The reason for that is a traditional perception of media in post-Soviet society: everything said in an “official” paper or on TV is considered to be trustworthy.

“Belarus has a post-Soviet society that is characterised by non-critical attitude towards everything,” says Ales Antsipenka, a Belarusian philosopher and a media expert. “A bearer of ideological dogmas is required to be loyal to the authorities and totally take for granted messages mainstream ‘official’ media deliver, transmitting only one point of view — that of the regime.”

The “vertical model of communication” remains very strong in Belarusian society, where “top-down” information flows from the authorities to the population. In this model, the authorities that stay on top of the “information pyramid” and broadcast ideas that are supposed to be accepted as universal truth.

“This model is sustained through budget subsidies to state media, through ideological choice of people who manage those media outlets, through censorship and creation of ideological filters between sources of information and audience. On the other hand, there are independent media that are allowed to practise a critical attitude to reality”, Antsipenka says.

Increasing media literacy for Belarusians would help to improve the situation. The basis for media literacy should be a possibility to question, to analyse news reports in media, and to differentiate between propaganda, censorship and manipulation technologies. In this case, the media audience should become a competent member of the media process. But the Belarusian state does not want this to happen.

“The authorities of the country, on the contrary, rely on decreasing of cultural and educational levels, and a low level of media literacy is one of the main conditions of ideological and propaganda work among population,” say Ales Antsipenka.

The question is whether Belarusian media themselves are interested in their audience being able to differentiate a quality journalistic product from a poor one. According to Aliaksandr Klaskouski, a well-known Belarusian journalist and media expert, it is the media that aim to bring quality reporting to the public that are most interested in better media literacy of the audience.

“It is more useful for tabloids or ‘barricade media’ to have an indiscriminate reader. That is why, unfortunately, not many media outlets in Belarus are really interested in increase of the media literacy level of the audience,” Klaskouski admits.

“But propaganda media outlets, both state and oppositional, should be left aside when we speak of journalism and mass media,” Eduard Melnikau, a professor of European Humanities University, argues. “Otherwise, every ‘real’ media outlet should be interested in its audience having a good level of media literacy, because an educated reader can increase the effectiveness of media themselves as they become partners and co-authors.”

This can only be achieved if the society understands how valuable quality journalism is. But this, in turn, is impossible without changing of the system of values — a process that can take years.

“It is quite easy to change public opinion; it does not take too long. But changing the system of values in society is a much more complicated and long process. If we speak of a quality journalism, it is a product that is needed by people whose set of values changed from old Soviet to a new, European ones,” says Ales Antsipenka.

At the same time, professor Melnikau is sure it is impossible just to wait for the rest of the society to change their values system.

“Media literacy is needed today, and it is needed to everybody, from politicians to street cleaners, because media is the instrument of pushing the society towards humanitarian values; without these values no developments of economy, science, culture are possible,” argues Eduard Melnikau.

But it is clear the Belarusian state is not interested in media literacy of its citizens, and the society itself does not value quality journalism. So, the question is who should take the responsibility for media education of the audience? The obvious answer is media outlets themselves. But nowadays many of them are quite marginalised or operate in semi-clandestine conditions, and rarely work effectively with their audiences. Non-governmental organisations often fail to work with the society as well, as many of them concentrate on holding on to their structures and actual “survival” in difficult authoritarian conditions.

Journalistic organisations  such as the Belarusian Association of Journalists should be working in the field of media literacy. But the question is whether they will be allowed to access schoolchildren and students, who should become the main target audience for such programmes. The state holds the line of defence and substitute classes in media literacy with lessons in “political information”.

Yanina Melnikava is the editor of Mediakritika.by website from Belarus, dedicated to media analysis

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When I got into the car to drive to work on Thursday 3 February, I had no conscious plans to quit my job. I took the same route I take every day to the Ministry of Information building in Maspiro, Cairo. Everything looked familiar except for the army tanks acting as roadblocks on the Cornish, the main road that runs parallel to the River Nile. It was a strange sight: soldiers gesturing to car drivers to slow down for security checks. Traffic is usually heavy in the morning, but that day there was an eerie silence, the street was empty of vehicles and the atmosphere was tense.

I had stopped briefly at Tahrir Square in downtown Cairo the previous day (Wednesday) to check out what was happening. I was overwhelmed by the size of this historic demonstration. It was exciting to see so many Egyptians united for a common cause and voicing their demands: they wanted to see an end to rampant corruption. They also called on Mubarak to step down. The one word echoing in that square in the first few days of the protest was simply: Go!

For an Egyptian patriot, it was a welcome sight, and the sound of the protesters’ chants was music to my ears. I had never imagined this level of passion was possible from a people that I had long thought were passive, even lifeless, but now the giant had woken.

On Thursday as I drove to work my heart felt heavy. I recalled some of the violent scenes I had watched on my television screen in previous days. One scene that kept flashing before me was the pro-Mubarak men on horseback who had stormed through the crowd, using their whips to terrorise the protesters. It was like a scene from medieval times.

