History of Technology Volume 33, 2017 9781474237147, 9781474237260, 9781474237208

Citation preview

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

i

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

Editor Ian Inkster Professorial Research Associate Centre of Taiwan Studies SOAS, University of London Thornhaugh Street, Russell Square London WC1H 0XG [email protected]

Professor of Global History Department of International Affairs Wenzao Ursuline College of Languages Kaohsiung 80793 Taiwan R.O.C. [email protected]

EDITORIAL BOARD Professor Hans-Joachim Braun Universitat der Bundeswehr Hamburg Holstenhofweg 85 22039 Hamburg Germany Professor R. A. Buchanan School of Social Sciences University of Bath Claverton Down Bath BA 7AY England Professor H. Floris Cohen Raiffeisenlaan 10 3571 TD Utrecht The Netherlands Professor Mark Elvin Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies Australian National University Canberra, ACT 0200 Australia Dr Anna Guagnini Dipartimento di Filosofia Universita di Bologna Via Zamboni 38 40126 Bologna Italy Dr Jerry C.-Y. Liu Department of International Affairs Wenzao Ursuline College of Languages 900 Mintsu 1st Road Kaohsiung 807 Taiwan

ii

Dr A. G. Keller Department of History University of Leicester University Road Leicester LEI 7RH England Dr Graham Hollister-Short Imperial College Sherfield Building London SW 7 2AZ England Dr Richard Hills Standford Cottage 47 Old Road Mottram-in-Longendale Cheshire SK 14 6LW England Dr Irfan Habib Department of History Aligarh Muslim University Aligarh (UP ) 202001 India Professor Simon Schaffer Department of History and Philosophy of Science University of Cambridge Free School Lane Cambridge CB 2 3RH England

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY VOLUME 33, 2017 Edited by Ian Inkster

Special Issue: History of Technology in Greece from the Nineteenth to the Twenty-first Century Edited by Stathis Arapostathis and Aristotle Tympas

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

LON DON • OX F O R D • N E W YO R K • N E W D E L H I • SY DN EY

iii

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square London WC 1B 3DP UK

1385 Broadway New York NY 10018 USA

www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2017 © Ian Inkster and Contributors, 2017 Ian Inkster has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editor of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the authors. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBNs :

HB : 978-1-4742-3714-7 ePDF : 978-1-4742-3720-8 eBook: 978-1-4742-3725-3

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Series: History of Technology, volume 33, ISSN : 0307-5451 Cover image: Photograph by Dimitrios Harissiadis Tram in front of the Panathenaic Stadium, Athens 1969 © Benaki Museum Photographic Archive Typeset by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk

To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com. Here you will find extracts, author interviews, details of forthcoming events and the option to sign up for our newsletters.

iv

CONTENTS

Introduction: The History of Technology in Modern Greece from the Nineteenth Century to the Present Day Stathis Arapostathis and Aristotle Tympas

1

Part One: Technologies, Industries and Policies

19

1. From Parallel Growth to Great Divergence: Greek Shipbuilding from the Late Eighteenth to Early Twentieth Centuries Apostolos Delis

21

2. Choosing Locomotives in the Formative Period of the Greek Railways, 1880–1910 Dionysis Paraskevopoulos

47

3. Armament Projects: The Greek Air Force Case, 1950 to 2000 Dimitrios Ziakkas 4. Medical Technologies and Health Policies in Post-Second World War Greece Katerina Vlantoni, Aspasia Kandaraki and Antonia Pavli

Part Two: Technical Cultures, Engineering Institutions, Expertise and Socio-technical Networks

81

107

135

5. Science and Industry in Public Discourses on Technical Education in Greece, 1864–1887 Eirini Mergoupi-Savaidou

137

6. Greek Engineers, Institutions, Periodicals and Ideology: Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Century Spyros Tzokas

157

7. Water Management, Expertise and Techno-politics in Energy and Agriculture in Greece, 1940–2014: The Case of the Acheloos River Stathis Arapostathis and Serkan Karas

179

v

vi

8. ‘Tobacco for Atoms’: Nuclear Politics, Ambivalences and Resistances about a Reactor that was Never Built Stathis Arapostathis, Aspasia Kandaraki, Yannis Garyfallos and Aristotle Tympas

CONTENTS

205

9. Computer Technology Periodicals and the Circulation of Knowledge about the Personal Computer in 1980s Greece Theodore Lekkas

229

Part Three: Technology between Accidents and Mobilities

253

10. Efrosini Crossing Syngrou Avenue: Automobile Accidents and the Introduction of the Automobile in Greece (1900–1911) Christos Karampatsos

255

11. History of Mobility in Greece: The Building of the National Road Network in the Interwar Period Evangelia Chatzikonstantinou and Areti Sakellaridou

281

12. Technology for Travelling Pleasures and Experiences: Transportation and the Construction of Post-war Greece as a Tourist Destination Alexia Sofia Papazafeiropoulou, Konstantinos Vattes and Katerina Zacharopoulou

299

CONTRIBUTORS

327

Introduction The History of Technology in Modern Greece from the Nineteenth Century to the Present Day STATHIS ARAPOSTATHIS AND ARISTOTLE TYMPAS

The first European state to be instituted on territory extracted from the Ottoman Empire was that of modern Greece. By defeating the Ottoman Armada at the 1827 Battle of Navarino, the last major naval battle to be won by relying exclusively on sails, three Great Powers of the day – a troika formed by England, France and Russia – rescued the 1821 revolution of some Greek-speaking and orthodox Empire populations and solidified the institution of the modern Greek state. Almost two centuries later, in 2010, Greece became the first European state to be rescued financially by its subjection to the International Monetary Fund, which arrived in Greece through a troika that also included the European Commission and the European Central Bank. The intervention of a troika at the start and at the end of the period covered in this volume represents high Greek drama with international repercussions. Two more high dramas defined the end of the first sub-period (1827–1922) and the middle of the second sub-period (1922–1974) of the periods covered here: the Asia Minor Disaster (1922) and the Greek Civil War (1947–1949). A series of late nineteenth-century wars between the expanding modern Greek state and the shrinking Ottoman Empire, the Balkan Wars, two twentieth-century world wars, and armed resistance to the Nazi regime further overwhelmed politically the course of industrial capitalism in Greece and set a context that cannot be ignored by those undertaking research on the history of technology in modern Greece. Also, let us not forget a series of dictatorships, including one at the end of the interwar period (1936–1940) and another at the end of the post-war decades (1967–1974).1 Acknowledging the presence of a pattern of political dramas in the history of a modern nation-state should not lead us to assume that technological experiences were limited in this history, and accordingly, that the history of technology that refers to these experiences is unimportant. On the contrary, the articles collected in this volume prove that technology was no less important during this extremely dramatic Greek political history than in paradigmatic cases of histories of technologies in other European modern states. This further suggests that the history of technology in Greece could be of broader importance, precisely because of its coexistence with an extreme history of politics. To point to this broader importance, the articles in 1

2

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

this volume were selected so as to make the processes of co-production of technology and Greek society and politics as explicit as possible. In a synthetic volume series on the history of Greece in the twentieth century, edited by the leading economic historian Christos Hatziosif,2 the historiographic importance of technology has been pointed out, though historiographically little attention has been paid to processes of co-production of social and technical arrangements. The present volume is a response to this need. Many of the articles stress the view that artefacts and technological infrastructures acquired meanings and specific technical and material characteristics, as well as trustworthiness, through the political priorities and the political aspirations of policymakers and politicians, as well as due to the political roles that engineers and scientists self-fashioned and managed to legitimize in different periods in the Greek history. The aim of the articles is to show the way that technological design, technologies in use and engineering expertise were embedded in and concurrently reproduced a capitalist socio-economic regime. Technologies acquired specific characteristics and meanings that were bounded by institutional and political reforms as well as by the materialities of the local geographies and economies in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The collection argues that the state-building process, a dynamic socio-political process, is inscribed in the technologies and the technological networks. Focusing on retrieving historical processes of co-production between technology and politics meant an emphasis on attempts at reconfiguring technology in use. It meant paying attention to active processes of appropriation–localization of technology, which cannot be described by reference to some passive ‘technology transfer’ – an expression that implies, in a deterministic way, that technological change has to do with the introduction of inherently superior and universally applicable qualities.3 We acknowledge that in several studies about technology transfer in Greece, this is represented and reconstructed as a politicized process that is linked to the state and corporate priorities as well as to the ideology of ‘modernity’, as it evolved over a period of more than two hundred years.4 The article by Paraskevopoulos (article 2) on steam locomotive technology transfer in the Greek railways shares elements of this approach, yet gives greater emphasis to the social process of decision making in what technology should be used. The issue at stake for Paraskevopoulos is not to study the reasons for any backwardness of Greece but to reconstruct the economic, technological and political factors that promoted specific technologies and excluded alternatives. The articles in this volume challenge the alleged ‘universalism’ of technology, just as they seek to deconstruct an essentialist demarcation between ‘high’ and ‘low’ technology, representing a ‘centre’ and a ‘periphery’ respectively. This resonates nicely with historical research that is conducted in the context of the research networks and Tensions of Europe (TOE )5 and Science and Technology in the European Periphery (STEP )6 – networks that have been influential in shaping the work of several of the authors in this volume. In choosing the articles in this volume we sought to provide both broad overviews and case studies that offer in-depth analysis of matches between technology and society. We aimed at a balance between macro trends of technological sectors and the sensitivities to contingency that case studies can provide. We wanted to illustrate

INTRODUCTION

3

both the long-run dynamics of technological change, yet also, to leave space for unravelling the agencies of actors such as engineers, industrialists, technicians, politicians, journalists, users and citizens with varying interests and ideologies. This is reflected in the clustering of the articles under three sections. To better introduce these sections and the articles that they contain, we first offer a fleeting introduction to the history of Greece. This introduction is very brief in regards to the sizable literature on the Greek political history of the last two centuries, saving space for a synthesis of the comparatively limited literature on the economic history and the history of industrialization of modern Greece.

THE GREEK LONG NINETEENTH CENTURY: FROM THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE TO THE ASIA MINOR DISASTER Industrialization during this sub-period took place in a manner that has been described as fragmented, incomplete and highly idiosyncratic.7 At the start of this sub-period, the modern Greek state was predominantly agrarian as any industrial initiatives, mostly manufacturing ones, were small-scale and bounded in local environments and economies.8 The institution of the modern Greek state was strongly supported by Greek-speaking and orthodox communities of merchants, who played a leading economic role both in the Ottoman Empire and in the Greek state. Greek merchants and their trade networks were particularly strong in the East Mediterranean and most importantly in the Balkans and Asia Minor.9 In the present volume Delis (article 1) stresses the role of the merchant fleet in shaping the shipbuilding industry in the Greek-speaking regions since the late eighteenth century. The commerce of cereals in the region forged community networks and networks of expertise while contributing to establishing the construction of tramp cargoes as the specialization of the Greek shipbuilders and technicians. The first decades of the Greek state (1830s to 1850s) were marked by the uneasy transition from the absolutism of the Bavarian King Otto – who became the first Greek king through the consent of the Great Powers – to constitutional monarchy. Public unrest and political conflict marked this passage, culminating in an 1843 uprising. In the following decades of the nineteenth century the influence of the Great Powers in the state-building activities remained strong and defined the political priorities.10 The newly founded state was for many decades characterized by the lack of financial institutions and the lack of national infrastructures.11 In this context, technocratic advising by the Great Powers to the Greek governments emerged as the rule.12 The role of missions by foreign engineers (initially French and later Bavarian) in the design, planning and construction of the cities and in establishing technological infrastructures – bridges, roads and irrigation networks – was catalytic.13 Crucial to the initial shaping of the patterns of Greek industrial capitalism were the 1860s and the 1870s, when a series of factories were established in the Greek territory. Urban centres like Patras, Piraeus and Ermoupolis were developed together with the installation of factories by those who sought an outlet for capital accumulated

4

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

in the trade, or simply moved from manufacturing to industrial production. Some of the early initiatives were due to capital holders who arrived in the newly established state after being pushed away from other Balkan states or south Russia. Major sectors for the deployment of these initiatives were agricultural production and food processing, the mining industry, textiles and the chemical industry.14 Christina Agriantoni has argued that the Industrial Revolution was not greatly advanced in Greece during the nineteenth century in comparison to the countries of central and northern Europe.15 Dimitris Dertilis has suggested that a comprehensive understanding of this period requires a focus on the slow process of the formation of a small industry within an unfavourable political context.16 Differences aside, economic and industrialization historians agree that in the late nineteenth century the economy remained predominantly agricultural. It is indicative that even during years of relatively large increases in the number of ‘industrial shops’ (‘βιομηχανικά καταστήματα’), as occurred between 1850 and 1875, the number of the industrial workers was only 0.4 per cent of the total population, while the working force in agricultural activities amounted to 75 per cent of the total population.17 The mines in Lavrion, Attica, were an exception to this slow-paced and fragmented industrialization, having 2,000 workers and miners.18 In the present volume, Delis shows that even in the dynamic industry of shipbuilding, the factories and shipyards in the port of Piraeus and on the island of Syros that attracted the majority of the construction activities, the number of the technicians, engineers, boilermakers and workers did not reach the numbers of employees in Lavrion. More importantly, the specialized human capital was secured by foreign engineers, predominantly by British ones, who were known for their expertise in steam engineering and iron shipbuilding. After the transition to constitutional monarchy, the state became active in taking the lead in public works and infrastructures, including the ones that were crucial for the timely transfer of the army to the borders with the Ottoman Empire. Plans for national infrastructures further forged the ideology of irredentism that evolved into ‘The Great Idea’ (‘Μεγάλη Ιδέα’), which promoted the expansion of the Greek state to all the areas of the Ottoman Empire where Greek-speaking populations could be found. The same ideology legitimized high expenditure on military technologies and ammunitions.19 Τhe governments of Charilaos Trikoupis exemplified the emphasis on national empowerment through infrastructural development in the late nineteenth century; those of Eleftherios Venizelos the agenda of state modernization in the early twentieth century. Paraskevopoulos (article 2) argues that Trikoupis’ priorities in relation to the technological and infrastructure transformation of Greece directed policymaking and shaped the technical characteristics of the railroads since they aimed mainly at the spatial, geographic and economic unification of the Greekspeaking areas. He decisively launched a network of railways that had as its backbone an international-type line to the northern borders, as well as emblematic public works like the drainage of Lake Copaida in Central Greece, and the opening of the Corinthian canal.20 By increasing taxation to finance these projects, Trikoupis became unpopular, even among members of the economic elites of the period who viewed with suspicion his agenda of state modernization through infrastructural development and public works.21 Questioning the developmental paradigm, Demetrios Georgiadis, a correspondent of Economiste français, argued that the scale

INTRODUCTION

5

of Trikoupis’ technological public work was beyond the needs and the reach of the country.22 Reactions to Trikoupis’ agenda aside, foreign engineers, like a group from the Ponds and Chausses, were called in to plan large-scale infrastructures.23 Trikoupis succeeded in advancing the formation of railways and other critical infrastructures at the cost of putting the Greek state in a state of debt. Economic and industrial historians have stressed that from the 1890s until the First World War, the financial crisis and the bankruptcy of the state placed barriers to industrialization. On the other hand, without the infrastructures pioneered by Trikoupis, the Greek state would not have been able to maximize its benefits from participating in the wars that considerably enlarged the size of modern Greece in the early twentieth century. Another technology that played a small yet significant role in the making of the state is the automobile, which was introduced in the first decade of the twentieth century. Karampatsos (in article 10) is arguing that the motor car was not just the ‘adventure machine’ for the royals and the upper-class Athenians. It was a technology that in its use – as in the case of the railroads – reconfigured the space and time. The geographic, economic and social barriers were removed and thus the state’s priority for homogenization was easier to be achieved. In the first twenty years of the twentieth century engineers started to form an identity as technocrats who could intervene in and contribute to the making of state affairs.24 This identity became characteristic in the case of the emblematic institution of a patent system in Greece. In this period, as part of their identity politics, engineers pressed for the establishment of a formal intellectual property regime in Greece. In the late nineteenth century patents as privileges were awarded by the Greek parliament. In 1920 a regime of patents as privileges was altered by law to a regime of patents as rights. The 2526 Act was the result of international diplomatic pressures, interior social pressures by professional elites, and of the political and ideological inclinations and priorities of the then government of the liberal politician Eleftherios Venizelos. During the Paris Peace Conference of 1919 pressures were exercised on Greek diplomatic and governmental authorities towards the homogenization of intellectual property legislation. The interior elites had already pressed for a formal intellectual property regime, and had developed repertoires about the ‘progressive’ character of intellectual property and its institutional power to effect and secure the growth and progress of a country. Others had focused on the relations of patronage that the system of patents as privileges was reproducing. They argued that any continuation of the privileges system would reinforce existing feudalism, which, they argued, was persistent in the political system of the country. These public discourses resonated well with the political agenda of bourgeois modernization that the government of Venizelos wanted to promote. The quest for state modernization was linked with institutional and constitutional changes, as well as with the individual rights of the citizens, as an expression of the priority of political liberalism that was substantially based on the universal rights of the citizens.25 In the 2527 Patent Law, patents provided the right of a fifteen-year monopoly with the provision of a necessary three-year period for the development and commercial exploitation of the ideas and inventions. This law was also a first attempt to define the term ‘invention’ and to integrate it into the legislative system. It is

6

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

significant that the geographic origin of the invention was emphasized so that innovation and originality were defined in terms of territorial boundaries. The second article stated that ‘Inventions will not be considered as new if, at the time of filing of the patent, they were well known in the Kingdom or there were already [public] descriptions or designs in [the region of] Greece that could result in their practical application by an expert’.26 As in other patenting nations at that time, the territorial emphasis in the law reflected a governmental industrial policy strategy that wanted to combine the establishment of an attractive setting for foreign inventors and industrialists to invest in Greece with technology transfer from abroad by native inventors and innovators, specifically through imitation. Article four of the law made clear that the government should develop a pragmatic approach and institute a ‘first to file’ patent system that would keep the necessary bureaucracy to a minimum and thus reduce cost to, and investment by, the state.27 STS and law scholar Mario Biagioli argues that the passage from the regime of patents as privileges to that of patents as rights marked the passage from a regime of presentation to a regime of representation. Biagioli views this event as a political transformation from feudalism to liberal capitalist democracies.28 The regime of representation is the regime where the inventor is transformed from an artisan who could prove the validity of his invention to the patron to the inventor–author who has monopoly rights over his innovations. Existing global criteria of originality and creativity were necessary to establish a regime of rights. In the case of Greece, the lack of an examination process and of establishing universal criteria introduced a system of knowledge management that promoted innovation by imitation. The appropriation of a ‘modern’ intellectual property law was determined by the industrial priorities of the state as well as by the professional agenda of the engineering experts who sought social legitimization and a role in an emerging capitalist economy. The lack of an examination process was an issue of concern in industrial and engineering circles.29 It triggered a series of critical and satirical articles in the engineering and industrial journals of the interwar and post-war period. Despite continuous pressure, a stronger intellectual property regime was practically enforced decades later by the World Trade Organization and the European Commission in the mid-1980s.30 A patent system based solely on registration boosted further the importance of technical and quasi-technical journals for the attribution of priority credit to inventors, for promoting a culture of innovation, for securing industrial interests through controlled publication strategies and for setting and legitimizing policy priorities in industry. Mergoupi-Savaidou and Tzokas (articles 5 and 6) show that in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the emerging engineering community strived to achieve political roles in the changing Greek state and to increase the economic, social and cultural capital of Greek engineers and industrial scientists as the key actors for the scientific organization of the economy and the state. Through new professional institutions, new professional publications for the circulation of knowledge and new initiatives for the formal and informal education of the technical world, the science-based industries and the technological infrastructures became endemic in the state-building processes. Concurrently, engineers and industrial scientists sought to be legitimized as technocrats and guardians of the national interests.

INTRODUCTION

7

THE GREEK BRIEF TWENTIETH CENTURY The Asia Minor Disaster of 1922 stopped the expansion of the modern Greek state. It was part of a cluster of wars that included a series of nineteenth-century wars between modern Greece and the Ottoman Empire, the First World War and the Balkan Wars. The exchange of populations between modern Greece and the Turkish state that emerged out of these wars brought to Greece a mass of homogeneous labour force, which played a catalytic role in the acceleration of Greek industrialization during the interwar period.31 The annual industrial production almost doubled between 1921 and 1931. Growth was stronger in agriculture and construction industries, such as chemicals and fertilizers, as well as in textiles.32 Migration contributed to the boosting of the construction and housing industries, thereby ushering in the expansion of the cement industry.33 Chatzikonstantinou and Sakellaridou (article 11) have shown that the construction of the national road network was rhetorically framed as a project that would boost national economy and reinvigorate rural areas by linking them to commercial centres and ports for the trade of their agriculture products. Furthermore, it would facilitate the emergence of tourism and further forge the Greek territory and borders. In the interwar period the visions about the national network were important in order to bring together and create a socio-technical network of politicians, political parties, construction companies and engineers crucial for the implementation of the project. Despite the financial bankruptcy of 1932, interventionist industrial policies by the state were effective enough to further increase the installed horsepower per capita by 100 per cent, while reducing the import of goods from abroad by 65 per cent. The years before the Second World War witnessed an intensification of industrialization and technological change in manufacturing, a trend that had started in the early interwar period.34 The period 1928–1938 saw an increase in industrial production by 68 per cent, the third highest percentage in the world after the stateplanned economies of the USSR (87 per cent) and Japan (73 per cent).35A strong economic nationalism emerged during the dictatorship of Ioannis Metaxas (1936– 1940), as state ideology stressed the importance of the exploitation of Greece’s natural resources. The dictatorship promoted nationalist and fascist ideals to counter the liberal ideals of the preceding interwar years. Science and technology were used as ideologies for the construction of the ‘New State’, which would be characterized by homogeneity, unity, strength, power and discipline.36 Economic and technocratic elites became key actors in the promotion of a technocratic nationalism,37 and in stressing the importance of the exploitation of natural resources, especially minerals, in the building of a strong industrial sector.38 They were linked to Taylorite-type rationalist idealizations that influenced the public discourses, the activities, and the plans of Greek engineers. Their aim was to selffashion the role of expert who would organize on ‘rational’ principles the economic, industrial and bureaucratic life of the modern Greek state.39 Rationalist engineers remained active during the Second World War and the period of Nazi occupation.40 Arapostathis and Karas (article 7) stress that water management solutions and engineering identities were co-produced with the ideology of technocratic nationalism to permeate engineering practices, technological trustworthiness

8

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

and identities. It was within this context that the engineers fashioned the role of the expert who could contribute scientifically in the efficient transformation of both the urban and the natural environment as part of his critical intervention in the establishment of a strong state and an equally strong economy. The Second World War was followed by a civil war that determined Greece’s political and social life for many decades. The country came out of the war having had most of its infrastructures either fully demolished or greatly damaged: 90 per cent of Greece’s large bridges had been razed to the ground and 40 per cent of its smaller ones experienced a similar fate. Practically all of its harbours were destroyed, along with the airports.41 Only 14 per cent of the cars and 35 per cent of the commercial fleet of vans and lorries in Greece survived.42 The 1950s were characterized by ‘reconstruction’ under the auspices of American aid, the recovery of industrial production, and the establishment of large-scale technological infrastructures.43 It was a period when the state followed interventionist policies that prioritized developmental models based on large-scale technological infrastructures, state investment, state subsidies in industries of ‘national importance’ like the electric power industry, fertilizers, agriculture and aluminium.44 This approach reflected discussions and plans that were compiled even during the war by economists and engineers, under initiatives supported by the National Bank of Greece.45 The rhetoric of ‘economic development’ permeated public discourses and interventions by economists and engineers in the 1950s.46 The Marshall Program of American aid for the reconstruction of the country further boosted the materialization of an ideology of economic development based on native natural resources (mostly water and minerals), appropriate development of the mining and processing industries, as well as agriculture industries.47 Despite the vicious conflict and the harsh civil war, both left- and right-wing intellectuals, economists and engineers agreed firstly on the substantial role of the state in economic planning, and secondly, on a developmental plan that would be based on large-scale state infrastructures and the technological exploitation of native resources.48 By the 1950s and 1960s, mass tourism started to become an industry of interest for policymakers and Greek politicians. Papazafeiropoulou, Vattes and Zacharopoulou (article 12) clarify that tourism became a priority along with the quest for industrialization. Due to its importance, Greek governments invested in roadworks and port facilities aiming to transform Greece into a world destination. The national highway was improved and expanded while smaller roads were constructed as a policy to boost regional and local development through tourism. Internal tourism increased through the co-production of tourism and automobility and the gradual and continuous democratization of leisure activities in the upcoming middle classes. The decade prior to 1963 saw an average annual increase of the Greek industrial production by 8 per cent. The average annual increase of Greece’s total GDP was 5.7 per cent for the years between 1952 and 1961.49 Conservative leader Konstantine Karamanlis, prime minister from 1955 to 1963, strongly promoted the state funding of public works in road construction, irrigation and energy infrastructures.50 As shown in the article by Arapostathis and Karas (article 7) on the water management of the Acheloos river, the major intervention in the river was linked to developmental paradigms that had started to emerge since the 1960s, which stressed economies of

INTRODUCTION

9

scale in energy infrastructures and overexploitation of natural commons by promoting the quest of national and regional development. By 1961, negotiations for the initial connection of Greece with the European Economic Community (later the EU ) had started and the course for the country’s European integration had been outlined.51 Economists were talking about a ‘developmental leap’ in the decade before 1973, since economic growth ranged between 5.3 per cent and 10.3 per cent. These growth rates were higher than those in many Western and developed countries, the exceptions being Japan and Spain.52 By the end of the 1974 dictatorship, the GDP in Greece had increased by 64 per cent and industrial production by 25 per cent. Industrialization was especially strong in the industries of construction materials, agro-chemicals and petrochemicals.53 In the article on the Greek nuclear power programme Arapostathis, Kandaraki, Garyfallos and Tympas (see article 8) explain that it was during the dictatorship that the integration of nuclear energy in the energy mix acquired a grandiose and long-term character, with plans for multiple power stations over the next thirty years. The grandiose character of the technology resonated well with conceptions of the state that the regime supported. Furthermore, the symbolic connotations in the context of the Cold War Balkans matched with the Junta’s militaristic ideology. It is not a coincidence that during the seven years of the dictatorship there was a radical increase in the budget of the army and particularly of the Greek Air Force, as Ziakkas shows in article 3. It was after the restoration of the democracy that the plans for a nuclear power plant were endorsed in the planning of the Public Power Company, having the support of leading nuclear physicists and engineers with strong connections to the conservative government of Konstantine Karamanlis. The nuclearity of Greece was legitimized politically – or attempted to be so legitimized – due to the quest for further economic development, energy autarky and security. Economic growth did not erase the civil war divisions. To gain employment, especially in the state sector, one had to have a ‘Certificate of Political Beliefs’ (‘Πιστοποιητικό Kοινωνικών Φρονημάτων’) that proved that the bearer was not a supporter of the left. The communists and those others on the left could not obtain such a certificate. Many from the left were actually deported to concentration camps on remote Aegean islands. This deportation, which took place during and after the civil war, was repeated during the dictatorship. Noticeably, despite the growth, there was high immigration to Europe and to the US , mostly by those on the losing side. Between 1963 and 1965, 100,000 Greeks immigrated every year. By 1969 this figure had fallen to 90,000.54 The dictatorship excelled in the establishment of a phenomenon known as a ‘building lease’ (‘αντιπαροχή’). This had to do with the erection of an apartment building on one’s property by offering the owner a number of apartments to be built. This led to a permanent boom in the construction industry, but practically destroyed the urban landscape of Greece’s cities, which were overtaken by endless blocks of apartment buildings constructed of cement.55 In the context of the civil war, following advice given by American army experts, the rightleaning authorities had moved a critical number of villagers to urban centres so as to cut the communist guerillas from their supply basis. The ‘building lease’ gave another strong impetus to an extreme urbanization – almost 50 per cent of the Greek population now lives in the Athens–Piraeus complex.

10

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

THE PASSAGE TO THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY Economists, economic historians and technology policy analysts have stressed the lack of organized and state-planned industrial policy in Greece even after the restoration of democracy in 1974. In their view, Greece was not flexible enough to adjust to a continuously changing industrial environment, and to balance between short-term aims and long-term developmental targets. They have argued that the lack of strategic guidelines in industrial policy maintained the ad hoc responses of the regime’s actors and determined the socio-technical regimes’ response to transnational, international and global challenges. Industrial policies were shaped by vested interests and established networks of industrial concern and state patronage. They followed pathways that conceptualized ‘development’ as ‘growth’ rather than as ‘structural transformation’. This approach linked relevant policies with the quest of expansion of existing industries by their attachment to public funding and state contracts.56 The state kept reserving the role of the buyer of technologies for its infrastructures, while the role of the supplier was restricted to a small group of industrial concerns and manufacturing companies that had a privileged position in the market due to their trading with the state.57 This trend intensified in the 1980s and the 1990s. It represented a pattern that was not unusual even in other industrialized countries. Yet in the case of Greece it did not become a tool for industrial policy but rather a tool for the establishment of technological industries under capitalist relations supported by state paternalism.58 The industrial sectors of agro-chemicals, metallurgical and construction materials, electrical and electronics, telecommunications systems and devices, as well as the army, were based exclusively on state-funded projects and the ‘modernization’ of state infrastructures.59 The 1980s in particular, were marked by a protectionist policy through the requirement for ‘Greekness’ in the contracts the state signed for infrastructure systems and networks (telecommunications, railways, energy, etc.). This means that it prioritized either native contractors and constructors or large foreign companies with subsidiaries, offices and plants in Greece.60 Furthermore, technology policy analysts have pointed out several drawbacks of the innovation and industrial system of the country in the 1970s and early 1980s. Mostly, the unsystematic character of research and technology policies, the under-budgeted national research and development programmes and the lack of infrastructures and institutions that would have brought the academia closer to the industry. In his study of the armament projects in the Greek Air Force (article 3), Ziakkas stresses that policymaking decisions that neglected appropriate military advice and expertise, due to clientelism, political populism and corruption, resulted in purchases of technologically very advanced aircrafts from foreign companies, with no attention to the appropriation and adjustment of these technologies. The localization in the priorities, practices and context should have been achieved by investing in R&D activities by native experts and in experiences by the main users. The lack of such processes resulted in the underperformance of the technologies. In the 1980s there was an increasing concern and public debates about the technological dependency of the country as a harmful phenomenon for the national economy and industry.61 Yet a study of software computing in Greece has pointed to

INTRODUCTION

11

the importance of the localization of technologies in building local expertise, industry capabilities and technologies prone to local context of usages, as a necessary stage for the development of a technological sector.62 Lekkas (article 9) retrieves the importance of hackers, enthusiasts, amateurs and the institutions they had established, including computer technology magazines, to promote home computing and to contribute to the development of the local software industry in the very early stage, when no formal technical education existed, nor a strong industrial and market industry. The technological magazines that started, predominantly by enthusiasts, created the public space of the intellectual commons of the infant software industry by securing the circulation of knowledge, of software programs and of the credit to the users who contributed in software programming, and through this practice adapted the technology to the local needs and context of use. Sociologists of innovation and technology policy scholars have argued that biotechnology is a characteristic example of an industrial sector distanced from the academic community and scientific networks. The Greek state took initiatives to establish a state-owned company to link academic research results to industrial interests and concerns. In 1992 the company ceased to exist since its role and function remained unclear due to the reluctance and ambivalence of the private sector to get involved in research and entrepreneurial activities in biotechnology.63 Vlantoni, Kandaraki and Pavli (see article 4) point out one more pitfall in the Greek innovation policies by arguing that medical and biomedical technologies were transferred to the public health system in a fragmented way and without any serious concern and study of the needs of the healthcare system. Since the early 1990s, innovation policy has started to prioritize European funding schemes rather than state initiatives and strategies.64 While European funding shaped the research and development activities of the biotechnology sector, the mass media played a critical role in the social legitimization and de-legitimization of specific technologies in the biotechnological sector in Greece. For example, the framing of genetically modified organisms as dangerous and risky contributed in the change of the initially favourable intentions that the Greek governments had in the 1990s.65 This framing assisted the social and political legitimization of the activities of NGO s like Greenpeace, as well as farming communities, against the experimental agriculture stations owned by private companies like Monsanto and Zeneca, which had applied to the government to introduce and use genetically modified seeds in Greece.66 The article by Arapostathis and Karas and the one by Arapostathis, Kandaraki, Garyfallos and Tympas (articles 7 and 8) corroborate the view that in the post-1974 period the role of the press was crucial in legitimizing technology policies and innovations.67 In the early years of the twenty-first century, the press directed and shaped public policies regarding biotechnology. By framing the new molecular diagnostic tests in transfusion medicine and medical biotechnology as technologically necessary, while at the same time downplaying comparisons of cost and effectiveness as well as the possibility of alternative tests and different priorities in public health, the press legitimized policies favourable to the integration of the tests in the medical practice.68 To summarize we can argue that if the Greek long nineteenth and short twentieth centuries were defined by the state’s pursuit of expansion and modernization

12

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

respectively, technology was indispensable to both. And so it has been in the four decades that separate the present from the end of the dictatorship, a period shaped by the earlier euphorias and recent turbulences regarding Greece’s integration to the EU . This volume is designed so as to introduce to the international community of historians of technology a body of recent research on the history of technology in modern Greece, a nation-state that made it to the headlines of the world newspapers in the last two centuries only in connection to uniquely dramatic political events. Along the same direction, the main argument of the volume is that the history of technology promises to add substantially to a more general historical understanding even in the case of national histories that are overwhelmed by political history. Working on the history of technology in and about Greece can certainly count on a set of pioneering studies on the economic history of Greece and the history of industrialization in Greece. This introduction, just like all the articles of this volume, sought to maximize the benefits from the availability of these studies. At the same time, a central concern of the editors and the authors of this volume was to take advantage of the remarkable international growth of the history of technology as a distinct discipline in the recent decades. This is most clearly reflected in the historiographical choices to present both technological successes and failures, to invite attention to processes of technological change that were not defined by some glorious invention but by cautious (or short-sighted) private and/or public policies regarding the purchase of technology, adaptation to geography and purpose, localization through specification and reconfiguration in social use. We hope that it makes it all the more inviting that these processes, which we now know how important they are to technology and therefore to society, are in this volume described in reference to a country where the hegemony of the evolutionist ideology that matches with the hegemony of technological determinism was not simply promising a bright future, to arrive at it automatically through technological progress: in a modern state that was founded on (and expanded through) the prevalence of the assumption of an essentialist continuity with a deep past, technology was presented as a promise for a bright future that would match a bright past.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We wish to express our gratitude to the editor of History of Technology, Ian Inkster, for being supportive during the preparation of the volume. We are thankful to Prof. Robert Fox and Prof. Graeme Gooday for providing comments, suggestions and directions for the organization of the volume during a workshop that was organized in the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens in March 2015 by Stathis Arapostathis and Aristotle Tympas. Together with Ian Inkster, they served as reviewers for all the papers in this workshop, which were subsequently developed into the articles in this volume. We also thank the rest of the reviewers of this workshop, and especially our colleagues in the Department of History and Philosophy of Science in the University of Athens: Kostas Gavroglu, Jean Christianidis, Theodore Arabatzis and Manolis Patiniotis. We are grateful to all anonymous referees of all the articles who provided invaluable critical comments, suggestions and requested changes to the articles that improved their quality. Also,

INTRODUCTION

13

we are grateful to people in the publishing house and the journal History of Technology: Emma Goοde, Claire Lipscomb and Beatriz Lopez. Finally, we want to thank the authors of this volume for their determination and the positive response to suggestions by the anonymous referees. The volume is dedicated to Faidra Papanelopoulou, our beloved department colleague and uniquely promising historian of science and technology who passed away during its preparation.

NOTES 1. Βασίλης Κρεμμυδάς, Σύντομη Ιστορία του Ελληνικού Κράτους (Αθήνα, 2012); Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ (ed.), Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ού αιώνα: 1900–1922, Οι Απαρχές (Αθήνα, 1999); Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου αιώνα: 1922–1940, Ο Μεσοπόλεμος (Αθήνα, 2002); Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου αιώνα: Β’ Παγκόσμιος Πόλεμος, Κατοχή, Αντίσταση 1940–1953 (Αθήνα, 2007); Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου αιώνα: Ανασυγκρότηση, Εμφύλιος, Παλινόρθωση 1945–1952 (Αθήνα, 2009). 2. See Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, ‘Βιομηχανία’, in Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ (ed.), Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ού αιώνα: 1900–1922, Οι Απαρχές, v. A1 (Αθήνα, 1999), 173–221; Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, ‘Οι μηχανικοί και η βιομηχανία’, in Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ (ed.), Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ού αιώνα: 1922–1940, Ο Μεσοπόλεμος, v. B1 (Αθήνα, 2002), 269–293; Αλέκα Καραδήμου-Γερόλυμπου, ‘Πόλεις και Ύπαιθρος’, idem, 59–105; Χρήστος Λούκος, ‘Μικρές και Μεγάλες Πόλεις’, idem, 134–155. 3. Aristotle Tympas, ‘What have we been since “We have never been modern”? A Macro-historical Periodization Based on Historiographical Considerations on the History of Technology in Ancient and Modern Greece’, Icon, 2002, 8: 76–106; Kostas Gavroglu, Manolis Patiniotis, Faidra Papanelopoulou, Ana Simões, Ana Carneiro, Maria Paula Diogo, José Ramón Bertomeu Sánchez and Agustí NietoGalan, ‘Science and Technology in the European Periphery: Some Historiographical Reflections’, History of Science, 2008, xlvi: 154–175. 4. Αγριαντώνη, ‘Βιομηχανία’, 173–221; Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, Οι Απαρχές της Εκβιομηχάνισης στην Ελλάδα τον 19ο αιώνα (Αθήνα, 2010). 5. Tensions of Europe: Technologies and the Making of Europe (http://www. tensionsofeurope.eu/). 6. STEP: An International Research Group on History of Science, Medicine and Technology (http://147.156.155.104/). 7. Γ.Β. Δερτιλής, Ιστορία του Ελληνικού Κράτους, 1830–1920, v.1 (Αθήνα, 2005), 599–601; Αγριαντώνη, Οι Απαρχές της Εκβιομηχάνισης; Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ, Η Γηραιά Σελήνη: Η βιομηχανία στην Ελλάδα 1830–1940 (Αθήνα, 1993). 8. Artemis Yagou, Fragile Innovation: Episodes in Greek Design History (Athens, 2010), 11–12. 9. Traian Stoianovich and Όλγα Κατσιαρδή-Hering, ‘Interior and Exterior Trade: Centres, Networks, Sources’, in Ελληνική Οικονομική Ιστορία, Σπύρος Ασδραχάς (ed.) (Αθήνα, 2003), 424–481.

14

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

10. Yagou, Fragile Innovation, 11–12. 11. Yagou, Fragile Innovation, 11–12; Αγριαντώνη, ‘Βιομηχανία’; Αγριαντώνη, Οι Απαρχές της Εκβιομηχάνισης. 12. Κώστας Κωστής, ‘Τα κακομαθημένα παιδιά της Ιστορίας’: Η Διαμόρφωση του Νεοελληνικού Κράτους 18ος – 21ος αιώνας (Πόλις, 2013), 251–253, 334–336. 13. Γεωργία Μαυρογόνατου, Η Υδροδότηση της Αθήνας, Από τα δίκτυα στο δίκτυο: 1880–1930, Unpublished PhD Thesis, University of Athens. Athens, 2009, 149–151; Konstantinos Chatzis, ‘Des Ingenieurs militaries au service des civils: les officiers du Genie en Grece au XIXe siecle’, in K. Chatzis and E. Nicolaidis (eds), Science, Technology and the 19th Century State: The Role of the Army, National Hellenic Research Foundation, Athens, 2003, 69–90, esp. 70–77; Fotini Asimakopoulou, Konstantinos Chatzis, Georgia Mavrogonatou, ‘Implanter les “Ponts et Chaussées” européens en Grèce: le rôle des ingénieurs du corps du Génie, 1830–1880’, Quaderns d’ Història de l’Enginyeria, 2009, 10: 331–350; Γιάννης Αντωνίου, Οι Έλληνες μηχανικοί, Θεσμοί και Ιδέες 1900–1940 (Αθήνα, 2006), 150–151. 14. Αγριαντώνη, ‘Βιομηχανία’; Λήδα Παπαστεφανάκη, Εργασία, Τεχνολογία και Φύλο στην Ελληνική Βιομηχανία: Η Κλωστουφαντουργία του Πειραιά, 1870–1940 (Κρήτη, 2009). 15. Αγριαντώνη, Οι Απαρχές της Εκβιομηχάνισης; Αγριαντώνη, ‘Βιομηχανία’. 16. Δερτιλής, Ιστορία του Ελληνικού Κράτους, 600–601. 17. Δερτιλής, Ιστορία του Ελληνικού Κράτους, 600. 18. Δερτιλής, Ιστορία του Ελληνικού Κράτους, 600; Ελπίδα Βόγλη, ‘Η εκμετάλλευση του ορυκτού πλούτου ή «ο περί μεταλλείων πόλεμος», πολιτικά σκάνδαλα και τεχνολογικές ανεπάρκειες κατά την οργάνωση της ελληνικής μεταλλευτικής βιομηχανίας’, in Στάθης Αραποστάθης, Φαίδρα Παπανελοπούλου, Τέλης Τύμπας (eds), Τεχνολογία και Κοινωνία στην Ελλάδα (Αθήνα, 2015), 103–122. 19. Κωστής, ‘Τα κακομαθημένα παιδιά της ιστορίας’, 518–521. 20. Λυντία Τρίχα, Ο Χαρίλαος πίσω από τον Τρικούπη (Αθήνα, 2014), 110–112; Λυντία Τρίχα, Ο Χαρίλαος Τρικούπης και τα Δημόσια Έργα (Αθήνα, 2001); For roads built under the Trikoupis government see Mαρία Συναρέλλη, Δρόμοι και λιμάνια στην Ελλάδα 1830–1880 (Αθήνα, 1989), 98–99. For the railroads see Λευτέρης Παπαγιαννάκης, Οι ελληνικοί σιδηρόδρομοι (1882–1910): Γεωπολιτικές, οικονομικές και κοινωνικές διαστάσεις (Αθήνα, 1982), 204–205. 21. Τρίχα, Ο Χαρίλαος πίσω από τον Τρικούπη, 112. 22. Άννα Μαχαιρά, ‘H αποστολή του σώματος των Ponts et Chaussees στην Ελλάδα το 1880 ανάμεσα στις γαλλικές στρατηγικές επιλογές και την ελληνική πολιτική δημοσίων έργων’, in Αραποστάθης et al., Τεχνολογία και Κοινωνία, 81–102. 23. Μαχαιρά, ‘H αποστολή του σώματος των Ponts et Chaussees’; Μαυρογόνατου, Η Υδροδότηση της Αθήνας. 24. Αντωνίου, Οι Έλληνες μηχανικοί; Δ. Σωτηρόπουλος και Δ. Παναγιωτόπουλος, ‘ “Ειδικοί” διανοούμενοι και θύλακες χειραφέτησης στο Μεσοπόλεμο. Μεταρρυθμιστές γεωπόνοι και μηχανικοί στην ύπαιθρο και το άστυ’, Μνήμων, 2008, 29: 121–150.

