(by Francesca Lazzarin, PhD in Slavic studies, translator and interpreter)
“Perhaps, to understand where we were going, we should have watched TV more often”, a dismayed friend and colleague, a young Russian university professor, wrote to me two days later on February 24th. Because he prefers private and progressive channels like “Dozhd’” (known in Europe as TvRain, which forcibly closed its doors a few days after the start of the war between Russia and Ukraine) and Russian state television has never followed it in her life, snubbing her and mistakenly belittling her manipulative power.
“Can you watch Russian television in Italy? If you can, look at it, they’ll explain things to you as they are. This way you too will understand that there is nothing to worry about”, instead an affable Russian lady to whom I teach Italian lessons tells me calmly and confidently and who unexpectedly turns out to be a supporter of “special operation”, beyond his degree in art history and his profound knowledge of the Roman Baroque.
The use of pro-government television channels represents a rather clear indicator of the primarily generational split within Russian society: grandchildren, children, those born close to the dissolution of the Soviet Union or after it, on the one hand; parents, uncles, grandparents and those who grew up and trained in the pre-1991 context on the other (the second group, however, is more numerous than the first: according to demographic data of 1 January 2019, 61 live in Russia, 5 million citizens over 45 years old against 59.3 million between 15 and 44 years old). Education level and area of residence (big city vs. province) also obviously play a role if we talk about share, but the general feeling is that of finding oneself faced with a new declination of the dichotomy between “fathers and children” so dear to the Russian literary canon. In fact, television is now “absolute Evil”, now the “zombizing box”, now “pure trash” for the latter, but an authoritative voice for the former, which even in a historical situation in which information passes first of all through social media and the various platforms, they continue to report the news on current events starting with the phrase: “Yesterday on television they said that…”.
In recent weeks the most prominent figures of Russian state television (hosts and moderators such as Vladimir Solov’ëv, Dmitrij Kiselëv, Margarita Simonyan) have definitively conquered the world stage, also carving out not indifferent spaces for themselves as guests on Italian talk shows, but at home they had already been celebrities for years, and for years they had expressed themselves in tones not very different from the current ones: as already mentioned here with regard to ideology “military-patriotic”, the large-scale conflict in Ukraine has consistently exacerbated trends already underway. The director Andrej Zvyagincev was well aware of this, just to give a particularly fitting example, when, at the end of that synthesis of contemporary Russian life (at both a microscopic and macroscopic level) which is his feature film “Loveless” (2017), had placed living rooms with televisions constantly tuned to “Rossija 1” and, on the screens, shocking and partisan reports on the clashes in the Donbass of 2014/2015, commented by the ever-present Dmitrij Kiselëv.
Of course, before the war, channels like “Rossiya 1”, “Pervyj Kanal”, RT or NTV did not particularly distinguish themselves from similar television networks (both public and private) in the rest of the world, offering the usual range of broadcasts of dubious quality, largely based on drafts prepared in advance, between itchy debates on news events and family melodramas (for example in “Pust’ govorjat!’”, “Let them talk!”), reality shows with the ultimate goal of forming perfect couple (such as the very popular “Davaj poženimsja!”, “Let’s get married!”), talent shows in international formats (“The Voice”), or programs dedicated to healthy living for an essentially female audience (such as “O samom glavnom”, “ What is more important”). Then there were variety shows with comic entr’actes and special guests, such as the beloved “Večernyj Urgant” (“Evening Urgant”, modeled on the American model à la David Letterman), which last New Year’s Eve also conquered the Italian public with its masterful stylization of the Sanremo 80s (authentic fetish of the average Russian) in the show “Ciao 2020” (later repeated in “Ciao 2021”).
And then, of course, there were long newscasts and political and economic-themed programs conducted by commentators such as those already mentioned, but also by the director Nikita Michalkov (think of his “Besogon”, or “The Exorcist”, column in the sign of Russian Orthodox messianism), by Senator Aleksej Puchkov (his “Postscriptum” is very popular) and many others, characterized by an increasingly aggressive patriotism, by a particularly marked skepticism towards the West and, starting from the Revolution of Dignity (better known in Europe as Euromajdan) of 2013, from a unilateral and partial representation, when not staged ad hoc, of the complex crisis situation in Ukraine (the sadly well-known case of the “child crucified” by the “neo-Nazis” in Donbas in 2014) .
