They're dying for the news in Algeria

By NICK RYAN in Algiers

IT'S a simple brown folder, gathering dust at the back of a newspaper archive. The harsh, artificial light reveals little at first of what lies within.

Yellowing photographs stare out beneath such headlines as ''tue'', ''mort'', ''assassine'' and ''engorge''; shot, dead, assassinated, mutilated. "Some of these were my friends," says Ahmed, an Algerian business journalist who dares not reveal his real name for fear of reprisals.

"This one is Tahar Djaout," murmurs the thin, anxious-looking figure, pointing to an earnest, bespectacled man in his 30s. "He was the first of us to die."

This unassuming ''book of the dead'', a collection of cuttings slowly rotting with the passing of time, is as good a chronicle as any to Algeria's bloody civil war, which has claimed 80 000 lives in just six short years.

Yet there is another, forgotten, battle here, one fought by a fledgling independent press and the journalist-proprietors who run it -- caught between an often-repressive regime, keen to silence criticism, and Islamic fundamentalist terrorists, who regard the press as traitors.

Seventy journalists, photographers and associated staff have lost their lives here since May 1993. Their killers are armed Islamic groups who won an election in 1991, but were forbidden to take power by the secular military-backed regime. Journalists have often been critical of both sides -- with deadly results.

Sometimes the killers have ambushed their victims and killed them with a single shot to the head. Or they have cut their throat, often in front of friends or family. Even engaged couples, who happen to be journalists, have been slain while walking together -- the traditional ''hijab'', or veil, has been no protection for women.

Many were not even political or security correspondents. And so Algeria has become one of the most dangerous places on earth to work in the press.

"Working here in Algeria is very, very hard," says ''Khared'', 36, a sincere and passionate photographer, whose work has adorned the covers and centrespreads of most international magazines. "I can't use my real name and I can't live at home; I've had to send my wife and my son to France, because of the danger, and that's very, very difficult for me."

Journalists and photographers such as Khared continue to try to print what they see as the truth, yet have to live at secret addresses and daren't publish pictures of their faces for fear of attack. Hundreds have fled to other countries, or like one woman I met working for an Arabic newspaper, lie about their profession.

During the day the journalists and photographers gather for work inside the Maison de la Presse. This is a community of 20 or so independent papers housed inside an old fortified barracks, surrounded by watch towers and armed guards. However, even that did not stop a bomb which exploded in 1996, killing four reporters on Le Matin newspaper.

Although those working for international media make a reasonable living, most Algerian journalists have to survive on less than $100 a month -- barely sufficient for their daily needs. They live in tiny rooms inside El Manor, a slightly shabby, ex-tourist hotel, turned into a fortified compound 30km to the west of the capital Algiers.

There is a slightly sad, depressed atmosphere to the whole place. On a weekend (Thursday and Friday), you can see small groups of journalists sitting in the hotel's only bar, chain smoking and drinking coffee, rarely going out. Many have turned to the alcohol available there to help them cope.

The emotional problems can be very hard to deal with; there is no counselling available. Seeing so many massacres close up takes its toll.

"I was travelling around and couldn't see my family because of the danger. It was the only time I broke down," he says, his voice choked. "C'etait tres difficile," he repeats over and over to himself (it was very difficult).

It's not just the Islamic groups that cause them problems. "It's like a Russian system here," says Khared, pulling on his ubiquitous Marlboro cigarette. "The authorities are always saying 'why do you take pictures?' and demanding authorisation. They treat us like spies."

The media is regarded by some as actually freer here than neighbouring countries, and fiercely defends its right to print critical stories about corruption or security issues. Still the government controls all the printing presses -- having closed down the only independent press last year -- and the vast majority of advertising, thus giving it huge power over the newspapers.

To date, 24 of them have been suspended for reporting on ''security-related'' matters, a broad category which the authorities interpret to encompass guerilla attacks, human rights abuses and the reporting of Islamic viewpoints.

Until last December, it also used ''reading committees'' to ensure stories conformed to official accounts. However, many papers still face numerous civil suits launched by the government.