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Journalism Beyond the Nation-State: Multiscalar Fields and How to Navigate Them

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• Published: 21 September 2024

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• Olga Zeveleva   ORCID: orcid.org/0000-0002-7011-7736 1  

Analysis of journalistic fields is dominated by approaches that take news media at the nation-state level as the major unit of analysis. More recently, sociologists have asked whether we can speak of global journalistic fields. Many scholars have concluded that global journalistic fields are weak at best, and news production remains bounded by nation-states. This paper offers a more fine-tuned understanding of the boundaries of journalistic fields. Drawing on an interview-based qualitative study of regional journalistic fields in contemporary Crimea (a region of Ukraine annexed by Russia in 2014) and in Tatarstan (a region of Russia), I answer the questions “how do states shape the autonomy of regional journalistic fields?” and “how do journalists navigate the limitations they face?” I advance two arguments: first, journalistic fields can be understood as multiscalar fields, and the practices of journalists are shaped by the configuration of political relations along different scales simultaneously (the scale of the city, the region, the national scale, the scale of other nation-states, and the international arena). Second, the scales that exert the most influence on journalistic fields can change depending on whether the nation-state or the region is embroiled in conflict.

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Introduction

This article seeks to understand how middle class professionals in authoritarian states simultaneously exercise agency and navigate limitations in their jobs. Specifically, I turn to how authoritarian states shape the autonomy of regional journalists, who are representatives of a middle class profession. The qualitative data analyzed here was collected in present-day Crimea (a region of Ukraine controlled by Russia) and in Tatarstan (a region of Russia). The analysis draws on Bourdieusian field theory and utilizes a comparative regional approach, which allows me to argue that journalistic fields are multiscalar and that the influence of states over middle class professional autonomy shifts depending on the presence of absence of overt conflict. This study answers two main research questions: How do states shape the autonomy of regional journalistic fields? How do journalists navigate the limitations they face? While literature in media sociology often takes the nation-state as its basic unit of analysis and as the ordering principle of media fields, the regional data I analyzed allows me to paint a complex picture of states influencing journalistic fields across multiple levels at once. Building on field theory, the article investigates how regional journalistic fields in contemporary Crimea and Tatarstan function in relation to the state and the field of politics at the municipal, regional, federal, and international levels.

The findings draw from a qualitative, interview-based study of media in Crimea and in Tatarstan. I collected interviews with journalists who have worked for local media in these regions about their career trajectories and everyday practices. I also conducted semi-structured interviews with state officials, human rights workers, and top-level media managers based in Moscow for an overview of how the media field in Russia is organized and how it interacts with other fields. My research in Tatarstan was a smaller study carried out in the wake of the Crimea study as a comparative case.

Drawing on this empirical study of a non-democratic context and two distinct regional cases, I propose a more nuanced vocabulary for field-theoretical studies of journalism and journalistic autonomy, expanding on the work of Pierre Bourdieu ( 1977 , 1986 , 1993 , 1996 , 1998 , 2005 , 2014 ), Rodney Benson ( 1999 , 2004 , 2006 , 2013 ), Patrick Champagne ( 2005 ), Nick Couldry ( 2003 , 2005 ), Michael Schudson ( 2005 ), and others. The paper also advances the literature on transnationalizing field theory (Sklair, 2001 ; Dezalay & Garth, 2002 ; Russell, 2007 ; Fligstein, 2008 ; Go, 2008 ; Savage & Silva, 2013 ; Buchholz, 2016 ; Dromi, 2016 ; Go & Krause, 2016 ; Stampnitzky, 2016 ; Steinmetz, 2016 ).

I offer two major arguments. First, I argue that local media landscapes are shaped by the configuration of political relations along multiple scales at once, and these include the scale of the city, the scale of the region, the national scale, the scale of other nation-states, and, finally, the scale of the international arena, which includes groups of states or international organizations. I show that these multiscalar relationships influence the micro-practices of journalists on an everyday level. Second, I argue that a major factor that determines the influence of each scale on the journalistic field is whether the region or the country is embroiled in a conflict. The project builds on ideas Larissa Buchholz has introduced in relation to the field of contemporary art ( 2016 ) and drawing on the vocabulary developed by Monika Krause to advance possibilities for comparative field analysis ( 2018 ). In this way, the focus on regional journalists and the analysis of an authoritarian context allows me to bring new insights to field-theoretical approaches in the study of media.

The paper proceeds in the following way: first, I briefly outline the major debates in media sociology regarding the transnationalization of news media. Second, I turn my attention to field-theoretical approaches to news media in particular and offer a conceptualization of the journalistic field in terms of Bourdieusian field theory. Third, I introduce my empirical study of journalism in Crimea and in Tatarstan today and explain the methodological underpinnings of this research project. I then go on to an analysis of journalistic practices in Crimea and in Tatarstan and use this analysis to show how multiple scales at once shape journalistic fields and how conflict can affect the configuration of these scales and their influence.

News Media and Transnationalism

Many media scholars have claimed that nation-states are losing their grip on the media and that transnational corporations and (predominantly American) media export markets are on the rise (Golding & Harris, 1996 ; Tomlinson, 1999 ; Van Ginneken, 1998 ; Schiller, 2005 ; Boczkowski et al., 2011 ). Footnote 1 Media globalization has been celebrated by the liberal school of thought, Footnote 2 part of which falls within the modernization perspective that sees globalization as emancipation from the controls and limits of a backward nation-state. Media globalization has also been problematized by critics who reframe it as “media imperialism” and lament homogenization and the imposition of an exploitative system of global economic dominance on developing countries (Schiller, 1998 ). The advent of the internet and social media has fueled scholarship on the globalization and transnationalization of information flows (Boczkowski et al., 2011 ), which argues that the new global interconnectedness is eroding national borders.

Curran and Park ( 2000 ), however, have warned against overstating the degree to which globalization has influenced news production and journalism. They argue that while globalization and transnationalization have indeed been decisive in shaping contemporary film and music industries, dependence upon national systems of governance and regulation still pervades in the sphere of news media (Curran & Park, 2000 , p. 12). Despite the fact that social media and blogs are on the rise, recent studies have shown that news media remain important sources of information for large parts of the population in countries across the globe. Footnote 3 In this vein, Christin argues that the intensification of information exchanges between news outlets based in different countries we have witnessed over the past decade “should not mask the national and even local character of news-making” (Christin, 2016 ).

In her work on journalism in the USA and France as a “limit case” for transnational fields, Christin ( 2016 ) brings us back to the realm that specifically Bourdieusian approaches to media sociology have comfortably occupied over the last two decades: the nation-state as both a unit of analysis when we deal with news production (i.e., in comparative work on news in the USA with news in France, for example) and as the assumed organizing principle of news production (i.e., the assumption that news is structured by processes occurring within nation-states and driven by states). While the works of media sociology mentioned above have taken interest in transnationalism, and while Go and Krause have pointed out that Bourdieusian field theory is not intrinsically tied to methodological nationalism and allows sociologists to employ it flexibly beyond fixed national boundaries (Go & Krause, 2016 ; Savage & Silva, 2013 , p. 121), field-theoretical studies of journalism have nonetheless predominantly focused on nation-states (see, for example, Benson, 2013 ). Christin, drawing on her study of US and French news websites, argues that the “transnational journalistic field” seems to be a weak one according to three criteria: competition over legitimate definitions of “good journalism” does not transcend borders; reciprocal field effects do not transcend borders; and there are no common stakes (jobs and audiences, for example) between journalists working in different countries (2016). Her study indeed convincingly shows that not everything can be productively theorized as a field.