INTRODUCTION

15

25. Stathis Arapostathis, ‘Industrial “Property”, Law and the Politics of Invention in Greece, 1900–1940’, in Graeme Gooday and Steven Wilf (eds), Patent Diversity (forthcoming). 26. Quoted in Themidos Code (Κώδηξ Θέμιδος), 1920; Arapostathis, ‘Industrial “Property”, Law and the Politics of Invention in Greece, 1900–1940’ (forthcoming). 27. Arapostathis, ‘Industrial “Property”, Law and the Politics of Invention’. 28. Mario Biagioli, ‘Patent Republic: Representing Inventions, Constructing Patent Rights and Authors’, Social Research, 2006, 73(4): 1129–1172; M. Biagioli, ‘Patent Specification and Political Representation: How Patents Became Rights’, in M. Biagioli, P. Jaczi, M. Woodmansee (eds), Making and Unmaking Intellectual Property (Chicago, 2011), 25–39. 29. Stathis Arapostathis, ‘Intellectual Property Law and Politics in Twentieth-century Greece’, in M. Bottis, E. Alexandropoulou and I. Iglezakis (eds), Lifting Barriers to Empower the Future of Information Law and Ethics, Proceedings of the 6th International Conference of Information Law and Ethics (University of Macedonia Press: Thessaloniki 2015), 422–430. 30. Stathis Arapostathis, ‘Intellectual Property Law and Politics in Twentieth-century Greece’. 31. Δερτιλής, Ιστορία του Ελληνικού Κράτους, 603–605; Γιάννης Μηλιός, ‘Η Ελληνική Οικονομία κατά τον 20ο αιώνα’, in Αντώνης Μωυσίδης και Σπύρος Σακελλαρόπουλος (eds), Η Ελλάδα στον 19ο& 20ο αιώνα (Athens, 2010), 272–273. 32. Ελένη Μαΐστρου, Δήμητρα Μαυροκορδάτου, Γιώργος Μαχαίρας, Νίκος Μπελαβίλας, Λήδα Παπαστεφανάκη, Γιάννης Πολύζος, Ανώνυμη Ελληνική Εταιρεία Χημικών Προϊόντων και Λιπασμάτων (1909–1993), Λιπάσματα Δραπετσώνας (Αθήνα, 2007); Δερτιλής, Ιστορία του Ελληνικού Κράτους, 605; Dertilis has pointed out similar responses to the industrial and economic regime in Greece during the 1990s when the immigration flows from the Balkans were examined. 33. Κρεμμυδάς, Σύντομη Ιστορία του Ελληνικού Κράτους, 115–116; Χατζηιωσήφ, Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ού αιώνα, Τόμος Β1; Νέλη Καψή (ed.), Οι ελληνικές επιχειρήσεις από τον 20ο στον 21ο αιώνα (Αθήνα, 2008), 100. 34. Mark Mazower, Greece and the Interwar Economic Crisis (Oxford: Oxford Clarendon Press, 1991). 35. Μηλιός, ‘Η Ελληνική οικονομία’, 274–275. 36. Βασίλης Μπογιατζής, Μετέωρος Μοντερνισμός: Τεχνολογία, Ιδεολογία της Επιστήμης και Πολιτική στην Ελλάδα του Μεσοπολέμου (Αθήνα, 2012), 244–245. 37. Αντωνίου, Οι Έλληνες μηχανικοί. 38. Lida Papastefanaki, ‘Greece has been endowed by Nature with this Precious Material: The Economic History of Bauxite in the European Periphery, 1920s–70s’, in R.S. Gendron, Mats Ingulstad and Espen Starli (eds), Aluminum Ore: The Political Economy of the Global Bauxite Industry (Vancouver, 2013), 158–184. 39. Aγριαντώνη, ‘Οι μηχανικοί και η βιομηχανία’, 268–293; Γιάννης Αντωνίου, ‘Η εφαρμογή του συστήματος Taylor στην ανοικοδόμηση της Κορίνθου (1928) και οι ιδέες της

16

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

rationalization στον ελληνικό Μεσοπόλεμο’, in Βίλμα Χατσάογλου, Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, Σωκράτης Αναγνώστου, Αίγλη Δημόγλου, Αργυρούλα Δουλγέρη, Βασίλης Κολώνας, Εμμανουήλη Μαρμαράς, Ηλίας Μπεριάτος, Άγγελος Σιόλας (επιμ.), Πόλεις της Μεσογείου μετά από σεισμούς (Bόλος, 2007), 60–69; Aristotle Tympas and Irene Anastasiadou, ‘Constructing Balkan Europe: The Modern Greek Pursuit of an “Iron Egnatia” ’, in Erik van der Vleuten and Arne Kaijser (eds), Networking Europe: Transnational Infrastructures and the Shaping of Europe (Sagamore Beach, MA , 2006), 25–49. 40. Τέλης Τύμπας, Κατερίνα Βλαντώνη, Γιάννης Γαρύφαλλος, ‘Τα εθνικά σύνορα ως ηλεκτρικά όρια: Το βλέμμα του μηχανικού και οι λίμνες της Δασσαρητίας ή Πρέσπες “αλά Jules Verne” ’, Τοπικά (forthcoming). 41. Κωστής, ‘Τα κακομαθημένα παιδιά της Ιστορίας’, 712–714. 42. Κωστής, ‘Τα κακομαθημένα παιδιά της Ιστορίας’, 713. 43. Γιώργος Σταθάκης, Το δόγμα Τρούμαν και το σχέδιο Μάρσαλ. Η ιστορία της αμερικανικής βοήθειας στην Ελλάδα, (Athens, 2004); Mηλιός, ‘Η Ελληνική οικονομία’, 276–277. 44. Στάθης Τσοτσορός, Ενέργεια και Ανάπτυξη στην Μεταπολεμική Περίοδο, Η Δημόσια Επιχείρηση Ηλεκτρισμού (Αθήνα, 1995); Νίκος Παντελάκης, Ο Εξηλεκτρισμός της Ελλάδας: Από την ιδιωτική πρωτοβουλία στο κρατικό μονοπώλιο (1889–1956) (Αθήνα, 1991); Κώστας Κωστής, Κράτος και Επιχειρήσεις στην Ελλάδα: Η Ιστορία του ‘Αλουμινίου της Ελλάδος’ (Athens, 2013), 25, 42–43. 45. Κωστής, Κράτος και Επιχειρήσεις, 43; A. Kakridis, ‘The Quest for Development. Economics and Economists in Post-War Greece (1944–1967)’, PhD Thesis, Athens, 2009. 46. Kakridis, ‘The Quest for Development’, 6. 47. Κωστής, Κράτος και Επιχειρήσεις, 44. 48. Aristotelis Tympas, Stathis Arapostathis, Katerina Vlantoni and Yannis Garyfallos, ‘Border-Crossing Electrons: Critical Energy Flows to and from Greece’, in Per Hogselius, Anique Hommels, Arne Kaijser and Erik van der Vleuten (eds), The Making of Europe’s Critical Infrastructures (Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 157–183. 49. Μηλιός, ‘Η Ελληνική οικονομία’, 277–278. 50. Γιώργος Πενέλης, ‘Τα δημόσια έργα ως μοχλός ανάπτυξης κατά την διακυβέρνηση του Κ. Καραμανλή’, in Konstantinos Karamanlis in the Twentieth Century. III, Konstantinos Svolopoulos, Konstantina Botsiou, Evanthis Hatzivassiliou (eds) (Athens, 2008), 50–56. 51. Κωστής, Κράτος και Επιχειρήσεις, 53. 52. Μηλιός, ‘Η Ελληνική οικονομία’, 280. 53. Κωστής, Κράτος και Επιχειρήσεις, 49. 54. Σωτήρης Βαλντέν, Παράταιροι Εταίροι: Ελληνική Δικτατορία, Κομμουνιστικά Καθεστώτα και Βαλκάνια 1967–1974 (Αθήνα, 2009), 48–49. 55. Βαλντέν, Παράταιροι Εταίροι, 48–49. 56. Τάσος Γιαννίτσης, ‘Η επιταγή μιας βιομηχανικής πολιτικής’, in Τάσος Γιαννίτσης (ed.), Βιομηχανική και Τεχνολογική Πολιτική στην Ελλάδα (Αθήνα, 1993), 24–25, 28–29.

INTRODUCTION

17

57. Γιάννης Καλογήρου, ‘Κρατικές Αγορές, Βιομηχανικές Δομές και Κρατικές Πολιτικές στον Ελληνικό Χώρο’, in Τάσος Γιαννίτσης (ed.) Βιομηχανική και Τεχνολογική Πολιτική στην Ελλάδα, 110. 58. Καλογήρου, ‘Κρατικές Αγορές’, 110–111. 59. Καλογήρου, ‘Κρατικές Αγορές’, 110–111. 60. Καλογήρου, ‘Κρατικές Αγορές’, 110–111. 61. Stathis Arapostathis, ‘Academic Entrepreneurship, Innovation Policies and Politics in Greece’, Industry and Higher Education, 2010, 24(3), 165–176; Δ. Δενιόζος, ‘Τεχνολογική Πολιτική’, in Γιαννίτσης (ed.), Βιομηχανική και Τεχνολογική Πολιτική στην Ελλάδα, 209–261. 62. Aristotle Tympas, Fotini Tsaglioti, Theodore Lekkas, ‘Universal Machines vs. National Languages: Computerization as Production of New Localities’ in Reiner Anderl, Bruno Arich-Gerz and Rudi Schmiede (eds), Proceedings of Technologies of Globalization (Darmstadt, 2008). 63. Στέλλα Ζαμπαρλούκου, Κοινωνικο-οικονομικές Διαστάσεις της Τεχνολογίας: Η ανάπτυξη της βιοτεχνολογίας της Ελλάδα (Αθήνα, 2004), 77–79. 64. Ζαμπαρλούκου, Κοινωνικο-οικονομικές Διαστάσεις της Τεχνολογίας, 79–86. 65. Ζαμπαρλούκου, Κοινωνικο-οικονομικές Διαστάσεις της Τεχνολογίας, 117–120. 66. Ζαμπαρλούκου, Κοινωνικο-οικονομικές Διαστάσεις της Τεχνολογίας, 121. 67. Maria Kousis, ‘Sustaining Local Environmental Mobilisations: Groups, Actions and Claims in Southern Europe’ in Chistopher Rootes (ed.), Environmental Movements: Local, National and Global (London, 1999), 172–198. 68. Κατερίνα Βλαντώνη και Κώστας Μορφάκης, ‘Η δημόσια εικόνα της βιοϊατρικής τεχνολογίας: η περίπτωση των τεχνολογιών ελέγχου του αίματος στην ιατρική των μεταγγίσεων στον ελληνικό τύπο’, in Αραποστάθης et al. (eds), Τεχνολογία και Κοινωνία, 259–281.

18

PART ONE

Technologies, Industries and Policies

19

20

From Parallel Growth to Great Divergence: Greek Shipbuilding from the Late Eighteenth to Early Twentieth Centuries APOSTOLOS DELIS

Wooden shipbuilding is one of the most ancient crafts practised in the Aegean and Ionian Sea. Yet, documentation about the subject is sparse and inconsistent. Therefore, it is hard to reconstruct its evolutionary stages so as to have a clear picture of which area developed first, who initially developed this or that technical feature, who transferred to whom the know-how in ship construction and so on. The creation of a comprehensive picture of the evolution of wooden shipbuilding of the Mediterranean in the modern period requires a very systematic and comparative study, which has to be undertaken. A study of this kind is a difficult venture given the range of languages involved in primary and secondary sources on this subject. It also requires knowledge of the history of North European, Arab and Indian maritime and shipbuilding technologies, for it is inconceivable to understand the evolution of Mediterranean shipbuilding without considering the continuous interaction between these areas and the Mediterranean at least since the late Middle Ages. The study of the evolution of shipbuilding by the Greeks in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries can then be considered as only part of the wider study of Mediterranean shipbuilding and its interactions with shipbuilding in other areas. The history covered in this article is divided into two broad periods: the first starts in the second half of the eighteenth century and lasts up to the outbreak of the Greek War of Independence (1821–1829); and the second from the creation of the Greek nation state (1830) to the early twentieth century. Defining areas and people as ‘Greek’ is a tricky matter when it comes to the period before 1830, as it encompasses people and societies living under different political, institutional, cultural and socioeconomic frameworks (e.g. Ottoman, Venetian), therefore forming identities that 21

22

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

differed from those called ‘Greek’ after the formation of the modern Greek state. It is perhaps more appropriate, though not easy, to define them according to their connection to a specific sea region (Ionian, Aegean) or maritime community (Cephalonia, Hydra). In both periods, a key factor in the explanation of the evolution of shipbuilding is the growth of the merchant fleet of the Greeks, whether as Venetian, Ottoman or Greek national state subjects. This growth was first experienced in the second half of the eighteenth century and especially after the French Revolution. It was also connected to the specialization of the Greeks in the transport of tramp cargoes, mainly cereals, to Mediterranean ports and, to a lesser extent, to Northern Europe and the Americas. The specialization of the Greeks on tramp shipping persists until the present day. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries it influenced the course of shipbuilding production, which was strongly dependent on the demand and the freight rates of cereals and other tramp cargoes carried in Greek-owned hulls.1 In turn, shipyards throughout this period, in Ottoman or in Greek national context, played a crucial role in the making of the merchant fleet of the Greeks, as a technically reliable and economically cost-effective system of supply of ships.

SHIPBUILDING BEFORE GREEK INDEPENDENCE One main problem in the discussion of shipbuilding activity before 1830 is the detection of the shipyards themselves in the Ionian and Aegean areas and in adjoined areas where Greeks were involved in shipping, like the Black Sea. In fact, primary and secondary sources related to pre-1821 shipping, often referred to many areas that had developed shipbuilding. Messolonghi in the Gulf of Patras, Hydra, Spetses, Chios and Sinope are only a few of the many encountered in the Aegean and the Black Sea, but the picture they offer is far from exhaustive. An attempt to enumerate the pre-1821 shipyards counts forty-five locations in the Ionian, Aegean and the Sea of Marmara, but it is very probable that every continental or insular coast or harbour could serve as a place to build a ship, with very few, if any, traces left behind.2 Furthermore, at present, not only is knowledge of the location of shipyards incomplete, but also data about the output, the organization of production, sources of capital, labour force and the applied techniques are either extremely exiguous or even totally absent. Therefore the analysis for the pre-1821 shipbuilding activity will be based on the few and scattered sources of information about ship construction in the Ionian and Aegean Seas and will focus on the products of shipyards, the ships themselves and more specifically on ship types. In fact, the iconographical evidence on ships combined with data from a recent research project about Greek-owned shipping,3 may offer a quite clear view of the evolution of ship types in use among Greek shipowners. This analytical tool can be instrumental in delineating the stages of evolution of shipbuilding activity and the maritime enterprises of the Greeks in the above-mentioned period. For the post-1830 period, the founding of the Greek nation state, which gathered much of the shipbuilding activity within its boundaries, and the existence of more systematic records for bureaucratic needs facilitates research on shipbuilding industry. However, even in this case, data resulting from the authorities and institutions of the Greek state must be compared or completed with data from areas outside its

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

23

boundaries, where a thriving seafaring Greek population lived (such as Chios in the Ottoman Empire), or Black Sea and Mediterranean ports, where a Greek diaspora was settled and developed mercantile and maritime business. Western (Ottoman) Greece and the Ionian Islands were the first areas that developed shipping and shipbuilding to a considerable extent. Messolonghi and Cephalonia became the two major centres of the area and saw the merger of human and capital resources. Especially the transfer of many Cephalonian craftsmen to Messolonghi considerably helped the production of ships in that latter port. According to a 1762 source, Messolonghi owned a fleet of seventy-five vessels of which forty-nine were home-built. From them three were built in the adjacent Aitoliko, three in Kounoupeli (probably the opposite north-western coast of the Peloponnese where today the Strofilia protected forest is situated), one in Prevesa, one on the Alfeios river and one in an unknown location. Furthermore thirteen were built abroad in Livorno (9), Trieste (2), Fiume (1) and North Africa (1).4 The ship types used by Greek shipowners of these areas were typical Mediterranean crafts, like tartana, martingana, pinco and polacca, which were widespread in the western Mediterranean, Adriatic types like checchia and fregata, the southern Italian feluca and oared vessels like sambecchino (small chebec) and londra. Iconographic evidence for these types relating to the Ionian Sea and western Greece is extremely scarce. However, the main features of these ship types used by Greek seafarers can be seen in iconography depicting Adriatic or western Mediterranean vessels. In their original outfit, all these vessels, except the checchia, were lateen rigged, as this was then the main rigging fashion for most Mediterranean vessels. However, progressively in the second half of the eighteenth century, many of them turned to square riggers, influenced by Northern maritime technology, especially as far as ships engaged on long distant routes were concerned.5 Among them the largest ship type was the polacca of 130 tons on average (see Table 1). The capacity of polaccas at Sorrento, in the Gulf of Naples, in the eighteenth century was between 120 and 240 tons and French polacres trading in the eastern Mediterranean in 1788 varied between 120 and 200 tons.6 Pinque, which were largely used by Messolonghi captains, followed with an average tonnage of 83 tons. However, French pinques reaching the port of Malta in 1724–1763 were estimated around 66 tons and some approximate figures of French pinques in the eighteenth century raise its average tonnage up to 100–150 tons.7 The fregatas or frégadon and checchias were the next largest ship types. Tartana and martingana belong to a medium-small size of vessels, even though sources are scarce about the tonnage of tartanas. Western Mediterranean tartanas (tartane de negoce) are estimated between 75 and 130 tons in the late seventeenth century, their average tonnage was 80 tons about 1700, whereas tartanes from Procida (Gulf of Naples) were reaching 120 tons in 1784 and two French tartanes voyaging in Guadeloupe and French Guiana from Bordeaux in the years 1766–1768 were of 130 tons.8 Therefore, tartanas’ tonnage must have varied considerably as there were examples with one, two and three masts. French martinganas in Malta in the period 1724–1763 were estimated about 40 tons, but in Procida they built large, square-rigged martinganas of 200–240 tons, able to carry the West Indies and Atlantic trade.9 The smaller types must have been felucca, sambecchino and londra, but we lack evidence about their tonnage.

24

TABLE 1: Productivity data per ship type Ship Type

Average Tonnage

Minimum–Maximum Tonnage

Average Crew Size

Average Crew Size from Ships Arriving in the Port of Marseille

Polacca (πολάκα) Pinque (πίγκος) Fregata (φρεγάτα) Checchia Tartana (ταρτάνα)

129.39 (1762) 82.68 (1762) 71.86 (1762) 67*, 155* (1781) 23.85* (1772, 1802), 14.31* (1796)

95.40–166.95 (1762)

14 (1760–1779) 14.06 (1760–1779) 13 (1728–95) 11 (1735–1779) 12 (1760s)

12 (1760–1779) 12 (1760–1779)

Martingana (μαρτιγάνα or μαρτίγος) Feluca (φελούκα) Sambecchino (σεμπέκι)

48.3 (1762)

31–66.78 (1762–1770)

Londra (λόντρα)

59.62–85.86 (1762)

9 (1770s) 11.38 (1741–1779) 10.5 20.75 (1724–1749), 13.67 (1760–1789) 12 (1730–1781)

9 (1750–1796) 7.5 (1740–1779)

10 (French martinganas at Malta, 1740s) 9.61 (1715–1837) 13–14 (1747–1798)

Source: Processed data (a) from Database Amphitrete, ‘Pythagoras’ I, Research Programme, 2004–2007, financed from the European Union and the Greek Ministry of Education, Department of History, Ionian University, The Greek Shipping, 1700–1821; (b) ANR Navigocorpus, Corpus des itinéraires des navires de commerce, XVII e-XIXe s. (2007–2011); (c) Xavier Labat Saint Vincent, Malte, une escale du commerce français en Méditerranée au XVIII siècle, Presses Universitaires de Paris Sorbonne, Paris (forthcoming), 372. An asterisk (*) is placed against figures referring to only one example.

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

25

The two fundamental methods of wooden ship construction in the Ionian and Aegean Seas as well as in the entire Mediterranean world in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were the skeleton-first and carvel techniques.10 Skeleton-first is referring to a method of building the hull of a vessel, where the frames are inserted first, thus defining the shape of the hull, after which follows the planking. This method replaced the older one of shell-first, applied in the Graeco-Roman world as well as among the Vikings, where the hull was built first, by joining the strakes with mortises and tenons, whereas the frames were inserted afterwards, thus taking a ‘passive’ role in the shaping of the hull.11 The earlier proof for the usage of the skeleton-first method comes from an eleventh-century shipwreck, while there are indications for its use in the early Byzantine period if not before.12 Carvel is the method of building the planking, in use from antiquity to the present in the Mediterranean. Contrary to the clinker-built vessels of overlapping strakes, carvel consists of attaching the planks edge to edge creating thus a smooth surface. The clinker technique was outstripped by carvel in the construction of the large sailing ships at least since the beginning of the seventeenth century.13 More is known about shipbuilding methods used in Aegean shipyards. Up to 1790 ships were built according to the empirical method of single mould, which consisted of using a single frame as a model to design the rest of the floors and frames of the hull, without the use of any design or ship plan, the same being followed also for small boats. They first laid the keel, after which they attached to that the stempost and sternpost or the transom stern and finally the master frame amidships, according to which the rest of the floors and frames were shaped. This method was employed for coasters and larger vessels alike. In the 1790s in Spetses, larger vessels, brigs and three-masted ships, continued to be built according to the above method, and although of larger capacity and faster than the previous ones, they were still lacking a strong hull. In fact their floors were made of a single piece, not doubled, loosely fastened, the frames sparsely arranged and the planking disproportionate to the hull using whatever timber was available, whereas the riveting was imperfect. At approximately the same period in Psara large ships were also built according to the same empirical method. In fact, these ships faced problems of sluggishness and seaworthiness as their dimensions were much larger than their length of keel.14 Specific innovation in shipbuilding methods in the Aegean shipyards must have arrived sometime in the last two decades of the eighteenth century. In Hydra it is not known exactly when the use of a shipbuilding plan (sala/σάλα) was introduced. However, many of the island’s shipbuilders were often called by the Porte to build large war vessels in the Ottoman Imperial shipyards in Constantinople and elsewhere, which implies that they had already acquired this essential knowledge. Hydra shipbuilders must also have introduced improvements in ship construction by the use of the shipbuilding plan in nearby Spetses. It is reported that disputes arose between the Spetses and Hydra communities, when both exercised pressure on the Ottoman authorities, and mainly to the Kapudan Pasha, in order to ensure that Hydra’s shipwrights would work on the construction of their own ships and not of their neighbouring rivals. Thus, Spetses ships began to be built with a stronger hull towards the very beginning of the nineteenth century.15 In Psara the use of a shipbuilding plan was introduced towards the end of the eighteenth century by

26

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

a shipbuilder from Chios, Stamatis Koufoudakis, after he had also worked in the Ottoman Imperial Arsenal in Constantinople. Further to the introduction of the use of a shipbuilding plan, he also regulated the ship’s measurements to be commensurate, the maximum breadth and depth proportionate to the length of the keel, the size of structural parts of the hull according to the ship’s size and the introduction of drags for safer launching of the ships. The shipbuilders of Chios, as with those from Hydra, enjoyed a great reputation, and the Chios shipyards were an old institution insomuch as already from the fifteenth century the Porte regularly demanded craftsmen from Chios to be sent to work for its building programmes in the Imperial Arsenals.16 However, innovation came also through technology transfer from the contacts developed with Adriatic and western Mediterranean ports more systematically after 1790. We have seen already that thirteen out of the seventy-five ships of the Messolonghi fleet in 1762 were built in Livorno, the Adriatic and North Africa, mostly the largest ships, due to a lack of technical knowledge by local shipbuilders and perhaps to economic factors as well. The strategy to build or purchase ships abroad started in the last two decades of the eighteenth century. Another way Greeks managed to improve their design by transferring know-how was through the continuous voyages to Mediterranean ports, in which shipbuilders often travelled in order to ‘borrow’ ideas and techniques from foreign ships. The first shipowner from Hydra who built a ship abroad was Kyriakos Bruskos, a brig in Fiume in 1787, in which he sailed the following year to Spain, Gibraltar and the African coast. Similarly, at the very end of the eighteenth century, Kosmas Ghinis from Spetses was the first among his compatriots to build a polacca in Naples. Soon after there followed Dimitrakis Yanni Lazaris who built a three-masted ship in Genoa, Ghika N. Botassis who built a ship in Venice and Alexandros Kyratsoulas who built ‘the finest of all ships’ in Messina. However, the most famous ship built abroad was the Achilles of Andreas Miaoulis, the future admiral from Hydra, who in 1803 built a corvette in Venice of 498 tons, 22 guns and 105 men, the most luxurious Greek merchantman of its time, for which he paid 50,000 Spanish silver dollars.17 The contact with western maritime technology mainly through the Italian and French Mediterranean ports brought important improvements to hull design as well as to rigging. According to Hadjianargyros the main ship types before 1790 were lateeners and caiques. Three-masted lateeners were rigged with short pole masts carrying lateen sails, the larger sail on the mainmast, the second bigger sail on the foremast and a small sail on the mizzen. Caiques on the other hand were two-masted without a mizzen. Hadjianargyros reports that after 1789 extended routes, especially to the ports of Genoa, Nice and Marseille, brought important changes in rigging. The short lateen-rigged pole masts were replaced by longer pole masts carrying square sails except for the mizzen and in certain cases only the main mast was transformed to a longer square-rigged pole mast. These ships were called saities (σαϊτιές), karavosaities (καραβοσαϊτιές) and trega (τρέγα). Konstantinidis states that saities were two-masted vessels belonging to the category of caiques, carrying square sails on the foremast, whereas karavosaities were larger saities, also square rigged. Finally the trega, the name coming from the Italian term treguo – a large sail – was a development of karavosaitia carrying a large lower main sail, which according to Tzamtzis was carried in the foremast.18 A general Mediterranean trend in the late

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

27

eighteenth century followed by Greek seafarers was the gradual transformation of the lateen-rigged vessels to square riggers or to a combination of both. This rigging fashion, that also favoured long-distance navigation and was better suited to larger merchantmen, began to be adopted on a large scale by Greeks after 1790. Most of these square-rigged vessels however carried pole masts, which had the advantage of being easier and faster to lower the sails and yards, and were extremely useful in the frequent sudden changes of weather in the Mediterranean.19 In fact sources distinguish between pole-mast rigged and top-rigged ships, the latter applied to large three-masted ships having composite masts, built in Hydra and Spetses from the beginning of the nineteenth century. These ships as well as those contemporary built abroad ‘all carried the rigging equipment according to the European fashion’.20 This phrase indicates that North European square riggers were considered the most advanced rigging technology of the day and the most suitable for long-distance routes. This rigging fashion was transmitted to Greeks through the Mediterranean ports and especially through the Italian peninsula.21 Sailing vessels were distinguished into two broad categories according to their hull size, the smaller being called caiques and the larger being called karavia. This distinction followed also in the accounts of Hadjipanayotis Politis, one of the wealthiest merchants in the Peloponnese and a major investor into Spetses ships between 1783 and 1821.22 However, a further distinction results from the data of the Amphitrete database about Aegean and Ionian ships. During the period 1778–1794 the port authorities, mainly in Trieste, Malta and Livorno, who registered the arrival of vessels of Hydra and Spetses, specified their ship type under the name of tartana. During approximately the same period extending until 1798, Psara seafarers sailed the Mediterranean predominantly with sacolevas, mostly built in Chios.23 After 1790, first Hydriots, then Spetses along with Mykonos, Santorini, Syros and Tinos and

FIGURE 1: A lateener, probably a pinque, built in Hydra, dated 1791. Source: http://users.sch.gr/akalant/1821/gallery/e204.htm [accessed on 18 December 2015].

28

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

slightly later shipowners from Psara, started to upgrade their fleet on a large scale and replace the previous types with polaccas and brigantinos. At least with these names of ship types they were registered in the Mediterranean port and sanitary registries. Polacca in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century meant a three-masted square-rigged vessel with pole masts and for the period 1795 to c. 1812 was the most widespread ship type among Greek shipowners. Brigantinos, on the other hand, were less widespread than the polacca, but still had an important presence in Ionian and Aegean fleets, especially popular among Hydra shipowners, who used them almost exclusively for Genoa routes. These brigantinos, according to certain sources, were perfect brigs and in fact Hadjianargyros never mentions the term brigantino, but instead speaks only of brigs. Therefore the term brigantino encountered in western Mediterranean sources, newspapers and quarantine and port authorities, either referred to brigs or made a distinction between brigs and brigantinos, which Greeks did not. Furthermore, the term brigantino, still in use in the nineteenth century in the Italian peninsula and Ionian Sea, was used to define brig-rigged vessels judging from many ship portraits of that period. Around 1815, Aegean Greeks started to replace polaccas and old brigantinos with brigs. This last generation of ships, especially from Hydra, Spetses and Psara, built in a period of shipping crisis after the end of the Napoleonic Wars, formed the core of the fleet that fought in the Greek War of Independence. More information is to be found about these ships from surviving ship portraits, from the lists for indemnities addressed to the Greek government after the war or from other historical records related to the ships engaged in war at sea. These brigs, in terms of sturdiness and speed of all vessels the Greeks built since they began to engage in shipping in the second half of the eighteenth century, were also the ultimate development in their quality of construction.24

FIGURE 2: Hydra polacca, the Bella Aurora, in Marseille in 1801. Source: Kostas Damianidis, Ελληνική Παραδοσιακή Nαυπηγική [Greek Vernacular Boatbuilding], Hellenic Bank of Industrial Development, 1998, 29.

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

29

SHIPBUILDING IN THE CONTEXT OF THE GREEK NATIONAL STATE After Greek Independence and the founding of the nation state (1830), shipbuilding continued in many areas which had previously developed it, as well as beginning in new ones. Spetses, Hydra, Galaxidi, Skopelos and Skiathos belonged to the biggest with pre-Independence activity, whereas Piraeus and Syros were some of those newly engaged in shipbuilding. Syros, being also the centre of the sailing merchant marine during the period 1830–1880, was particularly important, since it was there that more than one-third of the entire Greek-owned fleet in terms of tonnage was built. Also, almost half of those vessels built in the Greek Kingdom were built in Syros, which became the greatest shipbuilding centre of Greece and one of the largest shipyards in the Mediterranean in the period 1830–1870.25 The majority of shipbuilders in Syros were from Chios, which had a very long tradition in shipbuilding, since the island was one of the most flourishing in the Aegean in terms of commerce and shipping during the Genoese and Ottoman periods and an important crossroads for ships navigating in the eastern Mediterranean.26 The methods of construction in Syros, as well as in other Greek shipyards, remained almost the same as those employed in pre-Independence shipbuilding and perhaps with very few differences in all shipyards working wooden ships worldwide. But what really differentiated Syros shipyards from others in Greece and also at a Mediterranean level was its ‘industrial’ characteristics. These included, first, the existence of a large, skilful but proletarian workforce, exclusively dependent on their wages. In Syros the influx of numerous refugees after 1822 due to war disasters, the majority of them being craftsmen, seamen and merchants, found themselves in an urban environment on a small arid island, with no land property or any other alternative source of income. These conditions created the first proletarian workforce of modern Greece. The second industrial characteristic was the constant, and not seasonal, activity of the shipyards throughout the entire year (see Table 2). In 1840, for the first time in the history of Syros shipbuilding, a total of seventyfive vessels were built and production surpassed 10,000 tons, whereas in 1850 102 vessels were built, a record number until then, and in 1857 the largest number in Syros shipbuilding history of 116 vessels were built. The intensification of the activity fluctuated between the less active periods, the last trimester of the year, October to December and the busiest one which was the third trimester of April to June. Weather conditions and the length of the daytime each season were also crucial factors to the intensification of work, as the working hours lasted as long as there was light, from dawn to dusk. The third industrial characteristic concerned the fast and intensive rhythms of delivery of vessels. Syros shipyards needed two to four months on average for the launching of ships of all sizes, from small coasters to brigs of up to 300 tons or more (see Table 3). Delivery times, although fluctuating, improved in all classes of vessels. The general average time for the examined period of the vessels of 1–50 tons is about two-and-ahalf months, while for the largest class of over 300 tons four-and-a-half months. The difference between intermediary tonnage classes is scalable, as tonnage increases, but

30

TABLE 2: Shipyard’s capacity and distribution of the number of vessels built each month in selected years* 1840 1/1–30/3 1/4–30/6 1/7–30/9 1/10–31/12

1850

14 (Jan.) 9 (Apr.) 8 (Jul.) 10 (Oct.)

17 (Feb.) 19 (May) 11 (Aug.) 10 (Nov.)

21 (Mar.) 12 (Jun.) 10 (Sep.) 7 (Dec.)

15 (Jan.) 29 (Apr.) 18 (Jul.) 18 (Oct.)

1857 17 (Feb.) 27 (May) 18 (Aug.) 13 (Nov.)

16 (Mar.) 28 (Jun.) 9 (Sep.) 12 (Dec.)

31 (Jan.) 25 (Apr.) 27 (Jul.) 15 (Oct.)

31 (Feb.) 35 (May) 29 (Aug.) 9 (Nov.)

19 (Mar.) 37 (Jun.) 24 (Sep.) 10 (Dec.)

Source: Delis, Mediterranean Wooden Shipbuilding, 91–92. *Numbers in bold are the highest figures attained per year.

TABLE 3: Delivery time of vessels (in months), 1828–1866 Tonnage Class 1–50 51–100 101–150 151–200 201–250 251–300 >300

1828–1839

1840–1849

1850–1859

1860–1863, 1866

General Average Time

2.25 3.25 4.7 5.15

1.82 2.74 3.31 3.86 4.06 4.1 4.82

2.1 2.67 3.7 4.03 4.51 3.69 4.55

1.72 3.09 3.47 3.2 4.14 5.3 4.37

1.97 2.93 3.79 4.06 4.23 4.27 4.44

4 4.05

Source: Delis, Mediterranean Wooden Shipbuilding, 90–91.

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

31

is generally a small one, while for the larger tonnage classes, over 150 tons, the average time was slightly over four months. The short delivery time in Syros is probably due to the fact that the shipyard specialized in vessels under 300 tons, mainly two-masted ships. The fourth industrial characteristic is the forward and backward linkages created at local and regional level. The highly intense activity of Syros shipyards needed a chain of supply and manufacture services and industries, for raw materials such as timber, pitch, tar and hemp, as well as manufactured ones such as chains, anchors, nails, ropes, sail cloth and pulleys. These auxiliary industries and services not only mobilized a considerable part of the local human resources and stimulated trade around shipbuilding materials, but also engaged seafarers, lumberjacks, and other specialized craftsmen and workmen as well as sea transport vessels from areas all over Aegean and Asia Minor coasts.27 Syros shipyards, like the rest of the Greek shipyards, in Spetses, Galaxidi, Skopelos, Hydra, Piraeus and Skiathos, built a large variety of ship types, from coasters like the schooner, bombarda, bratsera, sacoleva, tserniki, perama and trehandiri, to larger merchantmen like the brig and barque. Also, the brig continued to be a very popular rig among the Greeks after 1830 and was substantially the backbone of the Greekowned fleet at least until 1880 (see Graph 1). The reasons for this preference can be found in the lower investment and running costs compared to a three-masted vessel. Equally important was the efficiency to carry enough cargo and maintain a moderate size for the rudimentary infrastructures of the traffic-jammed Black Sea

FIGURE 3: Brig Nea Moni built in Chios in 1855, 387 tons. Source: Aegeus and PEKEV Editions, card n. 17.

32

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

GRAPH 1: Distribution per ship type of the registered Greek-owned ships (in thousand tons), 1830–1880. Source: Processed data from Harlaftis and Vlassopoulos, Historical Register ‘Pontoporeia’, Table Α.4, μβ΄.

and Mediterranean ports. In fact, in Syros, in the most representative case of Greek shipyards, 53 per cent in terms of number of ships and 81.46 per cent in terms of tonnage built in the period 1828–1866 were brigs.28 Structural changes in the shipping business after 1830 led also to changes in ship design and expenditure. The pacification of the Mediterranean with the end of the long Napoleonic Wars and the conquest of the Barbary Regencies meant that armed ships and large crews were no longer required. Furthermore, marginal profits decreased considerably compared to the very lucrative 1790–1815 period and necessitated a more rational management. Seamen were hired at the minimum indispensable number and paid with wages and not with shares as in the preIndependence years. Ship ownership tended to be concentrated in fewer persons, rather than in numerous partners as was the practice before 1821. Therefore, brigs built in Syros and elsewhere in Greece and the Italian peninsula no longer carried guns, even if many of them preserved their fighting resemblance through the false gun ports painted black and white, and they also abandoned the expensive prow and stern ornaments. In hull design brigs progressively assumed the features influenced by clippers, like the convex prow which replaced the previous heavy concave form with cutwater, while the stern evolved from square to a more round or elliptical form. In brigs before 1821, the main mast tended to have a strong backward inclination, which was abandoned after 1830. In that period both masts were straightforward but the foremast was lower than the main, a feature that later in the nineteenth century was eclipsed as both masts became equal in height. Brigs, as other vessels, were often polacre-rigged, which means they had pole masts and in certain cases had fidded topgallant masts. The sail plan also evolved from large topsails to double topsails in the second half of the century.29 It is important to state that the above-mentioned changes occurred both to Greek and Italian ships and it is reasonable to assume that

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

33

they had also taken place in other Mediterranean areas. The above progresses in hull design and rigging were part of the ultimate development of the sailing ship in the attempt to improve its performance, also due to the increasing competition from the steamers in the second half of the nineteenth century.30

THE ADVENT OF INDUSTRIAL SHIPBUILDING AND MARINE ENGINEERING IN GREECE The advent of industrial shipbuilding in Greece is located in the two major seaports, Syros and Piraeus. The first establishment was the factory of the Hellenic Steam Navigation Company in Syros, inaugurated on 29 April 1861.31 Since 1857, when the company was founded, all the necessary repairs of the company’s steamers as well as of other steamships were carried out in a wooden dock built by the renowned local shipwright, Nikolaos Pagidas.32 The factory comprised an engineering workshop, a boiler manufacturing shop and an iron foundry employing two engines, one of 14 hp for the machinery and one of 7 hp for the patent slip, which could haul vessels of up to 800 tons.33 In 1865 102 workers are mentioned, which increased to 120–130 in the early 1870s.34 The factory diversified in the manufacturing of boilers, land steam engines for local industries, oil presses and also military material like rifled barrel artillery and bullets during the Cretan Revolution (1866–1869).35 In March 1885 a new hydraulic patent slip was inaugurated, made by the French engineer Ponelle and his team, able to haul vessels up to 1,700 tons, which was a necessary upgrade for the repairs and cleaning of larger steamers purchased by the company during 1881– 1883.36 In 1893, when the Hellenic Steam Navigation Company went bankrupt, the inventory of the infrastructure of the factory comprised two stone-built patent slips, one bigger, one smaller, a colour-manufacturing workshop, a carpentry shop, a steampowered smith, a boiler manufacturing shop, a foundry and a coppersmith workshop. In the central steam-engine room for the machinery the old engine of 14 hp mentioned earlier was still in use but in bad condition.37 After the liquidation of the company, the Arsenal of Syros passed temporarily under the supervision of the National Bank of Greece. In 1899, a group of Syros capitalists formed a company named Forges et Chantiers de Syra, separated from the New Hellenic Steam Navigation Company founded after the bankruptcy of the old one in 1893.38 The new Arsenal comprised the large hydraulic patent slip and a smaller one for vessels of up to 1,000 tons, a drawing office, a carpentry shop, a foundry, a machine shop, a blacksmith steampowered workshop, a boiler-making shop with new machinery, a coppersmith shop, a fitting workshop, and a steam-powered colour-making workshop. Up to 100 people worked on a daily basis in the patent slip and 210 in the rest of the factory’s workshops, including 135 craftsmen, 50 assistants and 25 apprentices.39 The New Hellenic Steam Navigation Company went bankrupt in 1906 and its steamers were bought by the Forges et Chantiers de Syra, which also installed electric light to all of them.40 In 1903 the Greek shipbuilder and engineer Alexandros Krystallis, son of the shipwright Christofis Krystallis, is said to have upgraded the hydraulic slip for steamers of up to 3,000 tons, but this is not confirmed by other sources.41 Nevertheless, the factory’s infrastructure was greatly upgraded after 1903 with the construction of a new building for the boiler-making workshop. In 1905 the purchase of an electric drilling

34

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

machine is reported and, most important, the instalment of an electric plant, which permitted night shifts.42 By 1906 a new building was added for the smith and new machinery included a lathe of 28 feet bed, a planning machine of 45 feet length, a pneumatic jack of 200 tons pressure and a hydraulic riveter.43 Also in 1906 the upgrade of the patent slip began with the intention to enable the hauling of vessels of up to 5,000 tons.44 This project was ready by the beginning of 1909 and included the increase of the 75 metre long slip to 100 metres. More importantly, the wooden girders were replaced by iron ones moved by rails or ‘intercalation of rollers’ as the British consul reported enabling the ‘repairing, careening and cleaning of all classes of vessels up to 2,500 tons displacement’.45 All the above improvements in the factory’s infrastructure at the beginning of the twentieth century are related to the great extent of business turnover of the Arsenal in repairs and cleaning of steamers of all kinds, both commercial ships and warships. In 1903, thirty-three steamers were hauled up for cleaning and sixty-five for repairs. Two years later the total number of steamers for both purposes was eighty-three, in 1906 sixty-six and in 1907 thirty-three, ‘the repairs effected consisted of engines, boilers, renewal of furnaces, turning of cylinders, new plates in hull, decks, windlasses and winches, all under the inspection and approval of Lloyd’s surveyor’.46 Therefore, during these years the Arsenal became a centre of repair for steamers in the Aegean, providing every type of service, and it acquired fame for prompt and high-quality work.47 Of strategic importance of course, was also the fact that Syros’s Arsenal was the only shipbuilding unit in Greece and the Ottoman Aegean area, up to 1906, which provided the facility of a patent slip for steamers.48 In Piraeus, two similar establishments were founded. The first was the Vassiliadis factory in 1861 and the second was the ‘Ifestos’ factory of the Scottish engineer John McDowall in 1873. Vassiliadis, a merchant from Constantinople, began with an iron foundry, agricultural machine and chair manufacture employing 140 workers, but in June 1868 the factory was destroyed by fire.49 After the incident a new factory was built, which abandoned chair manufacturing but continued as an iron foundry, mechanical carpentry shop and engineering workshop specialized to all kinds of mechanical manufacturing, including steam engines and boilers for mills, oil presses, ginning process, pumps and ploughs.50 The shift to marine engineering and shipbuilding took place in the 1880s. Yet in 1881, both the Vassiliadis and the McDowall factories were general engineering workshops for land engines, small marine boilers and repairing of marine engines. However, both were unable to carry out heavy marine engineering works and repairs of steamers below the waterline due to the lack of a graving or floating dock.51 In 1888 the Vassiliadis firm became a joint stock company and from 1898 a large area in the entrance of Piraeus harbour was granted for the establishment of a shipyard. By 1906 the shipyard was equipped with a marine railway dock capable of lifting ships of up to 4,000 tons, while its workshops were fitted with ‘the latest pneumatic and electrical plant, and for the first time in Greece pneumatic riveting, sealing, caulking, chipping etc, are being executed’.52 Up to 1887, the factory had built six steamers and a few more up to the beginning of the twentieth century. Almost all of them were of small tonnage, but there are no exact figures about the output. It is also unclear if these steamers were built entirely in the factory or if the engines or other parts were fabricated abroad.53

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

35

FIGURE 4: Vassiliadis shipyard, 1911. Courtesy of Benaki Museum, Athens.