After 24 February 2022, the programming of the main Russian state channels underwent a clear change imposed from above, from all points of view. Firstly, the government’s budget for state media has significantly increased; secondly, the broadcasts dedicated to current affairs have completely undermined the entertainment ones: it is enough to remember that the already mentioned reality show “Let’s get married!” has been relegated to night hours, not to mention the fact that the new episodes of “Urgant della sera” have been “temporarily” (so they say) interrupted. In reality the showman Ivan Urgant (the “Gianni Urganti” that even the Italians were able to appreciate in “Ciao 2020”) did not want to pronounce himself in favor of the so-called “special operation”, on the contrary he assumed a pacifist position and, like many of his colleagues, he left Russia. In short, aficionados of “Rossija 1” or NTV, with rare exceptions, at the moment find themselves in front of programs dedicated almost exclusively to the war in progress, in which, however, paradoxically, there is no mention of war.
In fact, there is talk of a “special operation”, of a rescue mission for the Russian-speaking population of Donbas from the “genocide” perpetrated by the Ukrainian armed forces and, by way of translation, by NATO in the last eight years, of the urgent prevention of an attack against Russia of being unleashed from the West, of cynical fake news spread by the Ukrainian and Western media about the crimes committed by the Russian army; and then of the hostility of the West towards Russia, of the envy of Europeans and Americans for the immeasurable riches of Siberia, but also for Russian “spirituality”, for those values of which by now a disintegrated and decadent Europe would be completely deprive; and so on, along these lines.
The result is the creation of a muffled and reassuring comfort zone, in which the Russian viewer residing in Russia (but in reality a very similar approach is also adopted by a large part of the Russian-speaking and pro-Russian communities residing in the Baltic countries or in Germany) can be convinced that life goes on normally, feeling right, being proud of one’s country and of oneself, possibly diluting the dullness of a life in the suburbs in the glories of a life in the suburbs, between pensions of a few hundred euros and houses without hot water. And then, once the TV is turned off, sleep peacefully: after all, as the news anchors claim, “the operation is proceeding according to plan”.
A truly insightful documentary just released in these days, “Binding Ties” (“Razryv svyazej”, by Andrej Lošak), clearly shows the seraphic attitude of someone who is at peace with himself even (actually, above all) in these distressing weeks for the whole world: the voice of television propagandists has worked miracles comparable to those of preachers of religious sects, reawakening feelings of profound solidarity with Putin and trust in the Kremlin even among those who in recent years, let’s say, had complained about the increase in the retirement age, the corruption of officials or the anti-Covid measures. It is no coincidence that some Russian psychologists have already drawn parallels between the autosuggestion mechanisms typical of the adepts of various sects and the blind faith in television and in the Kremlin’s leaders among large sections of the Russian population. Not even the anger and tears of children, sisters, wives who instead realize the tragic nature of what is happening (the “broken ties” in the title of the documentary are precisely the family ones, severed by a war that has unleashed real own internal conflicts even in many Russian families) can convince those who believe in propaganda to step out of the welcoming “Russian world” set up in the living room, even just for a moment.
Anyone who still wonders how it is possible that a substantial part of Russian citizens candidly and frankly support the invasion of Ukraine could find one of the answers to their question here. Perhaps, as my friend said, in order to try to understand contemporary Russia in all its complexity, one really needed to watch TV more often.
PS. Obviously, the Kremlin’s official propaganda first of all applies its strategy to the old cathode ray tube, but it does not disdain other less obsolete means of information, such as the Russian social network Vkontakte or the Telegram and Youtube channels, often making use of the support of influencers, trolls and fake news (or unmaskers of alleged fake news). The Internet is being exploited, in particular, to leverage conspiracy theories particularly dear to the Russian population (and not only) during the Covid-19 pandemic and easily convertible and adaptable to the new war context. Conspiracy theories, unlike television, are also supported and spread by young people and contribute to creating a nebulous atmosphere of uncertainty in the name of the post-truth mantra “Vsë ne tak odnoznačno” (“It’s not all so unequivocal”). But this is a separate story, which we will eventually be able to explore further on another occasion.