Murdoch’s Munificence

by: Michael Curtin / University of Wisconsin-Madison

Critics roundly denounce Rupert Murdoch as the most rapacious media baron of the current era, yet few have commented upon the fact that Sir Rupert is also our greatest media philanthropist. In fact, Murdoch himself may not recognize this or, more to the point, he might not relish the fact that over the past decade News Corporation has lavished more resources on the development of Asian television than any other private concern, with estimates now running close to $2 billion. This largesse has furthermore spurred the development of competing commercial services and has stimulated reforms within state media, thereby dramatically expanding the range of information and entertainment now available to Asian audiences. Of course, Murdoch’s initial ambition was hardly philanthropic, yet in retrospect one strains to see it as a commercial venture, since both his Star and Phoenix satellite services are deeply in the red and have yet to prove themselves consistently profitable.

Murdoch stunned the media critics worldwide when he first mounted a billion dollar takeover of Star TV in 1993, putting him at the helm of the first pan-Asian satellite platform. So taken was he with the stratospheric rhetoric of satellite TV that he regaled the investment and advertising communities with heady prophecies of a new Asian millennium of three billion consumers and an end to authoritarian regimes everywhere. As one might imagine Chinese leaders didn’t share the latter enthusiasm, slapping a ban on foreign satellite services shortly thereafter and rolling out competitive cable services that were offered for a fraction of the cost Star’s services. A humbled Murdoch was accordingly reminded that his fortunes in Asia would be shaped by forces on the ground as much as technologies in the skies.

Yet one can perhaps forgive Murdoch’s initial enthusiasm, for his investment was made during an era of heady optimism about the power of satellite television to transcend national borders and usher in at long last the global village that many had reportedly been waiting to join. Maps of satellite footprints were perhaps the most intoxicating representations of this TV mania, as in the case of Star they suggested blanket coverage across Asia, from Lebanon to the Philippines and south to Indonesia. Yet today, News Corp’s Asia satellite services look more like a patchwork quilt, and a somewhat tattered one at that. Indeed, over the past decade, Star’s effective coverage was dramatically refigured by infrastructural, political, and textual forces on the ground. And the Chinese case serves as an instructive example.

At the infrastructural level, initial expectations regarding a pan-Asian market were dashed by the cultural and linguistic diversity of audiences and tough competition from local and national broadcasters. Likewise complexity of product distribution networks on the ground undermined the possibility of expansive advertising strategies in the sky, since advertisers only wanted to pay for airtime in markets where their goods were available. In the end, they preferred targeted ad buys over pan-Asian appeals.

At the political level, Murdoch found the Beijing government was far more complicated than popular conceptions of authoritarianism might suggest. Chinese leaders could initiate sweeping changes to media policy on relatively short notice, yet such policies were executed with significant discretion at the local level, forcing Star to expend considerable resources currying the favor of provincial officials in a bid to gain carriage on their new cable systems. Moreover, within the national government many factions vie for power, ranging from reformers who are bent on experimentation to guardians of Mao’s peasant revolution. In such a context, global capital can at turns be welcomed as a productive force or reviled as an exploitative foreign element. Star’s image has repeatedly shifted with the political winds and Murdoch has periodically been chilled by the breeze.

At the textual level, Star has been forced to refashion and multiply its services, carefully targeting audiences and branding its products to fit the competitive environment in local media markets. Rather than appealing to a pan-Asian audience or even a pan-Chinese audience, Star has had to content itself with carving out market niches and surprisingly, one of those niches is as a venue for serious political talk on its joint venture Phoenix channel, aiming at an audience of only 140 million viewers in the eastern part of the mainland.

These three levels press relentlessly on News Corp’s Asian satellite services, as they attempt to strike a balance between economies of scale and the local particularities of existing media markets. Star’s delicate balancing act is at work in other countries and markets, as well, such as India, Indonesia, and the Philippines. Since Murdoch first purchased the five-channel satellite platform, he has multiplied its services at an astounding rate, so that the company now manages 19 brands on more than 60 satellite channels. Rather than a singular pan-Asian juggernaut, Star instead provides a host of niche services targeted at a diverse range of viewers, and the sum of the parts still does not add up to a consistently profitable whole.