This paper takes a different approach: while I refrain from making the case for the existence of a strong transnational journalistic field, I nonetheless argue that we must keep in mind that journalistic fields are structured along different scales (Buchholz, 2016 ; Krause, 2018 ), and sometimes these scales transcend borders, both regional and national. This approach would help us to account for complex inter-field dynamics that are both vertical (between the journalistic fields of different states and the international arena) and horizontal (between the journalistic field and the field of power). To develop this argument, the paper draws on concepts developed by Larissa Buchholz and Monika Krause, which I discuss in the section below. I also argue that one of the factors that can determine the relative influence of each scale is a state’s or a region’s engagement and entrenchment in conflict.

Theoretical Framework: Multiscalar Journalistic Fields and Their Autonomy

In this paper, I rely upon and develop further Bourdieusian field theory in relation to media sociology. According to Pierre Bourdieu, a field is a social space in which actors share a common understanding of what is important in this social space and compete over different forms of capital relevant to that field; it is “the site of actions and reactions performed by social agents endowed with permanent dispositions, partly acquired in their experience of these social fields. The agents react to these relations of forces, to these structures; they construct them, perceive them, form an idea of them, represent them to themselves, and so on” (Bourdieu, 2005 , p. 30). Agents within fields are thus constrained by the structure of their field, while also exercising “a margin of freedom” (Ibid., p. 30). Within fields, agents struggle for power to impose their dominant vision of the field on others, yet agents who struggle within the field against one another are nonetheless united in their agreement on the general areas of disagreement and on the interests that are inherent to the field (Ibid., p. 36). A field is autonomous if the agents within it define its “rules of the game”; it is weakly autonomous if agents from other fields dictate the rules of the game (Benson & Neveu, 2005 , p. 5). Benson and Neveu describe the journalistic field as “part of the field of power; that is, it tends to engage with first and foremost those agents who possess high volumes of capital” and is a weakly autonomous field ( 2005 , p. 5). An analysis of a community of journalists as a “field” allows us to trace the struggles that take place in this social space and to see journalism not as a media-centric entity, but rather within a larger systemic environment (Benson & Neveu, 2005 , p. 18).

Drawing on Pierre Bourdieu and on the work of scholars who have applied field theory to journalistic fields (Benson & Neveu, 2005 ; Champagne, 2005 ; Neveu, 2007 ), I use the term “capital” to refer to the symbolic and material assets that agents within the journalistic field (i.e., journalists and other media professionals) aim to accumulate in order to rise up in the hierarchy of their workplace and of the professional community at large. Thus, a journalist who has acquired high levels of capital rises in their professional hierarchy; a journalist who loses capital can be marginalized in the profession.

Two fundamental forms of capital (or principles of differentiation) that structure social space (or fields) are economic and cultural capital (Bourdieu, 1996 , p. 5). Thus, economic and cultural capital constitute forms of power within fields (Bourdieum 1996 , p. 265), and two additional forms of capital can come into play as well: symbolic capital, which is the capital of legitimacy and esteem, and social capital, which refers to one’s network and connections with people and institutions (Bourdieu, 1986 ). The state, then, is concerned first and foremost with the distribution of capital and the devaluing and valuing of certain forms of capital across social space (Bourdieu, 2014 , p. 99).

Social and symbolic capital are central for the present study. Social capital is derived from an individual’s network of relationships or their membership in groups. In other words, social capital provides a person with collectively backed capital that makes them recognizable, trustworthy, or able to access resources within a given group. These resources can be material or symbolic. Social capital offers a multiplier effect to the resources an individual possesses by granting them access to the resources of a group and allowing them to multiply their resources through enabling exchanges with actors within their network. For a journalist, one manifestation of social capital can be their address book with lists of contacts they might message or call for comment or their connections with people who have the phone numbers of news-worthy persons and are willing to share them with that journalist. Symbolic capital is the capital of recognition and legitimacy; it is a form that permeates and influences the value of other forms of capital. One manifestation of symbolic capital can be a prestigious journalistic prize that recognizes the work of a particular journalist, thereby legitimizing the content they produce. Symbolic capital is crucial for the exercise of symbolic power, which means that someone who possesses high levels of this form of capital has the ability to impose meanings upon a social group in a way that is accepted by that group as legitimate. In this way, social capital is a tool for maintaining social order and social hierarchies.

In order to analytically capture the influence of various levels of the Russian state, as well as of transnational forces, on Crimea’s and Tatarstan’s regional social spaces, I draw on Larissa Buchholz’s idea of the “multi-scalar architecture” of fields. Buchholz proposes to view fields as social spaces that are structured by relationships horizontally between different fields, such as the journalistic field and political field, and they are also structured along a vertical scale between fields within states and the global field (Buchholz, 2016 , p. 52). According to Buchholz, the relative autonomy of a field is not only horizontal in relation to other fields in the national social space, but it can also be vertical in relation to the global field. Continuing this line of argument, Krause has suggested that “relationships on different scales might matter to actors at the same time: local, national and global fields of the same kind, such as art or science, can coexist” ( 2018 , p. 14). Krause warns that when studying fields on different scales, we should not assume which scale “comes first” ( 2018 , p. 14) and should remain open to empirically informed considerations of all social actors and their relationships across multiple scales at once. Following Krause’s call for empirical attention to variations of autonomy, as “fields can be autonomous in different ways” ( 2018 , p. 9), I examine variations of the closeness of local journalistic fields to political actors operating at different scales simultaneously (Buchholz, 2016 ).

In the subsequent sections, I show that the Crimean journalistic field in 2014–2017 was connected not only to the Russian state and the Ukrainian state but also to a (weak) global journalistic field through international funding bodies that offer grants to local media organizations. I also show that while the federal level of the state is key for Crimea, the case of journalists working in Tatarstan shows how they can navigate different levels of the state simultaneously, because regional and municipal state structures are relatively more autonomous from the federal center in the case of Tatarstan than in the case of Crimea. I also consider involvement in conflict as a structuring element of relationships along these scales.

A comparison to the USA during times of conflict can be helpful for making sense of how journalistic autonomy in Crimea is structured. Daniel Hallin, in his seminal work on American journalism during the Vietnam War, does not use a Bourdieusian framework to describe media dynamics and addresses a democratic country case. However, he explains how consensus in the media can reflect political consensus and how it can disintegrate during times of crisis. Hallin argues that “structurally the American news media are both highly autonomous from direct political control and, through the routines of the news-gathering process, deeply intertwined in the actual operation of government” (Hallin, 1989 , p. 8). He claims that when elite consensus crumbles, this leaves space for journalists to become more critical. However, as in the case of the Vietnam War, this criticism does not go beyond the major consensus surrounding the political order (in the case of Hallin’s study, this was the Cold War consensus). Russia, by contrast, is a non-democratic state, yet it shares with the USA a history of being one of the main players in the bipolar contestation of the Cold War years. The anti-Western consensus among Russia’s political elites today can be compared with the anti-Soviet consensus in the USA during the Cold War years. In Russia, unlike in the USA, the news media are not autonomous from direct political control and are intertwined in the operation of government both through this direct control and through the routines of news-gathering. Anti-Western consensus among Russia’s political elites also includes a strand of discourse arguing that Russia’s annexation of Crimea was legitimate, legal, and just; alternative viewpoints are articulated in media that operate beyond Russia’s borders. At the same time, Russian political elites (and local Crimean political elites ruling the peninsula in the post-2014 period) have not shown visible signs of fragmentation or inter-elite struggle, leaving us with the visibility of elite consensus. As I show in the sections below, this consensus starts crumbling in Russian-language media only in instances where there is transnational support for alternative discourses among journalists. At the same time, within Russia we can see variation across regions: while Russia was involved in a territorial conflict with Ukraine in 2014–2022 over Crimea (and had military personnel fighting in parts of Donetsk and Luhansk regions), i.e., before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, this conflict did not significantly reshape the local journalistic field of the relatively more autonomous Russian region of Tatarstan, the borders of which were not directly contested. Eventually, the scales of the conflict and its reverberations across society shifted, and this included reverberations for the media: Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 was accompanied by both military intensification in Russia (including a military draft that affected all of Russia’s regions) and non-military effects in the country (like censorship and repression in journalism, the arts, academia, and civil society across Russia’s regions, including Tatarstan). In other words, in 2022, the scales of the conflict shifted to national levels from regional ones, and at the military, political, social, and cultural levels, Russia started to look more like a country at war than it did before 2022. When the scales of the conflict shifted to national levels of violence and territorial contestation in Russia and Ukraine from regional ones, repression of media in Russia became much more overt and went beyond the federal level, affecting local media environments in the regions of Russia as well. The present study focuses empirically on the period before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 and zooms in on the opening chapter of the war, when Russia and Ukraine were engaged in territorial conflict over Crimea combined with fighting in Donbas (in other words, this was a period when the conflict and the violence were concentrated more regionally than after 2022).

