494, 10–13 May 2001, p. 4. 23  Tchad et Culture, no. 198, May 2001, p. 4. 24  La Semaine africaine, no. 2702, 15 June 2007, p. 4. 25  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 496, 17–20 May 2001, p. 1. 26  ibid., p. 6. 27 David Ngarimandem, Idriss Déby’s campaign manager, interviewed in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 491, 27–30 April 2001, p. 7. 28 Ngaramadji Ngarobe Kagta, URD campaign manager, interviewed in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 490, 24–27 April 2001, p. 9. 29  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 495, 14–16 May 2001, p. 1. 30 Opinion column published in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 500, 4–6 June 2001, p. 6. 31  Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 54, 23–29 October 2006, p. 4. 32  Le Citoyen, no. 2110, 27 February 2005, p. 2. Of the 11 candidates, only two (the lawyer Henri Poureze and the priest Josué Binoua) had never held positions in the civil service. 33  L’Observateur, no. 128, 21 February 2001, p. 4. 34  L’Observateur, no. 136, 18 April 2001, p. 2. 35  Notre Temps, no. 28, 12–18 April 2001, p. 2. 36  Le Confident, no. 930, 3 May 2005, p. 3. 37  Uhuru, no. 708, 10 July 2006, p. 2. 38  Le Phare, no. 2889, 27 July 2006, p. 4. 39 The range of means and methods implies

that results obtained by the various monitoring units are rarely comparable, given that their analyses rely on distinct categories, indicators and corpuses. This study will refer to the data provided by those reports, without explaining in detail the specific methodology of each monitoring operation. 40 On the first day of the campaign (i.e. the day on which it was officially set up), the HCC drew lots in the presence of the representatives of the 11 presidential candidates; each candidate was allocated 30 minutes. For the parliamentary elections, in which 900 candidates were running, each party was entitled to 30 minutes, while independent candidates were allocated 15 minutes. 41  La Référence Plus, no. 3775, 9 September 2006, p. 16. 42 Primo Mukambilwa, president of the HAM, paper presented at the ECCAS conference on ‘Media and Elections’, Bangui, April 2009. 43  ‘Rapport préliminaire de la mission d’observation de l’Union européenne’, published in Le Potentiel no. 3867, 3 November 2006, pp. 11–13. 44 Séverin Bamani, Digital Congo, personal interview, Kinshasa, April 2007. The minister of information and the press during the election period, Henri Mova Sakanyi, was a member of the PPRD. 45 Isidore Kabongo, RTNC1 programme director, personal interview, Kinshasa, April 2007. 46  Jacques Banangandzala, quoted in La Semaine africaine, no. 2714, 26 July 2007, p. 3. 47  Le Potentiel, no. 3775, 14 July 2006, p. 2. 48 Aïssata Laba Toure, BONUCA information officer, personal interview, Bangui, September 2008. 49  HCC statement no. 3, published in Le Citoyen, no. 2127, 19 March 2005, p. 5. 50  L’Observateur, no. 140, 16 May 2001, p. 7. 51  Le Temps, no. 254, 16–22 May 2001, p. 2. 52  Modeste Mutinga, quoted in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 29, 24–30 April 2006, p. 1. 53  Modeste Mutinga, quoted in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 34, 29 May–4 June 2006, p. 2. 54 Agence France Presse dispatch, quoted by Willame (2007: 184). 55  ‘Mémorandum du Vice-Président au Président de la République’, published in Le Confident, no. 864, 11 February 2005, p. 7. 56  HAM observation no. HAM/B/ CVEM/104/2006. 57 The following were elected to the National Assembly: Colette Tshomba, the editor of Uhuru (who later became deputy minister responsible for the Congolese diaspora), Pius Muabilu Mbayu Mukala (CEO of Groupe L’Avenir), Wivine Moleka Nsolo (a journalist with RTNC), Tryphon Kin Kiey Mulumba (editor of Le Soft International), Serge

268  |  notes to 3 Kayembe Mwadiamvita (Digital Congo), Françoise Milolo (Channel Media Broadcasting). Godefroid Kyangwe Muleya (the editor of Mukuba, in Lubumbashi) and Modeste Mutinga (president of the HAM and the owner of Le Potentiel, Radio 7 and Télé 7) were elected senators. 58 Isidore Kabongo, RTNC1 programme director, personal interview, Kinshasa, April 2007. 59  HAM resolution no. HAM/ CVEM/114/2006, dated 17 July 2006. 60 Aïssatou Laba Toure, personal interview, Bangui, September 2007. 61  Jean-Pierre Kibambi Shintwa, president of ANEAP, personal interview, Kinshasa, April 2007. 62 CNC, ‘Couverture de la campagne électorale pour les élections législatives par la Radio Publique Africaine (RPA)’, Bujumbura, July 2005, p. 1. 63  Arc-en-Ciel, no. 60, 29 July 2005, p. 3. 64 Since he succeeded to his father, LaurenDésiré Kabila, after he was assassinated in January 2001, Joseph Kabila’s Congolese nationality has been questioned by his opponents. According to rumours, Joseph Kabila was not the biological son of Laurent-Désiré, but the son of one of the latter’s numerous wives, originating from Rwanda. Joseph Kabila would thus be born of Rwandan parents and would have been adopted by Laurent-Désiré after the death of his father. Jean-Pierre Bemba, in his election campaign, used this theory widely, to try to discredit his ‘foreign’ opponent. 65  Le Phare, no. 2834, 9 May 2006, p. 6. 66 In its issue no. 872, dated 25 August, and again in issue no. 873, dated 2 September 2006. 67  HAM resolution dated 4 September 2006 condemning Le Soft International and Mr Tryphon Kin Kiey Mulumba for violating journalistic ethics. 68  L’Avenir, no. 2778, 2 September 2006. 69  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3022, 28 August 2006, p. 9. 70 Polydor Muboyayi Mubanga, president of the OMEC, paper presented at the ECCAS conference on ‘Media and Elections’, Bangui, April 2009. 71 Published in La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3055, 13 October 2006, p. 9. 72  Modeste Mutinga, quoted in Le Potentiel, no. 3814, 2 September 2006, p. 3. 73 The juridical basis of this strategy was quite weak, and some members of the HAM’s plenary assembly wanted the Supreme Court to pronounce on its constitutionality. The president of the HAM took matters in hand and, once the period of time set down by the law had elapsed without any response from the Supreme Court, he argued that it was therefore a legal and appro­ priate way to use of the Code of Conduct. 74 Philippe De Boeck, former editor of Le Journal du Citoyen, personal interview, Kinshasa, April 2007.

75 Tiefolo Banza, CEMPC coordinator in Kinshasa, personal interview, Kinshasa, July 2007. 76 Prof. Jean-Chrétien Ekambo Duasenge, dean of IFASIC and a member of the HAM plenary assembly, personal interview, Kinshasa, April 2007. Penalized politicians reacted differently to these sanctions: some accepted the suspension measures, others filed an appeal with the HAM, while yet others (such as Lambert Mende), challenging the legitimacy of the HAM’s intervention, turned to the Supreme Court of Justice. 77  HCC Declaration, dated 15 April 2005. 78  HCC Resolution no. 05-06, dated 27 April 2005. 79 In its Declaration, the HCC questioned politicians who ‘readily confuse democratic discussion with abuse, invective and inciting tribal hatred’. The HCC rebuked them: ‘Professional politicians, you should normally be educators. It is up to you to be an example of publicspiritedness, of public morals and good conduct’ (published in Le Confident, no. 928, 29 April 2005, p. 7). 80  Modeste Mutinga, interviewed on Radio Okapi, 25 September 2006. 81 Christian Badibangi, Jean-Baptiste Bomanza, Roger Lumbala (RCD), Firmin Kama (UDPS) and Joseph Olenghankoy (Pioneer Forces for Union and Solidarity), were all suspended, the last listed being accused of ‘near chronic’ deviance. 82  Modeste Mutinga, former president of the HAM, personal interview, Kinshasa, April 2007. 83 Séverin Bamani (Digital Congo), personal interview, Kinshasa, April 2007. 84 Tshivis Tshivuadi, executive secretary of the JED, personal interview, Kinshasa, April 2007. 85  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 2989, 4 July 2006, p. 4. 86  Warning issued by the HCC on 28 February 2005, published in Le Citoyen, no. 2111, 1 March 2005, p. 3. 87 The Banyamulenge are composed of Kinyarwanda-speaking Tutsi living in the east of the DRC. They had originally moved from Rwanda at the end of the nineteenth century. They backed Laurent-Désiré Kabila’s rebellion against Mobutu in 1996 and 1997. In 1998, after the split between the DRC and Rwanda, they launched a rebellion, which was viewed by the Congolese as manipulation by their Rwandan neighbour. Very few of them joined Bemba’s MLC but, strangely, the term was used by the CAR’s citizens to describe Bemba’s forces (even though they spoke Lingala and not Kinyarwanda) who came to lend Patassé a hand in 2002 and committed widespread violence in Bangui. 88  Quoted in Le Citoyen, no. 114, 4 March 2005, p. 5.

notes to 3  |  269 89 Complete speech translated and published in Le Confident, no. 915, 14 April 2005, pp. 5–6. 90 Tiefolo Banza, CEMPC coordinator in Kinshasa, personal interview, Kinshasa, July 2007. 91  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3014, 11 ­August 2006, p. 2. 92  The New Times, no. 3640, 1 September 2008. 93  The New Times, no. 3645, 6 September 2008. 94  ‘In the course of a live programme broadcast by Radio Contact, devoted to commemoration of the genocide and the reconstruction process, an anonymous listener had stated on air that he was one of those ready to “finish the work”. The broadcast was interrupted at once and the police, alerted by the station, were able to trace the call and arrest the caller. The HCP considered at that time whether live phone-in programmes should be banned, but opted instead for the idea of issuing specific guidelines to the media for periods of commemoration when emotions run particularly high’ (Frère 2009b: 348). 95  Quoted in Le Potentiel, no. 3794, 5 August 2006, p. 14. 96 The Lingala term Kobwaka libanga mean ‘to cast a stone’. The libanga is part of a tradition of laudatory songs that has been very common since Mobutu. Franco Luambo Makiadi, for instance, notably built his career on odes to the Mobutu regime, with songs such as ‘Belgo-Congolese Dispute’ and ‘Candidat na biso Mobutu’ (‘Our Candidate Mobutu’). See Le Potentiel, no. 3710, 24 April 2006, p. 12. 97  Bawuta is the word used by the natives of Kinshasa for ‘the strangers’, ‘the ones coming from elsewhere’. The term has a negative connotation, as the strangers supposedly increase unemployment and poverty among the city’s inhabitants. 98 Press release issued by the HAM on 15 Oct­ober 2006, published in Le Potentiel, no.  851, 16 October 2006, p. 3. 99  Jean-François Bastin, ‘Note on the synergy’, private report for the Kabondo NGO. The author was a Kabondo programme officer in charge of a support programme for the RTNB. 100 Albert Rudatsimburwa, personal interview, Kigali, September 2009. 101 The hierarchy of the Catholic Church in the Congo has both encouraged and criticized the electoral process. There were many tensions within the Church between the archbishops serving in Western Congo (very suspicious of Kabila) and in Eastern Congo (more enthusiastic about the polls and the incumbent president). Tensions also arose between the archbishops and Father Malu Malu, the priest who presided over the Independent Electoral Commission. See de Villers (2009: 371–6).