John McDowall was born in Ayr, Scotland in 1829. He came to Greece in 1860 as an engineer on the steamer Omonoia of the Hellenic Steam Navigation Company and in 1864 became partner in a steam-powered flourmill at Piraeus. In 1873 he founded the ‘Ifestos’ engineering and iron and brass foundries factory, employing 100 to 120 workers. The factory repaired and manufactured engines, boilers, presses, pumping and mining machinery, while also exporting to the Ottoman Empire, Russia and Bulgaria.54 In 1878, the firm became a partnership between John McDowall and William Barbour, his son-in-law, and in 1882 entered into shipbuilding and marine engineering. On that same year, their first steamer in Piraeus was built, whereas in the following year they manufactured the first marine engine in Greece of 35 hp fitted to the steamer Elpis of the Hellenic Steam Navigation Company.55 In 1892 the Greek government conceded an area in Saint George Bay in Keratsini of Piraeus for the establishment of a shipyard and permission for the construction of a private slip.56 The firm also diversified in shipping creating a passenger steam navigation company in 1890, which in 1895 was composed of five steamers, and in 1903 of eight, effectuating routes within and outside Greece.57 In 1892 the McDowall-Barbour company also leased for ten years, the steamers of the Hellenic Steam Navigation Company of Syros, which was then facing serious financial problems, but the agreement ceased at the beginning of 1893.58 The McDowall-Barbour company was the only factory devoted extensively to the construction of new steamers. According to the French consul of Piraeus, up to 1891 it had built twenty-two wooden steamers from 5 to 200 tons, but the British consul in that same year reported the construction of both iron and wooden steamers.59 Up to 1895 there are mentioned thirty-five newly built steamers and up to 1903

36

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

approximately 50, the only firm between the three to have achieved such a record.60 However, the most important achievement of McDowall-Barbour and of the entire Greek shipbuilding industry was the construction of the steamer Athina, built in the establishments of Syros – the engines being built in McDowall’s factory – taking advantage of the leasing of the Hellenic Steam Navigation Company. This was the first iron steamer built in Syros; 450 tons, 65 hp engine, 50 metres long, 7 metres maximum breadth and 5 metre depth, and able to reach a speed of 13 miles per hour.61 According to another source, Athina was a steel-hulled steamer, equipped with a triple expansion engine and two steel boilers consuming eight tons of coal per day.62 Know-how about steam-powered and iron shipbuilding and marine engineering was essentially a British case. The advantage in technical knowledge and application Britain enjoyed in metallurgy and engineering since the Industrial Revolution was also extended in the construction of marine engines and in shipbuilding. In fact, the advent of steam navigation and the construction of steamers in the nineteenth century were largely owed to the technology transfer from Britain. In the Mediterranean, the first steamers put in service in Spain (Seville, Barcelona), Italy (Naples, Genoa) and southern France (Marseille), were built in Britain or at least they had British-made marine steam engines.63 Furthermore, the first steps of modern shipbuilding and marine engineering in the Mediterranean owes a lot to the contribution of British engineers and artisans, who had settled and worked for years in different Mediterranean port cities, such as Naples, Genoa, Marseille, Barcelona and so on.64 This was of course part of a wider phenomenon, namely the emigration of British engineers overseas in the nineteenth century, who greatly contributed to the technology transfer to foreign countries.65 In the Mediterranean ports British engineers and artisans had worked mainly as employees in shipyards or similar factories, but some also became holders of means of production. Philip Taylor was owner of the La Seyne sur Mer shipyards in 1845, of a mechanical workshop and partner in an iron factory in Marseille, and he later created the Société des Forges et Chantiers de la Méditerranée, employing 3,000 workers.66 British engineers worked as chief engineers or factory technical directors and were not only very well paid, but also enjoyed great prestige, and had decisively contributed to the learning of local apprentices. For many of them good money and prestige were not taken for granted in their own country, where competition was higher, and some of them left Britain after unsuccessful projects, such as Philip Taylor.67 British engineers and technicians were also the first who were employed onboard the first steamers of foreign countries, including Mediterranean ones, who trained the local personnel in the technology of steam engines, and in some cases controlled key positions in steamships companies.68 Similarly in the factory of the Hellenic Steam Navigation Company, from the beginning the chief engineer was David Smith referred to as ‘Englishman’ assisted by another one named Thomas Donald.69 In the ‘Ifestos’ factory, the owner John McDowall as well as his partner William Barbour, were Scottish engineers, who were also assisted by ‘English’ technicians and engineers to organize and manage the production, such as John Russell, son-in-law of Barbour, and the son of McDowall.70 The Vassiliadis factory, on the other hand, which employed mainly Greek engineers,

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

37

advertised in 1873 that its chief engineer D. Konstantinou studied for eight years in the United States.71 According to Mansolas, in 1867 in the factory of the Hellenic Steam Navigation Company twelve out of the thirteen engineers were ‘Englishmen’. An 1866 company’s list of workers, mentions 103 men, of which seven were ‘English’ engineers (the chief engineer included), one founder, whereas twenty-three out of the twenty-five boilermakers were ‘English’ and Italians – but no specific numbers are mentioned for each nationality.72 In 1887 David Smith was replaced for cutting expenses, by a Frenchman Edouard Eyssartier, already a vice chief engineer of the factory. Another Frenchman, Hardouin, became chief engineer for a short period between January and September 1899, when fired for disputes between the major shareholders.73 In the beginning of the twentieth century for the first time the direction of the factory’s works was assigned to a Greek, the engineer N. Xanthakis.74 The training of Greek engineers, boilermakers and other technical specializations, which was totally lacking in the country, became a primary concern of the company since the very beginning. Up until 1872, 22 Greeks were trained in the factory, of which six worked on steamers, eleven in the factory and five found employment abroad.75 In 1883 the directors of the factory published specific rules and requirements for future apprentices, who had to be Greek nationals. Many of them later in fact managed, like Xanthakis, to replace foreigners in leading positions of the factory.76 Despite the existence of the above described establishments in the main Greek seaports in the 1860s and 1870s and the introduction of passenger steam navigation since 1857 by the Hellenic Steam Navigation Company, the discussion of investment in cargo steamers in the context of the Greek merchant marine was almost absent. The focus to resolve the problem of competitiveness of the sailing ship was to invest on larger sailing vessels under a joint venture scheme. Syros’s press during the 1870s published extensive essays promoting the idea of building sailing ships over 500 tons in partnership as the only way to reduce operation costs, expand the routes, increase profits and sharing risks. The shipowner Leonardos Vatis in Syros, of Andros origin, was seen as a pioneer of this effort to redevelop Greek shipping on a new basis, after he successfully built four large sailing ships under joint investments.77 The earliest discussion concerning the issue of transition from sail to steam in cargo shipping is that of a Syros newspaper in 1883. In the article mention is made of the purchase of four cargo steamers by Andros shipowners, instigating the foundation of a shipping bank in Syros, which would provide capital facilities at lower rates for future investors of steamers.78 In fact, the first Greek-owned fleet of cargo steamers belonged to Greeks settled in England since the middle of the nineteenth century. Among the most important of them, who had owned steamers since the late 1850s, were Papayanni and Xenos, the latter being bankrupted during the financial panic of 1866.79 A new wave of investments on new-built cargo steamers in Britain was undertaken in the years 1880–1885 numbering twenty vessels of 17,000 tons. These shipowners were either Greeks settled in the United Kingdom, abroad elsewhere or in Greece, who were helped by those Greeks in Britain, like the Vagliano Brothers, who acted as agents in order to finance the purchase of the steamers.80 However, the real shift of Greek shipowners to cargo steamers that transformed the Greek shipping industry took place during the 1890s. Again Leonardos Vatis in Syros was praised for

38

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

his entrepreneurial ability and pioneering move to buy a 2,000 tons cargo steamer in England in 1891.81 In 1883 the Greek flag had fifty-one steamers (passenger and cargo) of approximately 24,000 tons, which increased in three years to seventy-three vessels of 36,000 tons, but really expanded in 1899 to 159 steamers of 106,000 tons.82 The following year, the fleet increased to 201 vessels of 153,000 tons, the sailing fleet being of 166,000 tons.83 The turning point came in 1902, when the steamer fleet surpassed the sailing one in tonnage.84 According to a Syros newspaper, from the 189 vessels of 172,000 tons, the 112 vessels of 150,000 tons were cargo steamers and the rest passenger ships.85

THE DIVERGENCE OF THE TWO SECTORS IN THE AGE OF STEAM NAVIGATION To these developments and transformations of Greek shipping, the national shipbuilding establishments had very little, if any, contribution. The steamers built in the Vassiliadis and McDowall shipyards were for their most part of small tonnage, from 20 up to 600 tons. The Arsenal in Syros built very few steamers of small tonnage, as it was mainly oriented from the very beginning to repairs and related services.86 The limited number of yards, only three, the lower level of technical capabilities of the personnel as well as of their infrastructure, could not facilitate the increasing demand for large cargo steamers by Greek shipowners in the 1890s and 1900s. These factors contradicted the aspirations from the perspectives of the shipbuilding establishments in Piraeus so often expressed in the press.87 In fact the steamers purchased by Greek shipowners since the 1890s were in large percentage bought second-hand and some new from Britain, but none of them built in Greek yards.88 The inability of the Greek shipbuilding establishments to build up-to-date steamers and to respond to the increasing demand of the Greek shipowners had multiple reasons. Certainly the lack of large investments on fixed capital and infrastructure, as well as the acquisition of advanced technical knowledge, both necessary for the production of the complex steamers of the late nineteenth to early twentieth centuries, was fundamental.89 In the core of the discussion for this impossibility of development of the shipbuilding industry in Greece in the nineteenth century is the absence of metallurgy and of the industry for means of production (i.e. heavy mechanical industry associated with machine and machine-tool construction). This absence not only raised the cost of production due to the dependency on imported basic intermediary inputs, but also impeded the possibility to improve and develop the existing production and generally to follow the technical developments which would upgrade the technical knowledge.90 For some expert contemporaries the reasons of this inadequacy were very clear. At a shipping conference held at Syros in 1902, one of the participants, in response to the proposals for the development of a national shipbuilding industry under state support, claimed that investing to create a competitive shipbuilding and mechanical industry without the existence of a mining industry and metallurgy in the country was like starting to build a house from the roof downwards.91 It was not only necessary to import raw materials, like iron ore, which would raise the costs, but also the low rate of specialization of the very few yards to the different production stages, which

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

39

would necessitate either importing entire parts of the work or building them ad locum with higher production cost.92 This view was shared also by other eminent participants, like the Andros shipowner Leonidas Embiricos and the Syros town burgess Michalis Zolotas. Two years earlier Vassiliadis himself also suggested to the Minister of Finance that no industrial progress could be achieved without a developed iron industry.93 The very limited home market was a serious obstacle to develop an iron and mechanical industry. Before the dilemma of small production at high cost, or large production with no sufficient outlet, the two mechanic factories of Piraeus and the Arsenal of Syros choose to diversify to every type of machinery, tool and piece of equipment destined to any sector (manufacture, agriculture, shipping) in order to be economically sustainable.94 And if the Arsenal of Syros was, since the very beginning, oriented as a repairing unit, the two Piraeus factories began the shift from the manufacturing of industrial equipment to shipbuilding and ship repairs from 1880s. The change was due to the deceleration of Greek industry that had begun in the two previous decades. This also coincided with the beginning of the transition of Greek shipowners from sail to cargo steamers as well as to the increase of Greek passenger steam navigation companies from one to three in this period.95 Furthermore, state policy was not oriented towards the protection and growth of the sector. Greece accepted the import of machinery from Western European countries duty free, in exchange for its exports of agricultural products, mainly the currant, from which its trade balance heavily depended. This choice gave a further blow, as the imported machinery from technologically progressed Western European countries not only cut an important share of an already small national market for the machine factories, but also impeded the further development of the iron and steel industries during a period of rapid technological changes.96 This state policy expressed also the views of certain important maritime actors of the period, who disagreed with protectionist measures and subsidies for the shipbuilding and shipping.97 In fact, Greek shipowners which became competitive thanks to the cheap second-hand steamers and the lower costs of maritime labour, were more interested in the expansion of trade routes and their reinforcement in the international markets rather than the development of the national industries.98 Unlike the previous close interdependency and parallel growth between Greek shipping and shipbuilding in the sailing merchant fleet, the advent of steam did not continue this path, but created a great divergence between the two industries. In 1907, a Syros newspaper remarked on the progress of Greek shipping in terms of number of ships and tonnage, but considered that this progress could not stand on safe grounds without the parallel progress of shipbuilding, as each industry was inconceivable without the other.99 In a similar vein in 1902, the shipowner Antonios Petalas, a supporter of protectionism, adopted a view expressed in a maritime conference held in the USA that a nation, which does not produce its own home vessels, soon ceases to navigate.100 History has disproved this view, as the Greekowned fleet experienced tremendous growth independently from the Greek shipbuilding industry, which remained at infant level up to the present day. In fact, today Greece faces a remarkable paradox, on the one hand having the largest merchant fleet of the world, but on the other, its three largest shipbuilding

40

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

MAP 1: Locations mentioned in the text.

establishments, Skaramangas (Piraeus), Elefsis and Neorion (Syros) shipyards being almost at the point of bankruptcy.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I would like to thank Ioanna Kalypso Glypti for her assistance in the copy-editing of this paper. Also, part of this work was performed in the framework of the ELISTOKAINO project within GSRT ’s KRIPIS action, funded by Greece and the European Regional Development Fund of the European Union under the O.P. Competitiveness and Entrepreneurship, NSRF 2007–2013.

NOTES 1. Τζελίνα Χαρλαύτη και Κατερίνα Παπακωνσταντίνου (eds), Η Ναυτιλία των Ελλήνων, 1700–1821. Ο αιώνας της ακμής πριν από την Επανάσταση [The Merchant Marine of the

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

41

Greeks, 1700–1821: The Century of Heyday Before the War of Independence] (Athens, 2013); Gelina Harlaftis, A History of Greek-Owned Shipping: The Making of an International Tramp Fleet, 1830 to the Present Day (London, 1996); Apostolos Delis, Mediterranean Wooden Shipbuilding. Economy, Technology and Institutions in Syros in the Nineteenth Century (Leiden–Boston, 2015), 60–63. 2. Κώστας Δαμιανίδης, Ελληνική Παραδοσιακή Ναυπηγική, [Greek Vernacular Boatbuilding] (Athens, 1998), 30. 3. Amphitrite, Maritime History of the Greeks, 1700–1821, Ionian University, funded by the Greek Ministry of Education and the European Union, under the Programme ‘Pythagoras I – Funding Research in Universities’. The main output of this research project is the book published by Χαρλαύτη και Παπακωνσταντίνου (eds), Η Ναυτιλία των Ελλήνων, 1700–1821. 4. Γεώργιος Λεονταρίτης, ‘Ελληνική Εμπορική Ναυτιλία’, in Στέλιος Παπαδόπουλος (ed.) Ελληνική Εμπορική Ναυτιλία, 1453–1821 [Greek Merchant Marine, 1453–1821] (Athens, 1972), 30–31. 5. A useful and comprehensive source of iconographic evidence on ships of the examined period is the work of J. Harland, Ships and Seamanship: The Maritime Prints of J. J. Baugean (Annapolis, 2000). 6. Giuseppe di Taranto, ‘La Marina Mercantile del Mezzogiorno nel Mediterraneo’, in Tommaso Fanfani (ed.), La penisola italiana e il mare. Costruzioni navali trasporti e commerci tra XV e XX secolo (Napoli, 1993), 304; Yolande Triantafyllidoy-Baladie, ‘Transport maritime et concurrence en Mediterranee orientale au XVIII e siecle: L’exemple de la Crete’, in Actes du IIe Colloque International d’ Histoire. Economies Méditerranéennes. Equilibres et Intercommunications. XIIIe-XIX e siècles., Tome I (Athens, 1985), 24. 7. Xavier Labat Saint Vincent, Malte, une escale du commerce français en Méditerranée au XVIII siècle. (Paris: Presses Universitaires de Paris Sorbonne, forthcoming), 379; Daniel Panzac, ‘L’escale de Chio : un observatoire privilégié de l’activité maritime en mer Egée au XVIII e siècle’, Histoire, économie et société, 1985, 4(4), 18. 8. Michel Vergé-Franceschi and Eric Rieth, Voiles et voiliers au temps de Louis XIV: édition critique des deux Albums dits de Jouve et de l’Album de Colbert (Paris, 1992), 80; Di Taranto, ‘La Marina Mercantile’, 305–306; A.H.S. Prins, ‘Mediterranean Ships and Shipping, 1650–1850’, in Robert Gardiner (ed.), The Heyday of Sail. The Merchant Sailing Ship, 1650–1830 (London, 1995), 95; processed data from the project ANR Navigocorpus Corpus des itinéraires des navires de commerce, XVII e-XIXe s (2007–2011), http://navigocorpus.hypotheses.org/. 9. Labat Saint Vincent, Malte, une escale du commerce, 380; Di Taranto, ‘La Marina Mercantile’, 304–305, 308–309. 10. For a thorough analysis of the methods and practices of Greek shipbuilders in both Ionian and Aegean Seas up to the present see Κώστας Δαμιανίδης, Ελληνική Παραδοσιακή Ναυπηγική or for the English-speaking readers his PhD thesis ‘Vernacular Boats and Boatbuilding in Greece’, University of St Andrews, 1989. 11. Lucien Basch, ‘Ancient wrecks and the archaeology of the ships’, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology and Underwater Exploration, 1972, 1, 16.

42

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

12. Frederick H. Van Doorninck, ‘Serçe Limani’, in James P. Delgado (ed.), Encyclopedia of Underwater and Maritime Archaeology (New Haven, London, 1997), 367–370; Frederick M. Hocker, The Philosophy of Shipbuilding. Conceptual Approaches to the Study of Wooden Ships (College Station, 2004), 6. 13. Hocker, The Philosophy of Shipbuilding, 5; Richard W. Unger, ‘Introduction’, in Robert Gardiner (ed.), Cogs, Caravels & Galleons. The Sailing Ship 1000–1650. Conway’s History of the Ship (London, 1994), 10. 14. Τρύφωνας Κωνσταντινίδης, Καράβια, καπεταναίοι και συντροφοναύται, 1800–1830 [Ships, Captains and Fellow Seamen, 1800–1830] (Athens, 1954), 115–121; Αναστάσιος Τζαμτζής, ‘Ναυτικοί, καράβια και λιμάνια’ [‘Seamen, ships and ports’], in Στέλιος Παπαδόπουλος (ed.), Ελληνική Εμπορική Ναυτιλία, 1453–1821 [Greek Merchant Marine, 1453–1830] (Athens, 1972), 104–105; Ανάργυρος Ανδρέου Χατζηανάργυρος, Τα Σπετσιωτικά [Collection of Documents Regarding the Greek Revolution of 1821 from the Spetses and State Archives] vol. 2 (Piraeus, 1925), 119–120; Κωνσταντίνος Νικόδημος, Υπόμνημα της Νήσου Ψαρών [Memorandum about the Island of Psara] (Athens, 1862), 71–72. 15. Χατζηανάργυρος, Τα Σπετσιωτικά, vol. 2, 120–121; Τζαμτζής, ‘Ναυτικοί, καράβια’, 105–107. 16. Νικόδημος, Υπόμνημα, 72–73; Αικατερίνη Εξαδάκτυλου-Μπεκιάρογλου, ‘Μετακινήσεις τεχνιτών από τη Χίο στο ναυπηγείο της Κωνσταντινούπολης’ [‘Transfers of Chios craftsmen to Constantinople shipyard’], in Kostas Damianidis (ed.), Shipbuilding and Ships in the Eastern Mediterranean in the 18th & 19th Centuries (Chios, 1999), 39–46. 17. Γεώργιος Κριεζής, Ιστορία της Νήσου Ύδρας προ της (Ελληνικής) Επαναστάσεως του 1821 [History of Island of Hydra before the Greek Revolution of 1821] (Patras, 1860), 29, 52; Χατζηανάργυρος, Τα Σπετσιωτικά, vol. 2, 121–122. 18. Χατζηανάργυρος, Τα Σπετσιωτικά, vol. 2, 79; Κωνσταντινίδης, Καράβια, καπεταναίοι, 139; Τζαμτζής, ‘Ναυτικοί, καράβια’, 117. 19. Carlo De Negri, Vele italiane del XIX secolo (Milano, 1974), 51–52; Harland, Ships and Seamanship, 10–11. 20. Χατζηανάργυρος, Τα Σπετσιωτικά, vol. 2, 121–122. 21. Κωνσταντινίδης, Καράβια, καπεταναίοι, 146. 22. Τζαμτζής, ‘Ναυτικοί, καράβια’, 108; Βασίλης Κρεμμυδάς, Αρχείο Χατζηπαναγιώτη Πολίτη. Χατζηπαναγιώτης – Πολίτης [Archive of Hadjipanayotis Politis], vol. 1 (Athens, 1973), 52–53. 23. Νικόδημος, Υπόμνημα, 72–73. 24. Χατζηανάργυρος, Τα Σπετσιωτικά, vol. 1. (Athens, 1861), new edition by Historical and Ethnological Society of Greece, 1979, 47; Τα Σπετσιωτικά, vol. 2, 121. 25. Δαμιανίδης, Ελληνική Παραδοσιακή, 27; Apostolos Delis, ‘Mediterranean wooden shipbuilding in the nineteenth century: production, productivity and ship types in comparative perspective’, Cahiers de la Méditerranée, 2012, 84, 351–358; for Syros as maritime and shipbuilding center see Apostolos Delis, ‘Modern Greece’s first industry? The shipbuilding center of sailing merchant marine of Syros, 1830–70’, European Review of Economic History, 2015, 19(3), 255–274.

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

43

26. Delis, Mediterranean Wooden Shipbuilding, 185–188; Μπεκιάρογλου, ‘Μετακινήσεις τεχνιτών από τη Χίο’; Panzac, ‘L’escale de Chio’, 541–561. 27. Delis, Mediterranean Wooden Shipbuilding, 214–222. 28. Delis, Mediterranean Wooden Shipbuilding, 134–145. 29. Delis, Mediterranean Wooden Shipbuilding, 239–244; De Negri, Vele italiane, 49–55. 30. Robert Gardiner (ed.), Sail’s Last Century. The Merchant Sailing Ship, 1830–1930, Conway’s History of the Ship (London, 1995). 31. Newspaper Αστήρ των Κυκλάδων [Cyclades Star], n. 201–211, 30 April 1861. 32. Αγγελική Φενερλή, ‘Η υποδοχή του ατμού στην Ερμούπολη από τους παραδοσιακούς ναυπηγούς τον ΙΘ΄αιώνα’ [‘The reception of steam by the traditional shipbuilders in Ermoupolis in the nineteenth century’], in Kostas Damianidis (ed.), Shipbuilding and Ships in the Eastern Mediterranean in the 18th & 19th Centuries (Chios, 1999), 121–128. 33. Periodical Πανδώρα [Pandora], vol. 19, 440, 1868, 157; Foreign Office, Annual Series, Syra, (from now on F.O. Syra) Report by Consul Ruby on the Trade and Commerce of the Cyclades during the Year, 1871, 123; F.O. Syra, 1873, 125. 34. Periodical Πανδώρα [Pandora], vol. 16, 363, 1865, 82; .F.O. Syra, 1871, 123; F.O. Syra, 1873, 125. The head of the Public Finances in the Ministry of Interior A. Mansolas in his statistical work on the economy of the Greek Kingdom in 1867 Πολιτειογραφικαί πληροφορίαι περί Ελλάδος (Athens, 1867), 109, mentioned that in the factory out of a total of not more than 60 men there were 40 engineers, other workers, and a maximum of 20 apprentices. 35. Periodical Πανδώρα [Pandora], vol. 19, 440, 1868, 157; Τιμολέων Αμπέλας, Ιστορία της νήσου Σύρου από των αρχαιοτάτων χρόνων μέχρι των καθ’ημάς [History of the Island of Syros from Ancient Times to the Present Day] (Hermoupolis, 1874), 711. 36. Newspaper Πανόπη [Panopi], n. 1113, 23.3.1885; F.O. Syra, 1900, 9; Μαρία Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα στην ελληνική ναυπηγική βιομηχανια 1850–1914, [Economic and technical problems in the Greek shipbuilding industry 1850–1914] (Athens, 1993), 148. 37. Newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n.1424, 13.8.1893; Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 148–149. 38. F.O. Syra, 1898, 5. 39. Newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 1900, 25.8.1902; Νικόλαος Κοτσοβίλης, ‘Τα νεώρεια και τα συνεργεία της Σύρου’ [Neorion and the workshops of Syros], in Αντώνιος Φουστάνος (ed.), Ημερολόγιον της Σύρου, [Syros Calendar] (Syros, 1902), 285–288; Το εν Σύρω Ναυτιλιακόν Συνέδριον, της 1ης Σεπτεμβρίου 1902 [The Syros Shipping Conference of 1 September 1902] (Syros, 1902), 1, 41. 40. F.O. Syra, 1906, 10. 41. Αντώνιος Φουστάνος (ed.), Ημερολόγιον της Σύρου, [Syros Calendar], 122. 42. Newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 1960, 11.10.1903, n. 2039, 16.4.1905. 43. F.O. Syra, 1907, 5–6; newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 2121, 18.11.1906. 44. Newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 2121, 18.11.1906.

44

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

45. F.O. Syra, 1908, 9; newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 2233, 7.2.1909. 46. F.O. Syra, 1903, 8, 1905, 7, 1906, 10, 1907, 5. 47. Newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 2039, 16.4.1905; F.O. Syra, 1900, 9, 1901, 7, 1903, 8. 48. Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 134. 49. Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, Οι Απαρχές της Εκβιομηχάνισης στην Ελλάδα τον 19ο αιώνα , [The Beginnings of Industrialization in Greece in the 19th century], (Athens, 1986), 104. Foreign Office, Annual Series, Diplomatic and Consular Reports on Trade and Finance, Greece, Piraeus, Report by Mr. Consul Merlin on the Trade of Continental Greece during the Year 1868 (hereafter F.O. Piraeus), 473–474. The British consul reports that there were 200 workmen employed in the factory, whereas the newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 120, 15 June 1868, mentions 300 workers, both male and female. 50. Μιλτιάδης Μπούκας, Οδηγός Εμπορικός, Γεωγραφικός & Ιστορικός του έτους 1875 [Commercial, Geographic and Historical Guide of the Year 1875] (Athens: 1875), 302; F.O. Piraeus, 1873, 1370; newspaper Πατρίς Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 135; newspaper Πανόπη [Panopi], n. 129, 16.8.1873. 51. F.O. Piraeus, 1881, 626. 52. F.O. Piraeus, 1908, 5; Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 152. 53. Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 138–139. 54. Newspaper Σφαίρα [Globe], n. 4662, 6.10.1897; F.O. Piraeus, 1873, 1370; Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 124. 55. Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ, H Γηραιά Σελήνη. Η Βιομηχανία στην Ελληνική Οικονομία, 1830–1940 [The Old Moon. The Industry in Greek Economy, 1830–1940] (Athens, 1993), 135; newspaper Σφαίρα [Globe], n. 4662, 6.10.1897; Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 140; F.O. Piraeus, 1881, 626. 56. Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 155; F.O. Piraeus, 1892, 11. 57. Βασίλης Καρδάσης, Από του ιστίου εις τον ατμόν. Ελληνική Εμπορική Ναυτιλία, 1858–1914 [From Sail to Steam. Greek Merchant Marine, 1850–1914] (Athens, 1993), 58, 76; newspaper Σφαίρα [Globe], n. 4662, 6.10.1897; periodical Ημερολόγιον Σκόκου [Diary of Skokos], 1895, 270. 58. Καρδάσης, Από του ιστίου, 58–59. 59. Αγριαντώνη, Οι Απαρχές της Εκβιομηχάνισης, 241; F.O. Piraeus, 1891, 5. 60. Periodical Ημερολόγιον Σκόκου [Diary of Skokos], 1895, 270; Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 142. 61. Newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 1372, 19.9.1892; Καρδάσης, Από του ιστίου, 59. 62. Periodical Ημερολόγιον Σκόκου [Diary of Skokos], 1895, 270; Χατζηιωσήφ, H Γηραιά Σελήνη, 136. He reports that the ship was 600 tons and made of steel. 63. Olivier Raveux, Marseille, ville des métaux et de la vapeur au XIXe siècle (Paris: CNRS Éditions, 1998), 56–58. 64. Raveux, Marseille, ville des métaux, 113.

FROM PARALLEL GROWTH TO GREAT DIVERGENCE

45

65. Mike Chrimes, ‘British and Irish civil engineers in the development of Argentina in the nineteenth century ’, in Proceedings of the Second International Congress on Construction History, Queens College, Cambridge University, Malcolm Dunkeld et al. (eds), vol. 1 (Cambridge, 2006), 675–694. 66. Olivier Raveux, ‘La construction navale et la mécanique marine en France au milieu du XIXe siècle : L’exemple de la Société Taylor & Fils’, in Christiane Villain-Gandossi, Deux siècles de constructions et chantiers navals (milieu XVIIe-milieu XIXe siècle) (Éditions du CTHS , 2002), 213–224; Raveux, ‘Les ingénieurs anglais de la Provence Maritime sous la Monarchie de Juillet’, Provence Historique, 1994, 177, 314–315. 67. Raveux, Marseille, ville des métaux, 114–120. 68. Enric Garcia Domingo, ‘Engine drivers or engineers: ships’ engineers in the Spanish merchant navy (1834–1893)’, Journal of Mediterranean Studies, 2010, 19(2), 253–254, 258–259, 261. 69. Newspaper Αστήρ των Κυκλάδων [Cyclades Star], n. 201–211, 30 April 1861. 70. Χατζηιωσήφ, H Γηραιά Σελήνη, 139; Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 166–167; newspaper Σφαίρα [Globe], n. 4662, 6.10.1897. 71. Newspaper, Πανόπη [Panopi], n. 129, 16.8.1873. 72. Mansolas, Πολιτειογραφικαί πληροφορίαι, 109; Καρδάσης, Από του ιστίου, 36; Αγριαντώνη, Οι Απαρχές της Εκβιομηχάνισης, 198; Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 166–167. 73. Newspaper Ήλιος [Sun], n. 56, 17.9.1887, n. 123, 25.9.1888; newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 1709, 9.1.1899, n. 1744, 11.9.1899. 74. Αντώνιος Φουστάνος (ed.), Ημερολόγιον της Σύρου, [Syros Calendar], 122. 75. Historical Archive of the National Bank of Greece, XXV, ΕΡΓΑ, Α΄ Ναυτιλιακά, 32, 4, Εταιρεία Ελληνικής Ατμοπλοΐας- Γενικές Συνελέυσεις Μετόχων, Έκτακτος Γενική Συνέλευση Μετόχων της Ελληνικής Ατμοπλοΐας, 1872, 5. 76. Newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 903, 19.11.1883, n. 2039, 16.4.1905. 77. Newspaper Ερμούπολις [Hermoupolis], n. 400, 12.8.1872, n. 457, 13.10.1873, n. 479, 16.3.1874, n. 492, 15.6.1874, n. 507, 28.9.1874, n. 508, 5.10.1874, n. 509, 12.10.1874; Ο Άργος [Argos], n. 23, 13.10.1874; Πανόπη [Panopi], n. 98, 15.3.1873, n. 190, 17.10.1874. 78. Newspaper Πανόπη [Panopi], n. 964, 14.9.1883. 79. Marc Flandreau and Stefano Ugolini, ‘Where it all began: lending of last resort and the Bank of England during the Overend-Gurney panic of 1866’, Working paper, Norges Bank, 03, 2011; Stefanos Xenos, Depredations: or, Overend, Gurney, & Co., and the Greek & Oriental Steam Navigation Company (London, 1869); Harlaftis, A History of Greek-Owned Shipping, 62–65. 80. Harlaftis, A History of Greek-Owned Shipping, 124–125. 81. Newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 1288, 23.2.1891. 82. F.O. Piraeus, 1899, 4. These figures are almost the same as those provided by Greek sources in Καρδάσης, Από του ιστίου, 172.

46

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

83. F.O. Syra, 1900, 6; newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 1907, 12.10.1902. 84. Harlaftis, A History of Greek-Owned Shipping, 112, 133; Καρδάσης, Από του ιστίου, 172; newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 1907, 12.10.1902, n. 1908, 19.10.1902. 85. Newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 1907, 12.10.1902. 86. F.O. Piraeus, 1897, 6. 87. Newspaper Ο Οικονομολόγος [The Economist], n. 1, 16.5.1892. 88. The newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland] from 1898 onwards regularly published information for every new steamer purchased by Syros and Andros capitalists. 89. Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 183, 185. 90. Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 159, 161, 163. 91. Το εν Σύρω Ναυτιλιακόν Συνέδριον, της 1ης Σεπτεμβρίου 1902 [The Syros Shipping Conference of 1st September 1902], 2, 36. 92. Το εν Σύρω Ναυτιλιακόν Συνέδριον, 33; Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 143. 93. Το εν Σύρω Ναυτιλιακόν Συνέδριον, 88–89; Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 161. The need to build a steam navigation industry on the basis of exploiting national mining resources and on cheap coal was also expressed in an article as early as 1857. See periodical Πανδώρα [Pandora], vol. 7, 166, 1857, 505–509. 94. Χατζηιωσήφ, H Γηραιά Σελήνη, 130; Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 143. 95. Πανοπούλου, Οικονομικά και τεχνικά προβλήματα, 144–145; Αγριαντώνη, Οι Απαρχές της Εκβιομηχάνισης, 238–242; Χατζηιωσήφ, H Γηραιά Σελήνη, 135; Καρδάσης, Από του ιστίου, 65–67. 96. Χατζηιωσήφ, H Γηραιά Σελήνη, 145–147. 97. Το εν Σύρω Ναυτιλιακόν Συνέδριον, 88–90. 98. Harlaftis, A History of Greek-Owned Shipping, 133, 179–181; Χατζηιωσήφ, H Γηραιά Σελήνη, 150; Το εν Σύρω Ναυτιλιακόν Συνέδριον, 37–40. 99. Newspaper Πατρίς [Homeland], n. 2135, 3.3.1907. 100. Το εν Σύρω Ναυτιλιακόν Συνέδριον, 86.

Choosing Locomotives in the Formative Period of the Greek Railways, 1880–1910 DIONYSIS PARASKEVOPOULOS In memory of my father Athanasios Paraskevopoulos, Inspector of Greek Railways

In this article, I study the steam locomotives chosen, purchased and used by the Greek railway companies in the formative period of the expansion of Greece’s railways. The article examines the period 1880 to 1910, the period during which the network was planned and decided. It is also the period of the network’s quantitative development. In these years, all but one of Greece’s railway lines were constructed.1 At the heart of this article is a historical study concerning the diffusion and use of railway technology in Greece in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Existing literature in Greek railway history has taken an externalist historiographical approach, and examined the geopolitical, social and economic aspects of Greece’s railways, but as of yet, the specific topic of the moving force of these railways, namely the steam locomotives, has remained unstudied.2 The main interest of those historical studies has been one of contextualization: they examine, on the one hand, the construction of the Greek network within the context of the international geopolitical situation, and on the other, within the context of the needs of Greek society and the ability of the Greek economy. In older international historiographical trends, the emphasis was on the invention, improvement and construction of technological artefacts, and not on topics concerning technological parameters such as the motive force of Greek railways. Given that the steam locomotive was not invented in Greece, and locomotives were not on the whole built or improved on in the country (with one exception), queries about locomotives in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Greece have not tended to excite historical interest. Matters, however, differ greatly in the light of recent trends in the historiography of technology, namely the historiographical approach that focuses on

47

48

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

the diffusion and use of technology. This focus extends far beyond both the historical period and the geographical area in which the history of technology can be illustrated. Thus, the historical period does not concern only the age of great inventions and innovations, but is enlarged by including the periods of diffusion and use of technology. In turn, the geographical space is no longer only the space of the large and developed countries of the West, i.e. those countries where technological inventions and innovations emerged, but now includes the countries where technology was diffused, consumed and used.3 That is, during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries the geographical area in which technology was diffused and used is incomparably larger than the space in which inventions and technological innovations first emerged. Under this premise, the history of technology becomes a discipline that concerns, essentially, the entire world.4 So nowadays and within the historiographical approach focusing on diffusion and use, to pose and examine historical questions for railway technology purchased and used in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Greece has its own interest. The answer, of course, to any historical question depends directly on the available historical material. Given the material available for Greek railways, the following questions emerge: Firstly, what types of locomotives were imported in to Greece and what criteria were used to choose these locomotives? Secondly, from which countries were these locomotives purchased? Thirdly, what was the evolution of the tracking effort for each company and what was the corresponding progress for the Greek network as a whole?5 Fourthly, can technological ‘style’ be detected in the case of Greek locomotives?6 In turn, this leads to the related questions of whether the Greek case allows us to refer to a technological ‘style’ (corporate, but mainly national) and whether this style was formed by the purchase and use of steam locomotives? This study is divided into four sections. The first section explores issues associated with the construction of the Greek railway network. It provides the historical and technological setting of the railway network, places it within Greece’s socio-political transformation and explores its role and co-evolution with decision making relevant to the types of locomotives used by railway companies in Greece. The second section consists of two parts. The first part classifies the locomotives purchased and used by Greece in the years 1880 to 1910 on the basis of their use and origin and examines tracking effort. The second part focuses on the locomotives purchased by ‘minor’ Greek railway companies – those with no more than twenty locomotives. The final two sections explore in detail the locomotives of SPAP (the Peloponnesian railways company) and the ones of EES (company of the intended international line).

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE GREEK RAILWAY NETWORK The politics of lines Following the annexation of Thessaly in the early 1880s, the Greek Kingdom consisted of Peloponnesus, Continental Greece, Thessaly, the Ionian Islands, the Islands of Cyclades and North Sporades (see Map 1).7

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

49

MAP 1: Map of Greece in 1881. Epirus and the islands on the eastern side of the Aegean Sea (e.g. Imbros, Tenedos, Chios) were part of the Ottoman Empire. Source: http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/George_I_of_Greece

Yet when Greece’s two main political parties – the one populist and conservative, and the other liberal and modernist – debated the controversial question of the Greek railways in the Parliament in the years 1880–1882 there was only one railway line in the entirety of the kingdom.8 What then led them to debate increasing railway provision in Greece in these years?9 The geopolitical aspect was a prime motivating factor in the debate: the main component for the formation and strengthening of political will for the construction of the railway network arose out of the situation that had developed in the region of the Eastern Mediterranean and the Balkans. With the opening of the Suez Canal (1869) and the Treaty of Berlin (1878) there appeared two major, largely competitive, transport routes to the East.10 The first of these was largely dominated by English and French interests and combined use of the railway up to the Mediterranean (Marseilles or Brindisi), steamers up to Suez and from there could connect to India and Indochina (the route of Phileas Fogg!).

50

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

The second route was German-Austrian: railway lines linked Berlin and Vienna to Istanbul by train, and from there (also by train) to Baghdad. At the end of the 1870s, faced with this situation, no Balkan state – particularly not the most southern state in the peninsula – could remain indifferent and ignore the new trade prospects. By building its railway network, Greece, being the natural bridge between the East and West, could join the group of countries participating in the ‘Road to India’ and thus claim a large part of the international trade. The second motivating factor was the annexation of Thessaly to the Greek Kingdom in 1881. This annexation not only created the hope that Greece would be self-sufficient in cereals, but it brought the country closer to the trunk of the Balkan Peninsula, through which the strings of the Austro-Hungarian transport policy operated. Indeed, the central issue of all the parliamentary debates, that is, whether Greece should build a railroad to the northern border, or the Peloponnesian lines, or, later in 1887, the line of Northwestern Greece, concerned two fundamental questions: what was the best method by which Greece could connect to the European networks; and which part of the Greek coast provided the most advantageous approach to the new Mediterranean artery of Gibraltar–Suez? The roots of the controversy between the two great Greek parties lay in their own strategic concepts for the development and economic growth of the country.11 The populist-conservative party represented by Alexandros Koumoundouros (and later by Theodore Diligiannis) considered that the country’s participation in the ‘Road to India’ was certain: Greece, as the bridge between East and West, would accept a substantial part of international trade, and the result would be a great benefit for the economic growth of the country. They demanded that the Greek network be of an international standard gauge, thereby allowing the required high speeds and, secondly, that the state must guarantee railway companies a minimum annual profit of 5 per cent, which would be a strong incentive for the financiers. They believed the risk for the state budget should be considered negligible, since the companies would quickly become profitable because of the large transit trade. For this reason, in 1881, Koumoundouros (then Prime Minister), signed contracts for the construction of three standard gauge lines: a) Piraeus to Larissa; b) Piraeus to Patras (with branch Corinth–Nafplion–Myloi, gauge 700 mm); and c) Volos to Larissa.12 In addition to these, another line planned by Koumoundouros, from Pyrgos to Katakolon (13 km, gauge 1,000 mm) was constructed by the Municipality of Pyrgos and opened in 1883. However, in 1882 the company that undertook the concession for the first lines declared that it was impossible for it to fulfil its obligations unless the terms of the contract were reconsidered. By the time this issue was raised, Charilaos Trikoupis, the leader of the liberalmodernist party, was Prime Minister. Trikoupis (in contrast to his predecessor) believed that the international situation was not a suitable climate for Greece to become involved in the ‘Road to India’, and that Greece would not achieve economic growth by joining the group of rich nations. On the contrary, the country must be developed so to claim its membership in this group. Instead Trikoupis’ main objective was the modernization of internal structures in the country; namely the unification of national space and market. The precondition for this development was the rapid improvement of internal communications and transport. The State needed to

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

51

actively contribute to speed up the process, but it also needed to save resources for sustaining it over the long term. Thus, the Greek railway network, which would actually be a substitute for the almost non-existent road network, should have narrow-gauge lines (1,000 mm) in order to be financially affordable and quickly constructed. The different opinions about the construction of the network reflected political considerations concerning the issue of Greece’s modernization. Koumoundouros promoted a network with technical specifications that would allow connections with the European networks, and which were aimed at providing Greece with a primary role in the Mediterranean and Balkan transit trade. On the other hand Trikoupis – although he considered the railway a significant factor for growth and acknowledged the importance of connecting with the European networks – promoted (not neglecting the country’s economic abilities) the construction of narrow lines, with the intention of replacing an inadequate road infrastructure with increased railway infrastructure. In order to achieve this aim, Trikoupis’ first goal was the streamlining of internal structures. A secondary objective was the improvement of Greece’s position in the international transport and trade which Trikoupis believed could be achieved through economic and political modernization of the country.13 Put simply, Koumoundouros tried to answer the question ‘What railways do we want to have?’ while Trikoupis posed the question ‘What railways can we have?’.

The first phase of construction In 1882 Trikoupis presented his railway plan: he cancelled the previous contract for the Volos–Larissa line, and instead signed the final contracts for the construction of three railway networks equalling a total length of 700 km and 1,000 mm gauge in Thessaly (Volos–Velestino–Larissa and Velestino–Kalambaka), Peloponnesus (Piraeus–Athens–Patras–Pyrgos and Corinth–Nafplion–Myloi) and Attica (Athens– Herakleion–Lavrio with branch Herakleion–Kifissia). Instead of the annual profit guarantee, for the Thessaly and Peloponnesus lines the agreement offered the manufacturing companies a subsidy of 20,000 drachmas per kilometre, the estimated cost for the construction of vehicular roads. For the Volos–Larissa and the Attica lines the government offered no subsidy; the first line was profitable and easy to construct, while the construction company of the latter owed the state about 6 million drachmas. Trikoupis argued that it would be possible to construct an entire network of local railways throughout the country, within 4–5 years, with the same amount of money that Koumoundouros was risking on only one line. Part of his plan was also to construct a standard gauge line from Athens to the northern border, with the aim that it would one day connect to the European railway networks. The work on the railways began almost immediately and was completed within a few years. By June 1885 the Attica line was completed at a length of 76 km.14 By August the following year two further railway lines were complete: these were the Thessaly line reaching 202 km in length and a section of the Piraeus–Corinth– Argos–Nafplion line in Peloponnesus, with a branch at Argos–Myloi (the Corinth– Patras section was completed in December 1887).15

52

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

The construction of the Patras–Pyrgos line started in 1888 and was completed in March 1890. In this section two branches were constructed: a) Pyrgos–Ancient Olympia (completed in August 1891); and b) Kavasila–Kyllini–Baths (completed in June 1892). The result of this investment was that midway through the year 1892 the company Piraeus-Athens-Peloponnesus Railways (SPAP ) had lines equalling 454 km in length.16 Additionally, in 1886 in the region of Athens began the construction of a steam tramway line which linked the city centre with Old and New Faliro, while another steam tramway line connected the centre of Piraeus to Neo Faliro. The length of the lines was 15 km and the gauge 1,000 mm.17 These lines were operational in 1887, and were eventually electrified in 1909.