My cell phone rang and I jumped at the sound. It was a colleague from work asking why I was late. I told her that I had stopped several times at checkpoints but would be joining her shortly. I parked in the Semiramis Intercontinental Hotel, which is only a few metres away from the square. It’s close to the TV building too, and I wanted to walk the remainder of the way to work. Even then I hadn’t realised that my legs would take me directly to the square as if my body had been hypnotised by the cries of the demonstrators.

When I got to the square, I knew I couldn’t leave. I took my phone out of my bag and wrote my boss a message. Instead of informing him that I would be late for work, I found myself writing the following words: “Forgive me. I won’t be coming to the building again. I am on the people’s side, not the regime’s.”

The message was clear. I was resigning from my job as deputy director of Nile Television, Egypt’s state-run foreign language satellite channel — a job that up until that moment had been the reason for my existence. I am still not sure what came over me, but I didn’t give this life-changing decision a second thought. I quit, giving up the life I have known for over 20 years without a second’s hesitation.

I was as astonished by my decision as my bosses and workmates were. I had never considered resigning before, and everyone knew how passionate I felt about my job. It wasn’t just a managerial post; I was also a news anchor and senior correspondent. Producing feature and news stories was what I enjoyed most about the job. I have travelled the world covering major events, interviewing scores of prominent figures. I have even risked my life on a number of occasions, covering sectarian unrest on the Thai-Malaysian border, and the Gaza war 2008-9. But perhaps being in war zones wasn’t quite as dangerous as falling out of favour with this ruthless regime.

I have on occasion ruffled feathers with my reporting. Whenever that happened, it was customary to get a phone call froma  state security official who would question my motives, reprimand me for “tarnishing the country’s image” and warn that the next time I would not be let off the hook.

But until now, things had been OK and I had — I believe — managed to push the boundaries of free speech even further with every “controversial” story that was aired.

So why did I resign and had I ever considered doing so before? Let me answer the second question first: no, never. I loved my work and had never felt restricted despite the threats from state security or occasional rebukes from my bosses for “crossing the red lines”. These so-called red lines usually meant interviewing opposition figures or expressing an opinion that ran counter to the official view.

My station, Nile TV, broadcasts in English and French. The target audience is different from other state TV channels — our viewers are elite, educated members of society and the foreign community in Egypt. That’s why Nile TV got away with more than other state channels. But in this latest uprising, the situation was different.

From day one, we were clearly instructed to follow the rules. We had to follow the line taken by the Arabic broadcasts on the main local channel, and broadcast what they were broadcasting. First, viewers watching Nile TV were to be given the impression that this was a normal protest to express dissatisfaction at the high food prices and an even higher unemployment rate. There would be no mention of the protesters wanting the president to step down.

Second, they were to be informed that the protest was organised by the outlawed Muslim Brotherhood (not the young activists and internet users who were really responsible for its launch). And third, that foreign agents were fomenting the unrest, fanning the flames of sectarianism and fuelling the instability to serve their own hidden agendas.

That, I believed, was a hugely distorted version of the story. Here was a historic revolution happening in our country. It was, and is, unprecedented in scale and intensity. The Muslim Brotherhood aren’t at the helm as the government would have us believe: the instigators were members of the 6 April Movement that had supported the labour riots at Mehallah el Kobra in 2008 and the ‘We are All Khaled Said’ group — named after the young man beaten to death by police in Alexandria in June 2008.

Political forces like the Brotherhood and members of the liberal Wafd Party did come on board later, but the revolution remains all-inclusive, with no political or religious agenda. The only flag raised in Tahrir square is the Red, White and Black Egyptian flag. That’s the truth.

But instead of showing what was going on in Tahrir, the pro-Mubarak rallies outside the state television building dominated our coverage on the 2 February. Here was history in the making in my own backyard and I wasn’t able to tell Egyptians the story of what was unfolding. Instea,d Egyptian audiences had to rely on Dubai-based al Arabiya and other news channels. Al Jazeera had been taken off air because of what an anchor on state TV described as incitement and bias (without mentioning the channel by name).

For any journalist, the experience of holding back information is agonising and feeding the public lies is career suicide. You stand to lose your credibility and integrity. Last Thursday, I knew I could no longer be the mouthpiece of a regime that uses such brutal tactics to silence voices of dissent.

If I continued to be part of the regime’s propaganda machine, it would mean that I too would be implicated in their crimes. I would have the blood of the innocent martyrs on my hands. So far, 300 people have been killed in these protests and thousands have been injured. Many more could lose their lives in the coming days and weeks if the situation continues unresolved.

Having left my job, I now spend most of my day in Tahrir Square with the protesters. Yesterday, I overheard a young mother tell her little child, “Be patient, the road to freedom is never easy. We are on the first step in a long and difficult road but we will get there.” I wish I was as confident as her.

I left Tahrir Square thinking: these protesters are willing to sacrifice their lives for freedom. That’s a much higher price to pay than losing a job.

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