102 On 14 May, Fernando Kutino was a­ rrested after a mass he had celebrated in the Tata Raphaël stadium, after three years spent in exile. On 16 June, after a brief and unfair trial, he was sentenced to 20 years in prison for ‘criminal conspiracy’ and ‘possession of weapons’. 103  Le Phare, no. 2898, 10 August 2006, p. 9. 104  La Semaine africaine, no. 2675, 6 March 2007, p. 11. 105  La Semaine africaine, no. 2685, 10 April 2007, p. 11. 106  La Semaine africaine, no. 2688, 20 April 2007, p. 17. 107  Uhuru, no. 777, 19 October 2006, p. 16. 108  L’Observateur, no. 2492, 9 October 2006, p. 3. 109  La Référence Plus, no. 3806, 16 October 2006, p. 16. 110  Uhuru, no. 780, 24 October 2006, p. 2. 111 See, for instance, La Référence Plus, no. 3728, 14 July 2006, p. 5. In presenting the presidential candidates, it reprinted in full an article published in Jeune Afrique. 112 Likewise, La Référence Plus, no. 3817, 28 October – a transcript of an interview with Bemba by Christophe Boisbouvier broadcast on RFI. 113 The two journalists in charge of covering the DRC for these two newspapers (Colette Braeckman and Marie-France Cros) are local celebrities in Kinshasa. Their articles are regularly reproduced in and commented on by the Congolese media. 114  Les Dépêches de Brazzaville, no. 263, 2 July 2007, p. 2. 115 ibid. 116 ITU figures for 2006 indicated that 10.52 per cent of people in the DRC had a mobile phone and 0.37 per cent used the internet. But a survey by the IMMAR company, also for 2006, put the figures at 64 per cent for mobile phones and 24 per cent for the internet. 117 The opposition to the electoral process by the UDPS representative in Belgium, François Tshipamba Mpuila, and his antipathy towards the international community focused on Louis ­Michel, the EU commissioner for development and humanitarian aid. The latter ultimately pressed charges for invasion of privacy and damage to his honour by means of ‘emails a­ddressed to many people’. The case was judged, in the middle of the election campaign, by a magistrates’ court in Nivelles, Belgium (Le Phare, no. 2919, 14 September 2006, p. 2). 118  Guideline no.4 of Article 19 provides that: ‘The Government must make special efforts to investigate all acts, or threatened acts, of violence, intimidation or harassment directed against media personnel, or any act of destruc-

270  |  notes to 3 and 4 tion of the property or premises of a media outlet, particularly where there is any reason to believe that the act was motivated by an intent to interfere with media freedom, and to bring those responsible to justice.’ 119  Le Potentiel, no. 3814, 4 September 2006, p. 5. 120 An investigation was launched, led jointly by the national police and the MONUC in order to determine the (accidental or criminal) causes of the fire. The conclusions of this investigation were never made public. 121  Le Potentiel, no. 3865, 1 November 2006, p. 24. 122  L’Observateur, no. 376, 17 May 2006, p. 4. 123  Arc-en-Ciel, no. 54, 17 June 2005, p. 3; Umuntu-Lumière, no. 36, 20 June 2005, p. 3; Le Renouveau, no. 6516, 24 June 2005, p. 2. 124  ‘Les règles de sécurité du journaliste pendant la période électorale’ (JED), published in La Référence Plus, no. 3777, 12 September 2006, p. 14. 125  Le Phare, no. 2875, 6 July 2006, pp. 3–4. 126  Le Phare, no. 2882, 17 July 2006, p. 16. 127  Le Potentiel, no. 3771, 10 July 2006, p. 2. 128 Resolution no. 002/HCC/P/SG/2001. 129  Le Progrès, no. 740, 8 May 2001, p. 6. 130  Le Progrès, no. 742, 10 May 2001, p. 1. 131  Quoted in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 495, 14–16 May 2001, p. 7. 132 On 11 July, the HAM noted that of the 38 radios that had received funds from it to broadcast debate programmes organized by the regulatory authority, only 14 actually relayed these programmes. 133  Le Temps, no. 474, 12–18 April 2006, p. 3. 134  Begoto Oulatar, paper presented at the ECCAS conference on ‘Media and Elections’, Bangui, April 2009. 135  Warning issued by the HCC on 28 February 2005, published in Le Citoyen, no. 2111, 1 March 2005, p. 3. 136  Le Confident, no. 912, 11 April 2005, p. 3. 137  Le Potentiel, no. 3860, 26 October 2007, p. 2. The complete correspondence on this topic between the HAM and both sides was published in this same issue of Le Potentiel. 138 Press release issued by the HAM on 25 October 2006, published in Le Potentiel, no. 3860, 26 October 2005, p. 2. 139  Le Phare, no. 2948, 25 October 2006, p. 1. 140  Le Potentiel, no. 3860, 26 October 2005, p. 24. 141 For a long time the radio thought it was untouchable, but in 2007 and 2008 two of its journalists were shot dead in Bukavu. The close relationship between Radio Okapi and the MONUC, which often protected the radio station, may thus have ended up as possible motivation for the killers.

142  La Référence Plus, no. 3719, 4 July 2006, p. 16. 143 She took legal proceedings against the Groupe L’Avenir, after the newspaper L’Avenir made abusive and false comments about her. This was the only case of a criminal procedure launched against a newspaper during this election campaign. 144  Joseph Poto Poto, quoted in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 36, 12–18 June 2005, p. 2. 145 In 2006, RFI enjoyed remarkable audience ratings for its news broadcasts (85 per cent) in Kinshasa. It was followed closely by Radio Okapi (news broadcasts – 63 per cent; the programme Dialogue Between Congolese – 12 per cent; and political debates – 4 per cent). Both were followed by Mirador FM for its popular music programmes (Experts 2006: 27–8). 146  La Référence Plus, no. 3722, 7 July 2006, p. 1. 147 Account given by Claudine Mbombo, a journalist with L’Observateur, in the documentary film Elections 2006 en RDC. La première expérience des journalistes congolais (GRET/Binah Production, Kinshasa, 2006). 148 Confidential note and form officially submitted to the HCC on 4 May 2005. 149  Quoted in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 36, 12–18 June 2006, p. 1. 150  Godefroid Yombi, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 151  Quoted in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 53, 16–22 October 2006, p. 1. 152  Quoted in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 63, 25–31 December 2006, p. 3. 153  Jo Tala Ngai, vice-president of ANEAP, personal interview, Kinshasa, April 2007. 154  Joachim Mbanza, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 155  Line Georgette Ndengue Khongo, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 156 Albert Rudatsimburwa, personal interview, Kigali, September 2009.

4 From polling day to the results 1  Quoted in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 495, 14–16 May 2001, p. 1. 2  ibid., p. 2. 3 This initiative drew on the role played by journalists in controlling the transparency of presidential elections in Senegal in 2000. Indeed, the race between the incumbent President Abdou Diouf and the life-long opposition leader Aboudlaye Wade promised to be very close. Fearing that the outgoing president could manipulate voting operations, the Senegalese media sent as many reporters as possible to the polling stations, equipped with mobile phones. These journalists called their newsrooms as soon as the results

notes to 4  |  271 were out, polling station by polling station. The Senegalese media could then see whether the results announced by the electoral commission were the same or had been tampered with. 4  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, Special edition on the presidential elections, 20 May 2001, p. 8. 5  Begoto Oulatar, editor of N’Djamena BiHebdo, personal interview, N’Djamena, November 2007. 6  L’Observateur, no. 141, 22 May 2001, p. 4. 7  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, Special edition on the presidential elections, 20 May 2001, p. 5. 8  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, Special edition on the presidential elections, 20 May 2001, p. 3. 9 Opinion column published in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 500, 4–6 June 2001, p. 6. 10  L’Observateur, no. 141, 22 May 2001, p. 4. 11 The Chadian experience had been presented to the Central African journalists by a Chadian fellow journalist during the training organized by UNESCO and French development aid on media coverage of elections. 12 In the CAR, fixed telephone lines were rare inside the country and mobile phones were still limited to the capital city. The ‘Thuraya’ were thus a valid (though costly) alternative: besides the cost of the phone itself, calls cost approximately $1 per minute. 13  Maka Gbossokotto, editor of the newspaper Le Citoyen, personal interview, Bangui, September 2007. 14 De Bonheur Kayomba, ‘Rapport de mission, 2ème tour des élections’, p. 1. 15 Emmanuel Crepin Dembassa-Kette, ‘Rapport de mission, dans la Préfecture de l’Ouham’, p. 3. 16  Blandin Songuel, ‘Rapport de mission, 2ème tour des élections dans la préfecture de BaminguiBangoran’, p. 1; Francine Ndemade, ‘Rapport de mission, 2ème tour des élections dans la préfecture de la Basse Kotto’; Joachim Makombassa, ‘Rapport de mission, 2ème tour des élections’, p. 1. 17  Gerard Bollo Gambo, ‘Rapport de mission, 2ème tour des élections dans le Haut Mbomou’, pp. 1–2. 18 Pierre Inza, ‘Rapport de mission, 2ème tour des élections’, p. 4. 19 Chantal Moehama, ‘Rapport de mission, 2ème tour des élections’, p. 4. 20  Georges Malembassa, ‘Rapport de mission, 2ème tour des élections’, p. 3. 21 Emmanuel Piama, ‘Rapport de mission, 2ème tour des élections dans la préfecture de l’Ombella-Mpoko’, p. 2. 22  Maka Gbossokotto, president of the UJCA, personal interview, Bangui, September 2007. 23 Adrien Sindayigaya, director of Studio Ijambo, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009.