The second phase of construction18 The first phase of construction was considered satisfactory and in April 1887 a proposal by the French Mission for Public Works19 in Greece encouraged Trikoupis to grant public funding for the construction of the Myloi–Tripoli–Kalamata line. The contract, signed in April 1887, was granted to the Company of Meridian Hellenic Railways, a company of Belgian interest, and stated that the construction work had to be completed within three years. The project eventually started in early 1889 but in April 1891 the company stopped the work and withdrew, having constructed only 101 km of the line. In February 1892, the government, led by the new Prime Minister Theodore Diligiannis, instructed the construction of the remainder of the section and the exploitation of the entire line to SPAP. But SPAP suffered a financial crisis in 1893–1894, with the result that work on the line was not resumed until 1895. It was eventually completed in 1899, at which point the Peloponnesian network equalled 633 km in length. In 1887 Trikoupis also decided to allow construction of a 44 km railway line between Messolonghi and Agrinio, then in Northwestern Greece; the aim of the line was to connect this part of the country with Athens by means of the Peloponnesian network. It was to be the first line constructed on behalf of the Greek state, without resorting to private initiative. The contract was given to a Belgian company represented by Ernest Rollin and work began in June 1888. The project was completed in August 1890 within the two-year period allowed in the contract. In 1889 Trikoupis, considering that the line would not be operationally efficient, decided to extend the line to Kryoneri Bay, in the Patraikos Gulf, which would enable a steamboat connection with Patras and allow the line to connect to SPAP. The extension, the steamboat KALYDON I and the dock of Kryoneri were delivered in 1891, and in this year full operation of the line began. The starting point of the line was at the port of Patras, the site of the company’s agency only for ticket purchases: passengers then boarded the company’s boat to Kryoneri where they could join the main railway line. The Railway of Northwestern Greece (SBDE ) combined rail and marine transportation from its first operations. It was hence a pioneering line built for the Greek conditions. The final line built during the second phase of construction was a rack railway known as the Diakofto–Kalavryta line. Trikoupis ordered the building of this 23 km

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

53

railway (rack part 3.4 km, gauge 750 mm) in early 1889. He believed that the construction of narrow lines would be useful as they would connect some inaccessible parts of the Greek mainland to the main railway network. It would also be far cheaper than constructing a road to connect these areas: according to the estimates of the French Mission, the cost of the construction and maintenance of this line would be significantly cheaper than that of constructing and maintaining a corresponding vehicular road. On 10 March 1889 the state and the SPAP signed a contract for building the line, which would be funded by the government and which SPAP would then run and manage for profit. The construction, though, was difficult; the line was projected to go through extremely rough terrain and it was necessary to embark on difficult technical projects to enable its completion. After several conflicts between the state and SPAP, the line was eventually completed in September 1895 and began operating on 10 March 1896, just two weeks before the start of the first Olympic Games of the modern era.

The third period of construction In 1889 the Thessaly Railways Company decided to self-fund the construction of the Volos–Lechonia line (13 km, gauge 600 mm). This was a first step towards connecting the villages and towns of Pelion with the market and port of Volos. Financial difficulties initially delayed the work but when construction began in 1894 the line was completed quickly, and was operational by October 1895, but the good hopes for success were not confirmed. In 1900, the Thessaly Railways Company decided to extend this line from Lechonia to Milies (15 km, gauge 600 mm), but only on the basis of a state funding guarantee, which was granted. As such there was great interest in this railway line, which was completed in 1903; the Chief Engineer Evaristo de Chirico was employed to draw designs for the line that included special consideration for the landscape of Pelion. There were also planned extensions to this railway, including a line to Tsagarada (22.7 km from Milies) and Zagora (44.7 km from Milies) but these were never constructed. By 1903 Thessaly Railways Company had lines of 230 km in length, 202 km metric gauge and 28 km of 600 mm gauge.20 Once the line between Myloi and Kalamata was completed in late 1899, it was obvious that a line connecting Pyrgos, Kyparissia and Meligala, aimed at integrating the Peloponnesian network, was needed. Trikoupis had died in 1896, so the government under Prime Minister George Theotokis took out a loan to complete the construction work and gave over exploitation of the line to SPAP. Work on the new Pyrgos–Kyparissia–Meligala line started in April 1900 and progressed at a steady pace, despite some difficulties navigating the large bridge over the River Alfeios. The line was completed in August 1902 at which stage the company of Peloponnesian railways (SPAP ) had control of 750 km of railway.21 Regarding the international line to the northern border, the expectation of economic interest was neither the only, nor the most important parameter. The importance of its construction was obvious during the mobilization against the Ottoman Empire in 1885, and especially so during the naval blockade of Piraeus in May 1886, when the movement of Greek troops and supplies to Thessaly was blocked. These events led the government to consider that construction of the line

54

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

was a national emergency. Yet despite securing a number of large, international loans, economic weakness meant the project was abandoned in 1893, with only a few of the simpler lines completed, such as the small Lianokladi–Lamia–Stylis line (length 20 km). Moreover, the economic crisis of the time did not allow discussion of a new assignment. It was only after defeat in the Greco-Turkish War of 1897 (due to Greece’s failure to move its troops to Thessaly in time) that discussions about completing the construction of the international line began again in earnest. In 1900 George Theotokis, the then Prime Minister, signed a contract with the Eastern Railway Construction Syndicate Ltd, aimed at completing the international line, but the real contractors of the project were the banking House of Erlangen and J. Goüin, President of the French company Société de Construction de Batignolles. Work on the international line began again in September 1901 and in February 1902 the respective company was founded, named the Company of Greek Railways (EES ). The line reached Larissa on 6 September 1908 and the last section of the line between Larissa and Papapouli was completed on 22 July 1909. The length of the line was 441 km of standard gauge and its specifications corresponded with those of the major European railways.22 Following the completion of this line, Greece had 1,580 km of railway lines, excluding the Athens–Piraeus railway and the country’s tramways. These lines equated to 441 km of standard gauge, 23 km of 750 mm gauge, 28 km of 600 mm gauge and the rest of metric gauge. In Greece in 1910 a traveller could, simply by changing trains in Athens, potentially travel from Kalamata to Larissa, a distance of about 800 kilometres. In this section thus far we have examined the early history of the Greek railway network. We have seen that it began with the parliamentary discussions on the bills of Trikoupis’ government in 1882 and ended in late 1909 with the completion of the Piraeus–Border line. Trikoupis’ optimistic outlook of a five-year construction period

FIGURE 1: Annual evolution of the Greek railway network from 1883 (13 km) until 1910 (1,580 km).

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

55

TABLE 1: Length of railway by country (as of 1 January 1910)25 Country Belgium Britain–Ireland Bulgaria Denmark France Germany Greece Italy Netherlands Norway Portugal Romania Russia Spain Sweden Switzerland Turkey European Total

Length km

Length/100 km2

Length/10,000 people

8,278 37,475 1,746 3,484 48,579 60,089 1,580 16,799 3,100 3,002 2,894 3,355 59,403 14,958 13,798 4,780 1,557 329,691

28.1 11.9 1.8 9.1 9.1 11.1 2.4 5.9 9.4 0.9 3.1 2.5 1.1 3.0 3.1 11.1 0.9 3.4

12.4 9.0 4.0 15.5 12.4 9.9 6.4 5.1 6.1 13.5 5.3 5.7 5.6 8.1 26.9 13.8 2.6 9.3

for the railway network took a lengthy adventurous course which in reality took five times longer to complete than originally expected. Furthermore, when compared with the railway networks of other European countries in the same period, the Greek network performs poorly. An analysis of the data in Table 1 confirms this argument. Table 1 lists: a) the length of railway lines of several European countries in 1910; b) the length corresponding to 100 square kilometres of area; and c) the length corresponding to 10,000 inhabitants. Local experts using existing technology assessment indicators of the period have stressed the slow pace of network integration in Greece. According to D. Protopapadakis (then Professor of Railway Technology at Athens Polytechnic)23 the internationally accepted measure for a country to have a good railway system required a minimum 3.3 km of track per 100 square kilometres and 8.2 km per 10,000 inhabitants.24 At a total length of 1,580 km Greece’s network fell well below this standard; to meet the standard it needed to have an additional 550 km of track, a 35 per cent increase in total track length.

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES For the presentation of locomotives, I follow the Whyte notation26 and for their classification I use three criteria: the carrying of supplies, the steam expansion and the use of different kinds of trains (passenger, freight and mixed). The Whyte notation, used in most English-speaking and Commonwealth countries, represented each set of wheels with a number. The notation counts the number of leading wheels, then the number of driving wheels, and finally the number of trailing wheels, groups of numbers being separated by dashes. For example, an

56

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

engine with only four drive wheels would appear as a ‘0-4-0’ wheel arrangement and a locomotive with a 4-wheel leading truck, followed by 6 driving wheels, and a 2-wheel trailing truck, would appear as a ‘4-6-2’. Articulated types such as Mallets, where there were no unpowered wheels between powered wheels, had extra groups of numbers in the middle. Thus 0-4-4-0 is for an articulated locomotive with no leading wheels, a group of four driving wheels, another group of four driving wheels, and then no trailing wheels; a 4-8-8-4 had four leading wheels, one group of eight driving wheels, another group of eight driving wheels, and then four trailing wheels. As for the suffixes, no suffix means a tender locomotive, and T indicates a tank locomotive. In European practice, this was sometimes extended to indicate the type of tank locomotive: T means side tank, PT pannier tank, ST saddle tank and WT well tank. In Europe, the suffix R signified a rack (for instance 0-6-0RT ) locomotive. Until approximately 1920, steam locomotives were rated by their Tracking Effort; this worldwide rating measured the heaviest load a locomotive can start or haul at very low speed.27 Tractive Effort (T in kilograms) was defined as the average force developed during one revolution of the driving wheels at the rail head. This is expressed as

where d is the bore of cylinder (diameter) in centimetres, l is the cylinder stroke in centimetres, p is the boiler pressure in kilograms per square centimetre (Atm), and D is the driving wheels’ diameter in centimetres.28 Factor c depends on the effective steam cut-off, i.e. the percentage of the boiler’s operating pressure acting on the cylinder’s stroke for starting and at low speed. In Britain and the USA c=0.85 is accepted, in Germany the accepted value is c=0.75, while c=0.65 is accepted in France and Belgium.29 In Greece, the French concept is applied even in steam locomotives of British or German origin.30 In the formula above it is clear that for the same cylinders and steam pressure, the smaller the diameter of driving wheels, the greater the tracking effort of the locomotive and vice versa. Therefore, if great tracking effort was needed, for example as in the case of freight trains, then locomotives with small driving wheels were used. When exploring the European context within which the railway companies could make their choices of locomotives, one must have in mind that the late nineteenth century, the era in which the Greek railroads were established, was a key period in the development and growth of narrow railways since their lower cost and their quick construction were advantageous. Moreover, many problems concerning locomotives for narrow lines had been solved and the development of narrow-gauge railway networks astounding.31 Bearing in mind this historical context, the Greek decision on the rail network was, in principle, a choice bounded by specific material, economic and geographical specificities. I would claim that decisions were made within a context of bounded rationality.

Greek locomotives as a whole The Greek companies faced two key questions when deciding in which locomotives to invest. Firstly, where could they actually purchase their locomotives? The second

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

57

question they faced was, what is the international railway practice for such railways? In terms of where they could physically purchase locomotives, a country like Greece could choose locomotives in the factories of four European countries, those of Britain, France, Germany and Belgium. The second question on international practice was rather more complicated, and formulated on the basis that the Greek railways – while a major project by Greek standards – were rather restricted in terms of international criteria. Until the late nineteenth century locomotives operated only by saturated steam. Superheated steam was not used in mainstream railway practice until post-1900; until that moment superheating was used only experimentally. The vast majority of locomotives were single expansion: compound locomotives, an innovation of 1876, were only widely used in narrow lines after 1885. The main types of locomotives used in passenger trains were those with two coupled axles, mainly steam locomotives of type 2-4-0 or 4-4-0. For freight trains, the locomotives mainly had three coupled axles of total adhesion, i.e. of type 0-6-0 or locomotives of 2-6-0 type having small driving wheels. For pulling heavier loads, locomotives with four coupled axles were used. For hauling mixed trains, locomotives of type 2-6-0 or 0-6-2 (less often) were used; both had bigger wheels than freight locomotives. Over time, and particularly after the period 1890–1892, the 2-6-0 locomotives were used in passenger trains of medium speed, freight locomotives being those with four coupled axles, and locomotives with two driving axles and big wheels were used in express trains.32 The numbers of locomotives: Between 1880 and 1910, 203 steam locomotives were purchased by Greece’s railway companies and could be seen in operation on the Greek network (see Table 2). These locomotives can be classified by different criteria. This article classifies them according to: a) the carrying of supplies; b) the steam expansion; and c) the criterion of use.33 In the case of (a) chosen by the carrying of supplies, 39 of the locomotives had to be tank locomotives (21 tramways, 4 rack, 7 mountain and 7 for manoeuvres). In the case of the other 164 we find 151 tank (92 per cent) and only 13 tender (8 per cent) locomotives. For those locomotives in (b) chosen by steam expansion, there was no choice in the case of the 21 locomotives chosen for the tramways: these had to be

TABLE 2: Number of locomotives purchased by the Greek railway companies34 Company Athens-Piraeus Railway (SAP ) Pyrgos-Katakolon Railway (SPK ) Athens-Piraeus-Suburbs Tramways (ETAPP ) Thessaly Railway (ThRwy) Attica Railway (SA ) Northwestern Greece Railway (SBDE ) Athens-Piraeus-Peloponnesus Railways (SPAP ) Greek Railways Company (EES )

Number of locomotives 17 3 21 23 14 6 86 33

58

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

single expansion as double expansion engines were not used on tramway lines. In the remaining 182 locomotives, we find 162 single (87.5 per cent) and 20 compound (12.5 per cent) locomotives. Finally, in the criterion of use (c), for the same 39 locomotives as in (a) the choice was unique: 21 locomotives for tramways, and 18 locomotives of mixed use. The other 164 can be classified as follows: ●

Passenger locomotives (types 2-4-0, 4-4-0, 4-6-0) 51 (31 per cent).

●

Freight locomotives (types 0-6-0, 2-6-0, 0-8-2, 2-8-0) 28 (17 per cent).

●

Locomotives for mixed use (0-6-2, 2-6-0, 0-4-4-0) 85 (52 per cent).

The origins of locomotives: Greece could primarily purchase steam locomotives from Belgium (66 locomotives), Britain (17 locomotives), France (29 locomotives) and Germany (88 locomotives).35 In total 200 out of 203 locomotives were purchased from factories in these countries. Greece had another three locomotives in this period, two of these it purchased from Switzerland and one was built in a Greek factory. The tracking effort: In calculating the tracking effort for the whole network (see Table 3) I have not included in my calculations the locomotives and length of SAP and ETAPP, as they were urban lines obliged to have many locomotives because of their intensive daily traffic. Had I included SAP ’s and ETAPP ’s many locomotives of short length, the measure of tracking effort produced for the Greek network would be abnormally high. Also, I have not included three locomotives used for the construction of EES ’s line as they were never included in the company’s official moving force.

FIGURE 2: The origins of Greek locomotives.

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

59

TABLE 3: Annual length of the Greek network, the annual total tracking effort and the total tracking effort divided by length (1885–1910) Year 1885 1886 1887 1888 1889 1890 1891 1892 1893 1894 1895 1896 1897

Length Total T (kg) T per Length (km) (kg/km) 338 492 597 618 618 741 796 908 908 908 908 944 997

99,752 134,152 169,170 177,618 177,618 206,477 237,586 320,675 333,892 334,877 334,877 352,715 352,715

295.1 272.7 283.4 287.4 287.4 278.6 298.5 353.2 367.7 368.8 368.8 373.6 353.8

Year

Length (km)

1898 1899 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905 1906 1907 1908 1909 1910

1,002 1,029 1,029 1,029 1,118 1,133 1,337 1,352 1,373 1,373 1,428 1,549 1,574

Total T (kg) T per Length (kg/km) 349,525 361,258 372,620 396,086 414,470 438,912 507,712 507,712 558,992 565,120 719,124 719,124 719,124

348.8 351.1 362.1 384.9 370.7 387.4 379.7 375.5 407.1 411.6 503.6 464.3 456.9

FIGURE 3: Annual tracking effort divided by network length.

An analysis of Figure 3 reveals, firstly, that during the period 1885 to 1910, the tracking effort per length increased by more than 50 per cent. It rose from 300 kg/ km in 1885 to 460 kg/km in 1910. It is not surprising that the tracking effort was initially small: in 1885 only the small Pyrgos–Katakolon line was in full operation; the Attica Railway line only began operating halfway through that year. On the other hand, by 1910, all the Greek railway lines were fully constructed and all the

60

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

FIGURE 4: The evolution of the tracking effort per length in the Greek network, measured every five years.

Greek companies were fully operational. Secondly, Figure 3 shows that after a brief period of growth between 1890 and 1892, the tracking effort remained stable during the 1893–1896 crisis. So too did the network’s length remain stable as well, as can be seen in Figure 1; in these years neither new lines were constructed nor new locomotives were purchased. The evolution of the tracking effort as it is represented in Figure 4 is similar to that shown with the evolution of the tracking effort of SPAP (see Figure 7). I would not exaggerate to say that SPAP ’s activities were the most significant ones during the period considered. Furthermore, the great increase of SA’s tracking effort in the years 1905–1910 (see Figure 5) has affected the format of the diagram.

Locomotives of ‘minor’ companies Athens-Piraeus Railway (SAP): In the period 1869–1904 SAP purchased seventeen locomotives. Fourteen of these were built by British factories and the other three by the Belgian factory Société Anonyme de Saint Léonard (see Table 4). All but one of the locomotives purchased by SAP were for passenger trains, with two driving axles and large driving wheels (only the first purchase was a freight locomotive). SAP ’s choice in trains was sensible; it was an urban line, its services addressed the population of Athens and Piraeus and 91 per cent of the company’s revenues were made from ticket sales. SAP ’s passenger locomotives, at least the ones with known features, are fully comparable with the excellent express locomotive Pandora (2-4-0, T=3,183 kg) of the London and North-Eastern Railway Co., and with locomotives operating on French lines including the Companie des Chemins de Fer de l’ Ouest (2-4-0T, T=3,504 kg) and the Chemins de Fer Nord-Français (2-4-0T, T=3510 kg).36

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

61

TABLE 4: Locomotives purchased by SAP Year

Locomotives Types

1869

4

1876 1879 1880–1883 1884 1892 1896

1 1 4 2 2 3

0-6-0ST 2-4-0T (2) 0-4-2T 2-4-0T 2-4-0T 2-4-0T 2-4-0T 2-4-0T 0-4-2T

Factory

D (mm)/p (Atm)/T (kg)

Hudswell Clarke Hudswell Clarke Neilson & Co. Ltd. Sharp Stewart Sharp Stewart Hudswell Clarke Sharp Stewart Sharp Stewart Saint Léonard

914/10/3,539 1,448/10/2,890 1,676/10/3,24737 Unknown38 Unknown Same as 1869 Unknown Unknown 1,600/10/3,90039

Pyrgos-Katakolon Railway (SPK): The Pyrgos-Katakolon Railway was the only Greek railway constructed on behalf of a municipality, that of Pyrgos. It exploited a short and exceptionally convenient line: the length of the line was 13 km; it had little in the way of gradients and curves. For this reason, the company purchased three steam locomotives, named ΠΥΡΓΟΣ, ΗΛΕΙΑ and ΕΡΜΗΣ, intended for mixed use. Their wheels and steam mechanism were covered – a typical feature of the tramway locomotives – as the route was sandy and dusty. They were of 0-4-0T type, D=750 mm, p=12 Atm and T=2,109 kg and were built by the German factory Krauss Lokomotivfabrik München.40 Company of Athens-Piraeus-Suburbs Tramways (ETAPP): ETAPP was a tramway urban line: all twenty-one steam locomotives purchased from 1887 until 1903 were of a tramway type, i.e. high pressure operation, short length, covered wheels and steam mechanism, alongside a roof cover. Seventeen out of the twenty-one locomotives it owned were purchased from the German factory Lokomotivfabrik München, two were built by the Swiss firm SLM Winterthur and the other two by the German factory Orenstein & Koppel (see Table 5).

TABLE 5: Locomotives purchased by ETAPP 41 Year

Locomotives Types

1887

12

1891 1896–1898 1903

2 3 4

0-4-0T (3) 0-4-0T (3) 0-6-0T (2) 0-6-0T (2) 0-6-0T (2) 0-6-0T 0-6-0T 0-6-0T (2) 0-4-0T (2)

Factory

D (mm)/p (Atm)/T (kg)

Krauss Krauss Krauss SLM Winterthur Krauss Krauss Krauss Krauss Orenstein & Koppel

630/12/728 630/12/1,074 750/15/2,636 730/14/2,111 750/15/2,636 750/15/2,636 750/15/2,636 750/15/2,636 800/14/3,583

62

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

Similar locomotives operated on many European tramways. For example, locomotives of 0-4-0 type operated on the Spanish Pontevedra-Marin Tramways and the Naples Tramways, while similar ones of 0-6-0 type were operating on the French Société Nationale des Chemins de Fer Vicinaux and the Chemin de Fer Vicinal d’Ans-Oreye.42 Attica Railway (SA): SA’s line consisted of two distinct parts: the part between Athens and Kifissia (15 km) was mainly used for passenger service, while the part between Athens and Lavrion (61 km) was built predominantly for commercial use; reflecting this situation SA purchased tank locomotives for mixed use (For SA’s tracking effort see Table 6 and Figure 5). The company’s initial purchase consisted of four locomotives of Class A (numbered A1–A4) and three of Class B (numbered B5–B7). In 1890 another one was purchased (B8) and in 1898 one more (B9). All were built in the Belgian factory Les Ateliers Metallourgiques Tubize. Class A was of 0-6-0T type with D=1,300 mm, p=9 Atm and T=3,190 kg. Class B was of type 0-6-2T with the same wheels, same boiler pressure and same tracking effort as Class A.43 Locomotives with 0-6-0 axle display were very common for freight trains. At least ten classes of these locomotives were constructed by Saint Léonard between 1880–1890 and were operating in metric gauge lines of different countries (Spain, France, Brazil, Chile and China).44 For example, Serie 2AC locomotives, operating on the Brazilian line Juiz de ForaPiau, are comparable with Class A of SA having T=3,582 kg. By contrast there were only two classes of 0-6-2 locomotives operating on metric gauge lines: Serie 2GT (T=3,026 kg) on the Italian Company of Secondary Railways (line Napoli–Nola Baiano) and Serie 3GT (T=2,763 kg) on the French Chemins de Fer Départemantaux.45 Yet more significant was the purchase by SA of Class Γ, which consisted of only one locomotive of 2-6-0T type, numbered Γ10 and named ΕΛΛΗΝΙΣ (Greek Lady). That locomotive was the only one ever built in a Greek factory, in Basileiades Machine-Works Piraeus.46 It had D=1,200 mm, p=10 Atm and T=3,911km and was very suitable either for mixed trains or passenger trains of a medium speed. In 1906 SA purchased two compound expansion locomotives built in the German factory Krauss Lokomotiv Fabrik. They were of 2-6-0T type and were numbered Δ11 and Δ12. Class Δ was completed with Δ14 (1907) and Δ15 (1908). These locomotives had D=1,200 mm, p=13 Atm and T=6,128 kg.47 Railways of Thessaly (ThRwy): ThRwy’s metric gauge line also had two parts, but they were not so distinct as the ones of SA . For both parts, Volos–Larissa and Volos– Kalambaka, the company had expectations of both passenger and commercial activities. Its solution was to purchase 12 locomotives of mixed use (Class A) and 4 locomotives suitable for heavy-duty freight trains (Class B). In 1887 the total tracking effort for ThRwy’s metric line was 74,220 kg or 367 kg/km. This figure remained constant until 1910, as the company did not go on to purchase any more locomotives. The Class A locomotives were of 0-6-2T type, were built by the Belgian factory Les Ateliers Metallourgiques Tubize, and had D=1,300 mm, p=10 Atm, T=4,043 kg. Nine of the locomotives were purchased in 1884 (they were numbered 1–9), while three more were purchased in 1887 (these were numbered 10–12). The

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

63

TABLE 6: SA’s evolution of total tracking effort/the total tracking effort divided by the length of the line Year 1885 1886–1889 1890–1892 1893 1894–1897 1898–1899 1900–1905 1906 1907 1908–1910

Tracking Effort (kg)

Tracking Effort per length (kg/km)

9,570 22,330 25,520 30,915 31,900 28,710 34,826 47,082 53,210 59,338

125.9 293.8 335.8 406.8 419.7 377.8 458.2 619.5 700.1 780.8

FIGURE 5: The evolution of tracking effort per length of SA .

information stated above for the Class B locomotives of SA also applies to the Class A locomotives purchased by Thessaly Railways. In contrast the Class B locomotives were of 0-8-2T type, were built by the Belgian factory Société Anonyme de Saint Léonard, and had D=940 mm, p=10 Atm, T=6,426 kg. Three of the locomotives were purchased in 1884 and were numbered 31–33, while another was purchased in 1887 and was numbered 34.48 Locomotives of 0-8-2T type were not common in metric European railways and there are not any other ones of this type in the Saint Léonard’s Album. For the very narrow-gauge (600 mm) line of Pilion, ThRwy made an initial purchase in 1895 from French firm Felix Weidknecht. It consisted of three locomotives using an articulated distribution mechanism known as Hagans System. They were of

64

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

0-8-0T type, were numbered 31–33 and had D=660 mm, p=12 Atm, T=2,700 kg.49 One more locomotive was purchased from this company in 1899 and was numbered 34. The second purchase for this narrow-gauge line was from the Belgian factory Les Ateliers Metallourgiques Tubize in 1903. It consisted of two locomotives of 2-6-0T type, having D=670 mm, p=12 Atm, T=3,029 kg and numbered 51–52.50 Northwestern Greece Railway (SBDE): SBDE ’s line was relatively short (62 km) and convenient. The company had little expectation that the line would be used for passenger service but had good hopes for commercial activities. For this reason, during the period in question in this article, its initial purchase consisted of six freight locomotives which were used in mixed trains too. The locomotives were of Belgian origin and built by the factory Mercinelle & Couillet SA . They were numbered 1–6 and named ΤΡΙΚΟΥΠΗΣ, ΑΡΤΑ, ΑΓΡΙΝΙΟΝ, ΠΑΤΡΑΙ, ΜΕΣΟΛΟΓΓΙΟΝ51 and ΚΑΛΥΔΩΝ. All of them were of 0-6-0T type. No. 1–5 had D=1,000 mm, p=12 Atm and T=2,446 kg, and No. 6 had D=1,050 mm, p=9 Atm and T=3,481 kg.52 The total tracking effort of SBDE was 15,711 kg, i.e. 253.4 kg/km. Similar to SBDE ’s No. 1–5 locomotives were the ones (with T=2.074 kg and p=10 Atm) operating about the same time in the French Chemins de Fer Départemantaux (3 locomotives), in the State Railways of Chile (6 locomotives), in the Chemins de Fer Cantonaux Luxembourgeois (7 locomotives) and in the Railways of the South African Republic.53

PIRAEUS-ATHENS-PELOPONNESUS RAILWAYS (SPAP) On 19 April 1882 Trikoupis signed a contract with the General Credit Bank for the construction of the lines Piraeus–Patras, Patras–Pyrgos and Korinth–Argos–Nafplion– Myloi. The contract stipulated that the lines had to be built within four years. SPAP itself was established by the General Credit Bank on 17 October 1882. Construction on the project began in November 1882. The initial project with a total track length of 405 km was finally completed in March 1890 (see Figure 6 for the evolution of SPAP ’s network). In 1902, when the entire project was finally completed, SPAP ’s network ran to 750 km in length (23 rack, 750 mm gauge, the rest metric). The length of its network alone places SPAP as the largest Greek railway company during the period 1880 to 1910, before we even begin to consider the number of locomotives it purchased (86), its total tracking effort and the total distance its locomotives travelled per annum. The Peloponnesian network consisted of two main lines. The first line ran along the northern and western coasts, and facilitated the transportation of raisin production, ensuring access to the export ports of Patras, Aigio and Katakolon. The second ran ‘diagonally’ along the rough Peloponnesian mainland, and joined the mountainous regions of Arcadia with the ports of Corinth, Nafplion and Kalamata. In addition to these two main lines there were also various other branches of line including the Pyrgos–Ancient Olympia line, the Kavasila–Kyllini–Baths line, the Nafplion–Myloi line and the rack line between Diakofto and Kalavryta. The geographical variety of SPAP ’s network is reflected in the company’s purchase of locomotives. It purchased locomotives for passenger trains, for freight

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

65

FIGURE 6: Evolution of SPAP ’s network.

trains, locomotives for heavy-duty services and locomotives for mixed use. (See Table 7. For the country of origin of each locomotive see Table 10.) The forty-five locomotives in Classes A, B, Γ, Δ, Δbis, E, Bbis, Θ, Κ, Zcom and M were built by the German factory Krauss Lokomotiv Fabrik. The seventeen locomotives in Class Z were built by Alsacian factory Société Alsacienne des Contructions Mecaniques Grafenstaden. The twenty locomotives in Classes H, Γbis and I were of Belgian origin, built by Société Anonyme de Saint Léonard, Marcinelle & Couillet SA and Brain-Le-Compt SA respectively. The four rack locomotives in Class ΔΚ were built by the French factory Societé Française des Constructions Mecaniques Cail. Classes of light (A and K) and mixed-use locomotives (Δ, Ζ, Η and Zcom) comparable to those purchased by SPAP are common on almost every line in Europe, but in Greece only SPAP purchased passenger (Classes B, Bbis, Δbis and E), freight (Classes Γ and Θ) and articulated locomotives (Class M). SPAP ’s passenger 2-4-0 locomotives are comparable with the Series 3H (T=2,125 kg) and 5H (T=3,352 kg) locomotives built by Saint Léonard and operating in Chemins de Fer d’ Anvers à Gand of 1,150 mm gauge.54 In 1886 SPAP purchased 4-6-0 passenger locomotives of Class Δbis. It was one of the earliest companies in Europe to use this particular type of passenger locomotive. Though common in the USA , locomotives of this wheel arrangement only appeared in Europe in 1884, where they could mainly be found on the Italian line Torino– Genova (165 km, standard gauge). The ‘absolutely remarkable’ locomotive Vittorio Emanuele II, operating on the Italian line was 25 per cent stronger (T=5,313 kg) than SPAP ’s equivalent, but the Italian track was 60 per cent stronger (16 tons per axle) than SPAP ’s own track (10 tons per axle).55 SPAP also purchased a number of locomotives for freight trains. These were Class Γ locomotives, with T=4,328 kg, and were stronger than a then typical 2-6-0 for metric lines (T=4,130 kg), while the Class Θ ones (T=6,739 kg) were stronger

66

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

TABLE 7: Locomotives purchased by SPAP (1880–1910)56 Class

Year

Type

Classification

D (mm)/ p (Atm)/T (kg)

Α (6)57

1884 (4) 1885 (1) 1887 (1) 1884 1885 1886 1887 1888 1891

0-4-0Τ, light-duty

A1–A6

800/8/2,205

2-4-0T, passenger 2-6-0Τ, freight 2-6-0T, mixed 4-4-0T, passenger 4-6-0T, passenger60 2-4-0T, passenger

B101–B108 Γ201–Γ205 Δ251–Δ252 Ε301–Ε302 Δbis253–Δbis254 Bbis11–Bbis14, later 111–114 Z501–Z517

1,200/10/3,040 920/10/4,328 1,200/10/4,224 1,200/10/2,995 1,200/10/4,224 1,200/10/3,040

B (8)58 Γ (5)59 Δ (2) E (2) Δbis(2) Bbis (4)61 Z (17)62

H (2)63 Θ (3) Γbis(8)64 I (10) K (1) ΔΚ (4)65 Zcom (9)66 M (3)67

1890 (4) 1892 (4) 1899 (4) 1901 (5) 1891 1891 1888 1889 (3) 1890 (7) 1889 1896 (3) 1900 (1) 1902 (3) 1903 (3) 1906 (3) 1908

2-6-0T, mixed

1,200/10/3,911

2-6-0T, mixed 2-8-0, heavy-duty freight 2-6-0Τ, freight 2-4-0T, passenger

H551–H552 Θ601–Θ603

1,100/10/3,218 1,000/12/6,739

Γbis206–Γbis213 I651–I660

1,000/10/3,663 1,200/10/2,496

0-6-0T 0-6-2RT, rack

K701 ΔΚ1–ΔΚ4

2-6-0T, compound, mixed

Zcom518–Zcom526

920/10/2,205 600(497)/12/ 2,546(3,505) 1,200/13/6,128

0-4-4-0, Mallet, compound, mixed

M801–M803

1,100/10/7,090

than the remarkable 2-8-0 of that time (T=4,200 kg) and comparable to the 2-8-0 locomotives (T=7,300 kg) of the standard gauge Lehigh Valley Railway in the USA .68 The final type of locomotive SPAP purchased was the Mallet-type articulated locomotives in Class M (T=7,090 kg). These locomotives were stronger than the respective 0-4-4-0s operating on Japanese Railways (gauge 1,067 mm) which had T=4,445 kg and on the Palestinian Haifa–Jerusalem line which had T=5,638 kg.69 SPAP ’s 86 locomotives can also be classified according to their individual purpose. Eleven were of special purpose [7 for manoeuvres, 4 rack], 26 were for passenger trains [22 ‘2-4-0T’ (Standard passenger), 2 ‘4-4-0T’ (American standard passenger), 2 ‘4-6-0T’ (Heavy passenger)], 16 were for freight trains [13 ‘2-6-0T’ (Goods), 3 ‘28-0’ (Heavy Goods)] and 33 were for mixed trains [21 ‘2-6-0T’, 9 ‘2-6-0T’ compound, 3 ‘0-4-4-0’ compound]. In terms of carrying supplies, 80 were tank locomotives and only 6 were tender locomotives, while in terms of steam expansion, 74 were of single, and 12 of compound (double) expansion.

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

67

TABLE 8: Evolution of SPAP ’s network (1885–1909) Year 1885 1886 1887 1888 1889 1890 1891 1892 1893–1895 1896 1897 1898 1899 1900 1901 1902 1903–1905 1906–1907 1908–1909

Network length (km)

Number of locomotives

Total Tracking Effort (kg)

Tracking Effort per length (kg/km)

122 216 306 327 384 405 443 555 555 578 629 634 661 661 661 750 750 750 750

10 15 20 22 22 25 35 59 61 64 64 64 67 68 74 77 80 83 86

28,730 50,370 67,013 75,461 75,461 88,900 116,528 201,036 208,858 216,496 216,496 216,496 228,229 230,775 254,241 272,625 291,009 309,393 330,663

235.5 233.2 219.0 230.8 196.5 219.5 263.0 362.2 376.3 374.6 344.2 341.5 345.3 349.1 384.6 363.5 388.0 412.5 440.8

FIGURE 7: Tracking effort per length of SPAP per quinquennium.

68

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

TABLE 9: Number of locomotives owned by SPAP (per annum) and total distance travelled by SPAP ’s trains Year

Number of Locomotives

Travelled Distance (km)

Year

Number of Locomotives

Travelled Distance (km)

1886 1887 1888 1889 1890 1891 1892 1893 1894 1895 1896 1897

15 20 22 22 25 35 59 61 61 61 64 64

330,060 563,751 764,437 726,600 712,054 1,069,862 1,133,352 1,349,661 1,280,180 1,292,654 1,378,083 1,441,220

1898 1899 1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905 1906 1907 1908 1909

64 67 68 74 77 80 80 80 83 83 86 86

1,617,340 1,729,099 1,783,602 1,897,667 2,083,348 2,164,825 2,108,997 2,174,012 2,239,868 2,235,406 2,233,817 2,133,024

The detailed analysis of SPAP ’s locomotives in the preceding paragraphs has shown that the company had both strong and high-quality locomotives. These locomotives were on a par with those operating on the world’s key railways in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.70 Many of SPAP ’s achievements came during the first few years of its formation. But between 1892 and 1898 SPAP ’s progress stagnated. An analysis of the data in Figure 6 and Tables 8 and 9, shows that in these particular years SPAP increased its network by only 80 km. Moreover, only 23 km of this increase was formed by its own construction work (on the rack line between Diakofto and Kalavryta). The remaining 57 km increase in its network resulted from the integration of the Peloponnesian inland line into SPAP ’s network. These years saw little development elsewhere in SPAP ’s network. For instance, SPAP only purchased three locomotives in this period (for the rack line), while the total distance travelled by SPAP ’s trains actually decreased in the period 1893–1895. This bleak period in SPAP ’s fortunes can be explained in part by the Greek fiscal crisis. The bankruptcy of the General Credit Bank, in which SPAP lost a large part of its deposits, combined with the opening of Korinth’s Canal, which increased

TABLE 10: Country of origin of SPAP ’s locomotives Country

Locomotives

Belgium

20

France Germany

4 62

Factory Brain-Le-Compt SA (10) Marcinelle & Couillet SA (8) Saint Léonard (2) Cail Krauss (45) Grafenstaden (17)

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

69

competition and decreased the revenues in both its passenger and commercial services, are largely to blame for the company’s reversal in fortunes in the mid1890s.71 Yet even during this bleak period an examination of Table 9 is enough to strengthen the claim that SPAP ’s dimensions were those of a large railway company. In 1891 the company’s trains travelled over one million kilometres, and in 1902 they travelled a distance of over two million kilometres.

COMPANY OF GREEK RAILWAYS (EES) EES was the company which constructed and exploited the line to the northern border of Greece. When this line was initially conceived, it was intended to provide a bridge from the Greek railway network to the European network, by means of the Ottoman lines. The line started operating in March 1904 despite it still being under construction. When it was completed in 1909 its total length, including the branch lines between Shimatari and Chalkis on the one hand and Lianokladi and Stylis on

MAP 2: EES line in 1910. Source: K. Androulidakis, Οι Σιδηρόδρομοι της Κεντρικής Ελλάδας (1869–1969), Athens 2005, p. 241.

70

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

TABLE 11: Locomotives operated by EES and annual distance travelled Year

Locomotives

Total Travelled Distance (km)

1904 1905 1906 1907 1908 1909 1910

10 10 13 13 30 30 30

279,186 361,115 384,622 380,716 485,376 686,476 714,202

the other, was 441 km. The expectation of the benefit derived from this ‘international’ line went beyond pure economic gain. The Greek state had invested in the line in the hope of political and military advantage. This investment was evident during the Balkan Wars (1912–1913). In contrast to the war of 1897, the international line greatly speeded up the transportation of troops, military hardware and supplies to the field in the years 1912 and 1913.

Classes of locomotives During the construction of its line EES used three older locomotives which remained from the company which had previously held the contract to build the track but had abandoned the project in 1893. These locomotives were of British origin and were named ΜΑΡΙΝΑ (0-6-0ST, built by Manning Wardle) and Etat301–Etat302 (4-40Ts, built by Neilson & Co.). When the construction works were finished EES scrapped these locomotives and purchased brand new ones for its fleet. EES ’s first purchase was in 1903, and included ten locomotives built by the French factory of Batignolles. They were of 2-6-0T type for mixed use and formed the locomotives in Class A. They had D=1,200 mm, p=12 Atm and T=6,880 kg.72 In 1906 three more were added to the fleet and in 1907 Class A was completed by the purchase of a further ten locomotives, this time from the Belgian firm of Saint Léonard. The locomotives in Class A were numbered A101–A123, and similar mixeduse locomotives were operating in many European lines of the time.73 The seven locomotives in Class B were purchased from Batignolles in 1907. They were numbered B201–B207 and had a four-cylindered compound of the 4-6-0 De Glenn type: this was an excellent feature for heavy-set express passenger trains. Each locomotive also had large driving wheels (D=1,600 mm), high pressure (p=14 Atm) and great tracking effort (T=8,258 kg). The locomotives of Class B were ranked among some of the foremost technological developments of the era. Similar locomotives were operating on first-class rail lines of France,74 USA ,75 India,76 Britain77 and Belgium.78 Both the number and the quality of the EES ’s locomotives evidence the company’s desire and intention to link Greece to the European railways via the Ottoman lines. As the analysis above has shown, both Class A and Class B included locomotives of a high international standard, comparable with those already operating on the primary European lines.79 With the completion of this line in 1909, EES was

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

71

TABLE 12: The number of locomotives, length of line, total tracking effort and tracking effort per length of the EES for the period 1904–1910 Year

Locomotives

Length (km)

Total Tracking Effort (kg)

Tracking Effort per length (kg/km)

1904 1905 1906 1907 1908 1909 1910

10 10 13 13 30 30 30

204 219 240 240 295 416 441

68,800 68,800 89,440 89,440 216,046 216,046 216,046

337.25 314.16 372.67 372.67 732.36 519.34 489.90

FIGURE 8: EES ’s total tracking effort divided by the length of the line.

theoretically ready to connect to the European network. However, this aim was not achieved until 1916.80

CONCLUSION This article has examined the under-researched field of locomotives in Greece’s railway networks in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It has explored the establishment and development of the companies in their first years of operation in the country. It is apparent from the analysis in this article that the Greek railway companies operated rationally and purchased locomotives according to their main needs. The two smallest companies, SPK and SBDE , only purchased locomotives once between 1880 and 1910, but their prospects and needs were small-scale and they did not need a large fleet of locomotives in their enterprise. For similar reasons, just one company (SAP ) predominantly purchased locomotives for passenger trains

72

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

(16 out of the 17 locomotives it owned and operated were for this purpose): this was a company primarily aimed at providing an urban service and the great majority of its operations was providing transportation to passengers. With a railway line aimed mainly at commercial transportation, the Attica Railway (SA ) purchased locomotives for mixed (0-6-2T and 2-6-0T) and freight (0-6-0T) use; the part of the railway that carried passengers was only short (15 km). The same holds for the Railways of Thessaly (ThRwy) a company oriented in transporting mainly agricultural goods. All of the locomotives purchased by these companies were tank locomotives, adequate for the small distances travelled by their trains. SPAP ’s network was rather more complicated. It included a variety of lines with different purposes. For this reason, the company purchased a great variety of locomotives: ones that would suit passenger trains; express passenger trains, alongside locomotives for freight trains; heavy-duty freight trains; as well as those locomotives it used in the construction of the lines; alongside locomotives for the rack line; and, of course, many mixed-use locomotives. EES was a company primarily aimed at connecting Greece with the European railway networks and purchased powerful locomotives of high international standards. If we return to the issue of the technological ‘style’ formed by the purchase and use of Greek locomotives, it is clear from the evidence presented in this paper that the Greek railways were oriented, at least during the years 1880 to 1910, towards purchasing and using mixed-use tank locomotives. Indeed, the general classification shows that 92 per cent of the purchases made by these companies were for tank locomotives, while 52 per cent of them were for locomotives of mixed use. The argument about mixed-use locomotives becomes even clearer if we classify the locomotives used by three companies which were the backbone of the Greek network until 1904, the year in which the EES opened to the public. These companies were SA (14 locomotives), ThRwy (16 locomotives, not including the Pilion line) and SPAP (75 locomotives, not including light-duty and rack locomotives). In total, they owned 105 ‘normal’ locomotives. Of these, 26 were set aside for passenger trains (25 per cent and only by SPAP ), 20 were for freight use (19 per cent), and the other 59 (56 per cent) were for mixed trains. The choice of so many tank locomotives was absolutely rational as most trips made by the trains of these companies were ones of short length, the longest being Athens–Kalamata, less than 250 km. The choice of many mixed-use locomotives was also rational, as the transport works of Greek companies were not so large and there was limited necessity, and only by SPAP, of exclusive passenger or freight trains. Concerning the origin of the locomotives, two remarks must be made: a) The small percentage of British engines (a poor 8.5 per cent and only by one company) leads to the conclusion that British entrepreneurs were less interested than Belgian, French and German ones in investments in Greece and generally in the Near East.81 b) The fact that only one locomotive was built in a Greek factory raises historical questions concerning the condition of Greek industry, the capacity of Greek factories and the political decisions which did not allow the continuation of such a successful endeavour.82

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

73

Concluding, this article described how, in the years 1880–1910, Greece, then a small peripheral European country, entered the railway world. According to the country’s ability and needs the steps were short and hesitant; the route was long, difficult and adventurous, but full of many prospects and good hopes for economic growth and prosperity. To what extent these prospects and hopes were fully met and fulfilled could become the subject matter of further studies.