Setting of the Study

The selection of two regional settings for comparison of fields was motivated by two interrelated dimensions of difference between the regions. First, Crimea has been the focus of a territorial conflict between Russia and Ukraine since 2014, when Russia annexed the region; Tatarstan is a peaceful region with no border conflicts. Second, while Tatarstan’s regional government is relatively autonomous from the federal center in comparison with other regions in Russia, the regional government of Crimea has been heavily controlled by Russia’s federal center since the 2014 annexation that launched a de facto administrative integration of the region into the Russian Federation. Currently, Russia has established de facto control over all local state structures on the peninsula. From 1954 until the breakup of the Soviet Union in 1991, Crimea was part of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. When Ukraine gained independence in 1991, Crimea became an “autonomous republic” within Ukraine (Plokhy, 2000 ; Sasse, 2007 ), which was recognized by Russia. In 2014, following an occupation by Russian troops and a referendum (which has not been recognized by most of the international community or Ukraine), Crimea was de facto administratively integrated into Russia, and its local state apparatus is currently de facto controlled by Russia. It is now the site of a territorial conflict between Russia and Ukraine, with both states laying claim to the region. Both Crimea and Tatarstan are considered by Russia to be republics within the Russian Federation, which means both regions formally enjoy a higher level of autonomy of local government than other types of regional sub-divisions in Russia (krais, oblasts, autonomous oblasts, and autonomous okrugs). The constitution of Russia states that the country is divided into 85 regional sub-divisions, 22 of which have the status of a “republic” (some political scientists have called Russia an “asymmetrical federation,” see Solnick, 1996 ). Republics are usually regions that have historically been populated by ethnic groups other than Russians and have the right to establish an official language alongside Russian and a local constitution.

As mentioned above, the studies in both Crimea and in Tatarstan were conducted before Russia’s full scale land, air, and sea invasion of Ukraine began in 2022. The escalation of the war, which had begun in 2014 with the annexation of Crimea, had ramifications both in Crimea and in Tatarstan. First, after 2022 Crimea became a springboard for Russian military attacks on the rest of Ukraine. While in 2014–2022, Ukraine made no military efforts to take back this sizable and symbolic piece of land or intervene militarily on the peninsula, after 2022 rhetoric and action changed. Ukrainian authorities began stating that war with Russia can end only once all Ukrainian territories, including Crimea, are de-occupied. This became a nonnegotiable part of the war effort: the military mood, the hard line nationalist position, a general public mood, and the Ukrainian leadership’s proclamations all converged on this question in 2023. In the start of summer 2023, Ukraine massively stepped up strikes on the peninsula, hitting Russian military bases, air bases, and command-and-control centers. Russia cracked down on dissent and mobilized both local and federal media around its escalating war efforts, making military conflict and territorial contestation all the more acute on the frontlines, in media discourse, and in political rhetoric. Meanwhile, the media environment in Russia became ever more restrictive across all regions, with the Russian state criminalizing dissent, shutting down media outlets, and pushing journalists out of the profession or out of the country with threats of criminal cases and anti-press violence. The findings of the study, which I conducted before these trends became exacerbated, are still relevant for our understanding of the current much more repressive and militarized environment: territorial contestation has become more acute in Crimea, Tatarstan remains more autonomous from the federal center than Crimea, and an escalation of the war has had uneven effects across regions that are relatively more and relatively less embroiled in the conflict, though all regions across Russia have seen a rise in state censorship and repression of media and free speech.

Studying Crimean media in the post-annexation period and the career trajectories of local journalists is important for two reasons. First, this case involves examining the media landscapes of two former Soviet states, Ukraine and Russia, which differ according to the methods and degree of state control over the media. Crimea is a site where regional, national, and international journalistic fields clash, interact, and overlap (here, it is important to note that many Crimeans claim Russian as a native language or a first language; therefore, Russian media is accessible to them linguistically and was accessible and even promoted by the Russian state in Crimea even before Russia took control of Crimea’s media landscape after the 2014 annexation). Second, the changes that took place in Crimea resulted in the formation of “exiled” media outlets (six outlets were operating in Kyiv, the capital of Ukraine, shortly after the annexation) that reported specifically on Crimea from outside its borders, challenging the Russian state narratives of Crimea being a part of Russia and creating polarization between the dominant local news operating within Crimea and “exiled” news reporting on Crimea from Kyiv newsrooms. This cross-border characteristic of Crimean media poses a challenge to field-theoretical approaches, yet allows us to begin to expand on this approach, helping to make sense of the under-theorized topic of exiled opposition media. Footnote 4 However, due to ways in which the territorial conflict structures the polarized media landscape of Crimea, we cannot draw generalizable conclusions about journalistic autonomy from such an unsettled and special case. For this reason, I have conducted a comparative study in Tatarstan, a region of Russia that was not characterized by the direct presence of conflict at the time of study.

Tatarstan provides us with a very different setting for analysis of local media. Like Crimea, Tatarstan has the status of a “republic” within Russia. However, in practice, Tatarstan is considered to be one of the most autonomous regions of the Russian Federation (Sharafutdinova, 2000 ), and scholars have referred to “the ‘Tatarstan model’ of peaceful sovereignty and autonomy,” sometimes contrasting it to Chechnya, a republic within Russia where the struggle for political independence has resulted in two wars in the post-Soviet period (Matsuzato, 2004 ; Romero, 2018 ). The regional political elites in Tatarstan enjoy relatively greater autonomy from Moscow with regard to local political cadre decisions, the resolution of local crises, and control over resources than other regions of Russia (Matsuzato, 2001 , 2004 ). Municipal and district heads have also demonstrated their ability to strong-arm the regional government in Tatarstan in the past as well.

Despite also having the status of a “republic” within the Russian Federation (according to the Russian state), Crimea, in contrast with Tatarstan, has been governed much more directly by state officials from Moscow since Russia’s 2014 annexation of the peninsula. Nikolai Petrov has described the local political environment of Crimea in the wake of 2014 as “organized according to vertical power” emanating directly from Moscow-based federal officials, who Petrov calls the Crimea “commissars” (Petrov, 2016 ).