24 Alexis Sinduhije, former director of RPA, personal interview, Bujumbura, December 2009. 25 Adrien Sindayigaya, director of Studio Ijambo, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009. 26 Adrien Sindayigaya, director of Studio Ijambo, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009. 27 Nestor Nkurunziza, a journalist with the Lokole Centre, one o’clock radio news, synergy, 25 September 2005. 28 One o’clock radio news, synergy, 23 September 2005. 29 Summary report by Jean-François Bastin (Kabondo ASBL, RTNB support project). 30 ibid. 31 Franck Kaze, one o’clock radio news, synergy, 25 September 2005. 32 Adrien Sindayigaya, director of Studio Ijambo, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009. 33 Franck Kaze, one o’clock radio news, synergy, 25 September 2005. 34 Eric Manirakiza, RPA journalist, personal interview, Bujumbura, December 2009. 35 The community radio synergies were organized around Radio Maendeleo in Sud-Kivu (six stations), Community Radio Mwangaza in Kisangani (six stations), Katanga Community Radio in Lubumbashi (11 stations), Radio Fraternité Bwena Muntu of Mbuji-Mayi (six stations) and Radio Ntemo of Mbanza-Ngungu in the Bas-Congo. Each synergy totalled between 15 and 20 journalists. 36 Account reported by Pascal Chirhalwirwa, IPP internal report, November 2006, p. 2. 37 Dimitri Musampule, executive secretary of REMACK (the Network of Associative and Community Media in Katanga) and commercial manager of Radio Phoenix Université, quoted by IPP (2008: 15). 38 François Pascal Mbumba, IPP staff member, personal interview, Kinshasa, May 2009. 39  Jean-Ferdinand Kihoulou, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 40 Adrien Sindayigaya, director of Studio Ijambo, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009. 41 ibid. 42 One o’clock radio news, synergy, 23 September 2005. 43  The New Times, no. 13655, 16 September 2008. 44 Adrien Sindayigaya, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009. 45 One o’clock radio news, RPA, 23 September 2005. 46 One o’clock radio news, Radio Isanganiro, 2 July 2005.

272  |  notes to 4 47 Emmanuel Crepin Dembassa-Kette, ‘Rapport de mission, 2ème tour dans la Préfecture de l’Ouham’, p. 3. 48  Jean-Christ Zounguere, ‘Rapport de mission 2ème tour des élections dans la Préfecture de la Ouaka’, p. 3. 49  Bonaventure Dallet, ‘Rapport de mission 2ème tour des élections dans la Préfecture de la Nana-Gribizi’, p. 2. 50 Arsene Jonathan Mosseavo, ‘Rapport de mission 2ème tour des élections dans la préfecture de Mbomou’, p. 1. 51  Laudes Martial Mbon, editor of Tam Tam d’Afrique, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 52  Jean-Ferdinand Kihoulou, editor of La Rue meurt, personal interview, Brazzaville, March 2008. 53 The non-adherence of Net Press to the synergy was not a deliberate decision, as it was for the RPA, but was due to the fact that the print media were not concerned with the kind of information produced by the synergy. The Burundian press agency was the only print media outlet to take part in the collective project, but it was invited to join mainly because of its network of correspondents in the provinces who could be useful and could send audio reports (Jean-Claude Kavumbagu, director of Net Press, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009). 54 In 2008, too, the EU was the foreign partner that was most involved in accompanying and monitoring legislative elections. The EU was present in Rwanda between 19 July and 4 October 2008. The eight members of the head team based in Kigali were joined by 17 long-term observers and 101 short-term observers, who were active on election days (direct and indirect). See EU-EOM (2008: 6–7). 55 The observation force consisted of: regional organizations (Association of European Parliamentarians for Africa, African Union, Common Market of Eastern and Southern Africa, ECCAS, EU, OIF, Southern African Development Community, Southern African Development Community Electoral Commissioners’ Forum; national missions (Algeria, Brazil, Canada, China, UK, Japan, Nigeria, South Africa, Russia, USA/ USAID, Republic of Congo, Côte d’Ivoire); and international NGOs (Carter Center, Christian Coalition, National Committee for Women and Development, European Network for Central Africa, Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung, Human Rights Watch, Institute for Democracy in South Africa, International Foundation for Election Systems, MOPEDAM, National Democratic Institute, TEMGBrazil, Electoral Institute of Southern Africa). 56  Le Potentiel, no. 3861, 27 October 2006, p. 24.

57 One o’clock radio news, Radio Isanganiro, 3 July 2005. 58 COSOME is financed by the Canadian NGO Centre for International Studies and Co­ operation, the Belgian NGO 11.11.11, the Electoral Institute of Southern Africa, the Canadian ­Catholic Organization for Peace and Development, Peace Tree Network, USAID (through Search for Common Ground) and the UNDP. 59 Summary report by the committee of national observers on the Central African presidential and legislative elections on 13 March 2005, published in Le Confident, no. 894, 18 March 2005, p. 7. 60  Quoted in La Semaine africaine, no. 2705, 26 June 2007, p. 4. 61  Le Défi africain, no. 237, 10 July 2007, p. 3. 62  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 497, 24–27 May 2001, p. 2. 63  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 505, 22–24 June 2001, p. 5. 64  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, Special edition on the presidential elections, 20 May 2001, p. 6. 65  Quoted in L’Observateur, no. 142, 26 May 2001, p. 4. 66  Le Temps, no. 257, 6–12 June 2001, p. 4. 67  Tchad et Culture, no. 199, June 2001, pp. 9–10. 68  Le Phare, no. 2897, 9 August 2006, p. 4. 69  ibid., pp. 5 and 7. 70  L’Observateur, no. 2450, 7 August 2006, p. 3. 71  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 497, 24–27 May 2001, p. 6. 72  Le Temps, no. 478, 10–16 May 2006, p. 7. 73  Notre Temps, no. 254, 11–17 April 2006, p. 3. 74  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 948, 11–14 May 2006, p. 3. 75  L’Observateur, no. 375, 10 May 2006, p. 3. 76  La Griffe, no. 25, 30 June–7 July 2007, p. 4. 77  La Griffe, no. 26, 12–19 July 2007, p. 3. 78  Le Potentiel, no. 3795, 9 August 2006, p. 3. 79  Le Phare, no. 2891, 31 July 2006, pp. 1, 4–7, 9. 80  Uhuru, no. 722, 31 July–1 August 2006, p. 1. 81  Le Potentiel, no. 3788, 31 July 2006, pp. 1–2. 82  Les Dépêches de Brazzaville, no. 257, 25 June 2007, pp. 1–2. 83  La Semaine africaine, no. 2705, 26 June 2007, p. 3. 84  La Rue meurt, no. 610, 2 July 2007, p. 2. 85  Le Choc, no. 546, 2 July 2007, p. 1. 86  La Griffe, no. 26, 12–19 July 2007, p. 5. 87  La Nouvelle République, no. 286, 29 June 2007, p. 2. 88  Les Dépêches de Brazzaville, no. 258, 26 June 2007, p. 2. 89 Reported in Les Dépêches de Brazzaville, no. 261, 29 June 2007, p. 2.

notes to 4  |  273 90  La Semaine africaine, no. 2705, 26 June 2007, p. 3. 91  La Nouvelle République, no. 286, 29 June 2007, p. 2. 92  La Semaine africaine, no. 2708, 6 July 2007, p. 4. 93  Les Dépêches de Brazzaville, no. 261, 29 June 2007, p. 1. 94  La Semaine africaine, no. 2710, 13 July 2007, p. 3. 95  La Semaine africaine, no. 2707, 3 July 2007, p. 1. 96 One o’clock radio news, synergy, 8 June 2005. 97 One o’clock radio news, Radio Isanganiro, 2 July 2005. 98  Le Temps, no. 477, 3–9 May 2006, pp. 2–3. 99  L’Observateur, no. 374, 5 May 2006, p. 3. 100  Le Temps, no. 478, 10–16 May 2006, p. 4. 101  Quoted by Begoto Oulatar, paper presented at the ECCAS conference on ‘Media and Elections’, Bangui, April 2009. 102 ibid. 103  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 947, 5–10 May 2006, p. 1. 104 ibid., p. 3. 105  Le Temps, no. 474, 12–18 April 2006, p. 2. 106  Notre Temps, no. 257, 5 May 2006, p. 2. 107  Le Confident, no. 934, 9 May 2005, p. 1. 108 Adrien Sindayigaya, director of Studio Ijambo, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009. 109  Quoted in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 44, 7–13 August 2006, p. 1. 110  Quoted in La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3009, 4 August 2006, p. 2. 111 ibid., p. 2. 112  Yves Laplume, former project manager for Radio Okapi, personal interview, Lausanne, November 2009. 113  L’Observateur, no. 141, 22 May 2001, p. 6. 114  Le Temps, no. 255, 23–29 May 2001, pp. 2–3. 115 Declaration from Chadian Action for Unity and Socialism, published in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 497, 24–27 May 2001, p. 2. 116 Olivier Gabirault, Charles Massi, Abel Goumba, Martin Ziguélé, Jean-Paul Ngoupandé, André Kolingba, Jean-Jacques Démafouth, Henri Pouzère. 117  Le Confident, no. 939, 14–15 May 2005, p. 4. 118  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3067, 2 Nov­ ember 2006, p. 12. 119  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3011, 8 ­August 2006, p. 2. 120  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3012, 9 ­August 2006, p. 2. 121  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3017, 16 ­August 2006, p. 2. 122  Uhuru, no. 723, 2 August 2006, p. 2.