NOTES 1. After the Balkan Wars (1912–1913) and the First World War, Macedonia and Thrace were annexed to the Greek Kingdom. This meant the Greek network was greatly expanded (and nearly doubled in size). But these new parts were planned and constructed by the Ottoman Empire, according to its own strategic and economic objectives. 2. These historical studies are, in the Greek language: Σ. Κορώνης, Ἱστορικαί σημειώσεις ἐπί τῆς ἑλληνικῆς σιδηροδρομικῆς πολιτικῆς (Αθήνα, 1934); Ν. Κτενιάδης, Οἱ πρῶτοι ἑλληνικοὶ σιδηρόδρομοι, πρωτότυπος ἱστορικὴ μελέτη (Αθήνα, 1936); Λ. Παπαγιαννάκης, Οἱ ἑλληνικοὶ σιδηρόδρομοι 1882–1910: Γεωπολιτικές, οἰκονομικὲς καὶ κοινωνικὲς διαστάσεις, Μορφωτικό Ίδρυμα Εθνικής Τραπέζης (Αθήνα, 1982). In French: S. Koronis, Les Chemins de fer et la Politique Ferroviaire de la Grèce (Athens, 1924). A special case is Irene Anastasiadou, ‘In Search of a Railway Europe, Transnational Railway Developments in Interwar Europe’, PhD Thesis, Technische Universiteit Eindhoven, 2009, Chapter 5, 165–196. In this chapter Anastasiadou studies the construction of the Greek network from the perspective of its connection with the European lines. Her study makes no reference to the topic of steam locomotives. 3. Staudenmaier, in his review of the contents in Technology and Culture, published in 1985, observed that more than 80 per cent of the papers are related to the USA and Western Europe, while the studies concerning Asia, Africa, Latin America and Australia do not even amount to 8 per cent. See J. M. Staudenmaier, Technology’s Storytellers. Reweaving the Human Fabric (Cambridge MA: MIT Press, 1985). 4. C. Purshell argues that the shift of research interest from invention and innovation to diffusion and use opens up new horizons for the History of Technology; it sets the scene for studies related to the gender, race and social class of people associated with technology. Inventors, engineers and systems’ organizers are, in general, white, male, and of middle-class origin. Studying only inventions and technological innovations, it ignores the historical study of women, non-white individuals and the economically disadvantaged. In other words, it ignores a large percentage of the human population which uses technology and so creates a very limited history. See C. Purshell, ‘Seeing the Invisible: New Perceptions in the History of Technlogy ’, ICON, 1995, 1, 9–15. 5. Tractive power is a key factor that reflects the evolution and progress of a company, and also the situation and progress of railways in a country. The interesting matter is not the absolute number of this effort, but the tractive power per length of the installed line. Tractive power is hence measured in kg/km.

74

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

6. Technological ‘style’ is connected to both the invention and use of technology and historians have unravelled the ‘style’ in relation to steam locomotives in different countries and regions. 7. The Greek Kingdom retained this geography until 1912. 8. This line was the urban line Athens to Piraeus, established in 1869. Its length was 9 km of standard gauge (it was later expanded to 11 km). It was steam hauled until 1904, when it was electrified. 9. For the reasons for the debate see in Κορώνης, Ἱστορικαί σημειώσεις ἐπί τῆς ἑλληνικῆς σιδηροδρομικῆς πολιτικῆς, 9–10. Also, in C. Cheston, Ἡ Ἑλλὰς τῷ 1887 (Athens, 1887), 18–19. 10. The opening of the Suez Canal shortened the distance between England and India by 40 per cent and the distance between France and Indochina by 50 per cent. It transformed the path of European transportation and led again, after many centuries, to the East by the Red Sea. In light of this situation the Mediterranean countries sought a part of this route. See Κορώνης, Ἱστορικαί σημειώσεις ἐπί τῆς ἑλληνικῆς σιδηροδρομικῆς πολιτικῆς, 10 and Cheston, Ἡ Ἑλλὰς τῷ 1887, 18–19. 11. Papayannakis argues that the controversy was of an ideological and political nature, and reflected each party’s perception of Greece’s internal and international situation, its prospect for development, for the role of the state and that of private initiative. Under this light, the ‘technical characteristics’ proposed by each party become self-explanatory. See Παπαγιαννάκης, Οἱ ἑλληνικοὶ σιδηρόδρομοι 1882–1910, 91–93. 12. The lines from Piraeus to Larissa and from Piraeus to Patras would cost 108 (66.7 and 41.3 respectively) million drachmas in total, with a guaranteed annual profit of 5 per cent or 5.4 million drachmas. There was no such guarantee for the line between Volos and Larissa. Παπαγιαννάκης, Οἱ ἑλληνικοὶ σιδηρόδρομοι 1882–1910, 75–76. 13. For details about the parliamentary debate and conflict see Παπαγιαννάκης, Οἱ ἑλληνικοὶ σιδηρόδρομοι 1882–1910, Chapter 4, 75–93. 14. For the official opening of the line in 1885, on what is known as Green Monday, see D. Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam motion in 19th Century Greece: The Locomotives of Greek Railways (1869–1909)’, PhD Thesis (in Greek), Athens University and National Technical University, 2014, 141–143. 15. For dates and other details see Paraskevopoulos, Steam motion in 19th Century Greece, 162–163. 16. For a detailed analysis of the construction of Peloponnesian lines see Paraskevopoulos, Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece, 179–184. The narrative is based on SPAP ’s Annual Reports for the years 1885 to 1903. 17. E. G. Baddeley, The Continental Steam Tram (London: The Light Train Transit Association, 1980), 271. 18. For the details of the constructions made during this period see Paraskevopoulos, Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece as follows: for the line between Myloi and Kalamata pp. 180–181; for the Northwestern line pp. 128–130; and for the rack line between Diakofto and Kalavryta p. 181. The details of these constructions are based on the Annual Reports of each company.

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

75

19. The French Mission for Public Works (Mission Française pour les Travaux Publiques) was a group of 20–25 French engineers called officially by Trikoupis as a consulting council of Greek Government on issues of public works. For the significance of the French Mission on constructional issues in nineteenth-century Greece see Άννα Μαχαίρα, ‘Η αποστολή του σώματος των Ponts et Chaussées στην Ελλάδα το 1880 ανάμεσα στις γαλλικές στρατηγικές επιλογές και την ελληνική πολιτική δημοσίων έργων’, in Σ. Αραποστάθης, Φ. Παπανελοπούλου, Α. Τύμπας (eds), Τεχνολογία και Κοινωνία στην Ελλάδα: Μελέτες από την Ιστορία της Τεχνολογίας και τις Σπουδές Επιστήμης και Τεχνολογίας, Εκδοτική Αθηνών, Αθήνα 2015, 81–102. 20. For the construction of Pilion’s line see Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece’, 163–164. 21. For the integration of the Peloponnesian network see Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece’, 181–182. 22. For the construction of the international line to the northern border see Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece’, 221–223. 23. Demosthenes Protopapadakis was born in Naxos in 1873 and attended Varvakeion High School in Athens. He studied at the École Nationale des Ponts et Chaussées of France and graduated in 1897. After his graduation, he worked for various French technical companies, before going to Ethiopia and working on the development of that country’s railway network. On his return to Greece, he worked for the construction of the line between Myloi and Kalamata. In 1908 he was appointed Professor of Railway Technology at the National Technical University of Athens and was the University’s Rector between 1933 and 1935. He died in Athens in 1955. For Protopapadakis see Κατερίνα Μπουγιούκα, Δημοσθένης Πρωτοπαπαδάκης, Απεραθίτικο Ημερολόγιο, 1997, 111–112 and G. Antoniou, ‘Greek Engineers: Institutions and Ideas 1900–1940’, PhD Thesis (in Greek), University of Athens and National Technical University, 2004, 163–164, 172–173, 175, 187 footnote 449, 189, 225. 24. Πρωτοπαπαδάκης Δ., ‘Πληροφορίαι ἐπὶ τοῦ συμπλέγματος τῶν Ἑλληνικῶν σιδηροδρόμων’, Ἀρχιμήδης, Ιανουάριος 1910, 116–117. 25. Data in Ἀρχιμήδης (then the journal of Greek engineers), March 1911, 131. The cases of Sweden (3.1 to area but 26.9 to population, the largest in Europe) and Norway (0.9 to area but 13.5 to population, larger than Britain and France) show why the calculation based on population is far more reliable than the calculation based on area of a country. However, length/people is not by itself the one and only sign of railway advancement, as Scandinavian nations are in the lead but are not major contributors to railway technology. The striking feature arising from the table is that Greece, in terms of length-to-population ratio, is in better railway condition compared with countries not only like Bulgaria, Portugal, Romania, Russia and Turkey, but with the Netherlands and Italy as well. 26. Named after Frederick Methvan Whyte (1865–1941), of Dutch origin and an officer of the American company New York Central, who in 1900 developed and systematized previous practices and presented a unified method which was quickly accepted as standard on both sides of the Atlantic. I must stress that in French and English books of the period 1877–1894, at least as far as I know, there is not any notation system and the

76

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

locomotives are categorized by the number of their coupled axles or wheels; for instance, G. Richard, La chaudiere locomotive et son outillage (Paris: Dunot Editeur, 1886); P. Levèvre and G. Cerbelaud, Les Chemins de Fer (Paris, 1888); É. Sauvage, La machine locomotive (Paris, 1894); M. Reynolds, Locomotive Engine Driving: A Practical Manual for Engineers in Charge of Locomotive Engines, Second Edition (London, 1885). A primitive Whyte notation (numbers separated by dashes) appears, however, in various photocopied factory records for the period 1868 to 1892 sent to me by the National Railway Museum in York. The Whyte notation does appear in later technical and historical literature. For instance, in A. Chapelon, La locomotive à vapeur (French edition, 1938; English edition, Rode: Camden Miniature Steam Services, 2000); R. P. Johnson, The Steam Locomotive (New York: Simmons-Boardman Publishing Corporation, 1942); J. Marshall, The Guinness Book of Rail Facts and Feats (Middlesex: Guinness Superlatives Ltd, 1979); J. T. van Riemsdijk and K. Brown, The Pictorial History of Steam Power (London: Octopus Books Ltd, 1980); B. Hollingsworth and A. Cook, The Great Book of Trains (London: Bedford Editions Ltd, 1987). 27. In England, according to the National Railway Museum’s archives, the quantitative features in locomotives are cylinders’ dimensions, driving wheels’ diameter, pressure (all three leading to a computation of the tracking effort) and the weight of the locomotive. In France and Belgium (see Richard, La chaudiere locomotive et son outillage, 465–585, and SA Saint Léonard, Locomotives (Liege, c.1907), passim), much more emphasis is placed on quantitative features, such as a boiler’s dimensions and weight per axle, but tracking effort is still the main feature. No mention is made of speed, power or fuel consumption. The archives of the Greek railway companies follow that of the French example. In recent historical publications, such as those by Hollingsworth and Cook, The Great Book of Trains and C. Chant, The World’s Railways (Isle of Anglesey: S. Webb & Son Ltd, 2001), the first feature for steam locomotives is Tracking Effort. 28. For the formula see Richard, La chaudiere locomotive et son outillage, passim. The formula holds only for two-cylinder locomotives. For three-cylinder engines the right part must be multiplied by 1.5, while four-cylinder engines must be multiplied by 2. For proof see Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece’, 88–90. 29. For Britain and the USA , see Johnson, The Steam Locomotive, 140–141. Also in Hollingsworth and Cook, The Great Book of Trains, 24. In Richard, La chaudiere locomotive et son outillage, and in É. Sauvage, La machine locomotive all calculations are made with c=0.65. This is also the case in the promotional album Locomotives of the Belgian company Saint Léonard. 30. See Συγγραφή ΣΠΚ, article 36, και Συγγραφή ΣΒΔΕ, article 47, both in the Historical Archives of the National Bank of Greece. All calculations of tracking efforts for my article are made with c=0.65. 31. In 1899, in the journal Αρχιμήδης, a study of French engineers M. Martin and M. Villot was published entitled ‘Οἱ ἑλληνικοὶ σιδηρόδρομοι καὶ τὸ μέλλον αὐτῶν’ (Greek Railways and their Future). The French engineers were top managers of PLM (Paris-Lyon-Mediterranée), the largest French railway company. M. Martin (École des Ponts et Chaussées) was Chief Engineer of the company and M. Villot (École des Mines) was Director of Exploitation. According to the translator, the study was

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

77

written in 1880–1881. At this point the French engineers were optimistic about the possibility of the worldwide development, functionality and the perspective of narrow railways. They claimed that the future belonged to narrow railways and they describe several cases of construction and operation, in countries with a similar development to that of Greece (Algeria, India and Norway), and in more developed countries (France, Germany and the USA ). They also analyse, in technical terms, the innovations and improvements made to locomotives so that they became entirely suitable for narrow rails. See Αρχιμήδης, vol. Α΄/1899, 46–48, 57–59, 80–87. 32. In Richard, La chaudiere locomotive et son outillage, in the chapter concerning three-coupled locomotives, 507–521, only one of type 0-6-2 is presented, but he discusses five of type 2-6-0. See also, Sauvage, La machine locomotive, 273, 279. Also in Δ. Πρωτοπαπαδάκης, Σημειώσεις Σιδηροδρομικῆς, Μέρος τρίτον: Ἀντίστασις τῶν συρμῶν καὶ ἕλξις, Αθήνα 1929, 96. 33. Classification and percentages are my own. 34. The numbers of locomotives are drawn from the Annual Reports of each company. 35. Of the German locomotives mentioned, 17 were built in Alsace, which was then under German administration. 36. For Pandora see Reynolds, Locomotive Engine Driving, 57–61. For French locomotives see Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece’, 115 and Richard, La chaudiere locomotive et son outillage, 497. 37. The technical data about the first locomotives is derived from the archives of the National Railway Museum (NRM ), York. 38. In the NRM there are no archives for Sharp Stewart before 1891. 39. Full technical data in SA Saint Léonard, Locomotives, Serie HA . 40. The technical features of SPK ’s locomotives in J. Slezak, Die Dampfstrassenbahnen (Vienna: Slezak Verlag, 1974), 275. 41. The technical features of ETAPP ’s locomotives from Slezak, Die Dampfstrassenbahnen, 275, and Baddeley, The Continental Steam Tram, 266 and 271. 42. For detailed comparisons see Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece’, 120–121. 43. All technical data of Class A and Class B locomotives can be found in Π. Μπασιάκος, Σιδηρόδρομοι Ἀττικῆς: Κατασκευὴ καὶ ἐκμετάλλευσις (Athens, 1889), 24–25. 44. According to the album published c.1907, showing all the locomotives built by the Belgian factory Saint Léonard. 45. For detailed comparisons see Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece’, 150–152. 46. The order for the construction was given by the SΑ on 31 July 1898 to Basileiades’ Machine Works of Piraeus. The duration of the construction was agreed at 20 months. The locomotive was delivered in August 1900, and the cost was about 75,000 drachmas (a similar imported locomotive would have cost about 85,000 drachmas). The pattern for the construction appears to have been the Class Z locomotives of SPAP, built by the Alsacian factory at Grafenstanden, although the

78

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

locomotive differed from the Class Z ones in several ways. The Chief Engineer of the construction was Nickolaos Konstantinidis. He was born in Chios in 1867 and studied engineering in Königligh Bayerische Technische Hochschule of Munich (1888–1895). He worked for two years in the factory of steam engines and locomotives Maffei, where he participated in the construction of locomotives for Russian Railways, particularly the construction of locomotives for the Trans-Siberian railway (width 1520 mm). In 1898 he returned to Greece and worked for many years as chief engineer in Basileiades’ Machine Works. He died in 1957. The historic locomotive ΕΛΛΗΝΙΣ offered its services for more than 60 years before it was scrapped; its badge was saved, and is currently exhibited in the Railway Museum in Athens. For details of the technical data of the locomotive see Π. Μπασιάκος, Σιδηροδρομικὴ παραδιδομένη ἐν τῇ Βιομηχανικῇ καὶ Ἐμπορικῇ Ἀκαδημίᾳ, 146–202. For Nickolaos Konstantinidis see M. Κωνσταντινίδης (his son), ‘Η κατασκευή της πρώτης ελληνικής ατμάμαξας’, Σιδηροτροχιά, Issue 16, January 1998, 33–34. 47. Technical data of Class Δ locomotives is derived from an Overview Paper exhibited in the Railway Museum in Athens and titled ‘ΣΠΑΠ. (Υπηρεσία Έλξεως): ΠΙΝΑΞ ΤΩΝ ΚΥΡΙΩΤΕΡΩΝ ΔΙΑΣΤΑΣΕΩΝ ΤΩΝ ΑΤΜΑΜΑΞΩΝ’, 18 December 1906. Class Δ were fully identical to the locomotives of Class Zcom of SPAP. For calculation of the tractive effort of compound locomotives I used the formula

where d2 is the

diameter of low pressure cylinders. This formula was used in Richard, La chaudiere locomotive et son outillage, 567; also in Πρωτοπαπαδάκης, Σημειώσεις Σιδηροδρομικῆς, Μέρος τρίτον, 99. However, the formula in not universally accepted; for example, in Johnson, The Steam Locomotive, 143 there is a different, though similar, formula. 48. The technical data of all ThRwy’s metric locomotives can be found in A. Hennebert and C. Abrami, Notes sur la construction des Chemins de Fer de Thessalie (voie de 1 mètre) (Paris, 1889), 140–156. 49. The technical features of these locomotives are found in Slezak, Die Dampfstrassenbahnen, 275. That same year Weidknecht built the same locomotives for Chemin de Fer de la Drôme. See L. Wiener, Les locomotives articulées (Brussels, 1926), 165. 50. The technical data of these locomotives derives from Γ. Νάθενας and Μ. Καραθάνου, Το τραινάκι του Πηλίου. Από την πόλη των Αργοναυτών στο βουνό των Κενταύρων (Athens, 2004), 200. At the same time, similar locomotives were operating in the Indian mountain line between Bombay and Matheran (length 19.3 km, gauge 2 ft) having T=3,305kg. For the line and locomotives see Γ. Βουγιούκας, ‘Ατμάμαξαι της Matheran Railway’, Ἀρχιμήδης, November 1907, 80. 51. This is now exhibited in the Railway Museum, Athens. 52. All technical data of SBDE ’s locomotives can be found in Π. Μπασιάκος, Ὀργανισμὸς τῆς ὑπηρεσίας τοῦ Σιδηροδρόμου τῆς Βορειοδυτικῆς Ἑλλάδος (Athens, 1892), 308–309. 53. For these locomotives see SA Saint Léonard, Locomotives, Serie 3AC and Serie 4AC . 54. For these locomotives, see Saint Léonard’s Album, Serie 3H and Serie 5H. 55. For this locomotive, see Hollingsworth and Cook, The Great Book of Trains, 54–55.

CHOOSING LOCOMOTIVES IN THE FORMATIVE PERIOD 1880–1910

79

56. Technical data of all SPAP ’s locomotives (except Class M ones) are derived from an official Overview Paper exhibited in the Railway Museum, Athens and titled ‘ΣΠΑΠ. (Υπηρεσία Έλξεως): ΠΙΝΑΞ ΤΩΝ ΚΥΡΙΩΤΕΡΩΝ ΔΙΑΣΤΑΣΕΩΝ ΤΩΝ ΑΤΜΑΜΑΞΩΝ’, 18 December 1906. For Class M see the Overview Paper displayed in the same museum and titled: ‘ΣΠΑΠ (Υπηρεσία Έλξεως): ΑΤΜΑΜΑΞΑΙ ΣΠΑΠ’, 1 January 1916. 57. They were named ΑΧΑΪΑ, ΡΙΟΝ, ΜΥΛΟΙ, ΤΙΡΥΝΣ (this locomotive is exhibited in the Railway Museum, Athens, and is the oldest surviving Greek locomotive), ΜΕΣΟΛΟΓΓΙΟΝ and ΑΚΡΑΤΑ. They were light duty locomotives used for manoeuvres, very easy routes and network construction. This is why they were not frequently used in the company’s active service. 58. They were named ΠΕΙΡΑΙΕΥΣ, ΑΘΗΝΑΙ, ΕΛΕΥΣΙΣ, ΜΕΓΑΡΑ, ΙΣΘΜΙΑ, ΚΟΡΙΝΘΟΣ, ΚΙΑΤΟΝ and ΣΙΚΥΩΝ. 59. Class Γ locomotives were named ΝΕΜΕΑ, ΜΥΚΗΝΑΙ, ΑΡΓΟΣ, ΝΑΥΠΛΙΟΝ and ΚΛΕΩΝΑΙ. 60. Locomotives of 4-6-0 type are referred to as ‘heavy passenger’. See Hollingsworth and Cook, The Great Book of Trains, 82, and Chant, The World’s Railways, 115. 61. Identical to Class B locomotives, they were purchased in 1891 for passenger trains in the line Patras–Pyrgos and were named ΠΑΤΡΑΙ, ΠΥΡΓΟΣ, ΛΕΧΑΙΝΑ and ΓΑΣΤΟΥΝΗ. 62. The first eight were named ΤΑΫΓΕΤΟΣ, ΒΟΥΡΑΪΚΟΣ, ΙΘΩΜΗ, ΙΝΑΧΟΣ, ΕΡΥΜΑΝΘΟΣ, ΕΡΙΝΕΟΣ, ΚΑΛΑΜΑΙ and ΚΡΑΘΙΣ. The other nine did not have names. 63. They were named ΞΥΛΟΚΑΣΤΡΟΝ and ΑΙΓΙΟΝ respectively. 64. In 1892 SPAP ‘inherited’ 19 locomotives purchased by Company of Meridian Greek Railways (EMSE ), which had abandoned construction of the Myloi to Kalamata line. SPAP classified these engines into three classes Γbis, I and K, with the latter including only one locomotive, which operated exclusively for manoeuvres in Kalamata’s port. 65. Locomotives for the rack line from Diakofto to Kalavryta (23 km, 3.8 km with rack rail of Abt system, maximum gradient 175 per cent), built by the Societé Française des Constructions Mecaniques Cail. They had four cylinder locomotives of 0-6-2RT type, the outside cylinders powering three normal adhesion axles (D1=600 mm) and the inside ones two cog wheels (D2=497 mm). Tracking effort when in normal adhesion T1=2,546 kg, tracking effort with cog wheels T2=3,506 kg. The locomotive classified as ΔΚ4 is exhibited in the Railway Museum, Athens. 66. They were the first compound locomotives operating on the Greek network. 67. They were Mallet-type articulated compound tender locomotives, the only articulated ones in Greek railway history, and were suitable for operating on the long gradients of the Myloi to Tripolis line. 68. For these locomotives, see Richard, La chaudiere locomotive et son outillage, 517–519 (for 2-6-0s), 526–528 (for 2-8-0s) and 521–526 (for Lehigh Valley Railway). 69. See Wiener, Les locomotives articulées, 207 for the Japanese locomotives, and 223 for the Palestinian ones.

80

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

70. For detailed comparisons of SPAP ’s locomotives within international practice, see Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece’, 214–217. 71. Due to the bankruptcy of the General Credit Bank, SPAP lost a large part of its deposits, while the opening of the Corinth Canal increased competition and decreased the revenues in both passenger and commercial services. For details see Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece’, 180. 72. All technical data of EES ’s locomotives derives from an official Overview Paper No. 43009/27 November 1932, exhibited in the Railway Museum, Athens and titled ‘ΣΙΔΗΡΟΔΡΟΜΟΙ ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΟΥ ΚΡΑΤΟΥΣ’ (Υπηρεσία Έλξεως και Υλικού): ΑΤΜΑΜΑΞΑΙ Α΄ ΠΕΡΙΦΕΡΕΙΑΣ ΤΩΝ ΣΕΚ. 73. A104 is exhibited in the Railway Museum, Athens. 74. Exactly the same locomotives were operating on the railway lines of the two French companies Chemins de Fer de l’Est and Paris-Lyons-Mediterrané. See Chapelon, La locomotive à vapeur, 34. 75. In the USA , the Lake Shore and Michigan Railroad used the Class I-1 (T=8,276 kg) of 1902 to navigate the difficult line between Chicago and New York (1,563 km). See Hollingsworth and Cook, The Great Book of Trains, 64–65. 76. The Indian State Railway (gauge 1,676 mm) continued to use the very successful Class BESA of 1905 (‘more British than anything that ran in Britain’, T=7,866 kg), as late as the year 1985. See Hollingsworth and Cook, The Great Book of Trains, 82–83 and Chant, The World’s Railways, 115–116. 77. EES ’s Class B locomotives were fully comparable with the Caledonian Railway’s Class Cardean of 1906 (‘No engines ever built have a better claim to be regarded as the epitome of the Golden Age of Steam’, T=8,480 kg). See Hollingsworth and Cook, The Great Book of Trains, 86–87. 78. In Belgium, the 1905 Belgian State Railways Class FN of 1905 (T=7,380 kg) built by Saint Léonard. See Saint Léonard Album, Serie FN . 79. For detailed comparisons see Paraskevopoulos, ‘Steam Motion in 19th Century Greece’, 228–230. 80. For the issue of connection see Anastasiadou, In Search of a Railway Europe, 175–182. 81. For British financial interest in Greece and Near East see Cheston, Ἡ Ἑλλὰς τῷ 1887, 142. 82. For these questions see X. Χατζηιωσήφ, Η γηραιά σελήνη: Η βιομηχανία στην ελληνική οικονομία 1830–1940 (Εκδόσεις Θεμέλιο, Αθήνα, 1993), 145–150, where there is also a comparison between Greek and Italian politics about local industry.

Armament Projects: The Greek Air Force Case, 1950 to 2000 DIMITRIOS ZIAKKAS

INTRODUCTION From a broader historiographical perspective, the title of this chapter illustrates the limitations I have to respect in my approach. The title ‘Armament projects: The Greek Air Force case, 1950 to 2000’, highlights the key words and combinations which I had to follow. There are a lot of questions that arise following this approach. How do technologies format into Greek military aviation projects? What is the critical point that dictates the technology transfer, or the upgrade decision?1 How do armament projects affect economic progress? What is the influence of technology in air defence doctrine?2 This article describes the ‘Greek Air Force case’ in the European continent, influenced by Cold War competition, the Junta administration, Greece’s participation in the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO ) and the armament race with Turkey. It assesses the major trends in the history of military aviation projects and focuses on the design and development of aviation systems in the Air Force. By focusing on the Air Force’s critical role in doctrine formation, this article evaluates the role of prior projects, related research and development (R&D) experience among prior contractors worldwide, and technical protocols competition in the local history of the Greek Air Force.3 A comparison of basic contract theory with actual Greek aviation projects shows the major effect of the Greek military’s aviation projects on the national economy in the period 1950–2000.4 It analyses the main aspects of the history of aviation technology and the projects that relate to this technology.5 The domain technology transfer country was the United States (US ). As a result of the Cold War, participation in NATO, intense competition with the Turkish Air Force, and the various Cyprus–Aegean crisis episodes, it took many years for local, rather than US , infrastructures to be used. The one European exception to this was the purchase of French airplanes after 1974. The role of technical protocols and its economic effects for the period 1950–2000 is illustrated by critical episodes such as selected local stories from each project which show deviations and misuses from planned projects.6 81

82

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

As an overview, the discussion in this article of the formation of technological change in Greek aviation military projects focuses on the perspective of how the use of the adopted technology linked, de-linked and re-linked Greek air doctrine and the relationships of the military participants with the rest of the actors who impacted upon Greece’s economy and its foreign affairs policy. The Turkish armament project was the key factor in the development of the Greek military project. Finally, my conclusions point to an expansive reproduction of a model of adaptation of electronics that is based on an avionics performance criteria evaluation of the Greek armament projects.

THE GREEK MILITARY PROJECT: HISTORICAL BACKGROUND The history of technology provides us with several ways of approaching the history of the development of Greece’s military aviation systems. The selected approach is largely affected by Greece’s membership of Europe: its military aviation projects were determined by its membership of NATO, its active role in the Cold War and the intense armament race with Turkey. As the Greek military’s aviation systems were part of a large-scale project, John Law’s term ‘heterogenous engineering’ helps us to understand how objects, artefacts, and technical practices come to be aligned. It shows the project’s transition via the applicable technical protocol, R&D transfer method, cost-effectiveness and risk management techniques.7 Contrary to the thesis that the ‘right’ technologies are the ones that are adopted by society, this research showcases hidden histories and tacit knowledge. How does tacit knowledge theory impinge on the notion of technology adoption? The critical episodes described in the final part of the article reinforce this statement. The concept of technological roads ‘not taken’ is fundamental to this approach. David Noble’s social histories of technology underline the importance of looking at both what is, and what is not produced.8 An economic analysis of Greece’s military aviation projects related to the GDP percentage for the period 1950–2000 shows huge expenditure, with real performance deviating significantly from the original planned performance. A review of the US ’ operations in Europe helps us identify the nature of the Greek military’s aviation projects. In the initial phase of the Cold War, President Harry S. Truman decided to rework the United States Air Force in Europe into a combat-capable force.9 In terms of the Greek Air Force there are two key milestones: the first on 12 March 1947, the day of the announcement of Truman’s doctrine, and the second on 15 February 1952, the official date Greece joined NATO. The Truman Doctrine was a policy set forth by President Truman in his speech on 12 March 1947. It stated that the US would support Greece and Turkey with economic and military aid to prevent them entering into the sphere of Soviet influence.10 Historians often consider Truman’s speech to be the beginning of the Cold War, and the start of the containment policy to stop Soviet expansion.11 Previously, Great Britain had supported Greece, but after the Second World War economic reasons forced it to radically reduce its involvement in the area. In February 1947, Great

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

83

Britain formally asked the United States to take over its role in supporting the Greek government.12 Finally, in 1952 both Greece and Turkey joined NATO, the military alliance whose aim was to guarantee their national security. Under NATO ’s umbrella, the Greek Air Force requested aircraft and logistic support via the Joint US Military Aid Group in Greece (JUSMAGG ) office. The agreement between the US and Greece that instituted this office was signed on 20 June 1947.13 The planning and final decision regarding this military aid was under NATO planning. The US provided the funds for the logistical support. The Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union (1948 to 1991) fuelled the rapid race of technological change in the second half of the twentieth century.14 The Cold War era made Eisenhower’s military industrial complex unique. All industrialized states in the twentieth century institutionalized some relationship between war and technology. The blurring of distinctions between military and civilian technologies finally gave way to the open pursuit of ‘dual use technologies’. A military junta ruled Greece between 1967 and 1974. The Junta quickly gained a reputation for human rights abuses and the Nixon administration was forced to suspend shipment of weapons to Greece until a countercoup, in September 1970, installed George Papadopoulos as prime minister. Papadopoulos promised a return to parliamentary democracy, and the United States immediately restored arms shipment. However, once in power, Papadopoulos – challenged by younger officers in the Junta who called themselves Nasserites – demanded economic development and stability, nationalized major industries, and steered a foreign policy that could be relatively independent of the United States.15 While the Nasserites pressed their plans to create a national Greek aerospace industry, the Nixon administration encouraged the Junta to purchase F-4 Phantoms: an aircraft that had originally been developed for the United States Navy.16 In an attempt to find an alternate solution to American interference, the Junta sent officers to Istres in southern France, and initiated negotiations with Dassault (the aviation manufacturers) for the purchase of the French Mirage F-1 fighter and attack aircraft.17 In March 1972, the Nixon administration finalized plans to sell the Junta thirty brand-new F-4Es at a cost of $4.1 million each, almost the same price announced for the US Air Force. Unlike Great Britain, Germany and Japan, who purchased these models from the US and modified the aircraft to suit their needs, Greece was unable to modify the aircraft to suit its style of operations. Greece acquired the American style of military operations along with the hardware and invoked a passive style of acceptance testing. During the period of modification and adaption of these aircrafts, exchange programmes for pilot and maintenance training helped the technical capabilities of the allies to converge towards the American standards. By 1973, relations between Greece and the United States had warmed considerably. In January 1973, the Junta renewed its contract with the US Navy for homeporting the Sixth Fleet to Crete so as to be closer to Athens, in order ‘to serve the purposes of the North Atlantic Alliance [NATO ]’. Soon thereafter, the US Congress approved a large-scale military aircraft sale to Greece.18 In March 1974, the US Air Force delivered to the Greek Air Force the first eighteen of the thirty F-4Es it had originally promised in 1972. In July 1974, following the restoration of democracy, Greece’s newly elected democratic government tried to continue this military project.

84

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

American arms shipments had actually stopped abruptly in July of 1974, following the invasion of Cyprus by the Turkish Army. The American congress insisted that the ratio of arms shipments to the two countries had to remain at the historical rate of 10:7 (Turkey:Greece). But, the Ford administration could not ship arms to Turkey in this period, so no arms were shipped to Greece either.19 Angered at American suspicions and at the refusal of the NATO Command to act against Turkey, the Greek government, under K. Karamanlis’ administration, resigned from NATO ’s military wing. It did not rejoin until 1980. Karamanlis, the elected prime minister, had lived in France during the Junta period.20 He encouraged the government to pursue its earlier discussions with Dassault for the purchase of French aircrafts. The Greek government actually finalized the agreement with the French Dassault company for the purchase of the Mirage F-1. The purchase of the French Mirage F-1 fighters was an exception to the American monopoly. During the 1980s, Greece devoted a high percentage of the GDP to defence expenditures on an annual average basis.21 It had one of the highest levels of GDP expenditure on the military worldwide and especially in Europe. Many military analysts in the US felt it necessary to supply the same weapons at the same time to both Greece and Turkey in order to prevent any force imbalances between these two rivals.22 In 1987 Turkey claimed ownership of specific areas of the Aegean Sea. This forced Greece to announce the final agreement of the fourth armament aviation programme (consisting of two phases), which introduced new technology in the form of third-generation avionics aircrafts. This project has been accused of being corrupt and having inadequate technical specifications, which raised many adaptation issues for the Greek Air Force.23 The 1990s were marked by Turkey’s continual refusal to notify the Greek authorities when its military aircrafts entered Athens’ Flight Information Region. In January 1996, Turkey raised territorial claims against Greece, asserting sovereignty over the island of Imia. This event forced the Greek government to announce one more military aviation project – which, like the previous project, has been accused of being corrupt.24 The Greek military headquarters wanted a deep-strike aircraft. This aircraft purchase was a necessary element of an agreement that Greece had with Cyprus under which the Greek Armed Forces would protect Cyprus in case of attack (Greek Air Force Doctrine – Strategic Depth). In 1999, Greece announced that it would acquire the Block 50/52+ fighter aircraft in preference to the F-15H, a ‘Hellenized’ version of the F-15E Strike Eagle that the Greek Air Force headquarters had proposed purchasing.25 On 10 March 2000, the Greek government signed a Letter of Offer and Acceptance for 34 single-seat and 16 two-seat F-16 Block 50/52+ aircrafts, under the Foreign Military Sales option. The Greek government purchase of early warning systems and missiles faced many anomalies. The decision made by the Greek government in the final agreement fulfilled political rather than military goals. The one exception to this was the purchase of the French Mirage aircrafts for the Air Force. Many political and military analysts of this period argue that the Greek government chose to purchase this type of aircraft for its benefits as a force multiplier. They argue that it was the ‘purchase of the century’. However, due to technical specification irregularities, the Mirage 2000 project faced many technical and operational issues during its adaptation period.26

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

85

The Avionics Upgrade Projects (AUP ) played an important role in the projects of the Air Force. The F-4E AUP programme was awarded after fierce competition. After a first round competition in which all bids were rejected, the Peace Icarus 2000 project was finally developed by Daimler-Benz Aerospace (DASA ), in close cooperation with its Greek industrial partner Hellenic Aerospace Industry, the US Hughes Radar Systems and Israel’s Elbit Systems.27 Regarding the C-130 Avionics Upgrade Project, in August 2002, after an international competition which saw several delays and postponements, Greece decided to award the programme of upgrading the electronic equipment of its C-130s to Spar Aerospace Ltd, a subsidiary of L3 Communications. The final decision was a surprise for many analysts, as Lockheed Martin had shown great interest for the competition and had the operational advantage in the transfer of R&D regarding transport airplanes.28 The cost–benefit analysis was established by the Air Force during this period and introduced into AUP projects, with the aim of maximizing the benefits of foreign military offsets via HAI participation. However, the on-time performance results of both projects had been poor, due to delays caused by the US Department of Defense over technology transfer procedures.

The formation of Hellenic Aerospace Industry Defence policy demands the availability of specific technologies, which, for reasons of cost, particularly in the area of R&D, leads countries with small or medium-sized armed forces to acquire them from abroad. Defence-related research in Greece had been mainly carried out in two different defence research establishments, the Research and Development Centre of the Greek Army (KETES ) and the Research and Technology Centre of the Greek Air Force (KETA ). KETA was founded in 1976, following the Turkish invasion of Cyprus and the induced aggravation in Greek– Turkish relations.29 After the Junta administration ended, the Hellenic Aerospace Industry S.A. was established. Since 1975 it has been one of the major state-owned defence companies in Greece, with 3,000 employees and an established reputation in the international market as a reliable service provider and business partner.30 Its highly operational, efficient industrial capability was organized by dedicated production centres, geared to deliver high performance quality services and products in a diversified range of activities.31 During its first period of operation (1975–1986) the company tried to adopt the new technology with optimistic plans, contrary to the stationary period that followed (1986–2000). Lockheed, Avions Marcel Dassault and Olympic Airways first proposed the ‘formation of a Greek aircraft industry’ at a meeting in Paris in July 1971.32 But Dassault pulled out of the industry deal soon after the Greeks bought the Phantoms and McDonnell did not assume Dassault’s role. Lockheed’s planning continued and in 1975 the Greek parliament officially established the company Hellenic Aerospace Industry (HAI – EAB in Greek language acronyms), which was controlled by the Greek government. A consortium of well-established companies runs the whole project.33 The US has been the main supporter of HAI projects. In 1977 the US Congress approved Lockheed’s role in building up the Greek aircraft industry. From 1979 until 1983, the US Air Force in Europe offered the HAI the J-79 engine maintenance project. The HAI also programmed depot maintenance on the airframes of F-4Es

86

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

owned by the Air Force.34 The Air Force jealously apportioned only the more commercial or mundane work to the HAI .35 Both the Greek Air Force and the government had hoped the HAI would bring in more money on foreign production contracts.36 The Greek government gave George Petsos, a Deputy Minister of Defense, special authority to negotiate offset agreements.37 However, the Greek government under A. Papandreou’s administration cancelled these existing management contracts. In 1983 Papandreou declared that HAI workers were sufficiently skilled; changing the labour law for HAI and the strategic business plan of the industry by announcing an over-optimistic plan. The HAI developed a three-stage business plan consisting of maintenance, production and design. In 1988 HAI finally got its composites plan. To offset the cost of the F-16s, General Dynamics entered into a co-production agreement with HAI called the Peace Xenia programme.38 Within two years the HAI had programmed forty different contracts and was operating with a matrix structure. In conclusion, in this period the military industrial complex was present in Greece and affected the formation and establishment of HAI and the nature of Greece’s military aviation projects.

PERIODS: DESCRIPTION OF MILITARY PROJECTS The history of the contracts of the Greek aviation projects is tightly combined with the history of the United States’ military aviation projects. The Greek Air Force mainly follows US structure, albeit with a delay of 10–15 years. This is due to the legislation concerning technology change in the US and the time it takes the US to give permission for technology transfer to third-party countries.39 It has become common in the aviation community to classify jet fighters by ‘generations’. The timeframes associated with each generation are inexact and are only indicative of the prevailing influence on the design and development of fighter projects. These timeframes also encompass the peak period of service entry for each aircraft type.40 By focusing on the history of the contracts, we can divide the US projects into three periods. This is in conformity with the ‘Bomber R&D Since 1945: The Role of Experience’ report analysis overview, which was undertaken by the Resource Management and System Acquisition Programme of RAND ’s Project AIRFORCE .41 The division of the post-war period into three periods is only meant to serve as a broad conceptual guideline.42 The first period covers about 15 years, from the mid1940s to the end of the 1950s.43 The second period stretches from the beginning of the 1960s into the mid-1970s.44 Finally, the third period, which extends from the mid-1970s to the present, is dominated by the stealth and avionics revolution.45 This period is characterized by dramatic advances in technology, which breathed new life into the strategic bomber and supported the existing leadership ranks in bomber R&D among aerospace contractors.46 The history of Greek military aviation projects based on the domain region and country of technology transfer is described in Table 1. Based on this initial division, the period for each project is analysed regarding the doctrine or fighter airplane role, procurement environment, and dominant performance role and technology drivers.47 In the first period (1912–1916), second period (1917–1922) and third period (1923–1934), the presence of electronics equipment carried by aircraft is limited to

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

87

TABLE 1: Airplanes/programmes/region – country of technology transfer in Greek Air Force projects Programme/ Project

Duration

Remarks

Domain Region/Countries of Technology Transfer

1

1912–1916

Europe/France

2

1917–1922

Greek funds French– British help Greek funds Greek funds

3

First

1923–1934

4

Second

1935–1940

5

1941–1950

6

1951–1973

7

Third

1974–1987

8

Fourth

1988–2002

British help American help Greek funds Greek Funds

Europe/France Great Britain Europe/France Great Britain Europe/France Great Britain/ Germany/Poland Europe/Great Britain/USA USA USA /Canada/Europe (France–Poland) USA /Canada/Brazil Europe/France

the basics of navigation and communication devices.48 The history of the aviation industry in these periods is mainly oriented on the choice of the basic materials for the construction of Greece’s first airplanes.49 The presence of electronics becomes more vital during the fourth (1935–1940) and the fifth periods (1941–1950).50 In 1933, the Greek Air Force was founded as an independent branch of the Greek Army. After the Second World War, the United States dominated the production of military airplanes.51 America’s military services integrated a series of aerodynamically advanced jet fighters and bombers that featured new techniques of production and advanced electronic devices such as radar, fire control systems and navigation systems. During the Junta administration in Greece and the crisis in Cyprus a different approach to military projects was initiated for the Greek Air Force, funded by predominantly Greek funds.52 In the next period (1974–1987), the history of electronics development and military aviation projects were tightly combined (see Table 2).53 The introduction into the Greek Air Force of the McDonnell F-4E Phantom II , RF -4E Phantom II and the A-7 Corsair II dramatically changed its operational capabilities. Also, the Lockheed C-130H Hercules, with its unique transport capabilities, provided the essential logistical support for the Greek Armed Forces.54 The users (pilots and engineers) faced a lot of problems in the adoption of the electronics in the doctrine/ lifestyle. They preferred to transform the military systems of European origin into American systems. This period saw the initial formation of air defence doctrine,

88

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

TABLE 2: Greek Air Force airplanes in the sixth and seventh periods Period

Programme/ Project

6

7

Third

Duration

Aircrafts

1951–1973

Agusta Bell: AB 47G-3 B-2/AB 47G-5,AB 47J-2 AB 206A Jetranger, Bell OH -13H Canadair CL -215 Cessna T-41D Mescalero Convair F-102 A/ TF -102 Delta Dagger deHavilland Canada L-20 A Beaver FIAT G-91 R/4 Grumman G.159 Gulfstream I Lockheed T-33A/AT-33A/RT-33A/ T-33Mk III Lockheed F-104G/TF -104G/ RF -104G Starfighter Nord / N.2501, N.2501D Noratlas North American Aviation F-86 D Sambre Dog North American Aviation F-86 E,M Sambre Northrop F-5A/F-5B/R-5A/NF-5A/NF-5B Freedom Fighter Republic F-84E/G Thunderjet Republic F-84E/G Thunderstreak Republic F-84E/G Thunderflash Sikorsky UH -19B/D Chickasaw Avions Marcel Dassault-Breguet Aviation Mirage F.1CG Bell B.212 Boeing-Meridionali CH -47C Chinook Dornier Do 28D-2 Skyservant Grob G.103 Twin Astir Grumman / Schweizer G.164A/G Ag-Cat Ling-Temco-Vought A-7H/TA -7H Corsair II Lockheed C-130 H Hercules McDonnell Douglas F-4E Phantom II McDonnell Douglas RF -4E Phantom II NAMC YS -11A-520 PZL M-18 Dromaider Rockwell T-2 E Buckeye

1974–1987

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

89

which focused on interception missions, the selection of airplanes and strategic targeting.55 Between 1975 and 1980, following the Turkish invasion of Cyprus and the ‘frozen period of relations’ with NATO, Greece was still oriented towards America’s armament projects. As mentioned above, the exception to this was the purchase of the French Mirage F-1, which was equipped with advanced electronics, focused on the fire control system. This period also saw the establishment of the Hellenic Aerospace Industry S.A. Since 1988 the Greek Air Force has been engaged with the fourth armament aviation programme. This consists of two phases (see Table 3). During these two

TABLE 3: Airplanes of the eighth period of the Greek Air Force Period

Programme/ Project

Duration

Aircrafts

8

Fourth Phase I

1988–2002

Fourth Phase II

2002– . . .