The article draws on 70 narrative interviews conducted in Crimea, Tatarstan, Moscow, and Kyiv. This includes 38 interviews with local journalists in Simferopol (the capital of Crimea) in 2016–2017. In addition, I interviewed 10 federal media managers in Moscow and 2 human rights workers who work on Crimea-related issues in Kyiv. In Kazan (the capital of Tatarstan), I interviewed 20 journalists, officials, and human rights workers in Kazan (the capital of Tatarstan) in 2018–2019 (this included 12 journalists, 5 state officials, and 3 human rights workers). All interviews were conducted in the Russian language, recorded on a voice recorder, and transcribed and analyzed in Russian. Excerpts were translated into English for this article by the author. Study participants were not compensated for their participation. Most gave written consent by signing an informed consent form (in Russian) with an anonymized signature (most often an “X”), and a minority gave oral consent which was recorded on a voice recorder.

All journalists interviewed had worked full time for a local media outlet operating in the region for at least one year over the past four years, predominantly covering social and political issues. The sampling of journalists in both Crimea and in Tatarstan began with snowball sampling from contacts I previously had in the media field in Moscow and Kyiv, and as I gathered the first interviews in each region, I asked my study participants for contacts of other journalists based on the maximum variation sampling strategy I was following. Interviews were conducted based on maximum variation sampling of outlets journalists are employed by. The variation was structured by ownership of the outlet (state or private) and by medium (newspaper, television, news agency). Radio, social media, and blogs lie outside the scope of this study. I relied on the biographical interview method when interviewing journalists, which allowed me to view a journalist’s career over time as it evolved in dialog with various social and political forces that may have contributed to shaping it. The interviews began with a broad question asking the study participant to describe how they became a journalist and how their career progressed and included open-ended questions about major turning points in the local media landscape and how they affected the study participant, as well as questions about major turning points in their individual career, which drew from the answers given to the first biographical question asked in the interview. I also asked about examples of reporting each journalist did over the past several years that they consider to be important for their career or which stick out in their memory the most. These biographical interviews typically lasted between 90 and 120 min (the longest interviews lasted approximately 180 min, while the shortest lasted 50 min).

I interviewed state officials and human rights workers by relying on an expert interview guide that aimed to map how the local media landscape changed over time and how state officials and human rights workers employ various strategies of interaction with local journalists, which helped me to see how a local media field is viewed and used by social agents from neighboring and overlapping fields. The sampling was conducted based on convenience and was based on experience of work with media: the human rights workers and officials I spoke with had a significant media presence or who had specifically worked with media in the past in the capacity of PR professionals working for human rights organizations or for the state. These interviews typically lasted between 60 and 90 min.

Interviews were recorded on a voice recorder with the permission of the study participant (given through a signed consent form, with the two exceptions described below), transcribed, and coded in the qualitative data analysis software program Dedoose. Coding was done for biographical interviews with journalists and was conducted at two levels: I used codes called “descriptors” in the Dedoose program to attach social, demographic, and biographical markers to the interview as a unit of text (these included codes such as “female” and “self-described watchdog”), as well as codes denoting narrative blocks in the interview by theme (such as “discussion of role in the events of 2014 in Crimea” and “personal relationship with a state official”). I paid special attention to any descriptions journalists offered of their relationship to those in power, funding bodies, the reputations of their outlets and other outlets in the region, and the elements in their biographies that either helped or harmed their chances of advancing in the local media hierarchy (i.e., I looked for manifestations of capital that is significant in local journalistic fields).

A central part of my analysis focused on how capital can be redistributed among journalists and by whom, so I looked for fragments of interviews that explained a journalist’s career dip or a career rise. I determined the types of economic, cultural, symbolic, and social capital relevant to journalists I interviewed by coding fragments of interviews that indicated characteristics of one’s career or one’s professional standing that are valued locally, which sometimes included information about salaries, judgments about colleagues and their successes or failures, descriptions of particularly successful career periods or reports carried out by the interviewee, and any quotes that may indicate the position, level, and reputation of journalist in the newsroom and in the media community at large. I then grouped the most commonly cited instances that journalists told me about that would either indicate a high position they or a colleague occupied in the media hierarchy or a low position. These groups of codes then informed the list of types of capital I developed for my study. I explain this in my discussion of results below.

I have used anonymized initials to refer to study participants throughout this article. One interviewee in Tatarstan declined to have the interview recorded and consented verbally to my use of notes to inform the study. This interview is not quoted directly in this paper, though it has contributed to broadly informing my analysis. One recording in Tatarstan was lost due to a technical problem, and this interview was reconstructed using notes taken during the interview and immediately after.

Findings: Navigating Different Scales of a Field

Municipal, regional, and federal scales in tatarstan.

Interviews I conducted in Tatarstan were rife with reference to politics at the municipal, regional, and federal scales and the interactions between them. A focus of many journalists I spoke with were power balances between political elites at various levels, and the three journalists I interviewed who had specialized in political journalism throughout their entire careers often cited district and municipal heads in the region as key players on the media landscape of Tatarstan.

According to prominent political journalist J.H., one of the most important events in the recent history of inter-elite struggle in the region was what she called “revolt of the heads,” referring to heads of municipal and district administrations in Tatarstan, which took place in 1998. One of the key initiators of the attempted revolt was Rafgat Altynbaev, who was at the time the mayor of Naberezhnye Chelny, one of the major cities of Tatarstan (referred to by J.J. as the “second capital city of Tatarstan”). The revolt was initiated with the support of several other district administration heads (Yakovlev et al., 2019 , p. 13) and was meant to undermine the cadre plans of the head of Tatarstan at the time, Minitmer Shaymiev. Shaymiev ultimately succeeded in retaining control over the regional government, and in 1999, Altynbaev resigned from his post as mayor of Naberezhnye Chelny, eventually moving to Moscow to take up a post as Deputy Minister of Agriculture (Matsuzato, 2001 , p. 64). Rather than perceiving this as a promotion, this move to the federal center is described by Yakovlev et al. as “expulsion by promotion to the federal level,” a strategy used in Tatarstan applied to representatives of local elites who failed to fit into the emerging political consensus (Yakovlev et al., 2019 , p. 7).

This event demonstrates two things relevant for the study of journalists in Tatarstan: first, the fact that prominent local journalists refer to this event as an important one signals their desire and ability to distinguish between different local centers of power at different state levels, specifically between the municipal level and the regional level. Second, the event has been convincingly analyzed in the academic literature on Russian regions and federalism as one that shows a working strategy on the part of the regional government of Tatarstan to form elite cohesion (Matsuzato, 2001 ; Yakovlev et al., 2019 ) and to avoid intervention from the federal government even in times of local crises. Yakovlev et al. have concluded that throughout the 1990s and 2000s Tatarstan has been successful in “retaining both regional control over key assets and a high level of internal political autonomy. Tatarstan was the only region where the FG [federal government] allowed a true succession of power during the period of sweeping replacement of old ‘heavyweight’ governors during Dmitry Medvedev’s presidency in 2008–2012. This was seen as an indication of the sustainability of the existing regional governance model in Tatarstan and the Kremlin’s confidence in the republic’s leadership” (Yakovlev et al., 2019 , p. 7).

The ability of the regional government to avoid federal intervention in many important affairs was demonstrated in 2007, when a new federal law was passed in Russia that prevented municipal administrations from funding local media. According to J.H. (quoted above) and A.F., a Kazan-based journalist who worked for municipal media throughout her career, this law meant that many municipal media outlets faced closure due to loss of funding and the inability to turn a profit. However, the regional government of Tatarstan stepped in and created a republic-level media holding called Tatmedia, which took over the funding of local municipal media. As a result, according to a study participant, Tatarstan has become a region with “the most thriving municipal media environment in Russia.” At the same time, J.H. and A.F. note that this change took power away from municipal and district heads, who were formerly able to control the media messages of the outlets their administrations funded, and placed control into the hands of the state at the regional level through the Tatmedia holding. The municipal and district heads are no longer able to use these local papers to threaten or critique the regional government and have lost media capital. This situation demonstrates how the regional government holds enough autonomy and power to bypass federal laws, and in the process of this bypassing them, they have also centralized control over local media at the level of the republic’s administration.