123  L’Observateur, 4–6 August 2006, p. 1. 124  Uhuru, no. 727, 8 August 2006, p. 13. 125  HAM resolution, 9 August 2006. 126 Reporters Without Borders, ‘Lettre aux candidats Joseph Kabila et Jean-Pierre Bemba’, 24 August 2006. 127  La Référence Plus, no. 3755, 16 August 2006, p. 16. 128  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3019, 18 ­August 2006, p. 2. 129  Le Potentiel, no. 3800, 15 August 2006, p. 24. 130  L’Observateur, no. 2461, 24 August 2006, p. 1. 131  Le Potentiel, no. 3799, 14 August 2006, p. 2. 132  Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 47, 4–10 September 2006, p. 1. 133  Quoted in Le Journal du Citoyen, no. 47, 4–10 September 2006, p. 1. 134 Pascal Chirhalwirwa, programme officer of the PPI in Bukavu, personal interview, June 2009. 135  Yves Laplume, personal interview, Lausanne, November 2009. 136  La Référence Plus, no. 3820, 1 November 2006, p. 16. 137  Le Potentiel, no. 3858, 24 October 2006, p. 2. 138 The profession’s virulent responses ­appear clearly in Francine Mokoko’s documentary, Elections 2006 en RDC: La première expérience des journalistes congolais, Kinshasa, Binah Productions/GRET (January 2007). 139  Top Info, no. 145, 1 November 2006. 140  Quoted in Le Potentiel, no. 3869, 6 Nov­ ember 2006, p. 5. 141  Le Potentiel, no. 3869, 6 November 2006, p. 24. In a right of reply published in Le Potentiel, one of the accused political figures was to deny having made such serious threats. 142  Le Soft 2 International, no. 878, 6 Nov­ ember 2006. 143 From the documentary Elections 2006 en RDC: La première expérience des journalistes congolais. 144  Uhuru, no. 786, 1 November 2006, p. 2. 145  Le Renouveau, no. 6504, 8 June 2005, p. 1. 146 One o’clock radio news, synergy, 8 June 2005. 147 Adrien Sindayigaya, director of Studio Ijambo, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009. 148 Press release issued by the RDC (21 April 2005), published in Le Confident, no. 923, 23–24 April 2005, p. 3. 149 The full text of the agreement was published in Le Confident, no. 922, 22 April 2005, p. 3. 150  UFVN Declaration dated 31 March 2005, published in Le Confident, no. 925, 26 April 2005, p. 2.

274  |  notes to 4 151  Le Phare, no. 2964, 17 November 2006, pp. 5–6. 152  L’Observateur, no. 2529, 29 November 2006, p. 2. 153  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3081, 29 Nov­ ember 2006, p. 2. According to electoral law, no member of the military forces could compete in presidential elections. Joseph Kabila ‘voluntarily resigned’ from the army in March 2006, a few months before the polls (de Villers 2009: 387). 154  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3082, 30 November 2006, p. 2. 155 In a statement issued on 11 November and addressed to the CEI, the MONUC, the EUFOR and the EU delegation, Cardinal Etsou would claim: ‘No to the fraudulent manipulation of the polls. No to what is contrary to the will of the Congolese people. No to any attempt to impose on the Congolese people a candidate who will only serve the gluttonous and predatory ­appetites of his foreign sponsors seeking to exploit Congolese natural and mineral resources.’ 156  Le Phare, no. 2961, 14 November 2006, pp. 1 and 14. 157  Le Phare, no. 2970, 27 November 2006, p. 2. 158 François Pascal Mbumba, IPP, personal interview, Kinshasa, May 2009. 159 ibid. 160  La Référence Plus, no. 3838, 22 November 2006, p. 3. 161  La Référence Plus, no. 3846, 1 December 2006, p. 2. 162  Le Phare, no. 2972, 29 November 2006, p. 3. 163  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 498, 28–30 May 2001, p. 1. 164  Tchad et Culture, no. 199, June 2001, p. 3. 165 Interview published in N’Djamena BiHebdo, no. 499, 31 May–3 June 2001, p. 6. 166 Opinion column published in N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 500, 4–6 June 2001, p. 6. 167  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 501, 7–10 June 2001, p. 1. 168  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 503, 14–17 June 2001, p. 3. 169  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 504, 20–22 June 2001, p. 3. 170 The definitive results of the Council took into account 2,425,528 votes (instead of 3,209,249), thus bringing turnout down from 80.9 per cent to 61.37 per cent. 171  L’Observateur, no. 146, 20 June 2001, p. 3. 172 ibid. 173  L’Observateur, no. 148, 4 July 2001, p. 2. 174  Le Potentiel, no. 3794, 8 August 2006, p. 24. 175  La Tempête des Tropiques, no. 3067, 2 Nov­ ember 2006, p. 2.

176  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 505, 21–24 June 2001, p. 4. 177  Tchad et Culture, no. 199, June 2001, p. 15. 178 Statement published in L’Observateur, no. 147, 27 June 2001, p. 3. 179  La Semaine africaine, no. 2712, 20 July 2007, p. 3. 180 Six o’clock radio news, RPA, 8 June 2005. 181  N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo, no. 508, 2–4 July 2001, p. 5. 182  Les Dépêches de Brazzaville, no. 257, 25 June 2007, p. 2. 183 ibid. 184  Jean-Pierre Bemba was not arrested for acts of violence committed in the DRC during the war or the election campaign, but for those that occurred in Bangui in 2002, when his troops were backing President Patassé. As was explained in chapter 3, Bemba’s troops, wrongly dubbed ‘Banyamulenge’ in the CAR, were accused of having committed rape and numerous acts of violence against civilians. Bemba was charged as their superior. 185  Le Renouveau, no. 6526, 8 July 2005, p. 1. 186  Le Renouveau, no. 6539, 27 July 2005, p. 1. 187 These data were confirmed in a study led by the BBC World Service Trust and SFCG (Ready to Talk about the Past, December 2008, p. 33), which gave audience ratings of 83 per cent to RTNB, 64 per cent to Isanganiro, 42 per cent to the RPA and 37 per cent to Bonesha. Réma FM obtained 14 per cent. 188  Jean-Jacques Ntamagara, president of the Burundian Association of Radio Broadcasters and general secretary of the OMAC, in: Rapport final de l’Atelier sous-régional sur les Médias et les Elections en Afrique Centrale, Bangui, 22–24 April 2009, p. 14–15. 189 Innocent Muhozi, personal interview, Bujumbura, September 2009. 190 In the event, the UNDP did not recover the equipment. Arguments arose about the way the equipment could be shared between participants and, as no agreement was reached, the phones and computers remained in the office of the UJCA president. 191 André Ipakala Mobiko Abeye, president of ANECO and publisher of La Référence Plus, personal interview, August 2008. 192 Donat M’Baya, director of JED, personal interview, August 2008. 193 Emmanuel Kabongo Malu, expert from Belgian foreign aid appointed to the HAM, personal interview, August 2008. 194 Donat M’Baya, paper presented at the ECCAS conference on ‘Media and Elections’, Bangui, April 2009. 195 Pascal Chirhalwirwa, IPP, personal interview, May 2009.

notes to 4 and conclusion  |  275 196 Polydor Muboyayi Mubanga, paper presented at the ECCAS conference on ‘Media and Elections’, Bangui, April 2009.

Conclusion 1 In many African countries (mainly the Anglophone ones), professional organizations

of journalists are currently campaigning for the adoption of laws guaranteeing access to public information. 2  La Semaine africaine, no. 2683, 3 April 2007, p. 3. 3  Tchad et Culture, no. 199, June 2001, p. 24.

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Index

Abdoulaye, Mahamat, 65 abstention in elections, 213 abuses by politicians, 155–7 access to media, 97; fairness of, 101, 110 see also airtime advertising, 103, 105; political, 6, 75, 116, 134, 180–2 (banned, 97; fees for, 181) Africa News (DRC), 221 Africa No. 1 , 34, 52, 70 African Union (AU), observation missions, 202; in Burundi, 204 Afrika TV (DRC), 50, 150 Agence de Presse Associée, 50 Aginfo (Burundi), 101 airtime, allocation of, 98, 130, 157, 185, 244, 246; fairness of, 139–47, 169 Alerte Plus (DRC), suspension of, 220 Alingué, Jean Bawoyeu, 64 Alliance for Democracy, Equity and ProgressMizero (Rwanda), 56 Alliance of the Presidential Majority (DRC), 142 Amani (Rwanda), 60 Antenne A (DRC), 50, 147, 179, 181 anti-foreigner discourse, 157, 217 Apesse, Charles Emile, 37 appropriation of national media by governments, 72 Al-Arabiya, 70 Arc-en-Ciel (Burundi), 27, 80, 93, 153, 172, 201 Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement, 18, 20, 25 Assingar, Dobian, 212 Association for the Protection of Human Rights (Burundi), 204 Association of Burundian Journalists (ABJ), 114, 152 Association of Community Radios of the Congo (ARCO), 108 Association of the Trade Unions of Chad, 206 attacks on the press, 245–6 L’Aube de la Démocratie (Burundi), 23 L’Avenir (DRC), 49, 150, 221; suspension of, 154–5 Awakening Churches, 51, 163–4 Ayessa, Firmin, 44 Baboutila, Armand, 210 Bagaza, Jean-Baptiste, 19, 222 ballot papers, types of, 47 Banangandzala, Jacques, 104, 105

Banyamulenge people, 160, 194 Bazivamo, Christophe, 132 Belgium, 166, 167 Bemba, Jean-Pierre, 45, 47, 48, 49, 50, 52, 85, 133, 137, 140, 141, 142, 148, 150, 155, 156, 159, 162, 163, 165, 168, 171, 177, 217–21, 223, 224; arrest of, 232 Bendounga, Joseph, ban imposed on, 157 Bokassa, Jean-Bédel, 28 Bonga Bonga studio (CAR), 78 Bongo, Omar, 29, 87, 102, 248 Bongo-Ondimba, Edith Lucie, 164 Borgha, Aboubakar, 70 Bouka, Henri, 94, 210 Bouka-Owoko, Roger, 204 Bozizé, François, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 87, 102, 133, 138, 139, 145, 149, 151, 157, 160, 168, 169, 176, 179, 191, 200, 212, 216, 223, 230, 248 Brarudi (Burundian Breweries), 192 bribery, 101, 135 British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), 52, 59, 70 Burundi, 17, 75, 77, 86, 89–90, 92, 93, 115–16, 124, 131, 135, 136, 146, 153, 162, 172, 179, 201, 211, 228, 245, 246, 247, 250, 255; changing media landscape in, 233–4; electoral cycle in, 18–27; electoral laws in, 96–9; electoral trauma in, 19–20, 79–80; Media and Elections Plan, 122; media synergy in, 192, 197; monitoring in, 140; observation mission in, 202, 203–4; publication of elections results in, 222–30; regulation of media in, 100–1 Burundi Press Agency (ABP), 27, 192 Burundi Press Council, 114 Burundian League for Human Rights, 204 Buyoya, Pierre, 20, 24, 100 camorra, 42–3, 249–50 campaign issues, presentation of, 129–39 campaigning, through foreign media, 165 campaigning prior to elections, 148–9 campaigning strategies of candidates, 248–9 Canal Congo Télévision (CCTV) (DRC), 50, 148, 150, 155, 157, 162, 171; suspension of, 218 Canal FM (Congo), 43 Canal France International (CFI), 35, 69 Canal Kin Télévision (CKTV) (DRC), 50, 148, 150, 157, 162, 171, 218 Canal Numérique TV (DRC), 220