Bombardier CL -415 Avions Marcel Dassault-Breguet Aviation Mirage 2000 EGM /BGM (EUROPE ) Avions Marcel Dassault-Breguet Aviation Falcon Embraer RJ -135 Eurocopter AS .332 C-1 Super Puma (EUROPE ) Ling-Temco-Vought A-7E/TA -7C Corsair II Lockheed C-130 B Hercules Lockheed P-3B Orion Lockheed Martin F-16C/D- Block 30, 50 McDonnell Douglas F-4E Phantom II (USAF ) McDonnell Douglas RF -4E Phantom II (Luftwaffe) Raytheon T-6 Texan II Lockheed Martin F-16C/D- Block 52 Avions Marcel Dassault-Breguet Aviation Mirage 2000-5 MK 2 (EUROPE ) F-4E Phantoms II s(Peace Icarus 2000 program) (EUROPE ) Lockheed C-130 H/B Hercules AUP Ericsson Erieye systems, installed on the EMB -145H AEW &C platform (EUROPE ) C-27 Spartan (EUROPE ) Embraer – 145 Gulfstream G-V

90

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

periods, the projects had been focused on military airplanes of the third and fourth generations. A point of comparison remains the field of electronics innovation. It also marked the beginning of electronic upgrades for many older airplanes.56 In 1997, a decision was taken to upgrade the F-4E Phantom II aircraft (Peace Icarus 2000 programme) due to their inability to deal with the battlefield requirements of the new century. In the upgrades, special attention was placed on avionics, the Phantom’s weakest area.57 In August 2002, the Greek Air Force decided to upgrade the avionics of the C-130 Hercules fleet so as to operate according to the new international flight rules.58 Having provided the historical background and overview of Greece’s armament projects, I now turn to examine the economic approach followed in each project. I explore this in relation to NATO, Turkey and the EU member countries and aim to answer the initial questions regarding how armament projects affect economic progress and the influence of technology in the formation of a national air defence doctrine.

ECONOMIC OVERVIEW OF GREEK AIR FORCE PROJECTS In the twentieth century Greece was involved in a series of wars, including the First and Second World Wars, an extremely harmful civil war, and crisis episodes with Turkey throughout the post-Second World War period (due to disputes over Cyprus and the Aegean Sea).59 This has resulted in a continuous spending of a great amount of the GDP of Greece on armament projects (see Figure 1).60 I provide a statistical analysis of

FIGURE 1: Greek GDP percentage spending on military projects in comparison with NATO, the EU and Turkey for the period 1948 to 2014.

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

91

the percentage of GDP that Greece spent on the Air Force in comparison with NATO, European member countries and Turkey during the period 1948 to 2014, a period that covers the period of the Greek Air Force’s service in NATO. This analysis shows a linear relationship between Greece’s GDP expenditure on armament projects: it shows it was higher than the NATO or EU average, and proportional to Turkey’s linear presentation. This proves the strong effect the tensions with Turkey has had on the formation of Greek military aviation projects and doctrine (see Figure 1).61 Between 1952 and 1966 Greece showed a gradual decrease in military expenditure as GDP percentage (see Figure 2). During the Junta administration, there was an increase in the GDP percentage as a result of the change of the funding methods and the consequences of the Junta administration’s affairs with the US and Europe (see Figure 3).62 A statistical analysis of the percentage of Greece’s GDP spent on military projects, in comparison with Turkey, for periods of crisis with Turkey (1974, 1987 and 1996) due to disputes over Cyprus and the Aegean Sea is presented in Figure 4.63 As we can see, during 1974 and 1986–1987 the Greek Air Force spent a significant percentage of the GDP, and a higher figure than Turkey. For Karamanlis’ administration, which saw the Cyprus crisis and the decline of the Greece–NATO relationship, analysis is presented in Figure 5. Even though in this period Greece reduced GDP percentage expenditure, it still kept a higher rate of expenditure than NATO or Turkey. Most significant is the change under Papandreou’s administration in the period 1981–1986, the years leading up to the 1986–1987 crisis period.64 After the crisis in 1987, Greece entered into phase one of the fourth military project, under pressure from Turkey’s foreign policy (see Figure 6).65 After Greece’s entry

FIGURE 2: Greek GDP percentage spending on military projects compared to NATO and Turkey for the period 1952 to 1974.

FIGURE 3: Greek GDP percentage spending on military projects compared to those of NATO and Turkey for the Junta administration period 1967 to 1974.

FIGURE 4: Greek and Turkish military project expenditure as percentage of GDP, crisis periods. 92

FIGURE 5: Greek GDP expenditure on military projects compared to that of NATO and Turkey for the period 1975 to 1987.

FIGURE 6: Greek GDP expenditure on military projects in comparison with that of NATO and Turkey for the period 1988 to 2010. 93

94

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

FIGURE 7: Greece’s GDP expenditure on military projects compared to the EU , NATO and Turkey after Greece’s entry into the EU .

into the EU and until approximately the year 1995 to 1996, we can see that the percentage of GDP spent on the Armed Forces dropped as a result of Greece’s efforts to conform to the average percentage level of European expenditure (see Figure 7).66 After the Imia Crisis, the Greek government was forced to review its expenditure on the armament projects, which resulted in a dramatic increase as shown in Figures 6 and 7. The increase from 2007 to 2008 was the result of necessary upgrades of existing mature weapon systems. By this stage many years had passed since the establishment of the fourth military project in 1988.67 Following the period 2009 to 2010, a dramatic decrease in the percentage of GDP expenditure resulted from the deep economic crisis in Greece. These detailed statistic analyses show the great effect the armament projects had on Greece’s economy between 1950 and 2000, and its consequences on Greece’s political, economic and social life. Critical episodes in the next section illustrate the role of contracts, technical protocols and the adaptation of technology in the formation of Greek Air Force doctrine. The main focus is on the relationship between the military industrial complex in Greece, a European country and a member of NATO, which faced economic problems and crisis episodes with Turkey throughout the post-Second World War period.

CRITICAL EPISODES The variety of technical protocols in Greek military aviation projects offers testimony of an extremely rich world of adaptation experiences regarding electronics

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

95

technology. This is reflected in the third and fourth generation of aircrafts produced by Greece’s military aviation projects, including analog projects, digital circuits, contracts, US and European competition over aircraft purchase, foreign affairs, training and accidents.68 Taking these topics into account, we uncover the history of a systematic pursuit of the latest technical protocols against Turkey by focusing on electronic technology supremacy. The military industrial complex offers equivalent technical protocols to both countries, while at the same time the Greek effort to activate the alternate European solution failed.69 Selected critical episodes in the examined period help us to identify the orientation and the level of the intended technological change. Focusing on the transition from analog to digital, the Greek Air Force tried to standardize the third-generation airplanes by transforming the French Mirage F-1 digital avionic systems into the similar US F-4E Phantom digital avionics systems. The Mirage F-1CG was armed with the Sidewinder AIM -9P missile, rather than the commonly used Matra Magic II missiles. The Greek F-1s were not delivered with a radar warning receiver (RWR ) system and the US -built AN /ALR -66 RWR was refitted later. This effort cost the Greek Air Force many years of research, flight tests and money with side effects on the operational capabilities of the Mirage F-1, as it was not carrying the designated manufacturer weapons. The main disadvantages of this type of aircraft for many Greek pilots were the radar capabilities and the missilefiring envelope. These problems initiated a long period of arguments between the political parties in Greece in the 1980s.70 Finally KETA , in 1990, in cooperation with Dassault, managed to increase the number of improved AIM -9 missiles to four missiles, with successful firing capabilities and the installation of the US ALR -66 RWR . Following these changes the Greek Mirage F-1CG became, in terms of its air combat characteristics, technology oriented towards the US .71 The Greek Air Force retired the remaining 27 (out of 40) Mirage F-1CG s on 30 June 2003, after 28 years of service and 160,000 flying hours, including several accidents.72 Many critical episodes in the HAI highlight the adaptation problems during the period 1950–2000. In 1979, the Greek government bought new aircraft types, and tried to expand HAI operations from maintenance to the production of parts.73 As we can see, the nature of the contracts regarding the projects relating to the military and civil aviation (Direct Sales Contracts, Offset and Foreign Monetary Sales) had been the key factor for the future plans of HAI regarding R&D and production plans.74 The Greek government tried to collect the man-hours owed from the F-4E sale when McDonnell started peddling the F-18 in the mid-1980s. Even though McDonnell lost that sale, it finally financed the export of Greek raw materials including cotton, tobacco, fruit, textiles and bauxite to the US . McDonnell employees in St Louis argued that this decision had a notable impact on their cafeteria lunches. The initial F-4E and Phantom contract projects helped the Greek economy via a different approach.75 On many occasions the decision of the final agreement fulfilled political rather than military goals.76 The repetitive exception to this was the Greek Air Force’s purchase of the French Mirage aircrafts. The Greek Mirage 2000 had been blamed for many problems with its radar capabilities. Many analysts argued that the problems arose from the selection of the type of radar rather than its real capabilities.

96

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

Also, the purchase of French missiles was, for many military analysts, not worthy of Greece’s money. This forced the Greek Air Force’s headquarters to express their dissatisfaction on a number of occasions.77 In February 1999, after two years of efforts to revitalize projects, the Air Force came to a halt after the Greek government admitted a shortage of funds. Greece’s headquarters had opted for the F-15H Strike Eagle, which had the best test reviews, but its high price, about $75 million per aircraft, rendered the purchase prohibitive. The F-16 cost about $45 million and the Mirage about $58 million. At the end of the competition, Apostolos Tsohatzopoulos, the then Greek Minister of Defense, said that Greece would start negotiations to become part of the Eurofighter Typhoon production process and announced the purchase of between 60 and 80 planes after 2005.78 Due to the expenses of the Olympic Games in 2004, the government decided once again to postpone the Typhoon purchase. Instead of this project, in June 2000, Greece ordered 50 brand-new F-16 Block 52+ fighters, with an option of 10 more aircraft (in September 2001).79

AVIONICS UPGRADE PROJECTS As stated earlier, in 1997, the Greek government decided to upgrade the F-4E Phantoms II s (Peace Icarus 2000 programme), as the aircraft was unable to deal with the latest battlefield requirements. As such, special attention was paid to avionics. The Phantom’s AUP was assigned to EADS , a company that already had valuable experience in dealing with the requirements of such a project, having successfully upgraded 110 F-4Fs belonging to the German Air Force (F-4F ICE Programme). EADS upgraded the prototype aircraft and the HAI upgraded the remaining 35 aircrafts. As we can see in this example, a European company upgraded an American system. However, EADS faced delays due to the US policy regarding R&D transfer. The USA has always been exceptionally careful in the size and the type of technology that it exported to third-party countries, even if these were America’s allies.80 In August 2002, it was decided to upgrade the avionics of the C-130 Hercules to conform with new international flight rules. In the previous decades two mishaps with Greek Hercules were attributed to CFIT accidents.81 Public opinion forced the Greek government to upgrade the Greek C-130s. In 2003, after a delay of ten years from the first announcement, the Air Force started the avionics upgrade of the C-130 fleet in L3/SPAR .82 The delays in this programme were significant due to the origin of the company who ran the upgrade project. Regarding the procurement of the new technology, a firm and detailed contractual vehicle had to be established that would describe the purchase of the new technology (including specification, terms and conditions, acceptance, delivery schedule and payments). In this area, a great deal of experience has been gained over the last 15–20 years. A common disharmony that can be pointed out is the purchase of ‘too much’ technology, which was not in balance with the assigned human resource capacity and the Air Force’s processed objectives and doctrine. This led to new technology ‘fading away’. This anomaly is irrelevant to the particular individual’s capabilities for technology adaptation and absorption. Instead, it is related to the Ministry of Defense and the Greek Air Force’s organizational problems.83

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

97

CONCLUSION Parallel to the Cold War, the Aegean Sea arena dominated the formation of Greece’s military aviation projects for many years. Even though Greece, as a NATO member, had to focus its defence on Eastern Europe countries (including Albania, Bulgaria and Yugoslavia), the main concern for the Greek headquarters was the Turkish activity and the establishment of a new air defence doctrine. Air defence doctrine was oriented to interception missions for many decades, focusing on specific types of airplanes and hence losing strategic advantage contrary to US experience.84 The main factors affecting the formation of the contracts of the Greek military’s aviation projects can be divided into three categories. The first category includes the Greek political parties and government. This category includes corruption and the ignoring of military proposals and decisions. In turn, due to the dominant high level of bureaucracy, Greece’s weak industrial military administration failed to upgrade its performance to higher levels.85 Greek military projects are covered by Greek funds, with mixed origin in terms of the country and region of technology transfer (US to Europe and France).86 The second category includes the foreign policy between Turkey, the US and Cyprus. The participation of Greece in the EU , and the competition between US and European industries, affected the technical protocols regarding the military’s aviation projects.87 The third category is the absence of public deliberation as well as the minimal or non-existent role for social groups and institutions, expert think tanks, and the Greek scientific and technical community in the public discussion.88 The Turkish armament project was the key factor in the development of the Greek military’s project. On many occasions, public opinion forced, or was used intentionally by the Greek government as, an immediate response to Turkey’s military projects following an air defence doctrine that insisted upon a narrowed role for interception.89 The political situation in Greece was unclear for the orientation of the technological change. The Greek government signed agreements on several occasions with companies whose technical protocols had not been approved by the headquarters of the Greek Air Force.90 Many political analysts claimed that the Greek government usually only announced the participation of Greece and the purchase of European military systems for political means, so as to achieve diplomatic alliances in Europe. In my analysis of Greece’s experience, technology is the key factor in the evaluation of the purchase. Small countries like Greece, without a large-scale defence industry seem to be extremely cautious about European projects, preferring financially secure solutions in the final phase, such as the US military’s projects.91 European projects still seem to act as alternatives (for instance when the US restricts weapons exports and knowledge or upgrading programmes) rather than as symbols for a unified Europe.92 A continuous point of reference in the Ministry of Defence’s procurement policy was the gradual hellenization of supplies, in such a way that the domestic defence industry became the main supplier of weapon systems to the Armed Forces.93 Regardless of the skills, patents and innovative reconstruction of the existing technical protocols, the overall performance was limited by the initial limitations that had been

98

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

agreed during the contract phase of each military aviation project. A conclusion of this article is that the adaptation of electronics technology in the Greek military’s aviation projects has mainly been based on initial contracts and image. It is not a reflection of actors’ capabilities, or as is usually the common belief, the result of the outstanding performance of the Greek Air Force’s employees.

NOTES 1. Bruno Latour and other ‘actor-network’ theorists argue that the process of creating and adopting technologies is complex, interactive and political. Bruno Latour, Science in Action: How to Follow Scientists and Engineers through Society (Milton Keynes: Open University Press, 1987), 122–144. 2. The role of the military industrial complex was critical in the formation of the military’s projects. These have tended to be an answer to the public’s requests for homeland security. 3. Ruth Cowan Schwartz, ‘The Consumption Junction: A Proposal for Research Strategies in the Sociology of Technology ’, in Wiebe E. Bijker, Thomas P. Hughes and Trever Pinch (eds), The Social Construction of Technological Systems (Cambridge, MA , 1987), 261–280. 4. Helmuth Trischler and Hans Weinberger, ‘Engineering Europe: Big Technologies and Military Systems in the Making of 20th Century Europe’, History and Technology, 2005, 21, 49–83. 5.

H. J. Kranzle, ‘The Perspective of Defense Industry in the European Union’, Defencor Pacis, Issue 2 (April 1999).

6.

Harry Elmer Barnes, Historical Sociology: Its Origins and Development. Theories of Social Evolution from Cave Life to Atomic Bombing (New York: Philosophical Library, 1948),145.

7. See Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Revolution 1789–1848 (New York: Pantheon, 1987) and Age of Extremes: The Short Twentieth Century, 1914–1991 (London: Michael Joseph, 1994). 8. David Noble, Forces of Production: A Social History of Industrial Automation (New York: Oxford University Press, 1984), 145. 9. The United States Air Forces in Europe (USAFE ) is the United States Air Force component of US European Command. It is a unified command of the Department of Defense, and is one of two Air Force Major Commands outside of the continental United States, the other being the Pacific Air Forces. It is, however, the only USAF Major Command to have its headquarters outside of the United States. 10. According to the ODC ’s official page: http://athens.usembassy.gov/trade-com/odc/ history.html [accessed 30 March 2015]. 11. President Harry S. Truman told Congress the Doctrine was ‘the policy of the United States to support free people who are resisting attempted subjugation by armed minorities or by outside pressures’. He argued that if Greece and Turkey did not receive the aid that they urgently needed they would inevitably fall to communism

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

99

with grave consequences throughout the region. Because Turkey and Greece were historic rivals, it was necessary to help both equally, even though the threat to Greece was more immediate. 12. David Edgerton, England and the Airplane, An essay on a Militant and Technological Nation (Basingstoke: Macmillan in association with the Centre for History and Science, Technology and Medicine, University of Manchester, 1991). 13. According to the ODC ’s official page (http://athens.usembassy.gov/trade-com/odc/ history.html [accessed 30 March 2015]): ‘The Office of Defense Cooperation (ODC ) – Greece is one of the oldest security assistance organizations in the world. The history in Athens began back at the close of the Second World War, when the United States established the first elements of what was to become the Joint US Military Aid Group, Greece (JUSMAGG ), per US -Greece agreement signed on 20 June 1947. JUSMAGG , whose ranks swelled to 595 personnel at its peak during the Cold War, played an important part in channeling over 5 billion dollars in Marshall Plan post-war and Cold War security assistance aid to Greece between 1947 and 1977, helping to make Greece the single-largest recipient of Western aid in all of post-war Europe. Despite Greece’s problematic post-war history, this aid is largely credited with holding Greece within the embrace of Western Europe, despite the economic collapse of literally all of Greece’s Cold War-era communist neighbors. First known as the American Military Mission, it was instrumental in furnishing Marshall Plan aid to the Greek forces after World War II . On 1 March 1988, nearing the end of the Cold War, they had changed their name from JUSMAGG and became the Office of Defense Cooperation, or ODC . This latest name change is a sign of our maturing defense relationship with Greece.’ 14. Many of Eisenhower’s scientific-technical elite served the complex in the name of serving national security. ‘Defense intellectuals’ and ‘beltway bandits’ (companies in the vicinity of the highway encircling Washington, DC, that specialize in contracting for government) provided support services for the complex. 15. Stephen C. Xydis, ‘Coups and Countercoups in Greece, 1967–1973’, Political Science Quarterly, 1974, 89(3), 507–538. See also Felix Kessler, ‘Greek Military Rulers Tighten Their Grip, and Get More U.S Aid’, Wall Street Journal (25 November 1970). 16. Flying the Phantom would quickly bring Greece up to NATO standards, and Greece would need to maintain cordial relations with the United States in order to maintain its Phantoms. 17. The American military industrial complex in the Vietnam-era production slowed, fuelled the international arms bazaar by wheeling and dealing to compete against French, British and Warsaw-bloc offers. McDonnell and its suppliers benefited through healthy profits on each sale of new aircraft and from continuing technical assistance contracts. All new Phantoms sold to the US military in the year 1974 averaged $2.64 million each, while the 998 Phantoms exported averaged $5.07 million each. 18. From the first days of the Truman Doctrine in 1947 until 1986, the US gave Greece $7 billion in economic and military aid. This aid is considered higher per capita than

100

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

any other country excluding Israel. For more details refer to: Richard N. Haass, ‘Managing NATO ’s Weakest Flank: The U.S., Greece and Turkey ’, Orbis, 1986, 30, 457–473. 19. ‘ΗΠΑ :Αεροπορικές Δυνάμεις’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1981, τχ. 13, 14. Also Lorell, Mark, The U.S. Combat Aircraft Industry 1909–2000, Structure Competition Innovation (RAND /Summary). 20. Konstantinos Karamanlis was a close friend with Charles André Joseph Marie de Gaulle. De Gaulle was a French general and statesman who led the Free French Forces during the Second World War. He later founded the French Fifth Republic in 1958 and served as its first President from 1959 to 1969. He held the view, known as Gaullism, that France should continue to see itself as a major power and should not rely on other countries, such as the United States, for its national security and prosperity. Often criticized for his Politics of Grandeur, de Gaulle oversaw the development of French atomic weapons and promoted a foreign policy independent of American and British influences. He withdrew France from NATO ’s military command, although it remained a member of the Western alliance, and twice vetoed Britain’s entry into the European Community. He travelled widely in Eastern Europe and other parts of the world and recognized Communist China. 21. Greek defence expenditures remain at one of the highest levels within the EU and NATO. On average during the last decades Greece has placed almost 5 per cent of its GDP in expenditure of a defence and military nature, while those employed in the Greek Armed Forces amount to 5.9 per cent of the total labour force. 22. Greece has been a member of NATO since 1952, and has played an important role in defending NATO ’s southern flank. However, Greece has been involved in a long-term rivalry with neighbouring Turkey over territorial rights in the Aegean and in particular over the status of Cyprus. Consequently, arms supplied to Greece and Turkey have often been directed more against each other rather than against Soviet expansion. 23. ‘Η αντιμετώπιση της Εναέριας απειλής’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1989, τχ. 58, 73. 24. Φ. Καραϊωσηφίδης, ‘Ανακτώντας Ισορρο πία στο Αιγαίο’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 2009, τχ. 285, 21. 25. The F-15 aircraft was proposed as a solution for the Greek Air Force. Φ. Καραϊωσηφίδης, ΕΜΠΑΕ 2006–2010 & 2011–2015, ‘Αποκρυπτογραφώντας το γρίφο’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 2006, τχ. 253, 116. 26. See also Lorell, The U.S. Combat Aircraft Industry 1909–2000, 78. 27. Π. Σταγόπουλος, ‘Η πρόταση εκσυγχρονισμού της DASA για τα Ελληνικά F-4E’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1997, τχ. 149, 44. 28. K. Καρναβάς, ‘Αερομεταφορές της Π.Α, Αναβαθμισμένα C-130’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 2007, τχ. 257, σελ.26. 29. In brief, KETA consists of three sectors, activated in the fields of Electronics, Aeronautics and Documentation/Preparation. The Centre conducts research projects in conjunction with universities and other national institutions. It also participates in various R&D projects besides the main Air Force interests, in collaboration with

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

101

armament industries, shipyards and the Hellenic Telecommunications Organization. Furthermore, it cooperates with similar institutions and enterprises from abroad and conducts various activities in the frame of NATO. Hellenic Air Force Research and Technology Centre’s overall contribution is considered to be of vital importance to the future of the Air Force, as well as to national defence and security. 30. The Hellenic Aerospace Industry S.A. (HAI ) from 1975 until now is one of the major state-owned defence companies in Greece with a diversified range of activities including military aircraft and engine MRO (maintenance, repair, overhaul, modifications, upgrades and logistics support). Among HAI partner manufacturers, Lockheed Martin had provided valuable assistance both in terms of workload and new technology through the F-16 co-production program. 31. In addition, HAI operates as one of the world’s T56 Engine Authorized Maintenance Centers (AMC ’s) under certification by Rolls-Royce, and is also certified as AMC for C-130 aircraft by Lockheed Martin, for M53 engines by SNECMA and T53 engines by Honeywell. HAI also operates as a certified maintenance centre for the Hellenic Civil Aviation Authority in accordance with JAR-145, and its Quality System has been approved by a number of organizations and major aerospace manufacturers such as Airbus, Dassault Aviation, EADS , Pratt & Whitney, Raytheon, Boeing, SNECMA and General Electric. HAI is a partner to Hellas Sat Consortium S.A. and is participating in a number of European Consortia for the co-production and development of weapon systems, such as, IRIS -T, STINGER , ESSM and the Integrated Euro Training System. 32. ‘Lockheed Said Joining Venture in Greece with Olympic, Assault’, Wall Street Journal (29 July 1971), 6–3. 33. Austin Co. supervised the construction, Lockheed managed facility operations and the airframe work, while Westinghouse managed the avionics building and General Electric managed the engine building for a few years. 34. The F-4 TCG operated out of Ogden, Utah. Each country paid to be a participant, and probated according to how many F-4s it owned. Each country then received access to the configuration change notices and updated manuals sponsored by the US Air Force. The Hellenic Air Support Command, F-4 branch at the Elefsis depot, and not HAI , officially belonged to the F-4 TCG . HAI as a commercial entity, however, belonged to the J-79 TCG . The TCG served as an umbilical cord from foreign countries back to the maintenance engineers at Ogden. The TCG coordinated foreign purchases of parts made through the US ’s International Logistics Program, which included Spain, Greece, Iran, Israel, Turkey and South Korea. The TCG tracked the configurations of each country, using a computerized database. 35. Eighty per cent of HAI man-hours went into maintaining aircraft for the Greek Air Force, which, by government agreement, paid an hourly rate that allowed HAI to show a marginal profit. 36. HAI started advertising its skills in building secure communications, by which it meant communications devices able to break NATO ’s secure coding. The Greek Air Force also designed radar countermeasures that jammed any NATO radar Turkey might use.

102

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

37. To make use of the offset, Petsos tried, as the Greek government bought new aircraft, to expand HAI from maintenance to parts production. As we can see from that point, the nature of the contracts regarding the military/civil aviation projects (DSC /offset/FMS ) is the key factor for the future plans of HAI regarding R&D and production plans. 38. General Dynamics made HAI a regular subcontractor and bought from it 230 tail fins, fabricated from composite sheets and 485 inlets. 39. Mark A. Lorell, ‘An Overview of Military Jet Engine History, Appendix B’, in Obaid Younossi, Mark V. Arena, Richard M. Moore, Mark A. Lorell, Joanna Mason and John C. Graser, Military Jet Engine Acquisition: Technology Basics and CostEstimating Methodology (Santa Monica, CA , 2002). 40. Richard P. Hallion of the Secretary of the Air Force’s Action Group classified the F-16 as a sixth-generation jet fighter. Richard P. Hallion, ‘A Troubling Past: Air’, Airpower Journal, 1990. 41. Project AIRFORCE , a division of RAND , is the Air Force’s federally funded research and development centre for studies and analyses. It provides the Air Force with independent analyses of policy alternatives affecting the development, employment, combat readiness and support of current and future aerospace forces. Research is being performed in three programs: Strategy, Doctrine and Force Structure; Force Modernization and Employment; and Resource Management and System Acquisition. See also RAND ’s Project AIRFORCE report: Mark A. Lorell, Bomber R&D Since 1945: The Role of Experience, 3–11. 42. There is no distinct beginning or end-point for any of the three periods but there is considerable overlap between one period and the next. Nonetheless, the periods are dramatically different in several respects and thus require separate treatment. Lorell, Bomber R&D Since 1945, 8. 43. It is a period of dramatic technological change and innovation, when the government funded large numbers of procurement and technology demonstration programs. 44. A new era of fighter airplanes with the Tactical Air Force doctrine changed R&D priorities. See also Kenneth R. Mayer, The Political Economy of Defense Contracting (New Haven, CN: Yale University Press, 1991). 45. See also William B. Scott, Inside the Stealth Bomber: The B-2 Story (Blue Ridge Summit, PN, 1991). 46. See also Lorell, Bomber R&D Since 1945, 8–10. 47. Δ. Κ. Βογιατζής, ‘Ανακατασκευάζοντας Αεροπορική Ιστορία στην Ελλάδα’, Μουσείο Πολεμικής Αεροπορίας (Δεκέλεια, 2003). The post-1950s decades have been very important for the rebirth of the Greek Air Force, after the destruction of the Second World War. 48. This period begins with the first armament program for aircraft manufactured in Greece. ‘Η Ελληνική Αεροπορική Βιομηχανία στην Ελλάδα’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1982, τχ. 21, 25 και ‘Γαλλική Αεροπορική Βιομηχανία’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1981, τχ. 14, 42. 49. Eric Schatzberg, in his paper ‘Ideology and Technical Choice: The Decline of the Wooden Airplane in the United States, 1920–1945’ and in his book Wings of Wood,

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

103

Wings of Metal: Culture and Technical Choice in American Airplane Materials (Princeton, NJ, 1999), comments on whiggism that examines the past on the basis of its contribution to our present. Schatzberg attempts to interpret the victory of the metal airplane through the correlation of metal with the concept of ‘progress’. In this schema, wood refers to the pre-industrial era, while metal bears the connotations of progress and science. 50. This period marks the beginning of the second armament program with aircraft manufactured in Greece and imported mostly from European countries. 51. R. E. Bilstein, Flight in America: From the Wrights to the Astronauts (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1984). 52. ‘Η Ελληνική Πολεμική Αεροπορία στον δρόμο για τον 21ο Αιώνα’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1984, τχ. 25, σελ.36. 53. ‘ΗΠΑ: Αεροπορικές Δυνάμεις’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1981, Τεύχος 13, σελ.14. 54. ‘Lockheed C-130 Hercules’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1985, τχ. 40, 32. 55. ‘Το νέο μαχητικό αεροπλάνο της Ελλάδας’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1982, τχ. 15, 28. 56. K. Καρναβάς, ‘Αερομεταφορές της Π.Α, Αναβαθμισμένα C-130’, 26. 57. Π. Σταγόπουλος, ‘Η πρόταση εκσυγχρονισμού της DASA για τα Ελληνικά F-4E’, 44. 58. A. Tsagaratos, ‘HELLENICAIRFORCE , A Portrait of Gold’, Special Projects, 2004, 10, 22. 59. Greece in the twentieth century has embarked in a series of wars, including the First and Second World War, the Balkan Wars and an extremely harmful civil war. Also, due to differences over Cyprus and the Aegean Sea, Greece found itself in the middle of several hostile contexts throughout the post-Second World War period. 60. I. Parisis, ‘The Defense Industry: Evolution and Perspectives’, Defensor Pacis, Issue 3. 61. The GDP percentage statistical analyses are based on figures provided by the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, SIPRI Military Expenditure Database, http://www.sipri.org/research/armaments/milex/milex_database [accessed 15 March 2015]. 62. ‘Η Ελληνική Πολεμική Αεροπορία στον δρόμο για τον 21ο Αιώνα’, 36. 63. Καραϊωσηφίδης, ‘Ανακτώντας Ισορροπία στο Αιγαίο’, 21. 64. Kranzle, ‘The Perspective of Defense Industry in the European Union’. 65. ‘Η Ελληνική Πολεμική Αεροπορία στον δρόμο για τον 21ο Αιώνα’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1984, τχ. 25, 36. 66. Trischler and Weinberger, ‘Engineering Europe’, 49–83. 67. Foreign Military Sales: A short guidance for FMS customers: FMS purchaser participation with U.S. Government acquisition personnel, by Andreas Balafas, Stavros Krimizas, Adamantios Mitsotakis and George Kassaras, Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey (California), June 2010. 68. Vasileios Kyriazis, ‘Greek Offsets: A New Era’, Epicos Newsletter Head Editor, 2011.

104

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

69. More details can be found in Alex Roland, ‘The Military-Industrial Complex’ (SHOT /AHA , 2002), 1–3. 70. ‘Η αντιμετώπιση της Εναέριας απειλής’, 73. 71. ‘Η Ελληνική Αεροπορική Βιομηχανία στην Ελλάδα’, 25 και ‘Γαλλική Αεροπορική Βιομηχανία’, 42. 72. A number of F-1CG aircraft have been preserved in non-flying condition for display. At least four are preserved in Tanagra (115, 124, 129 and 140). One more (134) is preserved at HAF History Department, Delta Falirou. 73. Kyriazis, ‘Greek Offsets: A New Era’, Epicos Newsletter Head Editor, 2011. 74. Balafas et al., Foreign Military Sales. 75. See also Glen E. Bugos, Engineering the F-4 Phantom II, Parts into systems (England: Airlife Publishing Ltd, 1996). 76. M. B. Clinard, Corporate Corruption: The Abuse of Power (London: Praeger Publishers, 1990). 77. ‘Η Ελληνική Πολεμική Αεροπορία στον δρόμο για τον 21ο Αιώνα’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1984, τχ. 25, 36. 78. Tsohatzopoulos’ administration period as Minister of Defense is under investigation by Greek Justice. Economic scandals related to military projects during this period sentenced former Minister of Defense A. Tsohatzopoulos and his close partners to a period in jail. 79. Καραϊωσηφίδης, ‘Ανακτώντας Ισορροπία στο Αιγαίο’, 21. 80. Σταγόπουλος, ‘Η πρόταση εκσυγχρονισμού της DASA για τα Ελληνικά F-4E’, 44. 81. A CFIT accident is one where a properly functioning airplane under the control of a fully qualified and certificated crew is flown into terrain (or water or obstacles) with no apparent awareness on the part of the crew. 82. Καρναβάς, ‘Αερομεταφορές της Π.Α, Αναβαθμισμένα C-130’, 26. 83. D. Ziakkas, ‘Has software development softened rigid European borders? What about Electronics?’, Third Plenary Conference of the Tensions of Europe Network and the Launch of Inventing Europe: ESF EUROCORES Program (Rotterdam, 2007). In this paper, there is analysis of this competition focusing on the Europe-America competition. For more visit: www.esf.org/index.php and http://www.phs.uoa.gr/ht/ dziakkas_el.html. 84. Καραϊωσηφίδης, ‘Ανακτώντας Ισορροπία στο Αιγαίο’, 21. 85. Clinard, Corporate Corruption. 86. Roland, ‘The Military-Industrial Complex’, 1–5. 87. Ziakkas, ‘Has software development softened rigid European borders?’ 88. ‘Ελληνική Αμυντική Βιομηχανία’, Πτήση & Διάστημα, 1991, τχ. 88, 26. 89. Καραϊωσηφίδης, ‘Ανακτώντας Ισορροπία στο Αιγαίο’, 21. 90. Many years before, Greece in the sixth period strictly followed the ‘fixed technology adoption proposal’ and still pays for the decision to follow a different innovative

ARMAMENT PROJECTS

path (seventh to eighth period), as it was not properly evaluated according to cost/ benefit criteria. 91. Balafas et al., Foreign Military Sales. 92. Trischler and Weinberger, ‘Engineering Europe’, 49–83. 93. The fact that the Hellenic defence industry absorbed only 5 per cent of the funds available for military equipment for the Armed Forces resulted in a high degree of foreign dependence, and at the same time, in a huge outflow of foreign currency affecting the Greek economy.

105

106

Medical Technologies and Health Policies in Post-Second World War Greece KATERINA VLANTONI, ASPASIA KANDARAKI AND ANTONIA PAVLI

INTRODUCTION We here present our research on the history of the use of medical technologies in Greece in relation to health policies and the increasingly complex intersection with the private sector. We focus on the multifaceted processes of the deployment of medical technologies in the post-war period, paying attention to particular policymaking initiatives, healthcare services, political economy and social setting. We chose three case studies, representing key medical technologies. These are: a) medical imaging technologies, since Greece has a comparatively high rate of installed systems per capita. b) molecular diagnostic techniques in blood transfusion services, representing the largest public investment ever in the Greek health system. c) telemedicine, a technology considered suitable to a country containing many remote islands and mountainous locations. We have studied these cases by relying on the history of technology and the historical and social study of medicine. We place the emphasis on processes of adoption and use of medical technologies, paying attention to dynamics within particular settings.1 Our research is informed by the notion of the ‘appropriation’ of science and technology as an active process.2 The appropriateness of a technology, as Amit Prasad has shown in reference to medical imaging, has to take into account its interaction with broader socio-economic-epistemic networks, in connection to priorities that may shift over time.3 Our research is also informed by historical and

107

108

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

sociological studies that focus on links between the development and use of new medical technologies and social–cultural phenomena.4 Our article deals with high-level medical technology.5 In the first section we provide a short overview of the development of the Greek healthcare system, taking into account that the evaluation of technology-driven policies cannot be detached from overall budgetary limits. In the following sections, which cover the three case studies, we show that the adoption of medical technologies was not the outcome of integrated, context-dependent policies and public discussions over the prioritization of healthcare needs. Investment was directed to areas where there has been room for immediate profitability in the private sector, regardless of the overall impact to the healthcare system. Unsurprisingly, the adoption of technologies resulted in the transferring of resources from the public to the private sector. Our research took notice of the ongoing social and financial crisis in Greece. The Greek economy has been in recession since 2008 (losing about 25 per cent GDP ) and has had high unemployment rates (reaching about 25 per cent); since 2010 the implementation of the ‘bailout programmes’ – austerity measures resulting in cuts of public expenditure – has greatly affected the public health services and the health of the people living in Greece.6 We hope that our article will invite attention to a pattern of uncritical spending on medical technologies in Greece.

ASPECTS OF THE HEALTH SECTOR IN POST-WAR GREECE A comprehensive overview of the history of the Greek health system is beyond the scope of this article. We here provide an outline of developments from the post-war period to the 2000s.7 In the aftermath of the Second World War and the civil war that followed it, unequal access to healthcare was prevalent, with parts of the population remaining uninsured. Until the 1980s the provision of healthcare in Greece had Bismarck-type characteristics and was closely associated with social insurance. During the 1960s and 1970s, overall economic growth was matched by the development of the private health sector whereas public expenditure on health remained rather low.8 Following the 1974 restoration of democracy, successive conservative governments pursued the accession of Greece to the European Economic Community (Greece became a member in 1981). The populist socialist party that took the government in 1981, PASOK, put forward a central plan for healthcare, which combined elements of the Beveridge and Bismarck models. The principal reform was the creation of the National Health System (ESY) in 1983. It represented the first effort to establish a system that made the state fully responsible for the provision of health services, based on the universal coverage of the population.9 The health sector consists of the ESY hospitals and primary health centres, social insurance funds’ medical facilities, and the facilities of the private sector.10 Financing of the ESY comes from public health insurance funds and taxation while financing of the private health sector comes from public and also private health insurance (rather limited in Greece) as well as from direct payments by the patients (out-ofpocket ones).11 Access to basic health services was guaranteed to citizenship holders in the case of ESY primary care.

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

109

The initial aims of the ESY included the health system’s decentralization to reduce inequalities between rural, semi-urban and urban areas. However, the system became quite centralized as many of the policies envisioned in 1983 did not materialize. After the late 1980s, the major change was the gradual addition of new public hospitals in urban, highly populated areas.12 In the context of ESY, primary healthcare in rural areas became available through the establishment of more than 200 health centres in small towns and rural health posts in village locations, which sought to cover the whole of the Greek territory. The ESY physicians working at public hospitals and health centres were employed as tenure-track civil servants; the rest of the ESY workers as permanent employees. The 1983 law discouraged profit-making through private hospitals. Private investment turned to the opening of primary health diagnostic services. By the end of 1980s, the overgrowth of the supply of such services was widely acknowledged. The institution of the ESY resulted in a rise of public expenditure from 3.86 to 4.77 per cent of GDP between 1981 and 1989.13 This rise allowed for the construction of buildings and infrastructures, the purchases of equipment and the hiring of personnel. Despite the establishment of the ESY, private expenditure on health also increased during these years, reaching 2.8 per cent GDP by 1989. This general upsurge in health spending was also connected to large increases in highlevel medical technology.14 Between 1990 and 1993, the centre-right conservative party in power, Nea Demokratia, sought to promote reforms in favour of the expansion of the private health sector. Private investments were directed into profitable areas such as diagnostic technology and services.15 From 1993 to 2004, under a new PASOK government, several reforms to ESY were contemplated.16 Yet only few of them were advanced. A major shake-up of the whole of the health system was placed high on the political agenda in 2000–2001, amidst a rhetoric of modernization put forward by another PASOK administration, this time more neoliberal than populist socialist.17 It aimed at the merging of insurance funds, the decentralization of the system, the improved planning of health services, and the establishing of a primary healthcare system based on a wide network of local health centres and individual physicians. Very little was implemented.18 Going back to the mid-1990s, the private health sector started to expand and private health insurance to grow. After 2000, large business groups increasingly dominated this private health sector. This expansion of the private sector was coupled by an underfinancing of the public sector.19 The borders between the public and the private in the health sector were in the meanwhile eroding due to new legislation that supported private–public partnerships in infrastructure construction and technology supply and service.20 Moreover, public medical services were gradually giving room to private ones due to the outsourcing of, for example, nonclinical hospital services such as security, cleaning and maintenance. These developments in the Greek health sector resonated with international tendencies, which favoured the neoliberal minimization of the role of the state in health systems.21 Since the latter half of the 1990s, the privatization of health services in Greece was also supported by the endorsement of guidelines of the European Union (EU ).22 In this period, the major objective for national policy was to meet the

110

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

criteria for joining the Economic and Monetary Union. Reaching this objective by 2000 was based on limited increases in public expenditure, despite considerable economic growth. This was also the case with the health sector. In Greece and in some other European countries (Cyprus, Poland, Italy, Finland, Denmark and Hungary) during the period 1996–2005, levels of public expenditure on health appeared to be low in comparison to government capacity to spend, suggesting that these countries accorded relatively low priority to the public health sector.23 For Greece, total health expenditure as a percentage of GDP slightly rose from 1996 to 2005; at the same time, the proportion of public spending declined while the proportion of private spending increased as of the total expenditure in health.24 In 2004, total health expenditure reached almost 10 per cent of GDP and was higher than the OECD average; the part of private expenditure was higher than the mean OECD one and one of the highest in Europe.25 In 2007, the percentage of GDP that Greece allocated to public health expenditure was 5.8, one of the lowest among OECD countries; the total expenditure on health was 9.6 per cent of the GDP.26 The high proportion of private expenditure as of the total health expenditure has been attributed to the undersupply of diagnostics and technology in the public sector, disorganized primary care, increasing informal payments in the public sector and limited coverage of dental care.27 The greater part of private expenditure has been out-of-pocket payments. Economic growth and the resulting increase in the average family income, leading to a higher purchasing power for Greek families, has contributed to high private expenditure and to the demand for private health services.28 The combination of public and private financing schemes, according to a 1998 analysis of the Greek health funding, showed that low-income households paid a higher proportion of their income towards healthcare than the rich.29 The devaluation of the public healthcare system has been attributed to the prevalence of neoliberal policies and the direct transfer of foreign healthcare models to the Greek setting.30 In our analysis, the history of changes in health policies is connected to the uncritical use of a whole range of medical technologies. This use exemplifies the lasting absence of a comprehensive plan regarding the health system. The study of medical imaging technologies, the blood transfusion service and telemedicine, presented in the following sections, draws on a variety of sources. For each case study specialist secondary sources have been considered. Our primary material mostly consists of published sources, including Greek scientific and medical journals, medical periodicals and other special interest journals, and conference proceedings. In addition, we considered legislative documents (national laws, orders and decisions, European Directives). Moreover, we have examined reports and documents of scientific societies, professional organizations and advisory bodies and agencies involved in health policy. We have supplemented our sources with newspaper articles.