At the same time, local journalists, including municipal journalists, according to J.H. and A.F., now enjoy relatively more autonomy in relation to municipal administrations and can use this autonomy to critique the municipal governments. This peculiar description of increased autonomy on one level through decreased autonomy another regional level is echoed in the following situation: O.P., a press secretary who, at the time this study was conducted, worked for a human rights organization based in Tatarstan, told me that a reporter he knows would sometimes pass on a report to him that the reporter cannot publish in their own paper, and the press secretary tried to find another news outlet that can publish the report under another name:

“If there are no local news outlets that would take it, I go in through federal media. But usually someone here always takes it. There’s nothing you can’t get published.”

In another part of our interview, he reiterated:

“In Tatarstan, a region that [unlike neighboring regions] is undergoing some development one way or another, a region that’s dynamic, there will be media that are ready to write [about politically difficult topics]. In principle, we don’t ever end up in a situation here when no one takes up our topic. If one media outlet doesn’t take something, another one will.”

The quote of the human rights organization press secretary demonstrates that locals who are looking to publish a report can turn to media outlets on the federal level (in a later part of the interview he notes that this can include both state-controlled media and non-state-controlled media) in a situation when a report is damning for the local administration. This is because media outlets at the federal level do not have direct reputational or financial ties to local Tatarstan elites. At the same time, part of the republic’s administration can try to impose limits on media outlets controlled at a different level of the state. This tension can be seen between the level of the republic and the level of the city of Kazan through the example of the news outlet Biznes Online. This outlet, according to O.P. and several other study participants, is “a media outlet that answers to the mayor… that has a certain kind of deal with the mayor’s office of Kazan so that the boss of the city is always depicted in a positive light.” At the same time, the regional government has blocked this outlet from the list of websites that are accessible from state-owned computers in governmental offices in Tatarstan. A journalist named B.I., who works for a foreign-funded outlet in Tatarstan, told me:

“Our website and the website of Biznes Online – which is very surprising – are both blocked in all state offices of Tatarstan… I even checked this out when I was in Zelenodolsk (a city in Tatarstan) a week or two ago. There was a local House of Culture there that hosts various official events. They have a WiFi network that is often used in state offices and ministries, and on it I couldn’t access my own website or the website of Biznes Online… We laughed pretty hard at the fact that people who work with the state [i.e. Biznes Online journalists] and us, who don’t work with the state, are both blocked. Maybe they [Biznes Online] had some kind of conflict with the president [of Tatarstan] – I don’t know, I never checked that information.”

B.I.’s supposition that a news outlet controlled by the mayor’s office of Kazan is in conflict with the administration of president of Tatarstan, or even the president directly, shows that journalists are attuned to the differing levels at which media organizations can operate in terms of the freedom they have to critique those in power (such as the mayor) and in terms of the access they have to others in power (such as facing a website ban on government computers). This reveals the multiscalar configurations in which journalists work, where they can use the rules along multiple scales of the state—from the city level, to the regional and national levels.

In a context of navigating different scales of the state, my interviews revealed that the valuable type of capital coveted by journalists in Tatarstan is social capital, i.e., personal connections between journalists and other people, especially potential sources and officials. B.I., quoted above, works for a foreign-funded news outlet that is not officially allowed to attend any government press conferences or official events in the region. At the same time, despite the official ban, B.I. says that “the mayor’s office of Kazan can pick up the phone when my colleague calls [from my news outlet], but will never pick up the phone when I call.” This study participant also notes that “there’s always some kind of attitude towards a journalism you know for a long time. I mean towards us. I’ve worked here and there. I was always the same person… this helps me more than it hurts me.” This situation for foreign-funded journalists in Tatarstan stands out in stark contrast to the extremely marginalized position of similar colleagues in Crimea, which I discuss below.

The importance of social capital for journalists in Tatarstan is summed up in the following excerpt from my interview with I.Z., a former local journalist and media manager who had experience working for both privately owned and state-owned media in Tatarstan. According to I.Z., the stakes in the local journalistic field are high when someone in power begins to speak about a journalist behind their back to others in power:

“In Tatarstan, no one [from the government] will tell you [a journalist] that you’re a bad guy. They won’t call you directly on the phone. The worst thing that can happen is that they will say that you don’t understand the power landscape – and they won’t even say this to you, they’ll say it behind your back. To someone else. That’s what we’re risking here.”

In this way, social capital comes to the fore in the journalistic field of the region. Human rights worker R.R. also noted that personal ties are key for the way in which local journalists and professionals who work with the media navigate the local media environment:

“No one wants to upset anyone personally. We’re a republic, and we don’t want to lose that. Everyone values our republic status, no matter what your political preferences are.”

This statement refers to the high degree of autonomy of Tatarstan from Moscow that is also described in the studies I quote above (Matsuzato, 2001 , 2004 ; Romero, 2018 ; Yakovlev et al., 2019 ). This study participant jumps from the personal to the political, associating the level of “personal” ties with the political level of “republic status” and implying that, even in the event of internal regional conflicts (including those between journalists and state officials), it is important for locals in Tatarstan to help uphold and retain the image of Tatarstan as a region in which crises can be solved without intervention from the federal level.

Official “republic status” can, in practice, vary from republic to republic within the Russian Federation, and this has consequences for how local journalists carry out their work and for the types of capital that journalists value in the local journalistic fields. Below I discuss the case of Crimea, which is regarded as a republic of the Russian Federation according to Russian law (despite the fact that most countries on the international arena do not recognize Crimea to be a part of Russia).

Municipal, Regional, and Federal Scales in Crimea

In the case of Crimea, I did not encounter such vivid descriptions of journalists navigating different levels of the state. In the paragraphs that follow, I show that this can be explained by the fact that regional autonomy is relatively limited in comparison with Tatarstan, and political control from Moscow is exercised more directly, including in the way that new media outlets were set up in post-annexation period Crimea. As I explain below, this has resulted in the fact that symbolic capital is relatively more important for journalists working in Crimea than social capital.

Nikolai Petrov, in his analysis of the transformation of governance in Crimea after 2014, has suggested that the main “Crimea-makers,” or officials who participated in the de facto integration of Crimea into the Russian Federation, included the heads of Russia’s security forces, as well as individuals from Putin’s close inner circle, who personally oversaw institutional changes in local Crimean ministries and state offices (Petrov, 2015 ). Against this backdrop of centralized control from the side of a small circle of Moscow-based political elites over Crimea policy, Petrov delineates two phases in the establishment of Russian state control in Crimea following the annexation. The first was an attempt in 2014–2015 to coordinate local Crimean politicians through the Ministry of Crimean Affairs. The second phase (still ongoing) came with the dissolution of the Ministry of Crimean Affairs and the institutionalization of governance that is “less transparent[…] and primarily organised according to vertical power” by filling “the governing bodies of Crimea and Sevastopol with federal officials, who were appointed as first deputy ministers in local government” (Petrov, 2016 ). Petrov calls these federal officials “commissars,” who embody the model of internal, participant control of the “centre” in affairs across all the Crimean ministries (Petrov, 2015 , p. 10). Lower-level bureaucrats in Crimean institutions were also replaced with figures from beyond the peninsula, often first sent to Crimea as “acting” figures, and becoming permanent with time (Petrov, 2015 , p. 10).