index  |   281 candidates, approving of, 87–8 Carrefour (Chad), 66 Le Carrefour des Idées (Burundi), 23 Catholic Church, 42, 52, 59, 116, 119, 163 CCIB FM+ (Burundi), 193 censorship, 40; of songs, 162; self-censorship, 14, 43, 61, 73, 171, 245, 246 census, taking of, 89–96 Central African Economic and Monetary Community, 30 Central African Human Rights League, 87 Central African Media Organization (OMAC), 123 Central African Press Agency, 35 Central African Republic (CAR), 14, 17, 75, 77–8, 83, 84, 85, 87, 89, 93, 115, 116, 120, 123, 131, 137–8, 139, 143, 145, 147, 149, 151, 153, 157, 159–60, 167, 169, 175, 176, 179, 201, 213, 223, 228, 234–5, 242, 244, 245, 247, 248, 249, 250; election turnout in, 212–13; electoral laws in, 96, 97–8; electoral process in, 27–31; joint electoral supervision in, 189–92; media regulation in, 101–3; monitoring in, 140; National Dialogue in, 28–9; observation mission in, 202, 204; radio in, 119 Centre for Listening to and Monitoring the Congolese Press (CEMPC), 107, 140, 162 Chad, 14, 75, 84, 85, 89, 95, 124, 130, 134, 137, 145, 146, 150–1, 152, 160, 164, 167, 172, 173–4, 175, 177, 179, 188, 199, 201, 214–16, 237, 244, 245, 247, 248, 255; closure of newspapers, 231–2; elections in (boycott of, 65–6; flawed, 225–8; turnout in, 211–12) electoral laws in, 96, 99; electoral process in, 62–70; media regulation in, 111–13; observation mission in, 202; protest against election results, 229–30; registration of voters in, 90–2; shared correspondents in, 187–9 Chad Media Council for Ethics, 114 Chad National Radio, 146 Chad National Television (TVT), 68 Chad Press Agency, 68 Chad Union of Privately Owned Radio Stations (URPT), 172 Chadian Association of Private Press Publishers, 188 Chadian Human Rights League, 174 challenging parties, coverage given to, 222–3 charitable and community activism of candidates, 164–5 Charter for National Unity (Burundi), 19 Chirhalwirwa, Pascal, 236 Le Choc (Congo), 41, 210 choices, political, deciphering of, 85–7 Choua, Lol Mahamat, 64, 95 churches, as breeding ground of voters, 163 Cissé, Lamine, 102 Le Citoyen (CAR), 31, 83, 101–2, 117, 131, 133, 137, 189, 213 City Radio (Rwanda), 59, 85, 182

Civil Society for Free and Transparent Elections (FOSOCEL) (Congo), 93, 105, 207–8 civil war, 19, 36 La Cloche (Chad), 66 Coalition of Civil Society for Elections Monitoring (COSOME) (Burundi), 20, 80, 193, 203, 204 codes of conduct for elections, 100–1, 102, 107, 110, 113, 159, 169, 257 collinaires (hills elections) (Burundi), 23 Commission for Vigilance and Electoral Ethics in the Media (CVEM) (DRC), 108, 114, 168 communications technology, spread of, 166–7 Community Media Network of Bas-Congo, 225 Community of Sahel-Saharan States, 205 community radio, 149, 169, 195–6, 224 Le Confident (CAR), 30, 31, 83, 102, 139, 213 Conflict Alert and Prevention Centre (CENAP) (Burundi), 123 Congo, Republic of, 14, 17, 73, 75, 77, 85, 92–3, 98, 114, 119, 124, 130, 134, 135, 136, 143, 145, 163, 164, 166, 167, 169–70, 179, 180, 185, 196, 201, 209–10, 229, 232, 242, 244, 245, 246, 255; election monitoring in, 141; electoral laws in, 96, 97; electoral process in, 35–44; local observation bodies, 207; media regulation in, 103–6; observation mission, 202, 204 see also Democratic Republic of Congo; Congo Media Council (OCM), 114 Congo Media Observatory (OMEC), 108, 114, 140, 155 Congo Press Agency, 50 Congo Web Television (DRC), 150 Congolese Human Rights Observatory (OCDH), 204, 208 Congolese Information Agency, 41 Congolese Labour Party (PCT), 38, 39–40, 93 Congolese National Press Union (UNPC), 108, 114, 155 Congolese nationality law, 85–6 Congolese Rally for Democracy (RCD) (DRC), 45 congolité, 154, 157–9 Contact FM (Rwanda), 59, 85, 161, 163, 182 cooperation with actors in election processes, 256, 257–8 Coordination of Civil Society and Human Rights Organizations (CASCIDHO) (Chad), 207 Cordaid, 69 corruption, 13, 28, 59 counting of election results, 208–9 coupage, 249–50 Dabira, Norbert, 44 Dacko, David, 27–8 Dago, Moussa, 113 debates, political, 110, 111, 173; on television, 108, 176–7 Déby, Idriss, 62–6, 86, 91, 130, 133, 135, 136, 138, 145, 146, 150, 152, 164, 175, 177, 188, 206–7, 215, 225, 230, 247, 248

282  |  index Le Défi africain (Congo), 41 ‘democracies with adjectives’, 9, 11 democracy: consolidation of, 9; choosing for, 152–3 democracy kits, 8, 13, 258 Le Démocrate (Chad), 31, 189 Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), 13, 14, 17, 54, 75, 77, 83, 88, 90, 95–6, 98, 115, 116, 122, 129, 131, 133, 134, 137, 139, 143, 145, 147, 150, 151, 153, 154, 160–1, 164–5, 166, 167, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 176, 178–9, 180, 181, 206, 209, 214, 216, 219, 220, 228–9, 232, 236, 242, 244, 246, 247, 248–9, 250, 255; election monitoring in, 140, 141–2; electoral campaigning in, 148; electoral laws in, 96; electoral process in, 44–53, 80–2; known for musical creativity, 161; media regulation in, 106–11; observation mission in, 202, 203; publication of elections results in, 223–5 Democratic Republican Movement (MDR) (Rwanda), 56, 158–9; dissolution of, 57 democratization, 10, 27–31 denominational radio stations, 52, 70, 163–4 Department for International Development (DfID) (UK), 107 Les Dépêches de Brazzaville (Congo), 41, 118, 166, 201, 209 Les Dernières Nouvelles (CAR), 31 Deutsche Welle, 59, 68 Digital Congo (DRC), 50, 118, 148, 150, 156, 162, 225 digital identification in elections, 47 Digital Number One (Congo), 44 Digital Radio et Télévision (DRTV) (Congo), 44 Dindo, Gaston, embargo on, 220 disparity of information access, 73 diversification of news sector, 18 divisionism, 157–9 Dja FM (Chad), 69, 111, 112, 216; suspension of programme, 160 Djasnabaille, Abderamane, 172 Djiraïbe, Delphine, 212 Djombo, Henri, 44 Documentation and Information for Africa organization, 50 donors, 107, 125, 126, 215, 237; funding of election processes by, 8, 46, 228; interventions by, 116–25; lack of insight of, 82; support for radio stations, 25 door-to-door campaigning, 132 Doumgor, Houmadji Moussa, 65 Dupont, Ghislaine: expulsion of, 178; nonaccreditation of, 166 duration of election campaigns, 96 Echos du Congo (Congo), 41 elections: Africa–Europe comparisons, 8; as a means of emerging from war, 36–8; as basis for constitutional state, 12–13; as opportunity to earn money, 134; as period of hostility,

235; dangerous period for journalists, 238; focus on irregularities in, 8–9; funding of, 46; involve great effort by voters, 71; lack of enthusiasm for, 84; may result in lethargy, 71; organization of, 12, 117; processes of, 21–3; information, provision of, 6; results of (acceptance or challenging of, 222–30; dissemination of, 220–1); role of media in campaign period, 127–5; similarity of, 70–1; teaching the nature of the voting process, 79 electoral bodies, 75–6, 93–5 electoral coverage, problems of, 238–50 Electoral Institute of Southern Africa, 203 electoral laws, 76, 96–9, 136–7, 243; penalties prescribed, 97 electoral meetings, organization of, 86–7 electoral officials, training of, 200 electoral rolls, revision of, 39 electoral system, analysis of, 85–9 electricity: access to, 34, 169, 244, 245; lack of, 47, 51, 119, 213; power cuts, 43, 67, 72 eligibility of candidates, 85 embargos of politicians, 249 ethnicity, 154; of candidates, as an issue, 86 Etsou, Frédéric, 224 European Union (EU), 29, 32, 37, 39, 46, 119, 216, 228, 229; election monitoring by, 23, 140; EUFOR peacekeeping force, 154; funding of elections by, 63; observer missions, 202 (in Burundi, 146, 204; in Congo, 143, 169–70; in Rwanda, 109, 147, 182); report on Congolese elections, 142; report on Rwanda, 55, 175 fairness of media, 127 Federation Action for the Republic (FAR) (Chad), 227 Flash FM (Rwanda), 182 FM Liberté (Chad), 69, 84 Force One television (Congo), 44 Forces for the Defence of Democracy (FDD) (Burundi), 20 Forces of Self-Defence and Resistance (Congo), 37 Le Forum des As (DRC), 49 Forum of Development Partners of Burundi, 20 France, 60, 66, 67, 120, 166, 227, 229, 234; electoral irregularities in, 9; funding of elections in, 63 Franck, Carine, 200 fraud, electoral, 101, 187, 188–9, 193, 226, 247–8 freedom of the press, 10, 12, 14, 25, 61, 73, 101, 102, 248, 251; in Rwanda, 58–9; necessary for elections, 2–3; violation of, 170–3 (rapid response to, 256); with adjectives, 250–1, 256 French language, use of see languages Gabirault, Olivier, 151 gacaca jurisdiction, 57–8, 208 Gakwandi, Pierre, 159 Ganzoui, Bruno Bafio, 151