MEDICAL IMAGING TECHNOLOGIES In what follows, we discuss the appropriation of costly medical imaging technology, which was widely used in Greek society from the late 1970s to 2013. We consider

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

111

how different actors (e.g. physicians, business people) have emerged, as well as the ways in which the demand for health services has been formed, taking into account the broader socio-economic context, where the main features were small enterprises, self-employment and small-property owners. The above contributed to the formation of an extensive middle-class layer that could afford high-cost medical examinations, while there were small- and medium-sized funds available for investment in the primary healthcare market, particularly in diagnostic centres. Furthermore, there was a large number of experts in fields related to health sciences, since from the 1960s broader parts of the population had access to university education. In addition, factors such as excessive trust in medical images, the struggle for authority and profit among experts, and a lack of central planning contributed to the wide adoption of cutting-edge technology. Our analysis focuses on the widespread adoption of the use of Computed Tomography (CT ) and Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI ) in Greece. In CT and MRI scanners, images of human anatomy slices are produced through image reconstruction algorithms, after the application of X-ray irradiation and magnetic fields respectively. As already mentioned, the socialist government that introduced the ESY in 1983 focused on secondary healthcare, through fixed capital investments mainly on infrastructures in urban areas, which were considered to be high-risk by entrepreneurs. The governmental plans for primary healthcare services led to the establishment of health centres in rural areas, which, however, gradually obtained an inferior position in the centralized ESY administration through underfunding and personnel shortage. From the end of the 1980s, due to the above-mentioned condition of the rural health centres, patients had to be transferred to hospitals in urban areas, often resulting in long waiting lists.31 At the same time, the private capital increasingly turned towards primary healthcare, mainly in urban areas, where there was a lack of public services. Thus, the way was left open for small- and medium-scale fast profit investments in the primary healthcare sector; private diagnostic centres, which invested in cutting-edge technology (CT and MRI scanners), were rapidly established. With regard to the fast-paced investments, it was remarkable that during 1987 alone, up to ten new health enterprises with sizable capital and greater investment potentiality were created, as noted in the periodical Health Review.32 As for the further expansion of the private health sector, from the mid-1990s, there arose tendencies of market concentration on business groups.33 In this setting physicians reclaimed their role as important actors in the field. This was depicted in the 1998 Council of State, ruling that the majority of the shareholders in a private healthcare company should be physicians.34 In the late 1970s, the main actors in the demand for CT equipment were private physicians and entrepreneurs. The private diagnostic centre ‘Egkefalos’, which installed the first CT scanner (for brain examinations), was inaugurated in 1977 by Zacharias Kapsalakis, a neurosurgeon. In the same period, a whole-body CT scanner was put into operation at the private clinic of ‘Agios Panteleimon’. Almost simultaneously, two more CT scanners were installed: the first by a team of radiologists at a private diagnostic centre; the other by a group of entrepreneurs and a team of neurosurgeons, yet under the scientific administration of a radiologist.35 Radiologists, exclusive actors in classical X-ray imaging, whose scientific society in

112

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

Greece dated from 1933, also became the main actors in the field of CT imaging.36 It is worth mentioning that in the public sector the first CT scanner was installed in 1980 at the university hospital ‘Aretaieio’. During the next two years CT scanners were installed at the military Air Force hospital, at the general hospital of Patras as well as at the ‘Agios Savvas’ oncological hospital.37 As for MRI scanners, the first scanner was installed in the mid-1980s at the ‘Magnitiki Tomografia’ diagnostic centre, on the initiative of entrepreneurs. MRI was advertised as a cutting-edge and safe technology that does not require ionizing radiations.38 As previously stated, from the second half of the 1980s profitability in the field of diagnostic imaging technologies attracted private investment. The viability of private diagnostic centres was based on direct financing from health insurance funds that reimbursed (partially or fully) the cost of medical acts for their beneficiaries. The government has been centrally determining the financing scheme; its decisions seem to have fostered high technology complex examinations (CT and MRI ).39 Thus, a considerable part of the public financing (social insurance funds and public subsidizing) was transferred to the private sector. However, the proper use of advanced biomedical technology appears to have remained out of the scope of governmental planning in the public health sector. This is also evidenced by the intense concerns expressed by experts in health management and economics: it is indicative that the editorial of the first issue of the periodical Health Review mentioned the poor management and lack of planning regarding the critical issue of biomedical technology.40 In addition to governmental legislation for the national health system, a legal framework was also developed to regulate radiation protection. The latter was based on suggestions by the International Atomic Energy Agency combined with national policy. In 1974 legislation was enacted regarding the need for protection from ionizing radiation (including that from X-ray and nuclear medical machines) and licensing of relevant machines.41 In 1985, the Greek Atomic Energy Commission (EEAE ) was separated from ‘Democritus’, the national nuclear research centre. A special committee for licences and controls was established within the EEAE in a ruling dating from 1988.42 In 2001, alongside radiation protection regulations, a systematic process of licence-granting regarding the operation of medical imaging systems using ionizing radiation was defined.43 A few years later, in 2008, criteria and processes for granting feasibility licences to install new machines were defined, while for certain machines, regarded as high-technology, additional feasibility licences would be granted.44 Since 2010, there have been further changes in this legal framework. In October 2013 a ministerial decision was issued regarding the abolition of population criteria, i.e. regulations on the number of machines per capita in the installation and operation of CT and MRI scanners. Diagnostic centre franchises, which meanwhile had become major stakeholders in a broadened health services market, appear to have benefited from this decision.45 As reported in To Vima newspaper, the transfer of money from social insurance funds to the private sector is what was essentially happening through examinations in private centres.46 The same newspaper published data showing that immediately after the ministerial decision twenty-two claims for installations of CT and MRI scanners were submitted; it is worth noting that

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

113

two-thirds of these claims were submitted by two business groups, ‘Vioiatriki’ and ‘Iatropolis’.47 The Federation of Unions of Hospital Doctors expressed its opposition to this policy and attributed the noted increase in the number of examinations to the release of licensing for CT scanners. Based on this increase, the right-wing minister M. Voridis sought to reduce public expenditure in the period of economic crisis, and suggested cutting other free low-cost preventive examinations for insurers, such as Pap smears.48 To be more specific on the data of the installed scanners in Greece, according to the EEAE , 364 CT machines were operating in 2010, 369 in 2012, while in 2013, after the relaxation of the population criteria, the number increased to 377.49 For the MRI machines, the imbalance between the public and the private sector increased post-2004 in favour of the latter with the addition of 153 new machines.50 This increase in the number of private sector machines meant that Greece, with 249 MRI scanners in 2013, ranked as the fourth country worldwide in terms of the number of machines per million of the population.51 Of these, 86 per cent were installed in the private sector while only 14 per cent were installed in the public sector.52 As previously mentioned, CT and MRI devices operate with software, demanding new skills and knowledge of radiologists. Formerly, radiologists’ work had focused largely on correct patient positioning, on mechanical adjustments on the machines and on making a diagnosis based on the X-ray projection images. Those radiologists using the new tomographic equipment, faced difficulties in diagnosis based on pictures that were mathematically computed reconstructions of human body cross sections. Sociologist V. Burri argues that under these circumstances, radiologists were led to renegotiate their visual expertise and to regain professional authority.53 In Greece this was particularly significant among specialists within the discipline of radiology, for example among those using computerized technology and those working on classical radiography. Equipment supply was dominated by local distributors of large-scale multinational industries. Indicatively, at the end of the 2000s, the share of the respective medical MRI scanner companies was: Siemens 109 machines (45.8 per cent market share), Philips 69, General Electric 50, Toshiba 6, and Hitachi 4 machines.54 Besides selling machines, companies officially undertake the technical tasks of quality control, maintenance, repairing damage and providing spare parts. This is happening in spite of the existence of biomedical engineering units in public hospitals, which are responsible for the same tasks. Technical activities (control, maintenance services) thus became a black box for the experts outside the supplying company’s personnel; in some cases equipment supply companies rent machines to public hospitals.55 An analysis of findings concerning the number of examinations undertaken in Greece further helps us assess the widespread adoption of medical imaging in the country. The Body of Inspectors for Health and Welfare Services (SEYYP ) performed an investigation regarding CT scanning in 2013, according to which a high number of CT examinations were performed in Greece compared to other European countries, and found that the number of CT scanners in Greece is much higher than the average among other EU countries (i.e. 383 and 262 CT and MRI scanners respectively in 2013).56 Since the early 1990s, questions had been raised regarding the number of imaging examinations in Greece, while induced demand emerged as

114

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

an issue bearing direct consequences for the economics of health.57 Issues such as the experience of the physicians, the excessive trust shown towards medical imaging, the practising of defensive medicine (associated with insurance and judicial anxieties), and lack of collaboration with radiologists were raised, in relation with the induced demand. In addition, the patients themselves showed great confidence in imaging examinations and thus favourably received the prescription of these examinations. Besides induced demand, there was also the issue of overpricing diagnostic examinations by the private centres. Machines installed in the private sector had a larger turnover than their public sector counterparts. Some of the factors contributing to this were the public sector personnel shortage and the corresponding limited work cycle.58 Thus, high-level technology in the public sector was gradually depreciated. According to the findings of SEYYP, the fluctuation in the number of examinations per machine across public hospitals is substantial (from 3,000 to 18,000 per year), while the figures in private diagnostic centres fluctuate less (from 6,000 to 14,000). Regarding the public hospitals that carry out a large number of examinations, it was found that in nine out of ten hospitals the condition of the machines was good to excellent; among these, three hospitals were oncological, while others were accepting the transference of patients from other counties. In particular counties such as Korinthia, Evia and Viotia, significantly fewer CT examinations were carried out, compared to the averages in public hospitals, despite the condition of the machines in these counties also being good to excellent. During the same period, a much higher number of examinations were carried out in the private centres in these three counties: in 2012, some 440,840 MRI and 1,391,818 CT examination scans were carried out.59 A further point to be noted is that no protocols or standardized processes for the investigation of clinical incidents and carrying out of examinations have been advanced by Greece’s scientific associations. This whole activity lacked control mechanisms in the setting up of facilities in the private sector. A large number of machines were installed, maximizing the ratio of machines and examinations among Greece’s population. The increase in the number of machines was partially due to the induced demand which resulted from an excessive trust in medical imaging among both experts and non-experts alike, due to the widespread belief in Western culture that mechanically produced pictures reveal the physical world and produce truth.60 In this setting, medical imaging technologies appear to render the body transparent thus resulting in the privileging of imaging over other diagnostic techniques. Additionally induced demand was also due to the necessity of profitmaking out of investments in fixed capital.61 To sum up, significant investments in cutting-edge technology were made in the private sector and a large number of private diagnostic centres were put into operation. In general, the machines in the public sector were fewer in number and their operation was not smooth, largely as a result of understaffing. The largest percentage of the examinations has been carried out in private centres, and thus an increased inflow of funds from social insurance funds to the private sector has taken place. In addition a big part of the biomedical engineering (equipment quality assurance, service work) turnover is private, despite being carried out inside public institutions staffed with specialized personnel. Both these processes are indicative of

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

115

a boundary blurring between the private and the public sector, in the direction of the wider privatization of health services. The widespread adoption and overuse of cutting-edge medical imaging technology in Greece has multiple causes. These include: prevailing narratives associated with the idea that imaging technology renders the body transparent; an expanded middle-class social layer inspired by beliefs relating to technological determinism and personal development; experts and a variety of non-experts active in the radiology sector struggling for jurisdiction over cutting-edge technology as a source of power and profit; the implementation of health policies that lacked comprehensive planning regarding primary healthcare and thus contributing to the emergence of a new field of economic activities.

BLOOD TRANSFUSION SERVICE In this section we focus on the Greek blood transfusion service, a critical element in the infrastructure of the health system. During the twentieth century blood transfusion gradually developed into a common, therapeutic medical practice. The medical practice of transfusion involves a complex socio-technical system of donors, artefacts, hospitals and blood banks, in addition to medical, ethical and legal requirements.62 The blood supply systems are organized nationally and are responsible for collecting, processing and distributing blood and blood components for transfusions.63 The production and distribution of plasma derivatives sourced from blood has been organized in a different way, based mainly on the for-profit plasma industry. We address the organization of the Greek blood transfusion service by focusing on the technologies used for blood screening and, in particular, the introduction and use of molecular screening technologies during the 2000s. The investment in molecular diagnostics was described by the Minister of Health and Social Solidarity as the most costly single procurement ever made in the Greek health system.64 In Greece, the Hellenic Red Cross undertook the task of instituting a blood transfusion service in 1935.65 After the Second World War, several physicians advocated a centralized state-organized blood transfusion system. In 1952 the Ministry of Social Services created a state executive agency, the National Blood Transfusion Service. The main principle of the national programme was to provide a unified service based on voluntary, non-remunerated blood donation and free provision of blood to the patient.66 However, for three decades, a mixed system existed since private blood banks collected and sold units of blood from paid, ‘professional’ donors.67 In 1968 the Consultative Committee for Blood Transfusion proposed the ban of any for-profit activity in the supply of blood, but this proposal was not adopted until 1979 when the private blood banks finally ceased operation by law.68 In the interim period in Greece and elsewhere, the voluntary altruistic donation of blood, as conceptualized by Richard Titmuss in 1970, was debated and gradually became an integral part of national and supranational blood policy.69 Subsequently, the blood services focused on achieving self-sufficiency through heightened efforts at donor recruitment.70 This goal has been difficult to reach and since 1977 Greece has been importing small amounts of blood from the Swiss Red Cross directed at the treatment of people with thalassaemia.71 Since the beginning of

116

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

the 1980s the identification of blood-associated cases of AIDS has had intense and persistent repercussions on the issue of blood safety worldwide.72 Greece implemented international and European guidelines on donor selection and blood screening in order to reduce the risk of transfusion-transmitted HIV infections.73 Two points should be noted here. The first point is that the issue of blood safety in the Greek blood supply has been connected to the type of blood donation. The greater percentage of donors has been occasional captive donors (friends or relatives of a person in need for transfusion giving blood in return). Thus, a constant objective has been the attraction and retention of regular, volunteer blood donors.74 First-time donors have a higher prevalence of infectious markers compared to regular, volunteer blood donors. The second point is related to discussions during the 1980s and 1990s regarding the organization of the national blood supply.75 New legislation was approved in 1988.76 The Ministry of Health would oversee the service through a Directorate on Blood Transfusion and a National Blood Centre would be instituted; however, the national centre, that would provide coordination as the national body, did not materialize until the mid-2000s, even though transfusion medicine practitioners had kept asking for it much earlier. The structure of the national service in the middle of the 1990s comprised of regional blood transfusion centres (14) in highly populated areas plus numerous smaller units (90) functioning within hospitals all over the country. The blood transfusion centres were located in tertiary hospitals and were responsible for the smaller regional units. Transfusion medicine practitioners had expressed their concern for the scattered siting of the blood centres and the lack of organizational coordination in practice. In particular, it was noted that ‘the difference in size of the numerous blood services and the high degree of decentralization, lead to problems of communication, training and quality control, which may become more severe as international organizations impose increasing demands on blood services’.77 However, according to C. Politis, Director of the Hellenic Centre for Coordinating Haemovigilance, the performance of laboratory blood testing for HIV and other infectious markers has been uniform despite the decentralization of the services.78 In 2005 a Presidential decree and an Act of law dealt with the reorganization of the blood transfusion system so as to harmonize the Greek legislation with the provisions of the relevant European Directives.79 One notable exception to the nonlegally binding approach to supranational governance of the blood system at EU level had to do with the Blood Directive that set minimum standards for quality and safety in relation to the use of blood and blood components.80 The new law designated the restructuring of the services through the creation of the National Blood Centre (ΕΚΕΑ), which would be responsible for all the nationwide blood centres and smaller hospital-based blood banks, setting standards for safety and quality, traceability of blood and haemovigilance. From the end of the 1990s some practitioners in Greece were considering the use of molecular diagnostics (nucleic acid amplification testing (NAT )) to supplement serologic blood screening as a means to increase blood safety by reducing the diagnostic window of a recent infection with HIV, HCV and HBV.81 These considerations were associated with a case of transfusion-transmitted HIV infection reported in early 1999.82 Other publications were mostly informative for the medical

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

117

community, with no particular reference to the ways NAT could have been appropriated in the particular setting.83 In 2002, a director of a blood transfusion centre posed the question ‘Serological screening with the supplement of NAT. Is that the message of Haemovigilance?’. According to the director, measures to advance transfusion safety should be prioritized in relation to the anticipated benefit: therefore, the technology-driven shift towards molecular diagnostics should be evaluated in a specific context of needs and other possible approaches to advance safety.84 The issue of considering alternative interventions, due to the limited resources, was also noted by other medical practitioners involved in the field.85 Our findings indicate that the use of NAT in Greece has not been debated in relation to the needs and the organizational structure of the blood transfusion service. The introduction of NAT in the Greek blood transfusion services did not happen uniformly, following a central plan. The gradual adoption of molecular diagnostics has also been observed in other European countries since the early 2000s. As the technology for NAT screening is very costly and needs specially trained personnel and infrastructural arrangements, in most countries its performance has been centralized. This was a problematic aspect for its adoption in the decentralized Greek service. A number of regional blood transfusion centres (eight out of the fourteen) had implemented molecular testing gradually since 2003. NAT testing became compulsory in March 2006 by ministerial circular after the extensive media coverage of a case of transfusion-transmitted HIV infections.86 This event was crucial for the formation of the relevant health policy. The Minister of Health and Social Solidarity had promised rapid implementation of NAT testing nationwide, however this did not happen until the end of 2008. From March 2006 the operation of the blood transfusion system and the actions of the ministry were under scrutiny from political parties, patient groups and the media. In the Hellenic Parliament many discussions took place after members of the opposition parties asked questions about the implementation of the proposed policy and the actions taken by the responsible ministry for the universal use of NAT, often condemning the government for delays.87 An international call for tenders was announced in November 2006. The procurement process was supervised by a cross-party parliamentary committee.88 The tender notice specified that the commission, with a duration of up to five years, would include: the necessary equipment and its installation and maintenance; the reagents; the training of personnel for the use of NAT; and the transportation and handling of the blood samples. The costs would be covered by each hospital’s budget depending on the number of the blood samples sent from each blood bank to one of the nine blood centres with which it would be interconnected (the centres were reduced from fourteen to eight plus EKEA ). The procurement process was long and involved judicial disputes. The initial bids were rejected as not beneficial and the process was altered to negotiated procedure after the placing of new bids in August 2007. These were evaluated in April 2008. In the meantime, the media reported on ‘economic scandals’ in relation to the procurement process for the supply of NAT by the local distributors of the two companies that provided them worldwide.89 In August 2008, a decision was adjudicated at a meeting of the cross-party parliamentary committee according to which molecular screening in five blood centres was assigned to one of the companies and the remaining four to the other.

118

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

The cost for blood testing in 2008 was estimated at €22 million for NAT and €18.5 million for serologic testing and immunohematology control.90 In March 2008, a letter addressed to the Minister of Health and Social Solidarity by the directory board of the Hellenic Society of Haematology and other actors (including the Hellenic Blood Transfusion Society and patient groups) criticized the limited reorganization of the blood services (anticipated in the 2005 law), the insufficient funding and understaffing of the EKEA , and the delay in the universal adoption of NAT which had resulted in discrepancies in the quality of transfused blood.91 Similar concerns were expressed in April 2011 by an advisory committee set up by the Hellenic Society of Haematology to develop specific proposals for the organization of the blood transfusion system.92 In particular, the committee condemned the improper function of EKEA as the supervising body of the national system, the lack of a comprehensive national plan for volunteer donor attraction and retention, and the non-compliance with specific provisions of the European blood directives on the safety and quality of blood. To conclude, our analysis shows the shift in health policy in the period 2005–2006. The new legislation, approved in 2005, was loaded with expectations of reorganizing the blood services and investing in this process. However, a large part of the investment was directed at the use of a biomedical technology. It is important to note that genetic screening technology, which reduces the risk of transfusion-transmitted infections and has been used in many developed countries despite debates about its poor cost–benefit ratio, was not introduced in the Greek health system via informed policymaking processes and long-term planning. This shows the discontinuity in carrying out an integrated health policy. The reorganization of the blood transfusion service could enhance volunteer donorship, interconnect the services, ensure blood sufficiency and promote quality assurance throughout the whole process, from blood collection to patient care. However, the political agenda in 2006 placed priority on the use of an innovative technology, as part of a policy of adopting all measures to increase blood safety that was influenced by the media and parliamentary pressure. The endeavour of the modernization of the blood transfusion service became connected to, and reinforced, the use of biomedical technology. The use of NAT, despite its tortuous implementation, has contributed to incremental improvement in blood safety. Nonetheless, the decision should be viewed with caution in the context of finite public health resources and the anticipated benefits of alternative medical interventions.93

TELEMEDICINE IN GREECE In this section, we focus on the attempts at the development and implementation of telemedicine into the Greek health system, particularly in primary healthcare. Since the 1970s the development of informatics and telecommunications has affected various scientific fields such as medicine. Telemedicine is an exemplar of the integration of informatics and telecommunications into medical practice. Telemedicine, however, is not just a medical technology but a mix of communication, information and computing technology that promised to become an internal component of medical technology.94 Although there are many definitions of telemedicine, we consider the following ones as the most inclusive of those proposed.95 To Jim Reid, ‘telemedicine is the use of telecommunication technologies so as to provide health services without

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

119

geographic, chronic, social and cultural barriers’, and to Lisa Cartwright, ‘a method of reordering social life within the framework of global health’.96 According to the relevant literature, telemedicine is presented as appropriate to countries that have geographies which are marked by the existence of remote and isolated localities.97 Given that Greece is a country with several remote mountain regions and islands with sparse populations, citizens living in these areas face difficulties regarding their access to primary healthcare services.98 According to the design of the ESY, primary healthcare is provided to all citizens on the Greek periphery either by country physicians on rural health posts or by local health centres. The country physicians are medical graduates required to practise medicine in rural health spots for one year before they begin medical specialty studies. But, country physicians, because of their lack of experience, are reluctant to offer medical services to citizens of these areas who face serious health problems. This issue is often exacerbated by a lack of available equipment. In turn health centres are often inadequately provided for in terms of nurses, technicians and physicians and also medical equipment.99 Consequently, if there is a health problem – whether a minor or more serious situation – patients from rural areas must frequently travel to urban or semi-urban areas. In other words, and in line with newspaper coverage, Greek patients have been transformed into ‘internal immigrants’ in order to have access to healthcare services.100 Moreover, in cases of emergency, when there is no other option for providing healthcare services, the only solution is through medical evacuations.101 But both this internal immigration of patients and medical evacuations constitute a huge expense for the ESY, social insurance funds and, obviously, a family’s own budget. Telemedicine services could offer viable solutions to the problems caused to the Greek primary healthcare system by the special geography of the country. From the end of the 1980s, Greek medical specialists argued that the adoption of telemedicine and its services was especially appropriate. For them, telemedicine was the ‘technology’ that could improve the quality and accessibility of medical services to people living in isolated locations.102 For instance, Michalis Tsagkaris, responsible for the telemedicine unit at the ‘Sismanogleio’ General Hospital in Athens, in an interview with the daily newspaper I Kathimerini claimed that the application of telemedicine could convert a small health centre in a remote area into a big city hospital.103 The first attempts to introduce telemedicine into the Greek healthcare system took place at the end of the 1980s. At that time telemedicine was perceived as an indispensable medical ‘application’. According to Dimitrios Sotiriou, director of the Medical Physics Laboratory (EIF ) at the University of Athens, Greece was a country that ought to be a pioneer in this area.104 EIF had a key role during these first attempts. In 1988 Sotiriou suggested the development of new telematics services for supporting the development of a primary healthcare system in Greece.105 Two years later, in October 1990, the Hellenic Society of Telemedicine was founded so as to promote telemedicine among Greek society in general, and especially among its medical society.106 In parallel, during the 1980s, the EEC announced a number of funding opportunities in order to further extend and develop telematics services. Motivated and inspired by this European interest for funding and developing telematics services, Sotiriou’s explicit aim was to have Greece included in the list of countries that could apply for relevant EEC funds.

120

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

The first Greek telemedicine pilot programme started to develop in 1989. This project was the outcome of the collaboration between initiatives from the EIF and the First Internal Medicine Department in ‘Sismanogleio’ hospital. The aim of this programme was twofold. On the one hand, it sought to show how the use of existing technology could improve access to healthcare services in remote areas, and, on the other hand, to educate the medical staff of health centres through communication and guidance by more experienced physicians and specialists from bigger hospitals. After the installation of the relevant infrastructure – this involved a personal computer with the relevant software, to a high definition screen for the observation of medical images and modems – several trials involving the health centres of Spata and Paros took place. The initial success cultivated a climate of optimism regarding the future of telemedicine in Greece. Participants including the EIF and ‘Sismanogleio’ hospital expected to be able to offer these telemedicine services to an extended network.107 In 1990 the EIF met with the Greek Ministry of Health, Welfare and Social Security and proposed to develop a framework for the operation of telemedicine services in primary healthcare. The laboratory was charged with educating employees at the ministry in order that they would be eligible to participate in the development procedure of telemedicine services. In 1991 Georgios Sourlas, the Alternate Minister of Health, Welfare and Social Security, decided to extend the network of telemedicine services to thirteen health centres around the country.108 After this decision, the roles of ‘Sismanogleio’ hospital and the EIF were defined along with the responsibilities of the directors of health centres and physicians. Specifically, ‘Sismanogleio’ hospital agreed to become the central hospital for providing telemedicine services in Greece, and the EIF agreed to be responsible for the proper operation of the network and later to educate the relevant participants, i.e. physicians and technicians.109 From 1989 to 2015, approximately twenty telemedicine projects have been developed, which provided different types of telematics services. These attempts were either the outcome of European projects in which relevant Greek institutions have participated, or the initiatives of municipalities, public hospitals and university laboratories, as well as collaboration between public and private sectors. The role of the EIF was remarkable since it was the institution that was awarded several European projects. Further, through the initiatives of Sotiriou there was an effort to convince representatives of the healthcare sector and the state to adopt telematics services into the healthcare system. Peter Yellowlees, professor in psychiatry and an experienced clinician in telemedicine, argues that a typical characteristic in the development of telemedicine was that the initiative comes from clinicians, or ‘clinicians’ drivers’ as he calls them, who are willing to work with any means in order to complete their task.110 In our case, Sotiriou was this ‘clinician driver’ who was also able to convince representatives from the state for funding and to develop small-scale telemedicine projects. Telemedicine projects ranged from more general areas, such as the transferring of medical records and the creation of telematics networks, both in a national and European context, to more particular services, for instance for cardiologic purposes. To be more specific, regarding the first theme, the transference of medical records and medical images, two projects were developed. The project VSAT (1994–1996) aimed at transferring electronic files or medical records in remote areas, while the

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

121

NIKA project (1995–1997) was a European research project that aimed to design a system for the administration and editing of medical images. The HERMES project (1996–1998) was also developed to create a European platform for the development of high-quality telemedicine services around Europe, and HYGEIAnet (1998–2001) was developed to connect local health centres to the University Hospital of Crete. Lastly, the TALOS project (1995–1998) aimed to offer specific telecardiology services to the citizens of the Aegean Sea. In the private sector, a considerable attempt was undertaken, in 1991, at the Medical Center of Athens private hospital, by advertising the supply of teleradiology services.111 Currently, there are a limited number of telemedicine projects running in Greece either through initiatives of municipalities or through initiatives from the private sector supported by the state. ‘Vodafone Greece telemedicine programme’ is an example, which started after an initiative from the private sector. It began in 2006 as a pilot programme by the Vodafone foundation and was supported by the Ministry of Health and Ministry of Shipping and Island Policy. It aimed to offer primary healthcare services to citizens who live away from urban areas. The Athens Medical Group, the company Vidavo, the Local Government Authority Intermunicipality Health and Welfare Network are also participants in the implementation of the programme.112 In the beginning, only five remote areas participated in the network. Between 2006 and 2014, almost one hundred remote areas were added to it. Country physicians as well as general physicians are equipped with a tablet and portable devices in order to measure blood pressure, blood glucose and/or to do cardiograms or spirometries. The programme covers five basic types of medical tests free of charge. When support from a specialist is needed, the physician sends this information to the private hospital ‘Athens Medical Clinic’, which participates in the programme, and in less than twenty-four hours, will receive feedback from the relevant specialist.113 Further to that, there are some initiatives from the municipalities of small islands in the Aegean Sea to develop telemedicine services for the needs of their citizens, e.g. Serifos and Tilos islands have proposed to develop similar services.114 Despite the initial enthusiasm for the development and use of telemedicine services in the 1990s, interest started to decline in the 2000s. It is worth mentioning an event that took place in 2001 on the island of Gavdos, a small island in Greece which is also the southernmost point of Europe. In 2001, the President of the Republic, Kostis Stefanopoulos, visited Gavdos in order to inaugurate the commandment of a telemedicine system. It was a very important moment for the citizens of this small island since it was the first time that a President of the Republic had visited them and, even more important, that he was doing so to inaugurate a system that was important for their access to healthcare services.115 However, two days after this ‘celebration’, and following the President’s departure, the electricity generators were unplugged and the system has been out of service until today.116 The telemedicine experiment did not have the results that the main actors involved in it expected. Sotiriou attributed the slow-paced development to the unwillingness of the state to apply telematics services to the healthcare system.117 Even though institutions from the Greek public sector were active participants and were awarded various telemedicine projects during the 1980s and the 1990s, after

122

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

the three-year period of each project, almost none of them continued to be used by the ESY. This experience is not restricted to Greece. As Yellowlees finds, a common characteristic during the implementation of telemedicine services was the lack of investment in programmes for a period of more than two or three years.118 For policymakers, or stakeholders, the transition from the experimental phase of telemedicine to the use and application of telemedicine was not a priority. In other words, telematics technologies were associated with ‘trial or experimental services’, which lasted only for the period of research funding.119 Bearing this in mind, it is not surprising that the telemedicine project that was developed by ‘Sismanogleio’ hospital and the EIF in the late 1980s, and was in use from the beginning of the 1990s, began to collapse in the mid-2000s. Inadequate staff for covering the needs of the hospital in general, and in the telemedicine department in particular, as well as an inability to support possible infrastructure problems in the countryside, were some of the reasons that telematics services were not properly integrated into the Greek healthcare system. Taking the example of ‘Sismanogleio’ hospital together with the event in Gavdos, we notice a lack of coordination for the proper use of telematics services and a complexity in telemedicine systems. By a lack of coordination we mean that there was not a specific institution or agency that would be responsible for the proper use of these services. A similar argument is made by May and colleagues regarding the adoption of telehealthcare in the UK : the lack of a specific ‘agency’ responsible for the adoption of telematics services was one of the main reasons why the UK was so slow to adopt telematics services.120 As for the complexity associated with telemedicine systems, various heterogeneous elements participate in their operation, including clinicians, informaticians, telecommunication networks and equipment. Even if the infrastructure was set, issues such as the inadequate staffing of the hospital or the improper function of one element from the network could prevent the operation of telemedicine.

CONCLUDING REMARKS In this article, we presented three case studies regarding the deployment of medical technologies in post-war Greece, namely, medical imaging, NAT and telemedicine. Our analysis considered the various actors involved in the adoption of these technologies, as well as the formation and the implementation of health policies associated with medical technologies, in a setting of close interrelation of public and private health sectors. We connected this analysis to the lack of a comprehensive healthcare system in Greece, which provided us with a privileged field to explore the various social groups involved in the demand for these technologies. In particular, medical imaging technologies appeared to fit to the Greek social setting consisting of an extended middle-class layer and its aspirations related to fast profit investments. The lack of a comprehensive primary healthcare system contributed to the overdevelopment of the private diagnostic sector and to the widespread adoption of cutting-edge medical imaging technology. This process, combined with the excessive trust of both experts and non-experts in scientific imaging, led to high percentages of installed systems per capita and excessive use. As a result, resources were transferred from the public to the private sector through the social insurance funds. In the case of

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

123

the molecular screening of blood, claims for modernization became connected to, and reinforced the use of, biomedical technology; however, this time the investment was made by the public sector. The adoption of NAT was primarily a governmental choice, supported by all political parties, regardless of debates among physicians about alternative medical interventions with higher possible benefits. During the same period the decrease in public spending impacted on the limited reorganization and modernization of the blood transfusion system. The use of such an expensive technology burdened the public hospitals’ continuously shrinking budgets. With regard to the development of telemedicine, despite the fact that it appeared suitable for improving equitable access to healthcare in the remote and isolated areas, it has been largely confined to research and experimental projects. Although relatively low-cost equipment was required, the necessary investments and coordination were not undertaken as there was a lack of long-term planning. These three case studies unravel some common aspects about the use of medical technologies in recent Greek history. The explanations of the relative failure of health policies in Greece have so far been based on arguments stressing the lack of central planning and discontinuity in the implementation of policies. Our research has confirmed these explanations. We observed the constant understaffing of public medical facilities (present in all three cases), the absence of long-term coordination efforts (telemedicine and blood transfusion) and the depreciation in the usage of highcost technology in the public sector (medical imaging). The shift of balance in favour of the private sector further contributed to the failure of health policies. We argue that these assessments should be viewed in connection with policy continuity in privatization efforts to transfer resources and services, directly or indirectly, to the private sector, thereby constantly redrawing the public–private boundary.121 In our view the adoption of new cutting-edge technologies has also opened a broad field of economic activity in the health sector, which was underpinning continuity towards privatization. Thus, to a certain degree, the demand was not strictly attached to healthcare needs. In 1983 the health system was established, partly as a response to the social and political movement developed in post-dictatorship Greece. The creation and further operation of the ESY came with an increasingly larger private health sector. A growing interplay between the public and the private sectors, and towards the privatization of the former, has been taking place ever since. To conclude, through the analysis of these cases we argue that studies focusing on the use of medical technologies in combination with analyses of health policies, related to political strategies and the intervention of various interest groups, can help us explain the absence of a comprehensive health system and the inequalities in access to health services in Greece. Technology-driven policies have been associated with profitability in the private sector and widespread beliefs of a positive relation to effectiveness and improved health outcome. The overuse of costly high-level technology in combination with low public spending on health has also contributed to increased household expenditure.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We would like to thank the reviewers for meticulously engaging with our article and for their recommendations. We are grateful to A. Tympas and S. Arapostathis for

124

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

their advice and support. We thank Christos Karampatsos for commenting upon an earlier version of the paper.

NOTES 1. J. Stanton, ‘Introduction: on theory and practice’, in J. Stanton (ed.), Innovations in Health and Medicine, Diffusion and Resistance in the Twentieth Century (London and New York: Routledge, 2002), 1–18. For an early work in the history of medical technologies covering the last three centuries see S. J. Reiser, Medicine and the Reign of Technology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978). For two seminal edited volumes in the historical study of medical innovations see J. Pickstone (ed.), Medical Innovations in Historical Perspective (Houndsmills & Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1992); I. Löwy (ed.), Medicine and Change: Historical and Sociological Studies of Medical Innovation (Paris: INSERM , 1993). 2. M. Patiniotis, ‘Between the local and the global: History of science in the European periphery meets post-colonial studies’, Centaurus, 2013, 55: 361–384; K. Gavroglu, M. Patiniotis, F. Papanelopoulou, A. Simões, A. Carneiro, M. P. Diogo, J. R. Bertomeu-Sánchez, A. G. Belmar and A. Nieto-Galan, ‘Science and technology in the European periphery: Some historiographical reflections’, History of Science, 2008, xlvi: 153–175. 3. A. Prasad, ‘ “Social” adoption of a technology: Magnetic resonance imaging (MRI ) in India’, International Journal of Contemporary Sociology, 2006, 43(2): 327–355. 4. N. Brown and A. Webster, New Medical Technologies and Society: Reordering Life (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2004); A. Faulkner, Medical Technology into Healthcare and Society: A Sociology of Devices, Innovation and Governance (London: PalgraveMacmillan, 2009). Though not a focal point in the present paper, we want to note that we consider these post-war developments in the context of the processes of ‘biomedicalization’. Biomedicalization is the emergent social forms and practices of a highly and increasingly techno-scientific biomedicine, see A. E. Clarke, J. K. Shim, L. Mamo, J. R. Fosket and J. R. Fishman, ‘Biomedicalization: Technoscientific transformations of health, illness, and U.S. biomedicine’, American Sociological Review, 2003, 68(2): 161–194. 5. For an exploration of the interactions that influence the introduction and use (and sometimes overuse) of medical technologies in association with the rising healthcare spending, analysed with a focus on the dynamics of innovation, see A. Gelijns and N. Rosenberg, ‘The dynamics of technological change in medicine’, Health Affairs, 1994, 13(3): 28–46. 6. A. Kentikelenis, M. Karanikolos, A. Reeves, M. McKee and D. Stuckler, ‘Greece’s health crisis: From austerity to denialism’, The Lancet, 2014, 383(9918): 748–753. 7. For overviews of national health policies see: Γ. Κουρής, Κ. Σουλιώτης and Α. Φιλαλήθης, ‘Οι “περιπέτειες” των μεταρρυθμίσεων του ελληνικού συστήματος υγείας: μια ιστορική επισκόπηση’, Κοινωνία, Οικονομία και Υγεία, 2007, 5(1): 35–67; Ν. Polyzos,

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

125

C. Economou and C. Zilidis, ‘National health policy in Greece: Regulations or reforms? The Sisyphus myth’, European Research Studies, 2008, XI (3): 91–118. 8. Δ. Τράκα, ‘Η ιατρική στη σύγχρονη Ελλάδα’, Αρχαιολογία & Τέχνες, 2007, 105: 6–10. 9. ‘Νόμος υπ. αριθ. 1397’, Εφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως, Τεύχος Α’, 143, 7 October 1983. 10. The largest insurance fund Social Insurance Organization (IKA ) covers about half the population and operates a network of primary health units and a few small hospitals in urban areas. The private sector consists of private independent physicians, laboratories and diagnostic centres, and for-profit hospitals; either it is contracted by insurance funds or citizens directly purchase services. E. Mossialos, S. Allin and K. Davaki, ‘Analysing the Greek health system: A tale of fragmentation and inertia’, Health Economics, 2005, 14: 151–168. 11. There are three major social insurance funds, covering about 80 per cent of the population, out of an aggregate of more than thirty social insurance funds, covering in total about 97 per cent of the population up to 2010. The social insurance funds in Greece are mixed funds for pensions, health and welfare. Insurance funds have differences both in contributions and benefits for the insured resulting in inequalities in access to and the financing of health services. C. Economou, ‘Greece: Health system review’, Health Systems in Transition, 2010, 12(7): 1–180. 12. E. Mossialos and S. Allin, ‘Interest groups and health system reform in Greece’, West European Politics, 2005, 28(2): 420–444, 423–425. 13. Κουρής, Σουλιώτης and Φιλαλήθης, ‘Οι “περιπέτειες” των μεταρρυθμίσεων’, 53. 14. J. E. Kyriopoulos, V. Michail-Merianou and M. Gitona, ‘Blood transfusion economics in Greece’, Transfusion Clinique et Biologique, 1995, 2(5): 387–394, 389. 15. Mossialos and Allin, ‘Interest groups’, 425. 16. The prevailing problems were associated with inequalities in access to care services for underprivileged populations and populations in different geographical regions, a lack of comprehensive primary healthcare especially in urban areas, the organizational arrangements of the ESY (a rather centralized, rigid structure), as well as the fragmented financing system of the health insurance funds and lack of auditing measures, see Y. Tountas, P. Karnaki and E. Pavi, ‘Reforming the reform: The Greek national health system in transition’, Health Policy, 2002, 62(1): 15–29. 17. Mossialos and Allin, ‘Interest groups’, 428–430. 18. Polyzos, Economou and Zilidis, ‘National health policy in Greece’, 102. 19. Ο. Σίσκου, Δ. Καϊτελίδου, Μ. Θεοδώρου and Λ. Λιαρόπουλος, ‘Η δαπάνη υγείας στην Ελλάδα: Το ελληνικό παράδοξο’, Αρχεία Ελληνικής Ιατρικής, 2008, 25(5): 663–672, 669. Approximately 90 per cent of private health investments have been directed towards high biomedical technology, while the respective percentage of public health investments has been estimated at around 30 per cent for the period after 1987, see Y. Tountas, P. Karnaki, E. Pavi and K. Souliotis, ‘The “unexpected” growth of the private health sector in Greece’, Health Policy, 2005, 74(2): 167–180, 172. 20. An increase of infrastructures took place between 1994 and 2004, assisted by EU convergence policies mainly for hospital investments. Polyzos, Economou and Zilidis, ‘National health policy in Greece’, 98.

126

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

21. World Health Organization, The World Health Report 2000, Health Systems: Improving Performance (Geneva: WHO, 2000). 22. For a view of the Greek policies on privatizations in association with the framework of the EU see G. Pagoulatos, ‘The politics of privatisation: Redrawing the public– private boundary ’, West European Politics, 2005, 28(2): 358–380. 23. S. Thomson, T. Foubister and E. Mossialos, Financing Health Care in the European Union: Challenges and Policy Responses (Copenhagen: World Health Organization on behalf of the European Observatory on Health Systems and Policies, 2009), 20–21. 24. Thomson, Foubister and Mossialos, Financing Health Care, 145. 25. O. Siskou, D. Kaitelidou, V. Papakonstantinou and L. Liaropoulos, ‘Private health expenditure in the Greek health care system: Where truth ends and the myth begins’, Health Policy, 2008, 88: 282–293, 284–284; Tountas, Karnaki, Pavi and Souliotis, ‘The “unexpected” growth’, 169–172. 26. Economou, ‘Greece: Health system review’, 50–51. 27. Mossialos, Allin and Davaki, ‘Analysing the Greek health system’, 158. 28. Tountas, Karnaki, Pavi and Souliotis, ‘The “unexpected” growth’, 172–173. 29. Mossialos, Allin and Davaki, ‘Analysing the Greek health system’, 156. 30. Κουρής, Σουλιώτης and Φιλαλήθης, ‘Οι “περιπέτειες” των μεταρρυθμίσεων’, 36. 31. Δ. Κρεμαστινός, ‘Τα αδιέξοδα του εθνικού συστήματος υγείας’, Το Βήμα, 16 November 2003. 32. Μ. Στέρτος, ‘Iδιωτικές Kλινικές: Χωροταξική κατανομή με βάση τις ανάγκες’, Επιθεώρηση Υγείας, September–October 1990, 1(6): 17–21. 33. ‘Ισχυρές τάσεις ανάπτυξης και συγκέντρωση της αγοράς σε επιχειρηματικούς ομίλους’, Hellastat, November 2006; ‘Στην Ελλάδα ο άγγλος ασθενής’, Ελευθεροτυπία, 16 June 2007; ‘Τάση ανάπτυξη στην ιδιωτική υγεία’, Η Καθημερινή, 21 November 2007. According to a commentary in the newspaper Ριζοσπάστης ‘the PanHellenic Union of Radiologists claims that the bankruptcy of the simple radiology laboratory will lead to the abolition of simple radiological examinations and to their replacement – for economic, not scientific reasons – with other examinations which are multiply more expensive and are, in many cases, performed unnecessarily’, see Ριζοσπάστης, 9 May 1996. 34. ‘Πλειοψηφία ιατρών –μετόχων στα διαγνωστικά κέντρα, απόφαση του συμβουλίου επικρατείας επι σχεδίου διατάγματος’, Επιθεώρηση Υγείας, September–October 1998, 9(54): 12. 35. A. Μπολοκάκης, ‘Η εξέλιξη των ιατρικών απεικονιστικών συστημάτων στην Ελλάδα, από το 1980 έως 2010’, Μεταπτυχιακή Εργασία, Τμήμα Ιατρικής, Πανεπιστήμιο Κρήτης (Ηράκλειο, November 2012). 36. Ελληνική Ακτινολογική Εταιρεία, αρχική σελίδα, http://www.helrad.org [accessed 5 June 2015]. 37. Ιατρική Εταιρεία Θεσσαλονίκης, ιστορικό, διατελέσαντες πρόεδροι Κ. Τούντας, http:// www.ieth.gr/index.php/2012-11-19-15-46-55/2013-04-26-09-39-45/120o-o-1967-1968 [accessed 5 June 2015].