This political model was echoed in the case of local Crimean media outlets that rose to the top of the local media landscape (in terms of citations and in terms of reputation among local journalists) in the post-2014 period. Below I describe two cases of local media outlets launched with the help of officials and producers from Moscow.

The most-cited Crimean information agency is called Kryminform. According to my study participants, including the chief editor of this outlet, the launch and initial work of Kryminform was supported on the ground by producers from Russia’s state-owned federal information agency TASS in 2014. The TASS producers shared an office with the newly launched Kryminform in the initial months of operation, and, according to the Kryminform chief editor, they helped with news production. Kryminform eventually got its own office, located in the same building as Crimea’s Ministry of Information, as well as other local news outlets that are funded by the regional government. According to the chief editor, however, Kryminform is formally a “privately owned” news outlet.

The same building housed, at the time of my study, a TV channel called Millet, which targeted a Crimean Tatar audience (a Muslim ethnic minority in Crimea). According to one of my Moscow-based sources, the channel was designed and financed by officials from Russia’s Presidential Administration (anonymized interview) in the context of fears among Russia’s federal political elites that Crimean Tatars are a potentially highly mobilized opposition group that is critical of Russian actions in Crimea. The channel Millet, according to my interview with the head of the Millet news desk, was part of a project to build a favorable image of the Russian state in the eyes of the Crimean Tatar population through reporting on positive change the Russian government is bringing about in their local communities (interview with O.R.).

The influence of Moscow-based producers on local reporting also increased over the past several years for local correspondents of Russian federal TV channels. A former Crimea-based correspondent of a major Russian federal state-controlled TV channel told me that in the months leading up to the annexation, “the editorial team started getting assignments, and [someone else’s] interpretation of events and what was happening,” she explained, implying that Moscow-based producers were taking more initiative in the content of reports coming from Crimea. This study participant described this process as “the preparation of a dish based on a predetermined recipe,” and she eventually left her job and explained this decision through the shrinking of editorial control she had over her own reporting on Crimea and the transfer of control to Moscow. K.V., a woman who worked for another Moscow-based state-controlled channel right before and immediately following the annexation, described a shift in workplace dynamics once the annexation had taken place:

“We got calls from Moscow, and they told us: ‘guys, we corrected the text a bit, let’s do it this way instead!’ Nothing major. I absolutely accept this position. Because this is a very difficult time in Crimea, and we understand that a lot of things have not turned out quite right, not like most Crimeans would have wanted or envisioned, and so on. I believe Putin sees everything, and that everything is going well in Crimea. We just need time. And many of us have stocked up on a lot of patience.”

To K.V., the first years after the referendum was not just a period of transition—it was a time of information warfare. She chided Ukrainian TV channels, but added:

“Russian channels also go too far, without a doubt. But they do it more professionally. I’ll be honest here – in the context of an information war we can’t plausibly say that this is the wrong thing to do. We can’t just pretend like nothing is happening – that’s impossible. There’s no objective television today.”

Somewhat uneasily, K.V. seemed to have accepted that she had to stay quiet about some of her dissatisfaction with how things were going locally, because she had chosen a side, and that side was Russia. She took the skills and censorship dynamics she learned at the federal channel to her next job as managing editor at a major local, Crimea-based channel: “We covered Crimea with great care and trepidation [at the federal channel] – and actually right now, at my current TV [local Crimean] channel, we continue to work in this way,” she said. “As we understand now, in this complicated political situation, there are very many opposition media out there. Of course, not here – mostly they are in Ukraine, And we had to weigh every word so that we didn’t accidentally say something, or cover something negative, so that we didn’t give any grounds for any new insinuations against the peninsula,” she explained, switching between past and present tense. This showed that the lessons learned from Moscow-based colleagues, who carried out the role of censors, were taken on as transferrable skills and implemented at local media outlets by journalists who went on to occupy high-level editing positions in Crimean regional media. These skills were a way be recognized as capable in your profession, thus to earn symbolic capital and to rise in your career to become a producer and mediator of symbolic capital yourself. By learning how to reproduce dominant discourse effectively, journalists could gain access to the means of its production: high-level media positions.

A journalist I interviewed and shadowed in Crimea in 2016 spoke of a similar trend of increasing control and influence exerted by Moscow, the federal center, after the annexation. He worked with federal Russian news channels based in Moscow and showed me specific instructions sent to him from Moscow-based producers on the reporting he was to do locally and told me that it was often the case that he was asked to only produce film footage of local events and send it to Moscow-based producers for editing and for the writing of the voiceover that would be place in the report in Moscow newsrooms. According to this study participant, the reporting he carried out locally in Crimea for Kyiv-based Ukrainian channels before the annexation did not contain such a high degree of specificity of instructions from the producers based in the capital city, and unlike in the present situation, he was free to pitch his own reporting ideas to Kyiv-based media in that period.

In this context, the most relevant type of capital for local Crimean journalists is symbolic capital, or the capital of prestige and recognition—in the Crimean case, this refers to recognition by representatives of the Russian state. As demonstrated in Zeveleva’s study on how the Russian state transformed the media field of Crimea after 2014 (Zeveleva, 2019 ), in the period following the annexation, particular media outlets that were not critical of Russian policy in Crimea during and after the annexation reaped rewards for the reproduction of an orthodox discourse. These rewards could have included the following: first media outlets like these would obtain media registration under Russia’s regulations relatively more easily than critical outlets (without this registration, an outlet could not have the license to distribute news). Second, rewarded outlets would be allowed to retain relative control over editorial policy without direct phone calls from state officials, while critical outlets, according to my study participants, would receive such phone calls with requests or instructions. One Crimean media outlet in particular, according to the study participants who work there, seems to have gone on working into 2014 and beyond without such phone calls. This is the newspaper Krymskaya Pravda, owned by its editorial board members and known as a pro-Russian conservative newspaper that is widely read among Crimean pensioners. Before the annexation, the chief editor of the paper described the media outlet as having “fought the Ukrainian state all those 25 years. Because we don’t recognize Ukrainian statehood, we don’t recognize the Ukrainian language, we don’t recognize any of it. For us, Russia is our homeland. We want to be in Russia. We wanted it, and we won it. Our dream came true.” He summed up the editorial policy of the paper like this: “Krymskaya pravda is an openly pro-Russian newspaper. For us, Russia is our homeland, not a foreign country. This was the most important thing. We are in open opposition to the Ukrainian state.” In this way, the only privately owned paper in Crimea that does not seem to be state-controlled and that is ranked by my study participants as a widely read paper has an editorial policy consistent between pre-2014 and post-2014 that is aligned with the Russian state’s post-2014 Orthodox discourse. This demonstrates that unlike in the case of Tatarstan, symbolic capital rather than social capital has relatively more weight in the Crimean journalistic field.

The International Scale

The Crimean journalistic field is connected to international players in a different way than the journalistic field of Tatarstan. Before 2014, a subset of Crimean journalists worked on media projects funded by foreign grants. According to R.A. and A.I., USAID as well as EU-based grant-making organizations provided opportunities to local journalists to engage in topics like human rights, hate speech, freedom of the press. The grants allowed for coverage of these topic and for the functioning of entire media offices. These grants offered a funding source that was alternative to the state and to private business owners, i.e., foreign grants comprised alternative stocks of capital for local journalists. Through their applications for grants and their liaising with funders and colleagues abroad, Crimean journalists became engaged in the global journalistic field. However, they began to face mounting hurdles to their work in 2014 as pro-Russian discourse took center stage, and by 2015, foreign-funded Crimean media outlets had mostly shut down or relocated to Kyiv (Zeveleva, 2019 ). This process of marginalization of “internationalized” local journalists in Crimea was driven by harassment both from pro-Russian activists in 2014 and the police in 2015 and was solidified by a series of regulations passed in Russia in 2014–2017 that limited foreign funding possibilities and cut Crimean journalists off from foreign stocks of capital. As these journalists lost economic and cultural symbolic in the Crimean journalistic field, their relocation to Kyiv gave them the chance to retain access to foreign capital, gain some new forms of capital in the role of pro-Ukrainian Crimeans in Ukraine, and use this position to challenge the newly forming Crimean journalistic field from outside the peninsula (for further detailed analysis, see Zeveleva, 2019 ).