index  |   283 Gasabo (Rwanda), 60 Gbossokotto, Maka, 101, 102, 117, 190, 200 General Coordination of Civil Society Organizations for Election Observation (Chad), 207 General Coordination of National Observers of the Presidential Elections in Chad (COGONEPT), 206–7 ‘ghost town’ campaign (Chad), 227–8 Gizenga, Antoine, 48, 139 Global Rights organization, 79 Global TV (DRC), 50, 150, 220 gombo, 249–50 Goumba, Abel, 28, 149, 223 governance, ‘good’, 9 Grandes Questions programme, suspended, 156 Grands Lacs Hebdo (Rwanda), 59, 60, 175 La Griffe (Congo), 208, 210 GTV (Rwanda), 60 Guinea, 10 Habré, Hissène, 62 Habyarimana, Juvénal, 53–4 Hakizimana, Alice, 118 Harelimana, Jean-Marie Vianney, 58 hate speech and hate media, 23–4, 40, 52, 73, 80, 100, 102, 131, 153–5, 218; banning of, 7; penalties for, 168 High Council for Communications (HCC) (CAR), 101–3 High Council for Communications (HCC) (Chad), 76, 111–17, 140, 147, 157, 160, 164, 169, 173–4, 175, 177, 179, 216 High Council for the Freedom of Communication (CSLC) (Congo), 40, 76, 104–6; Charter of Information and Communications Professionals, 106 High Council of the Press (HCP) (Rwanda), 76, 85, 109–11, 144 High Media Authority (HAM) (DRC), 76, 98, 106–11, 140, 142, 147, 148, 150, 154, 155, 156–7, 158, 160, 169, 171, 174, 176–7, 179, 181, 214, 218, 221, 247; looting of, 162, 217 L’Hirondelle (CAR), 31, 189 Hirondelle Foundation, 33–4, 51, 119, 121 Hissein, Mahamat, 188 Hobe (Rwanda), 60 Huguka (Rwanda), 60 Human Rights Watch, report on Rwanda, 57 Hutu Front for Democracy in Burundi (FRODEBU), 19–20, 21, 22, 24, 135, 146, 152, 211, 215, 222, 223 Hutu people, 19–27, 53–62 passim Ikiemi, Serge, 164 illiteracy, 32, 47, 82, 88 Ilunga, Auguy, 168 Ilunga, Dieudonné, 221 impartiality of media, 101, 127, 147

impunity, 148 Imvaho Nshya (Rwanda), 59 indelible ink, used in elections, 197 independence of media, 256–7 L’Indépendant (Burundi), 23 Independent Communal Electoral Commission (CECI) (Burundi), 23 Independent Electoral Commission (CEI) (DRC), 75, 93, 95–6, 120, 203, 216, 218, 219, 220, 223, 225 Independent National Observatory for the Monitoring of Electoral Procedures and Democracy (ONIPED) (Chad), 206 Info Tchad (Chad), 68 informal media campaigns, 161–7 information: access to, 7, 127 (blocked, 247–8); blackout of, 244–5; confused with communication, 249–50; obstacles to accessing of, 174–6 informing voters, 77–85 Ingabo (Rwanda), 60 Institut Panos Paris (IPP), 15, 81, 124 Inter-Congolese Dialogue, 90 Inter-Donor Group for Media (GIBM), 120, 122, 124 Interahamwe militias (Rwanda), 54 InterCongo Media, 50 International Committee in Support of the Transition (CIAT), 45, 107, 155, 158, 228 international community: position of, 228–30; support by, 119–20 International Council of French Radio-Televisions, 121 International Crisis Group (ICG), 131 International Federation for Human Rights (FIDH), 37, 171 International Foundation for Election Systems, 203 International Media Support (IMS), 110 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 29 International Organization of La Francophonie (OIF), 33, 34, 37, 188, 205; observation missions, 202 internet, 251; broadcasting via, 193; means of communication, 221 Intumwa (Burundi), 233 Ipakala, André, 49 Izuba Rirashe (Rwanda), 60 Al Jazeera, 69, 70 Jeune Afrique (France), 165, 205 Le Journal du Citoyen (DRC), 81, 83, 88, 90, 119, 125, 129, 130, 218, 234, 243, 250 journalism: in Africa, specificities of, 78; lack of professional training, 12; paid-by-the-source, 250; professionalization of, in France, 9; rewarded, 72, 249 Journaliste en Danger (JED), 53, 158, 161, 163, 170, 172–3, 178, 222

284  |  index journalists, 11, 32, 35, 40, 68, 74, 101–3, 105, 127; as activists or advisers, 151; at the service of a cause, 126; attacks on, 53, 172; cameras confiscated, 226, 227; codes of conduct, 6, 9, 100, 114, 115, 153–5, 155–6, 184, 255; denied access to information, 247; difficulties in following campaigns, 170–82; disappearances of, in Rwanda, 61; embedded, 117, 248; ethical behaviour of, 235; freelance, 118; guidelines for, 105; in private and public sectors, 251; intimidation of, 170; judgements on politicians, 131; killing of, 170, 173, 245–6; mercenary, 191; neutrality of, 243; obligations of, 129; obstacles facing, 250; paid to attend press conferences, 72; physical attacks on, 199–200; politicized, 190; present at votecounts, 213; pressures on, 182–3; price paid for neutrality, 177–9; professional associations of, 114, 251; restrictions on, 175; role of, 3; salaries of, 51; security of, 256; sense of responsibility of, 183; solidarity of, 114; staff turnover of, 117; status of, 107; threats to, 73; training of, 12, 72, 123–5, 126, 148, 156, 188, 192, 256; underpaying of, 72; understaffing of media, 179; use of false identities, banned, 115; vigilance of, 185–7 Kabanda, Celestin, 88 Kabila, Janet, 50, 118 Kabila, Joseph, 45, 47, 48, 49, 86, 133, 137, 139, 141, 142, 148, 150, 154, 156, 163, 164–5, 168, 171, 177, 209, 216–17, 224, 225, 230, 248 Kabila, Laurent Désiré, 45, 154 Kabondo, 192 Kafuta, Sony, 163 Kagame, Paul, 54, 55, 60, 132, 144, 147, 149, 161, 230, 248 Kamerhe, Vital, 220 Kamitatu, Olivier, 220 Kamougué, Wadal Abdelkader, 62–3, 64, 95, 177, 188 Kangura (Rwanda), 58 Karangwa, Chrysologue, 132 Kasanji, Ngoyi, 168 Katanga Community Radio (DRC), 52, 195 Kavumbagu, Jean-Claude, 101 Kavumbagu, Jean-Marie Vianney, 203 Kavutze, Léonard, 159 Kaya, Zéphyrin, 78–9, 84, 176 Kebzabo, Saleh, 64, 70, 95, 150, 180, 226 Kibambi Shintwa, Jean-Pierre, 50, 150, 151 Kihoulou, Ferdinand, 41 Kikumba, Frédéric Kitenge, 155 Kin Kiey Mulumba, Tryphon, 49, 154 Kinyamateka (Rwanda), 59, 60 Kitutu O’Leontwa, Stéphane, 155, 171 Kolélas, Bernard, 36, 41 Kolingba, André, 28, 30, 139, 151, 223 Kolingba, Mireille, 160 Koulamallah, Ibrahim, 65

Koumakoye, Delwa Kassiré, 64, 65, 66 Kutino, Fernando, 163 Kwa na Kwa National Convergence (CAR), 31, 157, 176, 179, 216, 223 Ladawa, Bobi, 168 Ladi Luya, Michel, 49, 50 languages: national, use of, 159–60, 257 (French, 14, 88–9, 103, 160, 192, 195; Lingala, 160, 195; Sango, 160; Swahili, 195); translation of electoral material, 88 Laplume, Yves, 81, 129, 214, 219 Lembe, Olive, 165 Libanga tradition, 162 libel, 35, 42, 153, 154; banning of, 7; laws regarding, 42; penalties for, 102; trials for, 32 La Libre Belgique (Belgium), 166 Libreville Agreement, 87 Lissouba, Pascal, 36, 39 Lokole Centre (DRC), 83, 119, 193 Lukano, Rose, 129, 181 Lumbala, Roger, 50, 150; embargo on, 220 Le Lushois (DRC), 50 Mackiza, Bernard, 130, 134 Madilu, 162 Magnificat radio station (Congo), 42 Malu Malu, Apollinaire, 46, 96, 214, 216, 224 Manda, Jean-Pierre, 100, 152 Mandigui, Yokabdjim, 95 manifestos, presentation of, 129, 130 Manirakiza, Major, 198 Maoundonodji, Gilbert, 112 Massi, Charles, 30, 31, 223 Mbanza, Joachim, 116, 181 Mbella studio (CAR), 78–9 wa Mbombo, Nzuzi, 50, 150 Mbon, Laudes Martial, 201 Mbonerane, Albert, 124 Mbonigaba, Ismail, 151 Mbumba, François Pascal, 196 media: as fourth estate, 6; direct intervention in elections, 196–202; diversity of, 40–2; evolving landscapes of, 10–12, 232–3; frailty of, 116–19; in Africa, growth of, 251; independence of, 14; independent and diverse, 3–6; limited scope of, 244–5; plurality of, 40–2; politicization of, 48, 126; pre-election commitments of, 75–126; private, 8, 11, 18, 23 (in USA, 3); public, 24 (appropriation of, 243); responsibility and regulation of, 6–7; role of, in elections, 2–7; set up by politicians, 118 media and politics, dangerous liaisons, 242–3 Media High Council (MHC) (Rwanda), 85, 110, 180 Media Monitoring Project, 110 Mende Omalanga, Lambert, 156, 168 Le Messager (Chad), 66 Michel, Louis, 166 micro-broadcasting, 82

index  |   285 military coups, 20 Milongo, André, 36–7 minors, voting by, 188–9, 212 Mirador TV (DRC), 50, 147 Le Miroir (Chad), 66 Mixed Independent Electoral Commission (CEMI) (CAR), 29, 75, 93, 190, 191, 200, 204, 216 Moalbaye, Carpenter Nedilbaye, 91 mobile phones, use of, 74, 188, 213, 251 see also satellite phones Mobutu, Nzanga, 48, 168 Mobuto Sese Seko, 45 Moka, Alain, 44 Mokoko, Francine, 180 Molière TV (DRC), 50, 150, 157, 171, 219 Momet, Mathurin, 151 Le Monde (France), 227 money, impact of, on media visibility, 133–4 monitoring: of elections, 56, 111, 140, 148, 160, 161, 188 (methodology of, 140); of media, 99, 100, 107, 122–3, 246 Moussa, Abderamane, 91 Movement for the Liberation of Congo (MLC), 45 Movement for the Liberation of the Central African People (MLPC) (CAR), 29, 159–60 Movement for the Rehabilitation of Citizens (MRC) (Burundi), 22 Mpiana, J. B., 162 Muabilu Mbayu, Pius, 49, 50, 150 Muboyayi Mubanga, Polydor, 49, 237 Mukabaramba, Alivera, 55 Mukambilwa, Kipolongo, 142 Muke Tonga, Lacoste, 162 Mukuba (DRC), 50 Musangu, Fidèle, 221 Mushizi, Kizito, 195 Mutanda, Alexis, 49 Mutinga, Modeste, 49, 106, 148, 221 Mwamba, Bapuwa, 173, 217 Mwamba, François, 220 Mwangaza Community Radio (DRC), 52 Mwete (Congo), 41 National Association of Newspaper Publishers in the Congo (ANECO), 108 National Association of Private Broadcasting Corporations (ANEAP) (DRC), 108, 181 National Communications Council (CNC) (Burundi), 76, 100–1, 140, 146, 152, 247 National Council for the Defence of Democracy – Forces for the Defence of Democracy (CNDD-FDD) (Burundi), 20, 21, 22, 131, 147, 152–3, 211, 222, 233 National Council for the Defence of Democracy– Nyangoma (CNDD-Nyangoma), 22 National Council of Churches (Burundi), 204 National Democratic Institute, 203 National Electoral Commission (NEC) (Rwanda), 39, 75, 93–4, 103–6, 143, 159, 208, 210