Such uneven performance is no doubt troubling, for Murdoch’s stated ambition is to put together the first viable global satellite network and then float a public stock offering in hopes of recouping his company’s massive investments. An important part of that portfolio will be Star and Phoenix, but many media executives in Asia confidentially wonder if either service will prove profitable over the long run. Indeed, to witness Murdoch kowtowing to Chinese leaders, currying the favor of provincial bureaucrats, and pandering to nationalist sentiments of Chinese audiences seems indicative of his anxieties about the future of his Asian ventures. Such uneasiness should no doubt invite revision of the cheeky characterization of Murdoch’s generosity at the outset of this essay, but it should also encourage us to reconsider simplistic notions of power that paint Murdoch as an omnipotent global media baron.

News Corporation
Media in China blog
Inside China

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Media Lag: The TV Revolution in Asia

by: Michael Curtin / University of Wisconsin-Madison

I’ve traveled to Asia many times over the past decade, and if everything works flawlessly, the trip takes roughly 24 hours door-to-door from my home in Madison to a hotel room on the other side of the world. Then it usually takes another 72 hours before my body begins to adjust to the rhythms of Asia. In the semi-hallucinogenic haze of jet lag, one becomes acutely aware that America and Iraq figure little in the daily calculations of citizens in this part of the world. President Bush’s crusade against terrorism pales by comparison to more pressing concerns regarding democracy in East Asia, as citizens in both Hong Kong and Taiwan struggle for political autonomy and rights of free expression. Compared to Bush’s war on terrorism, these battles are just as epic in proportion and may in the long run be equally significant in their implications for the rest of the world.

Little of this registers in American media, despite the fact that hundreds of thousands of Hong Kongers poured into the streets of this city on four occasions over the past sixteen months demanding democratic reforms that had been promised them during the 1997 handover. Indeed, the largest demonstration drew more than half a million people, most of them educated middle class citizens who are usually touted as the very backbone of this city’s economic success. Recent elections likewise drew a record turnout, despite electoral ground rules that were heavily skewed to benefit Beijing loyalists. Resisting intense pressure from the mainland leadership, almost two-thirds of all votes were cast for democracy candidates, including a Yippiesque pundit known as “Long Hair” who, clad in a Che Guevara tee-shirt, refused to shake hands with the territory’s Chief Executive, choosing instead to recite a protest poem at their first official meeting.

Political passions in Taiwan likewise roil along at a fever pitch as the island emerges from a tumultuous presidential campaign last spring and heads into crucial legislative elections before the end of the year. Political sparring most centrally revolves around the island’s continuing assertion of independence in the face of more than a decade of pressure from Beijing to “reintegrate” with the motherland. As citizens of the Chinese world’s first and only democratic society, most Taiwanese seem willing to risk full-scale attack from the PRC rather than surrender hard-won rights of free expression. In fact, opinion polls show that support for independence has grown significantly over the past five years despite the volatile state of cross-straits relations.

Meanwhile, in Beijing, PRC politics are undergoing significant transformation due to recent maneuvering within the Communist Party prompting the unexpected departure of Jiang Zeming. This has consolidated the influence of a reform faction that is pushing for more institutional transparency and social welfare spending in a society predominantly characterized by crony capitalism and government corruption. Depending on whom one listens to, China is either teetering on the brink of economic greatness or economic ruin. It is at once the most powerful economy in Asia and perhaps the most fragile, with some experts estimating that more than a hundred million of its citizens have taken to the road in search of work, while hundreds of thousands of others have stayed at home to organize demonstrations for economic equity and social justice. Sit-ins, marches, and militant clashes with authorities are now regular (though underreported) occurrences, as government officials scramble to respond to the rising tide of protests.