But after Russia’s annexation of Crimea, the first major legal change that reshaped the local media landscape came with the introduction of an official deadline of April 2015 (approximately one year after the annexation) by which local media had to re-register under Russian media law and obtain Russian licenses. The deadline was established by the Russian State Duma and overseen by Russia’s Federal Service for Supervision of Communications, Information Technology, and Mass Media (Roskomnadzor). Until this date, Ukrainian state licenses for broadcasting and media dissemination remained valid. Outlets that failed to register had to close down after the deadline. Obtaining registration was not straightforward, and many media outlets were denied licenses. On 10 April 2015, Roskomnadzor reported:

“A total of 232 Crimean news media are currently registered with Roskomnadzor, including 8 online media, 19 television channels, 42 radio channels, and 163 print media and news agencies. 207 media used to have Ukrainian licences nad have been re-registered. Another 25 are Russian news media (one online midum, two television channels, 8 radio channels, and 14 print media and news agencies) that are new entrants to Crimea’s media market.” (Roskomnadzor 2015 ).

According to the Freedom House Footnote 5 publication Freedom in the World 2017 Annual Survey of Political Rights and Liberties ( 2017 ), before April 2015, approximately 3000 outlets functioned in Crimea; however, according to the head of the Crimean chapter of Russia’s local Journalists’ Union, only 170 to 200 outlets were regularly functioning media.

By 2016, the Crimean Tatar television channel ATR (and Meydan Radio and Lider FM from the same media holding) as well as the outlets TRK Chernomorskaya, Krym.Realii, and the investigative journalism outlet Tsentr Zhurnalistskikh Rassledovanii had failed to obtain registration and had relocated to Kyiv. Roskomnadzor began to periodically block online access to some of these outlets from the Crimean peninsula. Footnote 6 Of the outlets listed here, TRK Chernomorskaya, Krym.Realii, Tsentr Zhurnalistskikh Rassledovanii had received foreign funding from EU states and from the United States government: TRK Chernomorskaya and Tsentr Zhurnalistskikh Rassledovanii have received grant money from EU sources, and Krym.Realii is a part of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, funded by the USA.

The year 2015 also saw the initiation of several police searches of the apartments of Crimean journalists and their families, all of whom had worked for the foreign-funded media sources. Footnote 7 In January, the apartment of a former Krym.Realii reporter was searched, and in November, the police also searched the homes of three ATR employees. Several journalists who were close to those whose homes were searched left Crimea in 2015, fearing that they would also be harassed by the police and security services.

In April 2016, a major symbolic move by Russian authorities shook the internationalized Crimean journalistic community: court proceedings were initiated against local journalist Mykola Semena, who was then convicted by a local court in September 2017 on charges of separatism. The case was mounted around an article he published as an opinion piece on the website Krym.Realii, part of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty. According to the prosecutor, Semena’s article called for the violation of Russia’s territorial integrity. He was handed a 2.5-year suspended sentence and a ban on journalistic and public activity for three years. Moreover, in 2016, Semena and another internationalized Crimean journalist Anna Andrievskaya were included in an official list of “terrorists and extremists” by the Federal Financial Monitoring Service of the Russian Federation, which monitors compliance with Russia’s anti-extremism and anti-terrorism laws.

Including the names of journalists among terrorists evidences the high degree of securitization of the media by the Russian state; the targeting of journalists who had worked for foreign-funded media was a part Russia’s crackdown on voices on the peninsula that were associated with foreign organizations and that were more likely to be critical of the Russian state. These actions consolidated power of local media in the hands of the Russian state and marginalized foreign-funded sources. Over time, journalists not employed or controlled by the Russian state either joined Russian-controlled media organizations or left the region. Foreign grants are no longer available to Crimean journalists under Russian law; thus, the Crimean journalistic field has become more vertically autonomous both from Ukrainian media and from such grants.

Mechanisms of law and security were accompanied by a discursive trend in denigrating and delegitimizing persons who receive funding from abroad to carry out their work. This delegitimizing discourse was prevalent both in Russian official discourse and in state-owned media reports, as well as in the narratives of many of the journalists I interviewed who continued to work in Crimea after 2014. They used the term “grant-eaters” ( grantoedy ) to refer to other journalists who worked on projects funded from abroad (this term also included those who worked for Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, the employees of which are technically not funded by grants). This term has been used across post-Soviet countries to signal disapproval of involvement with Western interests (see, for example, Ishkanian, 2016 :116; Phillips, 2008 :70; Zeveleva, 2019 ). One study participant, a prominent chief editor, told me that before 2014 “grant money played its role [in Crimea], American [money]… now we don’t have that. Life has become calmer, frankly.” Another local journalist also spoke of a similar aversion towards those who worked for foreign grant-funded media, associating this media with an anti-Russian political agenda: she claimed that before 2014, “a large segment of the local [media] market was taken up by so-called ‘grant-eaters’, that is, those who received grants from international organizations in order to conduct pro-European and pro-Ukrainian policies here… [they] worked against making Crimea Russian and worked for integrating it into Europe.”

Many study participants I spoke with in Crimea referred to the Kyiv-based journalists who left the region as “enemies” or as “grant-eaters.” In Tatarstan, by contrast, I observed neither the demonization of Idel.Realii, a Tatarstan-based part of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, which is the only local foreign-funded media outlet in the region. Nor did I hear of comparable impediments to the work of journalists who work for this outlet. Journalists employed by this outlet live and work in Tatarstan, and while they do not have official access to any government press conferences, they are still able to report on the region from within the region and can also secure comments from local state officials due to their social ties with these officials and thanks to the degree of trust the officials have in the individual journalists employed by the foreign-funded outlet.

“Still, no matter what, there are certain relationships [that politicians have] with journalists they have known for a long time. That is to say, with us. So I work here, there. I’m the same person I was before. This helps me more than it harms me,” said one such Tatarstan-based journalist with experience working for Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, which stands in stark contrast to the anti-foreign-funding attitudes of Crimean officials and Crimean-based journalists after 2014.

The opposition between journalists who remain in Crimea and work for mostly pro-Kremlin, Russian state-funded local media outlets on one hand, and those who work in Kyiv and offer a pro-Kyiv, anti-Moscow discourse on the other hand, is structured by the ongoing Ukraine-Russia territorial contestation. Due to the rapid political transition in the wake of the annexation of Crimea, and due to some pushback from the local population against the annexation (most notably, from the side of Crimean Tatars), political elites in Moscow view the region as a sensitive area that requires high levels of control. The annexation, which included a high involvement of Russian military and intelligence units, has led to polarization between Crimea-based mainstream journalists and those who left and are based in Kyiv but report on Crimea, which, in turn, has resulted in two opposing media discourses: one that normalizes the image of Crimea as part of Russia and one that vehemently opposes this discourse. In this context, local Crimean media have taken the pro-Russia side (in part through control and coercion from Moscow), and internal conflicts do not come to the fore in the narratives of local journalists. The most important scales at play in Crimea are the scale of the Russian state on one side and the international scale on the other side, which includes not only the Ukrainian state but also EU states and the USA. The involvement of the latter two is manifested in foreign funding of Kyiv-based media outlets that focus on Crimea.