National Human Rights Commission (Rwanda), 109 National Independent Electoral Commission (CENI) (Burundi), 21–3, 75, 93, 95, 199, 205, 211, 212, 213, 215, 218, 223, 225, 226 National Liberation Front (FNL) (Burundi), 20 National Office of Radio and Television (ONRTV) (Chad), 68 National Revolutionary Movement for Development (MRND) (Rwanda), 53, 132 National Unity and Reconciliation Commission (Rwanda), 109 National Voter Census Commission (CNRE) (Chad), 91 Nawej, José, 49 Nayinzira, Jean-Népomucène, 55 Ndadaye, Melchior, 19; assassination of, 20, 24 Ndayizeye, Domitien, 20, 146, 153, 172, 199 Ndayiziga, Charles, 131 Ndengue Khongo, Line Georgette, 181–2 Ndikuryio, Etienne, 172 N’Djamena Bi-Hebdo (Chad), 65, 66, 67, 70, 86, 89, 95, 133, 134, 135, 136, 150–1, 179–80, 212, 215, 227, 229 Ndongozi (Burundi), 27 Ndotah, Christian Aimé, 32, 121 Nembalemba, Léon, 50 Net Press agency (Burundi), 27, 101, 201, 203 Network of Community Radio and Television in the Eastern DRC (RATECO), 82 neutrality of media, 101, 146–7, 190; price of, 177–9 see also journalists, neutrality of New Partnership for Africa’s Development (NEPAD), 9 The New Times (Rwanda), 60 newspapers, 23–4, 31–2, 49–50, 60, 66–7, 73, 126; closure of, 231–2; financing of, 49; limited circu­ lation of, 244; private, 83, 201; state-run, 26 Ngaïssona, Edouard, 31 Ngarambe, Paul, 199, 211, 233 Ngargoune, Sosthène, 112 Ngarimandem, David, 135 Ngouandjika, Fidèle, prohibition on, 157 Ngoupandé, Jean-Paul, 31, 223 Ngoyi, Marcel, 49 Nguele, Lamyr, 44 Nguie, Stanislas, 44 Nguimbi, Pierre Michel, 44 Nkurunziza, Nestor, 193 Nkurunziza, Pierre, 23, 215, 230, 233, 248 Notre Temps (Chad), 65, 66, 67, 91, 95, 138, 207, 212 La Nouvelle République (Congo), 41, 118, 210 La Nouvelle Relève (Rwanda), 59 Ntamagara, Jean-Jacques, 234 Ntumi, Pastor, 37, 39 Numerica TV (Congo), 50 L’Observateur (Chad), 66, 84, 91, 94, 95, 124, 134, 138, 172, 189, 212, 214, 217, 218, 227, 232

286  |  index L’Observateur (DRC), 49, 165, 179 observers of elections, 202–8, 225; international, credibility undermined, 204–6 Odjitan, Maji-Maji, 69 official announcements, paid, 116–17 Okoto, Jean-Charles, 50, 168 Olenghankoy, Joseph, 168; embargo on, 220 Olomide, Koffi, 162 Operation Épervier (Chad), 64 opinion polls: bans on, 185; publication of, 6, 138–9 Organization of African Unity (OAU), 37, 205 Ossere, Lambert Daniel, 210 Oulatar, Begoto, 188, 201 Padacket, Albert Pahimi, 65 Le Palmarès (DRC), 49 paper, shortages of, 180, 246 partisan behaviour: of electoral officials, 189; of media, 149–51 Party for National Recovery (PARENA) (Burundi), 21, 22, 222–3 Party for the Liberation of Hutu People – National Liberation Front (PALIPEHUTUFNL), 20, 22 Patassé, Ange-Félix, 27, 28, 31, 32, 87, 88, 159 Patriotic Salvation Movement (MPS) (Chad), 62–3, 135, 175 pavement radio, 73, 215 Pay-Pay, Pierre, 139, 141 payments from politicians to journalists, 128 peace, choosing for, 152–3 peace journalism, 153 Pentecostal church, 51 People’s Party for Reconstruction and Democracy (PPRD), 167 People’s Reconciliation Party (Burundi), 20 Le Phare (DRC), 49, 154, 164, 173, 206, 209, 224 phone-in programmes, 110, 159–61 Planning and Development Collaborative International (PADCO), 192 pluralism: of media, 105, 242; political, 7–12, 176, 243 political parties: creation of, 8; fair access to media, 7 politicization of media, 255 polling day: media’s role in, 185–237 (intervention limited, 199–202) polling operations, 185, 193, 194; attempts to influence, 198–202; coverage of, 187–96; irregularities in, 224; supervision of, 185–37 pooling of resources, 188 Popular Movement of the Revolution (DRC), 45 post-conflict electoral processes, 17; media’s role in, 13–15 post-election, assessment of, 209–11 post-election campaigns, 216–20 Le Potentiel (DRC), 49, 106, 173, 203, 209, 214, 218 predictions, wars of, 216–20

press laws, 61, 73, 100, 107, 111, 127; infraction of, 148–61 press releases, profitability of, 182 Pretoria Agreement, 106 print space, fair allocation of, 139–47 printing presses, 41, 59, 171; print posters rather than newspapers, 180 private media see media, private and radio, private Programme for Observing the Elections in Rwanda (POER), 208 Le Progrès (Chad), 66, 67, 90, 92, 111, 150, 228 La Prospérité (DRC), 49 Prosperity and Solidarity Party (Rwanda), 56 Protestant church, 52 provincial media, 167–70 proxy voting, 199 public resources, abuse of, during elections, 134–7 qualitative imbalances in reporting, 143–5 quantitative imbalances in reporting, 141–3 racism, 97, 153, 154 see also anti-foreigner discourse radio, 25, 32–4, 49, 51–3, 68, 69–70, 73, 77–9, 80–1, 88, 89–90, 93, 94, 96, 126, 134, 163–4, 167–9, 195, 199, 219–20; frail and isolated stations, 169–70; frequencies, allocation of, 99; growth of stations, 12; local broadcasting on FM, 167; pluralism of, 59–62; political, 234; poor reception of, 73; private, 25–6, 42–4, 79, 111–13, 233, 244 (establishment of, 242; responsible for programme content, 160); state control of, 3; weakness of transmitters, 83 see also transmitters Radio 10 (Rwanda), 59 Radio Amani (DRC), 52 Radio Be Oko (CAR), 34 Radio Boboto (DRC), looting of, 171 Radio Bonanga (DRC), 168 Radio Bonesha (Burundi), 25, 26, 79, 117, 192, 233 Radio Brakoss (Chad), 70 Radio Brazzaville (Congo), 42–3, 180 Radio Burundi (Burundi), 79, 146, 193 Radio Centrafrique (CAR), 32, 34, 78–9, 120, 121, 145, 157, 189 Radio Congo (Congo), 40, 42, 105, 141, 143 Radio Culture (Burundi), 192 Radio Duji Lokar (Chad), 70 Radio Effata (Chad), 70 Radio Elikya (DRC), 163 Radio Enyelle (Congo), 44 Radio Espoir (Chad), 70 Radio Evangile Néhémie (CAR), 34 Radio Flash (Rwanda), 59, 85 Radio France Internationale (RFI), 26, 34, 52, 59, 60, 68, 70, 120, 166, 178, 196, 219, 220, 224 Radio Fraternité Buena Muntu (DRC), 52 Radio Grand Tam-Tam (DRC) (suspended), 168

index  |   287 Radio Isanganiro (Burundi), 25, 26, 79, 146, 147, 192, 193, 199, 211, 233, 250 Radio Ivyizigiro (Burundi), 26, 193 Radio Izuba (Rwanda), 59, 132 Radio Kar Uba (Chad), 70 Radio KFM (DRC) (suspended), 168 Radio Lékana (Congo), 44 Radio La Voix du Paysan (Chad), 70 Radio Liberté (Chad), 111, 112, 173–4, 216, 227–8 Radio Liberté (Congo), 40, 43–4, 181 Radio Liberté (DRC), 52, 162, 168 , 171, 224 Radio Losanganya (DRC) (suspended), 168 Radio Lotiko (Chad), 70 Radio Maendeleo (DRC), 52, 169, 193, 195, 243 Radio Maria (DRC), 52 Radio Maria Burundi (Burundi), 26 Radio Moka (Congo), 44 Radio Nationale du Tchad (Chad), 68 Radio Ndeke Luka (CAR), 33–4, 77–8, 83, 89, 124, 146, 147, 176, 179, 189, 191, 200, 204, 213, 237, 239, 243, 250 Radio Ndoyé (CAR), 34 Radio Nederland, 68, 69 Radio Nkeni (Congo), 44 Radio Notre Dame (CAR), 34 Radio Okapi (DRC), 51, 80–1, 83, 88, 90, 96, 120, 166, 198, 214, 219–20, 224, 234, 236, 237, 239, 242–3, 245, 250; as model broadcaster, 178; Electoral Charter of, 115, 129, 139, 146–7, 162; impact of, 196 Radio Onub (Burundi), 122 Radio Palmeraie (Chad), 70 Radio Phoenix (DRC), 88 Radio Renaissance (Burundi), 234 Radio Rwanda, 59, 60, 109, 198 Radio Slus (Rwanda), 59, 132 Radio Sango Malamu (DRC), 163 Radio Sankuru Liberté (DRC) (suspended), 168 Radio Sans Frontières Bonesha FM (Burundi), 25 Radio Sauti ya Mkaji (DRC), 169 Radio Sauti ya Rehema (DRC), 52 Radio Scolaire Nderagakura (Burundi), 192 Radio Siriri (CAR), 34 Radio Soleil (Chad), 70 Radio Songo (CAR), 34 Radio Télé de la Nouvelle Alliance (Congo), 44 Radio Télévision Al Nassr (Chad), 69–70 Radio Télévision Armée de l’Eternel (RTAE) (DRC), 163; suspension of, 218 Radio Télévision debout Kasai (RTDK) (DRC), 168 Radio Télévision du Diocèse de Matadi (RTDM) (DRC), 52 Radio Télévision du Groupe L’Avenir (RTGA) (DRC), 50, 150, 156 Radio Télévision Libre Mille Collines (RTLM) (Rwanda), 25, 58 Radio Télévision Lisanga (DRC), 50, 150, 171 Radio Télévision Makoua, 44

