Babel in the Ionosphere

By Gerald Clarke

Competing for listeners and converts via short-wave radio

Burdened with weapons and heavy packs, a band of Afghan rebels carefully picks its way up a dark stony path in one of the most desolate places on earth. Suddenly a message is passed down the column, and everyone gathers in one spot. A Soviet patrol up ahead? A suspected land mine? No. It is 8:45 p.m. and time for the BBC's nightly short-wave news, Farsi edition. Like everyone else, the Afghan soldiers want to know what is happening.

The rush to the short-wave radio is an increasingly common sight: despite television and other forms of instant communication, much of the world still gets its news from those very short waves bounced off the ionosphere. The upper atmosphere indeed is the true Tower of Babel; far above the clouds, scores of tongues and half a dozen ideologies compete for the attention of those below. By the latest count, 34 countries broadcast in short wave, beaming out an astonishing 20,000 hours of programming each week.

Japanese radio manufacturers, who dominate the market, say that the shortwave boom started about five years ago in their country, and just a year ago in the U.S. and Europe. One reason: the introduction of small receivers, no larger than paperback books, and sets that cost as little as $60. "It's astonishing how many people have picked up the short-wave habit," says George Berzins, a spokesman for the Voice of America. "We've noticed a big increase in audience, and so have most other broadcasters." (This audience does not include ham operators, who broadcast as well as receive; for the most part they listen to one another.)

There are now more than 4,450 shortwave frequencies being broadcast around the world in 148 languages--including Farsi, Zulu, Amharic and Kiswahili. Most popular of all is English, which is sent out on more than 1,000 frequencies. Even with unsophisticated sets, Americans can pick up as many as 50 English-language broadcasts; more expensive radios can tune in the entire world. In the past ten years something like 18 million short-wave sets have been sold in the U.S. alone. One Manhattan writer, who owns an inexpensive Sony ($115), has made the BBC's morning news an essential part of his breakfast. "My reception is so good," he brags, "that when Big Ben chimes, it sends shock waves through my coffee!"

Americans tune in for pleasure as well as news. Stewart MacKenzie, who heads the American Shortwave Listeners Club, loves the swaying music he hears from Radio Tahiti in the South Pacific. Others simply like to be on top of things. Short-wave fans were among the first to learn of the fire that destroyed the Prinsendam in the Gulf of Alaska last October and were able to follow rescue attempts, as other craft radioed their moves.

Even in an era of news saturation, there is a certain excitement in hearing faraway voices. BBC reports are valued for their objectivity, but many Americans are also fascinated by the propaganda programs that Radio Moscow directs to the U.S. In the past few weeks Soviet announcers have been warning of the darkening "world situation" and denouncing "influential Western politicians who have decided to spur on the arms race."

A high point on Radio Moscow is what might be called the "Boris and Vladimir Show," on which the two men regularly discuss topics of the day. Vladimir will say something like, "You see, Boris, in the capitalist West they are engaged in something fashionably called the 'rat race,' in which selfish individuals are out for themselves. Not like here in the Soviet state, where we are responsible, first and foremost, to society." Boris, the straight man, always answers, "I agree with you totally, Vladimir."

In areas where local news is either nonexistent or unreliable, the BBC, the Voice of America and Deutsche Welle, the West German government's network, are top sources of information. In the So viet Union and Eastern Europe even government officials listen to find out what happening in their countries. The Kremlin was so annoyed by short-wave reporting of the Polish crisis that last August, for the first time in seven years, it began wide-scale jamming, filling the air with static to block out those irritating signals from the West.

Despite the Soviets' nervousness, most government-sponsored networks are now going lighter on propaganda. V.O.A. has tripled its African audience in the past decade, when it began improving news coverage of the continent and scheduling more entertainment. Many young Africans love American popular music, and the Voice's "African Sound" is so popular that a V.O.A. correspondent once got sprung from a jail in Benin by mentioning to the police chief that he was a personal friend of Host Georges Collinet. The network's Special English Broadcasts, often called the slow news because the announcer reads at the rate of nine lines to a minute (the average rate is 12 or 13), helps people all over the world to learn English.

The most ardent short-wave listener anywhere may be in Tel Aviv. Journalist Michael Gurdus, 36, who works for the Israel Broadcasting Authority, has ten radios in his apartment to keep a constant check on electronic traffic in seven languages. He never leaves home during a crisis, and his scoops are numerous. Last April he was the first to report the full details of the U.S. failure to rescue the hostages. Gurdus' stories are picked up all over the world. "I am a reporter," he says. "But my sources are radio waves."

For millions of listeners short wave is a global tie line. Says a New Jersey commuter: "I usually listen in at bedtime instead of reading a book. Nothing is packaged or filtered through the New York Times. You get a feeling of power--and intimacy. It's more like a telephone call than a global analysis. The world seems very small."

--By Gerald Clarke

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