Conclusions and Discussion

This paper opened with two main research questions: How do states shape the autonomy of regional journalistic fields? How do journalists navigate the limitations they face? Based on my analysis, I can answer these questions in the following way: first, the autonomy of regional journalistic fields depends on the configuration of political relations along multiple scales, which includes the scale of the city, the scale of the region, the national scale, the scale of other nation-states, and, finally, the scale of the international arena. Journalists navigate their local journalistic fields by accumulating the type of capital that is most lucrative in their field.

The type of capital that is valued in a local journalistic field can depend on relationships between the scales: in Crimea, a region embroiled in a territorial conflict and where the two relevant scales are the scale of the Russian state and the international scale, symbolic capital is most important. If a journalist demonstrates their loyalty to Moscow and reproduces pro-Kremlin discourses, this will enable them to rise up in their career. In Tatarstan, by contrast, social capital is most decisive for journalists as they navigate complex and sometimes unpredictable relationships between different levels of state influence (from the municipal to the regional and federal) and play these levels off each other depending on the target of their critiques. In this way, I have argued that the factor of the overt presence of conflict (in this case, territorial conflict between two countries) is a condition under which symbolic capital becomes primary in a field. It is important to remember that while this argument may seem self-evident in a context of authoritarianism (where censorship is easily deployed, and a state will take media under greater control to ensure control over the dominant discourse and silence dissenting voices), the case of Tatarstan, a region of Russia, shows us that even within one authoritarian system different regions can offer differing professional environments to representatives of the same profession. Specifically, journalists may have to make different calculations in order to move up in their careers depending on the region where they work.

This paper shows that it is helpful to analyze journalistic fields by considering their embeddedness in municipal, regional, national, and international geopolitical contexts simultaneously. Such embeddedness along multiple scales constrains journalistic field autonomy in different ways, and if we analyze only one scale, we risk misjudging the degree of autonomy of the field, as well as missing crucial actors and institutions that play roles in shaping the limits of journalistic autonomy. Moreover, state fields co-exist at multiple levels simultaneously, and journalists play the game at each level, strategically considering the rules of the game and their interactions every time they make a move (Fig. 1 ).

Mapping multiscalar journalistic fields in Crimea and in Tatarstan. Closeness of a field to a scale indicates a high degree of influence from that scale

Tatarstan, unlike Crimea, is not part of any international conflict and there are no external challenges to the foundations of its local social and political configurations. This lack of contestation brings about a lack of polarization like the one we see in the case of Crimea between a pro-Moscow and a pro-Kyiv side, which opens up the space for a more complex journalistic field that depends upon multiple local players vying for power and influence. For this reason, local journalists in Tatarstan cannot easily pick one “side” they are on politically and do not feel they will be protected or necessarily rewarded for picking a potential side. This leads me to suppose that when a journalistic community is less polarized and less mobilized around a cause, then journalists are less certain of their position in relation to different powerful actors and are more nuanced and careful in their professional capacities.

While mainstream media sociology has tended to focus on Western liberal democracies, my study has turned to a comparative analysis of two differing regions within an authoritarian state, with one of the regions in question undergoing rapid political change. However, my study has significant limits in terms of generalizability to other cases. I have explored a system where, despite strong de facto political centralization, there is also vast inter-regional variation in terms of social structure, social relations, and state-media relations. This implies that an analytical framework that takes into account multiscalar fields at the regional, national, and international levels would best be applied in cases where there exist regional news media and where some degree of regional specificity in terms of social relations and communications structure can be discerned. I will use the last paragraphs of this section to offer some preliminary reflections on what my study can contribute to our understanding of media in democracies versus media in authoritarian states.

From a comparison of two regional cases within Russia to the Hallin’s ( 1989 ) study of the USA, we can see that political consensus can shape the journalistic field both in more democratic and more authoritarian states. If we examine the cases of the USA during the Cold War and contemporary Russia, the outcome in both cases is that media are consolidated around contestation with an external enemy. Yet the means of getting to this point of consolidation differ between the two cases: in the USA, as argued in Hallin’s study ( 1989 ), ideology permeates a democratic society without direct means of political power over the news, while in contemporary Russia authoritarian methods uphold the visibility of this consensus. A challenge in the USA emerged among journalists when consensus among political elites broke down during the later stages of the Vietnam War, and in that event, the antagonism of the media towards the government reflected the inter-elite conflicts that emerge in the political sphere. Footnote 8 In Russia, the breakdown of consensus was made impossible by a less transparent and more authoritarian, vertically controlled centralized political system that was most visible locally in Crimea at the time of study. A journalistic breakdown of consensus is made possible where journalists start to “poke holes” in the very borders of the system, for example, by fleeing to Kyiv.

Thus, in a democracy, ideology can hold the consensus together. In a non-democratic system, the visibility of consensus is held together by the top-down imposition of political will, and it is therefore difficult to tell what is brewing underneath this visibility of consensus. While at the federal level of Russian news, and in a relatively autonomous region like Tatarstan, we can see that there is some “opposition” media that struggles against the dominant discourse and political consensus, at the regional level of Crimea the only “opposition” media exists outside of Crimea’s borders (and of Russia’s borders), in Kyiv. As a result, local media reflects the dominant discourse of the apparently united political elite. However, while in the USA there is the possibility of inter-elite conflict and critique within the elite of major policies (for example, of the Vietnam War), and this can bring about antagonism and discord among journalists towards elites (as a reflection of the discord within government), in the case of Crimea this opposition is only possible from across the border, since the regime does not allow for inter-elite conflict. The opposition, however, even if it exists within the bounds of a more pluralistic media environment, is still bounded by the discourses of the ruling elite of the state in which it works.

The journalistic field is characterized by Bourdieu as “a very weakly autonomous field, but this autonomy, weak though it is, means that one cannot understand what happens there simply on the basis of knowledge of the surrounding world: to understand what happens in journalism, it is not sufficient to know who finances the publications, who the advertisers are, who pays for the advertising, where the subsidies come from, and so on,” as part of what is generated in the field of journalism can only be understood by analyzing how journalists engage with one another within the logic of their field (Bourdieu, 2005 , 33). Following Champagne ( 2005 ) and Duval ( 2015 , 177), I contribute to the story of the journalistic field as one of “an impossible autonomy” (Champagne, 2005 , 50). In doing so, it is tempting to paint a simple story of impossible journalistic autonomy from the market in liberal democracies, versus impossible journalistic autonomy from the state in non-democratic contexts. This would imply, then, that in non-democratic contexts, our empirical question would be “how autonomous is the journalistic field from the state?” However, I would argue that the more productive question to ask is about how various actors shape the boundaries of the journalistic field at different scales and across state borders, and how this influences particular journalistic strategies, and under what conditions which level becomes decisive. Here I have argued that conditions of conflict became decisive in rendering the federal center (Moscow) a key player in regional journalistic fields (and repressing the influence of local actors), making symbolic capital the key form of capital for journalists, while rendering social capital relatively less important. Based on the evidence I present here about the multiple scales along which journalists experience limitations, I suggest that we should frame our studies of journalistic fields in a way that remains open to different levels of analysis (from the region to the nation-state), as well as open to the presence of multiple influences from multiple scales at once. Our analysis should then point to the actors and mechanisms that determine these limitations take under varying circumstances.

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Zeveleva, O. Journalism Beyond the Nation-State: Multiscalar Fields and How to Navigate Them. Int J Polit Cult Soc (2024). https://doi.org/10.1007/s10767-024-09487-0

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