Radio Télévision Message de Vie (RTMV) (DRC), 163, 171, 219 ­Radio Télévision Mwangaza (DRC), 181 Radio Télévision Nationale Congolaise (RTNC), 50, 51, 52, 118, 141–2, 148, 150, 155, 225; RTNC1, 150, 156, 162, 217; suspension of, 218 Radio Télévision Nationale du Burundi (RTNB), 24, 26, 115–16, 233 Radio Télévision Océan Pacifique (RTOP) (DRC), 168 Radio Terre Nouvelle (Chad), 70 Radio Tomisa (DRC), 52 Radio Voix de la Grâce (CAR), 34 Raga TV (DRC), 50, 147, 179 La Référence Plus, 49, 165, 178, 218, 220 referenda, 22, 47, 115; use of term, 88 registration of voters, 21, 37, 46, 57, 77, 78; electoral registers established, 89; encouragement of, 89–90; flaws in system, 90–2; fraudulent, 90, 91 regulation of media, 96–116, 127, 185, 243–4, 256, 257; Anglo-American style of, 113; coregulation initiatives, 257; restrictive, 173–4; self-regulation, 113, 249, 251 regulatory authorities, 98–113, 249; weakness of, 246–7 religious programmes, 163–4 Rema FM (Burundi), 233 Renaissance FM (Burundi), 79, 192 Le Renouveau (Burundi), 24, 26, 131, 146, 172, 222 Reporters without Borders (RSF), 7, 217 Research and Technology Exchange Group (GRET), 67, 124 Radio Publique Africaine (RPA) (Burundi), 79, 101, 147, 194, 233; suspension of, 152 Ruberwa, Azarias, 45, 50, 86, 141, 150 Rudatsimburwa, Albert, 132 La Rue meurt (Congo), 38, 41, 201, 210 Rugari (Rwanda), 60 Rushyashya (Rwanda), 60 Rutazibwa, Privat, 109 Rwagasore, Prince, 19 Rwanda, 14, 17, 73, 75, 77, 85, 86, 87, 136, 143, 145, 147, 151, 153, 161, 162–3, 175, 180, 182, 196, 202, 239, 255; divisionism in, 158; election monitoring in, 140, 144; electoral campaigning in, 149; electoral laws in, 96, 97; electoral process in, 53–62; genocide in, 54, 55, 57, 58, 61; press regulation in, 109–11 Rwanda Dispatch (Rwanda), 60 Rwanda Focus (Rwanda), 60 Rwanda Information Technology Authority, 198 Rwanda Journalists Association (RJA), 114 Rwandan Bureau of Information and Broadcasting (ORINFOR), 59 109, 144 Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), 53–4, 56, 58, 132–3, 162–3, 182 Sako, Jean Willybiro, 29

288  |  index Salama TV (Burundi), 233 Saleh, Ibni Oumar Mahamat, 64 Salissa, André Okombi, 44 Samba, Ferdinand, 151 Sarh Tribune (Chad), 66 Sassou Nguesso, Denis, 36, 37–8, 39–40, 41, 43, 93, 105, 143, 144, 145, 164, 170, 210–11, 230, 248 satellite phones, use of, 189 Search for Common Ground (SFCG), 81–2, 119, 194 Selgue, Brahim, 226 La Semaine (Burundi), 24 La Semaine africaine (Congo), 36, 38, 39–40, 41, 93–4, 116, 130, 134, 135, 164, 181, 201, 210, 230, 248 senators, election methods for, 86 Sendegeya, Pierre-Claver, 20 settling of scores, 231–2 Shabani, Modeste, 169 Sindayigaya, Adrien, 192, 197, 213 Sindikubwabo, Jean Baptiste, 88 Sinduhije, Alexis, 101, 152–3, 192, 194, 230 Le Soft 2 International (DRC), 221 Le Soft International (DRC), 49; suspended, 154 Le Soir (Belgium), 166 solidarity, professional, 255 songs, used in election campaigns, 161–2 Sovereign National Conferences, 8, 40, 62 Star Media Africa (Rwanda), 60 state, role of, 18; in media, 11 state media, quantitative imbalances in, 141–3 state property, abuse of, 136–7 strategic issues for future elections, 255–8 structured media corporations, absence of, 239 Studio Ijambo (Burundi), 25, 26, 79, 83, 192, 234 Studio Tubane (Burundi), 26, 193 Support Committee for the Electoral Process (Congo), 207 suspense and rumours, management of, 215–16 Swing, William Lacy, 214 synergies of media, 192, 197, 236–7, 239, 256 synergy model, exporting of, 195–6 taboo subjects for media, 25 talk shows, 159–61 Tam-Tam d’Afrique (Congo), 41, 201 Tchad et Culture (Chad), 66, 95, 130, 133, 134, 205, 226, 229, 258 Tchendo, Vermont, 103 Télé 10 (Rwanda), 60 Télé Centrafrique, 35, 145, 157, 189 Télé Congo (Congo), 43, 105, 141 Télé Mossendjo (Congo), 44 Télé Renaissance (Burundi), 233 television, 35, 42–4, 49, 50–1, 68–9, 94, 136, 219, 233; growth of stations, 12; owned by political candidates, 131; private, establishment of, 242; public, 201, 234 Télévision Rwanda (TVR), 59, 60, 198 La Tempête des Tropiques (DRC), 49, 158, 224, 228

Le Temps (Chad), 63, 66, 67, 91, 146, 200, 205, 207, 212, 232 Temps Eco (Rwanda), 60 Tenebaye, Massalbaye, 174 text messaging, 167 Tiangaye, Nicolas, 30, 223 Togo, 10 Tokwaulu, Bernadette Aena, 156 Top Info (DRC), suspension of, 220 Touadé, Emmanuel, 111 touring of provinces, 133 training projects for journalists, 123–5 transmitters: closing of, 171, 219; cutting of, 234–5; destruction of, 171; lack of power, 245 transport: for candidates, 133; for electoral campaigns, 117; journalists’ lack of, 179, 190–1; not available for international observers, 204; not available for media, 239 tribalism, 97 Tropicana TV (DRC), 50, 150, 157 Tshisekedi, Etienne, 46, 138, 158, 221, 228 Tshomba, Colette, 49, 150 tuning out, as electoral choice, 245 turnout, at elections, 197–8, 211–13 Tutsi people, 19–27, 53–62 passim TV Tchad (Chad), 68 Twagiramungu, Faustin, 55, 144, 147, 151, 159 Ubumwe (Burundi), 24, 27 Uhuru (DRC), 49, 209, 221 Ukuri (Rwanda), 60 Umuco (Rwanda), 60 Umukindo (Rwanda), 60 Umuntu-Lumière (Burundi), 27, 172, 201 Umurabyo (Rwanda), 60 Umuseso (Rwanda), 60, 147, 175 Umuvugizi (Rwanda), 60 uncoordinated and redundant projects, 122–3 Unified Lumumbist Party (DRC), 48 Union congolaise des femmes des medias (UCOFEM), 82, 83 Union for Democracy and Social Progress (UDPS) (DRC), 46, 167, 172, 206, 221 Union for National Progress (UPRONA) (Burundi), 19–20, 21, 22, 135, 194 Union for Renewal and Democracy (URD) (Chad), 62 Union for the Nation (Congo), 142 Union of Active Forces of the Nation (UFVN), 30, 216 Union of Central African Journalists (UJCA), 87, 102, 114, 190, 201 Union of Central African Women, 87 Union of Chadian Journalists, 114 Union of Democratic Forces (FDU) (Rwanda), 57 Union of Mobutist Democrats (UDEMO) (DRC), 48 Union of Rwandese Democratic Forces (Rwanda) 57 United Front for Democratic Change (Chad), 66

index  |   289 United Kingdom (UK), 119 United Nations (UN), 13, 118, 228; Blue Helmets, 154; monitoring of elections, 140; observer missions, 202; peacekeeping operations, 12 UN Development Programme (UNDP), 29, 33, 96, 107, 119, 124, 190, 206, 213, 234 UN Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), 33, 119, 123, 124, 192, 234; International Programme for the Development of Communication, 121 UN Mission in the Central African Republic (MINURCA), 28 UN Mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo (MONUC), 46, 51, 120, 140, 155, 214, 224 UN Operation in Burundi (ONUB), 122, 204 UN Peace-building Office in the CAR (BONUCA), 33, 103, 151 United States of America (USA): freedom of expression in (First Amendment), 7; private media in, 3 universities, creation of communications departments, 125 Urubuga rw’Abagore (Rwanda), 60 US Agency for International Development (USAID), 192

Vatankah, Tchanguiz, 172 violence, arising out of elections, 19, 22, 39, 48, 127, 237 visibility of parties, 182 Voice of America (VOA), 26, 59, 70 Voka, Makenda, 49 voting, as civic duty, 83; mechanisms of, 86 voting cards: distribution of, 91 (to minors, 212); trafficking in, 188–9 war and conflict, 15; a threat to the media, 14 Wemba, Papa, 162 Werrason, 162 women: in Rwandan constitution, 55, 56; involvement of, 82; quotas for, 58 Yacoub, Zara, 69, 112 Yombi, Godefroid, 43, 180 Yorongar, Ngarledjy, 64, 215 Zaïre, 10, 17 Ziguélé, Martin, 30, 33, 159, 176, 179, 223 Zoom.net press agency, 172 Zossé, Judes, 151

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