Such a world is a long way from the “end of history” that Francis Fukuyama and others anticipated only a decade ago. At the time, it was suggested that the most momentous decisions in the post-Cold War world would revolve around a set of rather mundane choices: Coke or Pepsi? Sony or Panasonic? MTV or ESPN? Media metaphors flowed easily then. Satellite TV and the dawning of the Worldwide Web seemed to augur a collapsing of boundaries and the ultimate triumph of consumer capitalism, leading to an era of global peace and prosperity. Implicit in such speculation were presumptions of the development paradigm that had been so thoroughly discredited by scholarly criticism and practical application only four decades ago. Yet in spite of substantial evidence to the contrary, US leaders during the 1980s and1990s contended that that trade liberalization, new technologies, and Western expertise would unleash the productive power of lesser-developed nations. They likewise resurrected the “end of ideology” as the “end of history,” which played as a companion theme to the “weightless economy” and the “global communication grid.”

Of course the worm turns and now, in the new millennium, cultural and economic difference again seem as intractable as jet lag, as global communication technologies seem to be engendering a disjunctive set of social relations that one might refer to as media lag. That is, rather than fostering spontaneous development, television exposure seems to be exacerbating tensions between global imagery and local experience. So for example, in the wake of the World Trade Center attack, it is commonly suggested by scholars, journalists, and government officials that the recent diffusion of television throughout the Middle East has fueled a wave of resentments regarding disparities within the region, as well as between lifestyles East and West. Yet it’s important to note that this phenomenon can also be found in societies to the north, south, and east of Baghdad.

Indeed, television spread throughout Asia at a remarkable pace during the 1990s, adding an estimated two billion new viewers to the global audience. In China alone TV access has risen from virtually zero to some 90% of the population over the past twenty years. A medium that was originally intended to foster economic development, unify the country, and strengthen the bridge between the party and the people, has become a source of significant anxiety among leaders in Beijing, engendering debates over “rising expectations” and subsequent social conflict. A similar trajectory of rapid adoption has taken place in India and the Middle East where policy makers also fret that the rapid diffusion of television exerts intense pressure to deliver the fruits of economic and social development. Just as jet lag challenges one’s physical and mental capacities, so too does rapid diffusion seem to challenge the institutional capacities of Asian societies. In this state of disjuncture, disparities of wealth seem to take on a vivid significance in the lives of viewers. Rather than fostering aspirations for modernization and “development” (a desire to “catch up”), television makes uneven development fantastically apparent to TV’s newest audiences. Put another way, if one looks carefully at a map of the world’s proven oil reserves, it is glaringly obvious that resources in the Middle East dwarf the combined reserves of the rest of the world. Likewise, if one examines the geographic distribution of the world’s manufacturing workforce as a function of labor cost, one quickly is alerted to the significance of places like Guangdong province in China or Andra Pradesh in India. Now compare these global maps of resource distribution to maps of resource consumption, energy use, and per capita income. The disparities are stunning but nevertheless commonly pass without critical comment in the mainstream media. Yet even though television rarely acknowledges these disparities at an explicit level, it prismatically refracts them through the disjunctive delivery of fantasy images of consumption to the shantytowns and cramped quarters of the world’s working poor. Moreover, television’s fixation on female consumerism offers up relentless images of feminine agency that are commonly embraced by young women who leave behind the drudgery of familial servitude for a chance to migrate to the workshops of transnational capital. Social tensions therefore multiply beyond class issues to controversies over gender relations and “family values,” as well. Media lag like jet lag is therefore commonly experienced as intensified sensitivity to difference and change, and regardless of how one responds, all are exposed to social disparities and tensions that seem enduring despite television’s promises to the contrary.

It’s noteworthy then that the “end of ideology” coincided with the rise of development communications during the 1950s and that the “end of history” augured a mistaken revival of faith in the development paradigm since the 1990s. Yet we have neither transcended ideology nor history. The former remains important for its ability to reveal that which is concealed by the everyday operations of power, while the dialectics of history remind us that dramatic disparities of wealth inevitably invite revolutionary responses. It is therefore worth paying attention to the operations of both ideology and history as we reflect upon the recent growth of television viewing around the world. For in one sense, media lag invites ideological awareness despite (or perhaps because of) television’s fixation on abundance and consumerism. In another sense, media lag is an historical phenomenon, for the transformations that accompany new media often take time to register in social relations. Consequently, our preoccupation with broadband Internet and other digital technologies may be obscuring the fact that for much of the world the television revolution is only beginning.

Links of Interest
BBC on Asia-Pacific News
Francis Fukuyama’s “End of History”
Global Television

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