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

127

38. For example see the webpage of the private diagnostic centre ‘Μαγνητική Τομογραφία’, ‘Όμιλος Ιατρικών Εταιρειών “Ιατρόπολις” ’, http://www.iatropoli.gr/gr/διαγνωστικόκέντρο [accessed 1 March 2015]. 39. Tountas, Karnaki, Pavi and Souliotis, ‘The “unexpected” growth’, 172. 40. Γ.Ι. Στάθης, ‘Εισαγωγικό Σημείωμα του Εκδότη’, Επιθεώρηση Υγείας, November–December, 1989, 1(1): 1. 41. Νομοθετικό διάταγμα 181, ‘Περί προστασίας εξ ιοντιζουσών ακτινoβολιών’, Εφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως, Τεύχος Α, 374, 20 November 1974. 42. Υπουργική Απόφαση Αριθ.17176, Eφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως, Τεύχος Β’, 832, 15 November 1988. 43. Υπουργική Απόφαση υπ. αριθ.1014, Eφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως, Τεύχος B’, 216, 6 March 2001. 44. Υπουργική Απόφαση υπ. Αριθ. ΔΥΓ2/ΟΙΚ.91126/0207.2008, Eφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως, Τεύχος Β’, 1320, 7 July 2008. 45. Ε. Φυντανίδου, ‘Χαριστική διάταξη για τους τομογράφους’, Το Βήμα, 20 October 2013. 46. Λ. Σταυρόπουλος, ‘Απελευθερώνονται οι άδειες για αξονικούς μαγνητικούς τομογράφους’, Το Βήμα, 19 October 2013. 47. ‘Κρίνονται τα αιτήματα για αξονικούς και μαγνητικούς’, Το Βήμα, 26 November 2013. 48. Δ. Βαρνάβας, ‘Τολμά ο Βορίδης να συγκρουστεί με εταιρείες που κατασκευάζουν αξονικούς τομογράφους’, Left.gr, 14 September 2014. 49. Ελληνική Επιτροπή Ατομικής Ενέργειας Έκθεση Πεπραγμένων, EEAE ετήσια έκθεση 2010, EEAE ετήσια έκθεση 2012, EEAE ετήσια έκθεση 2013. 50. ‘Έχουμε τoυς περισσότερους τομογράφους στην Ευρώπη’, Η Καθημερινή, 11 April 2010. 51. OECD , Health at a Glance: OECD Indicators (OECD Publishing, 2011), 83; EEAE ετήσια έκθεση 2013. 52. Χ. Καζάσης, ‘Χαρτογράφηση και αξιολόγηση εξοπλισμών στην Ελλάδα’, XVII Πανελλήνιο Ακτινολογικό Συνέδριο, Πρακτικά, 24, 2012. 53. V. Burri, ‘Doing distinctions boundary work and symbolic capital in radiology ’, Social Studies of Science, 2008, 38: 35–62. 54. ‘Ελληνική αγορά συστημάτων μαγνητικής τομογραφίας’, Παρατηρητήριο διάχυσης ιατρικής τεχνολογίας, http://www.thescannermagazine.com/grtomography.html [accessed 5 June 2015]. 55. ‘Κι άλλες βδέλλες στα ταμεία’, Ριζοσπάστης, 19 March 2009. 56. Μ. Αδαμοπούλου, Ε. Κουνάδη and Η. Μερεντίτης, ‘Διενέργεια έρευνας για διερεύνηση ζητημάτων, που αφορούν την πραγματοποίηση αξονικών τομογραφιών σε δημόσια νοσοκομεία και ιδιωτικά εργαστήρια της χώρας’, Σώμα Επιθεωρητών Υγείας Πρόνοιας ΣΕΥΥΠ Οκτώβριος 2014, Υπουργείο Υγείας, Ελληνική Δημοκρατία. 57. Κ. Ν. Καφταντζής, ‘Συμφέρουσα και Ασύμφορη χρήση της ακτινοδιαγνωστικής’, Επιθεώρηση Υγείας, July 1990, 1(5): 48–51; Mossialos and Allin, ‘Interest groups’, 427.

128

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

58. Γ. Ι. Στάθης, ‘Η αποτελεσματική διαχείριση της βιοιατρικής τεχνολογίας’, Επιθεώρηση Υγείας, May–June 1994, 5(28): 11–12. 59. ‘Ελληνική αγορά συστημάτων μαγνητικής τομογραφίας’. 60. K. Joyce, ‘Appealing images: Magnetic Resonance Imaging and the production of authoritative knowledge’, Social Studies of Science, 2005, 35(3): 437–462. 61. J. Van Dijck, The Transparent Body: A Cultural Aanalysis of Medical Imaging (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005). 62. B. Berner, ‘(Dis)connecting bodies: Blood donation and technical change, Sweden 1915–1950’, in E. Johnsson and B. Berner (eds), Technology and Medical Practice. Blood, Guts and Machines (London: Ashgate Publishers, 2010), 179–201, 179. 63. Most of the developed countries have national blood transfusion services. The USA has a rather complex blood supply system, for a historical account of its development see S. Lederer, Flesh and Blood. Organ Transplantation and Blood Transfusion in Twentieth-Century America (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008). 64. ‘Ακόμα δεν τον είδανε . . .’, Ριζοσπάστης, 27 August 2008, 4. 65. The Red Cross undertook this task in other countries too, see A. M. Farrell, The Politics of Blood: Ethics, Innovation and the Regulation of Risk (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 30. 66. Μ. Παϊδούσης, Η. Πολίτης and Ι. Τσεβρένης, ‘Τα προβλήματα της αιμοδοσίας εν Ελλάδι’, Ιατρική Επιθεώρησις Ενόπλων Δυνάμεων, 1972, 6: 75–79. 67. For an overview of the development of the blood transfusion service in Greece by a transfusion specialist see T. Μανδαλάκη-Γιαννιτσιώτη, ‘Ιστορία και εξέλιξη της αιμοδοσίας στην Ελλάδα’, ΔΕΛΤΟΣ, 2004, 28: 5–17. 68. C. Politis and J. Yfantopoulos, Blood Transfusion and the Challenge of AIDS in Greece (Athens: BETA medical arts, 1993), 3–4. 69. The Council of Europe, since the 1950s, has promoted voluntary, non-remunerated blood donation; see P. J. Hagen, Blood Transfusion in Europe: A ‘White Paper’ (Strasbourg: Council of Europe, 1993) and B. Genetet, Blood Transfusion: Half a Century of Contribution by the Council of Europe (Strasbourg: Council of Europe, 1998). Greece became a member of the Council of Europe in 1949. The World Health Organization World Assembly in 1975 adopted a unanimous resolution affirming its commitment to voluntary, non-remunerated blood donation. For Titmuss’s work see A. Oakley and J. Ashton (eds), The Gift Relationship: From Human Blood to Social Policy. By Richard M Titmuss (London/New York: LSE Books/ The New Press, 1997); for more on the historical context of his work see P. Fontaine, ‘Blood, politics, and social science: Richard Titmuss and the Institute of Economic Affairs, 1957–1973’, Isis, 2002, 93(3): 401–434; for recent discussions in relation to the governance of human biological material see C. Waldby and R. Mitchell, Tissue Economies: Blood, Organs, and Cell Lines in Late Capitalism (Durham/London: Duke University Press, 2006) and Farrell, The Politics of Blood, chap. 3. 70. Ν. Ρενιέρη-Λιβεριάτου, ‘Η αιμοδοσία στην Ελλάδα, 2. Το παρόν της αιμοδοσίας (1979-1988)’, Αρχεία Ελληνικής Ιατρικής, 1989, 6(6): 449–451. For the importance of

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

129

the objective of self-sufficiency in European policies on blood transfusion see: Hagen, Blood Transfusion in Europe, 101–102. 71. Greece has had a high prevalence of thalassaemia, a genetic disorder of the blood, in its population. Gradually the treatment of thalassemia has improved through blood transfusion therapy, leading to increased lifespan and improved quality of life in patients. A considerable proportion of the collected blood (about 20 per cent) has been used for the treatment of people with thalassaemia, Κ. Πολίτη, ‘Επιδημιολογική διερεύνηση της HIV λοίμωξης στην αιμοδοσία και τους πολυμεταγγιζόμενους με αίμα στην Ελλάδα’, Ελληνικά Αρχεία AIDS, 1998, 6(2): 135–140. 72. For the early response to HIV blood contamination episodes in eight countries and comparative analysis see E. Feldman and R. Bayer (eds), Blood Feuds: AIDS, Blood, and the Politics of Medical Disaster (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999). For the transformation of blood banks into highly geared risk-management institutions in the post-HIV era see Farrell, The Politics of Blood, 94–98 and Waldby and Mitchell, Tissue Economies, 45–58. 73. Ν. Ρενιέρη-Λιβεριάτου, ‘Η πρώτη δεκαετία του AIDS στο χώρο της αιμοδοσίας’, Ελληνικά Αρχεία AIDS, 1993, 1(2): 120–123. 74. C. Politis, ‘Blood donation systems as an integral part of the health system’, Αρχεία Ελληνικής Ιατρικής, 2000, 17(4): 354–357; P. Kanavos, J. Yfantopoulos, C. Vandoros and C. Politis, ‘The economics of blood: Gift of life or a commodity?’, International Journal of Technology Assessment in Health Care, 2006, 22(3): 338–343; O. Marantidou, L. Loukopoulou, E. Zervou, G. Martinis, A. Egglezou, P. Fountouli, P. Dimoxenous, M. Parara, M. Gavalaki and A. Maniatis, ‘Factors that motivate and hinder blood donation in Greece’, Transfusion Medicine, 2007, 17: 443–450. 75. Τ. Μανδαλάκη, Ν. Ρενιέρη, Κ. Σωφρονιάδου, Κ. Λουΐζου, Ε. Κοντοπούλου, Ν. Σοφιανός and K. Βούλης, ‘Το πρόβλημα της αιμοδοσίας (διαιτερική συζήτηση)’, Αρχεία Ελληνικής Ιατρικής, 1985, 2(6): 382–394; Kyriopoulos, Michail-Merianou and Gitona, ‘Blood transfusion economics’. 76. ‘Νόμος υπ’ αριθ. 1820’, Εφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως, Τεύχος Α’, 261, 17 November 1988. 77. Κ. Πολίτη, Λ. Καβαλλιέρου, Π. Τσιρογιάννη, Π. Δαμάσκος, C. Richardson and Ε. Τζάλα, ‘Αποτελέσματα επιδημιολογικής έρευνας για τις λοιμώξεις που μεταδίδονται με το αίμα κατά το 1996’, Ελληνικά Αρχεία AIDS, 1998, 6(3): 262–277. 78. Κ. Πολίτη, ‘Η ασφάλεια του αίματος και η λοίμωξη HIV ’, Ελληνικά Αρχεία AIDS, 1999, 7(3): 172–182. 79. ‘Προεδρικό διάταγμα υπ’ αριθμ.: 138’, Εφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως, Τεύχος Α’, 195, 3 August 2005; ‘Νόμος υπ’ αριθμ. 3402’, Εφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως, Τεύχος Α’, 258, 17 October 2005; ‘Directive 2002/98/EC of the European Parliament and of the Council of 27 January 2003: Setting standards of quality and safety for the collection, testing, processing, storage and distribution of human blood and blood components, and amending Directive 2001/83/EC ’, Official Journal of the European Union 2003, 8/2/2003:L 33/30-40; ‘Commission Directive 2004/33/EC of 22 March 2004: Implementing certain technical requirements for blood and blood components’, Official Journal of the European Union 2004, 30/3/2004:L 91/25-39.

130

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

80. See Farrell, The Politics of Blood, 49–50, and E. A. E. Robinson, ‘The European Union Blood Safety Directive and its implications for blood services’, Vox Sanguinis, 2007, 93(2): 122–130. 81. NAT technology detects the genetic material of a virus, allowing its early detection in the blood before the presence of detectable antibodies or antigens. NAT has been used as a supplement to serology testing. Two NAT techniques have been used in blood screening, PCR and TMA . The debates regarding its use in blood banks in the USA and European countries addressed the poor cost-effectiveness of NAT since the additional cost was considered very high and not comparable with other medical interventions. Therefore, the trade-off was an important one due to the many needs in healthcare and the limited funds available. NAT was initiated in the USA in 1999 and about the same time in some European countries. 82. Πολίτη, ‘Η ασφάλεια του αίματος’; Μ. Παπαγρηγορίου-Θεοδωρίδου, ‘Μετάδοση του ιού του AIDS με μετάγγιση αίματος σε νεογνό κατά τη “σιωπηλή” περίοδο της λοίμωξης’, Παιδιατρική, 1999, 62(2): 104. 83. N. Διακουμή-Σπυροπούλου, ‘Τεχνικές Μοριακής Βιολογίας στον έλεγχο του μεταγγιζόμενου αίματος’, in Ελληνική Εταιρία Κλινικής Χημείας – Κλινικής Βιοχημείας, Κείμενα διαλέξεων 18 εκπαιδευτικό σεμινάριο Εφαρμογές Μοριακής Βιολογίας στη Διαγνωστική, 17 December 2005, 142–156; G. Theodossiades and M. Makris, ‘Transfusion-transmitted infections: Epidemiology, risks and prevention’, Haema, 2001, 4(1): 24–38; Ελληνική Αιματολογική Εταιρεία, Ημερίδα 2002 Μοριακή Βιολογία στην Αιμοδοσία, 13 December 2002. 84. Λ. Δαδιώτης, ‘Ορολογικός έλεγχος με προσθήκη ΝΑΤ. Είναι αυτό το μήνυμα της Αιμοεπαγρύπνησης;’, in Ελληνική Αιματολογική Εταιρεία, Ημερίδα 2002 Μοριακή Βιολογία στην Αιμοδοσία, 13 December 2002, 81–83. 85. A. Gafou, G. Georgopoulos, M. Bellia, N. Vgotza, K. Maragos, T. Lagiandreou and E. Digenopoulou-Andrioti, ‘Review in the literature of the new solutions to an old problem: Human error in transfusion practice’, Haema, 2005, 8(4): 598–611; Π. Κουτσόγιαννη, ‘Μοριακός έλεγχος του μεταγγιζόμενου αίματος και υπολειπόμενος κίνδυνος μετάδοση νοσημάτων’, Αρχεία Ελληνικής Ιατρικής, 2007, 24(1): 19–25. 86. The newspaper Το Βήμα on 28 March 2006 first publicised the case of the transfusiontransmitted HIV infection of a 16-year-old multi-transfused girl with thalassaemia (‘Μετάγγιση θανάτου σε δεκαεξάχρονο κορίτσι!’, 1). The following day the newspapers reported that one more patient was transfused plasma from the same donor. The infections were attributed to the window period of the seroconversion of the 38-year-old male first-time donor, who had been infected a few days before he donated blood. The sample was tested with serologic methods and was released as false negative; it was not tested with molecular diagnostic techniques as these had not been implemented in blood transfusion centres in Thessaloniki at that time. Other newspaper articles covering the story include: Ι. Σουφλέρη, ‘Μετάγγισαν AIDS σε δεκαεξάχρονη!’, Το Βήμα, 28 March 2006, 3–4; ‘Μόλυνση από τον ιό του ΕΙΤΖ, “σιωπηλό παράθυρο” σε κραυγαλέες ελλείψεις’, Ριζοσπάστης, 29 March 2006, 10; Π. Μπουλουτζά, ‘Δράμα που αφύπνισε Πολιτεία και όλους μας, Μόλυνση από έιτζ 16χρονης και 76χρονου ύστερα από μετάγγιση’, Η Καθημερινή, 29 March 2006, 7.

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

131

87. ‘Πρακτικά Βουλής’, ΙΑ’ Περίοδος Προεδρευομένης Κοινοβουλευτικής Δημοκρατίας, Σύνοδος Β’, Συνεδρίαση ΡΚΗ’, 5 May 2006; ‘Πρακτικά Βουλής’, ΙΑ’ Περίοδος Προεδρευομένης Κοινοβουλευτικής Δημοκρατίας, Σύνοδος Β’, Συνεδρίαση ΡΜΔ’, 29 May 2006; ‘Πρακτικά Βουλής’, ΙΑ’ Περίοδος Προεδρευομένης Κοινοβουλευτικής Δημοκρατίας, Σύνοδος Β’, Συνεδρίαση ΡΜΘ’, 5 June 2006; ‘Πρακτικά Βουλής’, Η’ Αναθεωρητική Βουλή, ΙΒ’ Περίοδος Προεδρευομένης Κοινοβουλευτικής Δημοκρατίας, Σύνοδος Α’, Συνεδρίαση ΟΣΤ’, 30 January 2008; ‘Πρακτικά Βουλής’, Η’ Αναθεωρητική Βουλή, ΙΒ’ Περίοδος Προεδρευομένης Κοινοβουλευτικής Δημοκρατίας, Σύνοδος Α’, Συνεδρίαση ΡΝΒ’, 30 May 2008. 88. The Deputy Minister of Health and Social Solidarity referred to the plan of the ministry to implement NAT screening in nine blood transfusion centres and the procurement through an invitation to tender in summer 2006, see ‘Πρακτικά Βουλής’, 5 June 2006. In November 2006, a tender notice with an operating budget of €208 million for the commission of NAT for up to five years was published, ‘Απόφαση Αριθ. ΔΥ6β/Γ.Π./οικ. 138388’, Εφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως, Τεύχος Δ.Δ.Σ., 808, 17 November 2006. 89. For example see: ‘Οι εταιρείες και η διαμάχη για τον μοριακό έλεγχο’, Το Βήμα, 16 November 2007, 5; Β. Βενιζέλος, ‘Οι εταιρείες μπλοκάρουν τον διαγωνισμό για τον μοριακό έλεγχο του αίματος’, Η Αυγή, 18 March 2008, 18; Ε. Φυντανίδου, ‘Μαίνεται ο πόλεμος για την “πίτα” του αίματος στα δημόσια νοσοκομεία’, Το Βήμα, 23 April 2008, 14. 90. Συμβουλευτική Επιτροπή Αιμοδοσίας προς ΕΚΕΑ, Υπουργείο Υγείας, ‘Εξοικονόμηση πόρων στην αιμοδοσία και βελτίωση της ασφάλειας και της ποιότητας του αίματος’, 1 October 2012, http://www.paspama.gr/ekea.pdf [accessed 2 October 2014]. 91. Ελληνική Αιματολογική Εταιρεία προς Δ. Αβραμόπουλο, Υπουργό Υγείας και Κοινωνικής Αλληλεγγύης, 27 March 2008, http://www.eae.gr/new/pros-upourgo-ygeias.pdf [accessed 1 December 2014]. 92. Ελληνική Αιματολογική Εταιρεία, ‘Θέσεις ΕΑΕ για το Εθνικό Σύστημα Αιμοδοσίας’, April 2011, http://www.eae.gr/new2/ΕΙΣΗΓΗΣΗ_ΕΠΙΤΡΟΠΗΣ_ΑΙΜΟΔΟΣΙΑΣ.pdf [accessed 1 February 2015]. 93. Farrell, The Politics of Blood, 195. 94. V. Garshnek, J. S. Logan and L. H. Hassell, ‘The telemedicine frontier: Going the extra mile’, Space Policy, 1997, 13(1): 37–46. See also M. Moore, ‘The evolution of telemedicine’, Future Generations Computer Systems, 1999, 15: 245–254. 95. For more definitions about telemedicine see: N. Brown, ‘Telemedicine coming of age’, 1996, http://www.bestohm.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=5 1&Itemid=2 [accessed 22 June 2015]; A. W. Darkins and M. A. Cary, ‘Definitions of telemedicine and telehealth and a history of the remote management of disease’, in A. Darkins and M. Cary (eds), Telemedicine and Telehealth: Principles, Policies, Performance and Pitfall (New York: Springer, 2000), 1–24; Garshnek, Logan and Hassell, ‘The telemedicine frontier’; J. D. Linkous, ‘Toward a rapidly evolving definition of telemedicine’, 2000, American Telemedicine Association. 96. L. Cartwright, ‘Reach out and heal someone: Telemedicine and the globalization of health care’, Health, 2000, 4(3): 347–377; J. Reid, A Telemedicine Primer:

132

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

Understanding the Issues (Topeka, KS : Innovative Medical Communications, 1996). 97.

Among the developed countries that have developed telemedicine initiatives are: United States of America, Australia, Canada, France, Italy, Germany, United Kingdom, Greece, Japan, the Netherlands, Norway, Finland, Sweden and Switzerland. In developing countries, telemedicine is offered as a solution to problems of lack of capital, inappropriate transportation and other infrastructures. Also, telemedicine has been added as an important component during the design of healthcare policies. See for example K. Dyb and S. Halford, ‘Placing globalizing technologies: Telemedicine and the making of difference’, Sociology, 2009, 43(2): 232–249; A. MacFarlane, A Murphy and P. Clerkin, ‘Telemedicine services in the Republic of Ireland: An evolving policy context’, Health Policy, 2006, 76(3): 245–258; M. Mort, C. May, T. Finch and F.S. Mair, ‘Telemedicine and clinical governance: Controlling technology, containing knowledge’, in A. Gray and S. Harrison (eds), Governing Medicine: Theory and Practice (Buckingham: Open University Press, 2004), 107–121.

98.

Cartwright offers a similar example, referring to Canada and its geographical structure and demography, see Cartwright, ‘Reach out and heal someone’, 357–360.

99.

Κρεμαστινός, ‘Τα αδιέξοδα του εθνικού’; Tountas, Karnaki and Pavi, ‘Reforming the reform’.

100. Μ. Πετροπούλου, ‘Με το παραμικρό στην Αθήνα’, Ελευθεροτυπία, 9 September 2001; Κ. Τσαρούχας, ‘Στα νησιά οι άνθρωποι κινδυνεύουν’, To Vima, 30 June 2002; Ε. Φυντανίδου, Δ. Βυθούλκας and Γ. Πουλιόπουλος, ‘Kάνουν τον σταυρό τους όταν αρρωσταίνουν’, Το Βήμα, 7 April 2013; Π. Μπουλουτζά, ‘Κι αν αρρωστήσεις εκτός Αττικής . . . μετακομίζεις: Τα προβλήματα των νοσοκομείων και η παράνοια της καθημερινότητας’, Η Καθημερινή, 17 May 2009. 101. Π. Μπουλουτζά, ‘Η τηλεϊατρική αντίδοτο σε “περιττές” αεροδιακομιδές’, Η Καθημερινή, 19 June 2002; Ν. Στασινός and Σ. Νέτα, ‘Αεροδιακομιδές: “Φάρμακο” η τηλεϊατρική’, Ελευθεροτυπία, 19 June 2002. 102. Χ. Προυκάκης, Δ. Σωτηρίου and Δ. Τσαντούλας, ‘Υποστήριξη μέσω της τηλεματικής ιατρικού προσωπικού απομακρυσμένων περιοχών’, Επιθεώρηση Υγείας, 1990, 1(2): 57–61. 103. Π. Μπουλουτζά, ‘Σε πέντε χρόνια κατέρρευσε η τηλεϊατρική: Φυτοζωεί, εξαιτίας της έλλειψης προσωπικού, η μοναδική μονάδα του ΕΣΥ, στο Σισμανόγλειο’, Η Καθημερινή, 29 April 2007. 104. Δ. Σωτηρίου, ‘Οι λόγοι της βραδείας εξέλιξης των υπηρεσιών τηλεϊατρικής στην Ελλάδα’, Computer για όλους, 2004, 15(89): 40. 105. See http://panacea.med.uoa.gr/topic.aspx?id=538 [accessed 19 June 2015]. 106. For more about the Hellenic Society of Telemedicine, see: http://panacea.med.uoa. gr/topic.aspx?id=571 [accessed 22 June 2015]. 107. Προυκάκης, Σωτηρίου and Τσαντούλας, ‘Υποστήριξη μέσω της τηλεματικής’, 58. 108. ‘Τηλεϊατρική. Εγκαθίστανται συστήματα σε 13 Κέντρα Υγείας’, Επιθεώρηση Υγείας, 1991, 2(8): 27.

MEDICAL TECHNOLOGIES AND HEALTH POLICIES

133

109. For a detailed presentation regarding the role of ‘Sismanogleio’ hospital in the implementation of telematics services in Greece, see http://panacea.med.uoa.gr/ topic.aspx?id=598 [accessed 22 June 2015]. 110. P. Yellowlees, ‘Successful development of telemedicine systems: Seven core principles’, Journal of Telemedicine and Telecare, 1997, 3: 215–222. 111. Ι. Αποστολάκης, Π. Βάλσαμος and Η. Βαρλάμης, ‘Λειτουργικές και τεχνικές προσεγγίσεις για την ανάπτυξη περιφερειακών κέντρων τηλεϊατρικής’, Επιθεώρηση Υγείας, 2007, 18(104): 30–36. 112. For an analytical description regarding Vodafone’s telemedicine project, see http:// www.vodafone.gr/portal/client/cms/viewCmsPage.action?pageId=11280&request_ locale=en [accessed 21 June 2015]. 113. For more information about the experiences of participants, both physicians, patients and representatives from local authorities, see http://telemedicine100.skai. gr [accessed 21 June 2015]. 114. ‘Τηλεϊατρική στη Σέριφο’, Ελευθεροτυπία, 22 January 2013; Γ. Δάμα, ‘Στη Σέριφο οργανώνουν ένα δικό τους σύστημα υγείας’, Ελευθεροτυπία, 22 June 2013. 115. Δ. Καπράνος, ‘Ένα μπουκέτο λουλούδια της Γαύδου για τον Πρόεδρο’, Η Καθημερινή, 31 July 2001. 116. Λ. Γιάνναρου, ‘Τηλεϊατρική μόνο για τα . . . εγκαίνια: Ο ΟΤΕ ξήλωσε την γεννήτρια μια μέρα μετά την τελετή και η μονάδα της Γαύδου έπαψε να λειτουργεί’, Η Καθημερινή, 2 August 2001. 117. Σωτηρίου, ‘Οι λόγοι της βραδείας εξέλιξης’, 40. 118. Yellowlees, ‘Successful development of telemedicine systems: Seven core principles’ 215. 119. C. May, R. Harrison, T. Finch, A. Macfarlane, F. Mair, P. Wallace, for the Telemedicine Adoption Study Group, ‘Understanding the normalization of telemedicine services through qualitative evaluation’, Journal of the American Medical Informatics Association, 2003, 10(6): 596–604. 120. C. May, M. Mort, F. Mair and T. Williams, ‘Factors affecting the adoption of tele-healthcare in the United Kingdom: The policy context and the problem of evidence’, Health Informatics Journal, 2001, 7: 131–134. 121. Pagoulatos, ‘The politics of privatisation’.

134

PART TWO

Technical Cultures, Engineering Institutions, Expertise and Sociotechnical Networks

135

136

Science and Industry in Public Discourses on Technical Education in Greece, 1864–1887 EIRINI MERGOUPI-SAVAIDOU

INTRODUCTION This article touches upon the meanings of technology and its relations to science in the public discourse of the second half of the nineteenth-century in Greece. It focuses on the period 1864–1887, when the foundations of the Greek industry were set up under a new political context and the debates on technical instruction developed, albeit remaining in a rhetorical level. It was only in 1887 that the Polytechnic School of Athens started offering higher education degrees for civil engineers and mechanical engineers, while around this year the first technical secondary schools were also established. By examining three public sites/institutions that aimed at technical education I intend to show how the public discourse on technology, its role in the society and the state, and its relation to science was shaped right before technical education was being realized within the context of official institutions. Sociologists and historians of science and technology have lucidly shown that the power of rhetoric in the public discourse is considerable for the consolidation of conceptual categories and the shaping of social and cultural boundaries that denote a cognitive hierarchy.1 Historians of technology have paid special attention to the powerful concepts of the nineteenth century, which have entrenched a cultural subordination of technology to science, thereby defining both the public perception of ‘technology’ (a term that has been cemented in the public discourse only after the first decades of the twentieth century) and the various historiographical approaches to it.2 A number of studies have rejected the identification of technology with applied science, pointing to the social construction of the boundary between ‘pure’ and ‘applied’ science in the second half of the nineteenth century and the social legitimation that this boundary offered to those who used it to advance their professional pursuits (scientists and engineers).3 Other studies have pointed out that, 137

138

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

before the establishment of ‘applied science’, it was the inclusive concept of ‘art’ that functioned as an umbrella concept for the broad area of practical knowledge. When ‘applied science’ started dominating public discourse, ‘arts’ were marginalized in social terms and related to workplaces of the lower social classes.4 Taking into account the use of similar concepts in the Greek vocabulary, the present article will unfold a wider social context where knowledge, ideas and practices embodied what we now associate with the concept ‘technology’. It will show how these concepts and related terms interacted with each other, thereby shaping the public discourse of science, technology and politics in late-nineteenth-century Greece. The political context of Greece in the second half of the nineteenth century was marked by the transition from constitutional monarchy to crowned democracy, after the expulsion of King Otto (1815–1867) in 1862, his succession by the Danish Prince George I (1845–1913) who reigned from 1863 to 1913, and the introduction of a democratic constitution in 1864. Within these years, the so-called ‘National Question’ crucially shaped the political and cultural landscape of the country. It appeared in the public discourse through two faces, one concerning national integration (external) and one the modernization programme (internal).5 The idea of progress was put at the heart of the rhetoric employed in the modernization programme, with the main exponents of science and technology, i.e. scientists and engineers, aiming at integrating scientific knowledge into techniques and practices in the fields of production that were state priorities, such as industry and agriculture.6 Through a discourse that mingled science, technology and economy, experts of different disciplines counted on technical education for the improvement of the industrial domain. This focus was common in many European countries and the US at that time.7 This article elaborates on the particularities of this discourse in Greece, a rather small country which maintained relations with the industrialized West and remained, though, in a marginal position in respect to technical education and industrialization. More specifically, the article focuses on the discourse about technical education in three settings: the Society of Friends of the People (Εταιρεία των Φίλων του Λαού), the Committee for the Encouragement of the National Industry (Επιτροπή επί της Εμψυχώσεως της Εθνικής Βιομηχανίας) and the periodical publication of the Greek Industrialist (Ο Βιομήχανος Έλλην). The public discourse on technical education reveals the exiguous industrial organization, the poor interest and initiatives of the state towards this direction, and the efforts of the local scientific community that gradually developed self-awareness, but remained incapable of convincing the various governments about the importance of its professional aspirations for national and social affairs. All these led to a mismatch between statements promoting technical education and its actual institutionalization.

SCIENTIFIC AND TECHNICAL EDUCATION IN THE SERVICE OF NATION The ‘National Question’ penetrated the public discourse of nineteenth-century Greece as part of the ‘Eastern Question’. The War of Independence from the Ottomans in the 1820s may have led to the establishment of a national state for

SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY IN PUBLIC DISCOURSES

139

Greeks in 1830, but this state was unquestionably very restricted in respect to their aspirations. The potential of integration of the ‘irredentist’ Greek populations in the Greek state was framed in the rhetorical scheme of the Great Idea (Μεγάλη Ιδέα), which thrived after the late 1860s under the light of the Balkan nationalisms. The Great Idea was reflected in territorial claims, wars and economic and cultural links among Greek communities both within and outside of the Greek state.8 Up to the 1860s the economy of the Greek state had been based in agricultural production, trade and shipping – domains that immediately attracted the majority of local and diaspora capital investments, since arable land and the seas were readily available for exploitation. Industrialization instead was considered a hard task since it required a greater inflow of funds, systematic organization and introduction of technological innovations, which often encountered resistance from entrenched ideas and attitudes.9 The constitutional change of 1864 certified the orientation of the Greek state to the principles of liberalism, and in the late 1860s and early 1870s the foundations of Greek industry were set out with infrastructure, capital and bank loans directed towards investments on this sector. Between 1867 and 1875 one hundred steam-power factories had been established in Athens, Piraeus, Syros and Patras, producing mostly consumer goods and – to a lesser degree – raw materials.10 However, the more systematic organization of the industrial domain of the Greek state took place after the early 1890s, focusing on the industries of mining, alcohol, chemicals, electricity and concrete. It was during that period that industrialization reflected economic and social rearrangements, such as rapid demographic growth of urban centres, large labour supply, low wages, strikes and a self-aware working class.11 Industrialization of the country was part of the modernization programme which was set forth in the 1870s and was connected with the governmental policy of reformist Charilaos Trikoupis (1832–1896), leader of the Modernist Party, between 1875 and 1895.12 In the same period, the advancement of sciences was presented as an indispensable feature for the development of the wealth-production domains and prosperity of the state, which would lead subsequently to the fortification of the country in the Balkans and the Near East with regard to its territorial assertions.13 The connection of the idea of progress with sciences and technical advance was taken over mainly by a young generation of scientists and engineers of the country who had been educated abroad – mostly in Germany and France – and brought with them a new scientific culture orientated to positivist values and practical training. This generation set the foundations for professional scientific and engineering communities, which were legitimated in higher education institutions, as well as in the public sphere, where they took actions on the organization of scientific and technical education of the state, the establishment of technical schools and the dissemination of scientific and technical knowledge, ideas and practices.14 Some of the new generation of scientists and engineers took positions in the University of Athens (established in 1837) and fought for the autonomy of sciences from the School of Philosophy and the establishment of laboratories for the practical exercise of students.15 This academic staff was also lecturing in the Evelpidon Military Academy and the Polytechnic School. The Military Academy had been established in 1828. According to the model of the French École Polytechnique, it

140

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

was training the professional engineers of the state exclusively until the 1880s, providing not only the army with personnel but also the state with qualified officers of administration.16 The Polytechnic School, established in Athens as a ‘School of Arts’ in 1837, combined technical and artistic studies. Initially the School offered basic studies for those who wanted to be craftsmen in architecture and higher studies in fine arts, evidencing the priority to the latter as part of the classical aesthetics of the times. Only after 1863, when the curricula of the technical department ran through a remarkable reformation following the model of the French Écoles d’Arts et Métiers, were the technical studies of the School upgraded and the institution turned into a secondary school, reflecting the awakening of the state’s interest in industry.17 A scientifically specialized staff of the School of Arts was teaching geometry, trigonometry, statics, architecture, principles of building, mechanics, physics, chemistry, bridge building, road construction, hydraulics and strength of materials. In this way, an adequate education for civil engineers was offered by an institution other than the Military Academy, although doubts about the quality of the studies were often expressed.18 The transition of the Polytechnic School to a technical-scientific institution of high status took place in 1887. Under a new name, which confirmed the orientation of the state to the expansion of industry, the ‘School of Industrial Arts’ included two departments which offered higher education degrees, for civil and mechanical engineers. The decision of Trikoupis’ government in 1882 to provide permission to the graduates of the Polytechnic School to be appointed as foremen to the public works and the 1887 reform contributed to the organization of civil engineers as a scientific professional community closely connected to this institution. Statistics of the graduates of the Polytechnic School show their preference for the profession of civil engineering in the political context of modernization, where major public works were taking place. Mechanical engineering instead offered far less employment opportunities in the underdeveloped local industry.19 Technical instruction for a broader public took place only in the late 1880s and the 1890s, when many technical secondary schools were established in Piraeus, Athens, Patras, Volos and other places, either by voluntary associations and societies based in these cities or privately.20 Such schools offered technical instruction connecting it with professions in industrial, commercial and agricultural domains.21 Perhaps the most remarkable of all was the Commercial and Industrial Academy (Εμπορική και Βιομηχανική Ακαδημία) which was founded in Piraeus in 1894 (and soon moved to Athens) by the chemist Othon Roussopoulos (1855–1922), graduate of the University of Berlin and lecturer in the physics department of the University of Athens and the Military Academy.22

INDUSTRY AND AGRICULTURE: AN (ALMOST) COMMON TRAJECTORY IN THE PUBLIC DISCOURSE Debates on technical and industrial education started to appear in the public discourse together with an encouragement towards agricultural instruction. In 1871 the ‘agricultural issue’ was partly arranged with the distribution of national estates

SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY IN PUBLIC DISCOURSES

141

which had remained unexploited since the establishment of the Greek state, resulting in the acquisition of small or medium fields by landless farmers. In 1881 the annexation of Thessaly to the Greek state also meant the incorporation of large properties of the Thessaly plain possessed by wealthy landowners. In both cases, apart from the social issues raised, the implementation of more efficient methods of cultivation was a major problem to be solved through proper instruction, and many agricultural schools were established to that effect.23 The trajectories of industry and agriculture were often discussed together and their relationship – despite the priority given to agriculture – was very close. The advancement of the agricultural domain (primary sector of the economy) was regarded as a prerequisite for the development of industry (secondary sector), while industrialization of agricultural production (introduction and use of machines instead of outdated agricultural tools and methods, as well as technological innovation) was thought of as a necessary tool for the growth of agriculture. Consequently, the relationship between the two domains was characterized not only by competition – regarding to which of them would acquire more funds – but also by cooperation.24 A crucial point where the connection between agriculture and industry took place lay also in the terms and concepts used to describe their cognitive status. The Greek term for ‘industry’ was ‘βιομηχανία’. It derived from the Hellenistic language and consisted of the words ‘βίος’ (life) and ‘μηχανή’ (machine), meaning ‘the ability of obtaining what is needed for living’. The term had been reintroduced in the Greek language in the eighteenth century as equivalent to the French ‘industrie’, meaning the economic activities based on the transformation of raw materials.25 Nonetheless, in the 1830s ‘βιομηχανία’ still described any productive activity and not only manufacturing.26 In 1837 the main aim of the Committee for the Encouragement of National Industry was principally the growth of agricultural production and secondarily the encouragement of industry and trade.27 After the middle of the nineteenth century, the term ‘applications of sciences’ disseminated in the Greek public discourse, expressing mainly the practical uses of sciences and the various techniques in industry and agriculture.28 The emerging scientific community had a major role in this. In the 1850s and 1860s sciences were considered a field of ‘useful’ knowledge among others (such as history, geography and theology) – a usefulness that was understood mostly in moral terms. In the 1870s sciences were portrayed by their exponents as the useful knowledge, mainly because of their multiple applications and practices in wealth-production domains of society, i.e. industry and agriculture.29 Very often, though, agriculture and industry themselves were regarded as ‘applications’ of sciences. On the other hand, the term ‘applied sciences’ had already entered the Greek public discourse from the 1860s albeit with no specific content, since it was often confused with the ‘applications’ of sciences. In 1866, Theodoros Orfanidis (1817– 1886), professor of Botany at the University of Athens, delivered public lectures on scientific agriculture, identifying it with ‘applied botany’.30 In 1872 Orfanidis published a journal titled Scientific Agriculture (Γεωπονικά), for which he called on wealthy men of Greece and the Ottoman Empire to sponsor, since it could be proved equally ‘useful’ for the two countries with the same climate. In this journal scientific

142

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

agriculture did not appear as an applied science; it was only a practical ‘application’ that was based on three particular sciences: botany, chemistry and physics.31 Yet, in the 1880s and 1890s scientific agriculture viewed the transition from ‘application’ of science to an ‘applied science’, since agriculturalists who had studied in agricultural schools abroad (mostly in France) self-presented as experts to provide their opinion on a variety of agricultural issues, claiming an active role in education and forming a scientific community.32 The term ‘applied sciences’ was consolidated in Greece in the last two decades of the nineteenth century, as happened in Europe and the US . At that period the University of Athens, the Polytechnic School and the Commercial and Industrial Academy founded chairs, such as ‘applied physics’, ‘applied chemistry’, ‘applied mechanics’.33 In parallel, Prometheus (1890–1892), the first popular-science periodical that was published by science professors and lecturers of the University of Athens and the Polytechnic School, self-presented as a journal of ‘pure and applied sciences’, juxtaposing the two basic categories by which subsequent generations would perceive science and technology. However, by the term ‘applied sciences’ Prometheus did not mean only technology or industry, but agriculture as well, a common trend in the public discourse of the late-nineteenth-century Greek state. This remark reinforces the view that the relation between ‘applied science’, agriculture and technology was more complex than it is often portrayed.

SOCIETY OF FRIENDS OF THE PEOPLE: TECHNICAL OR MORAL EDUCATION? The new constitution of 1864 brought about a significant change in Greek society, since it legitimized the right of association. For the last third of the nineteenth century, dozens of voluntary associations were founded in Athens and in other big cities of the country by the political and intellectual elite (university professors, politicians, scholars, scientists, teachers, clergymen and others). These associations represented new customs and values in respect to the (male) bourgeoisie sociability and played a crucial role in the social, political and cultural affairs of the country, since they created a significant network within the state and between Greek communities abroad, especially in the Ottoman Empire and Europe. Operating independently of the state, or in parallel, the most robust voluntary associations’ objectives were national, in the sense that they contributed to efforts for national integration.34 Their aims and activities were related also to social and cultural aspects of late-nineteenth-century Greece, in order to achieve ‘general progress’. They established public lectures and courses, they founded schools for children and young people of lower social strata, and they organized social events, charities and competitions that offered them social prestige in the public sphere of the capital and of the most economically advanced areas of the country.35 One of the most significant voluntary associations was the Society of Friends of the People (SFP, Εταιρία των Φίλων του Λαού), which was founded in Athens in 1865 by politicians and eminent scholars. The SFP ’s name reminds us of the Whigs’ Society of Friends of the People of late-eighteenth-century Great Britain and the French republican association La Société des Amis du Peuple which had been

SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY IN PUBLIC DISCOURSES

143

founded in Paris in 1830.36 Nevertheless, the Greek equivalent had no relationship with republicanism and the selection of its name was probably related to the significance of the concept of ‘people’ in the social context. As written in the Regulation, the SFP aimed at the material and moral improvement of the working classes, often identifying ‘people’ with the lower social strata.37 The SFP ’s mission was legitimated on the grounds of the so far ‘failing’ of technical schools (Polytechnic School, Agricultural School of Athens and Commercial Gymnasia of Patras and Syros) to provide ‘special or technical education’ and the necessary means for ‘moral cultivation’ of the people.38 In order to fill this gap, the SFP intended to deliver courses in the capital, establishing libraries and publishing books for ‘the diffusion of practical and useful knowledge’.39 As evidenced in an article on technical education of the European institutions, written by one of its founders, the SFP sought to learn from the Mechanics’ Institutes of Great Britain whose primary aim was the technical instruction of the workers.40 The SFP ’s concern for the working classes is also evident by the facts that courses took place in the evenings and on Sundays, so that workers were able to attend them, and that they were free in contrast to payable public courses delivered by other voluntary associations intended for audiences of the middle and upper classes. Moreover, according to the Regulation, courses should be delivered in language understandable to the workers.41 Although the working classes were mentioned as the main audience of these courses, entrance was free to everyone who was over seventeen years old and ‘well-dressed’.42 In this way, the target group of SFP expanded, as is also evident by references such as those made about the remarkable attendance in courses like history, chemistry and ethics, proving the ‘good reception of our Society by the working classes and the people of Athens’.43 At this point ‘working class’ was diverse from the ‘people’. For the members of the SFP, people might not have certain social features (besides it was a period of the vague meaning of ‘people’) but they were undoubtedly distinct from the elite members of the SFP. The curriculum included special courses such as physics, applied chemistry, applied botany, practical mechanics, construction and architecture, practical geometry, ichnography, decorative arts, commercial law, political and industrial economy, most of which were delivered within 1866. Botany and chemistry were the most-taught, at least for the first five years of the SFP. In the words of contemporaries, the SFP offered ‘scientific knowledge which is inevitable for any artisan nowadays’.44 Also, the Society bought materials and instruments for the courses of chemistry in order for the teaching to be more ‘useful’, as the administrative council put it.45 Scientific and technical courses were taught by professors and lecturers mostly from the Polytechnic School and the Military School and – to a lesser degree – the University of Athens who, in the 1870s would concentrate in the rival Literary Society of Parnassos, organizing the first attempts towards the shaping of the scientific community.46 Academic staff who delivered scientific courses offered prestige to the SFP, while they were presented as useful to society and the nation ‘through the dissemination of their science’.47 Although the SFP was founded principally with the intention of providing technical education for the working classes, a considerable part of the curriculum focused on the moral and national edification of the lower social strata. The Society

144

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

introduced general courses such as principles of ethics, history, geography and hygiene.48 Moreover, in 1869, the SFP published a book with the title Εγκόλπιον του Εργατικού Λαού ή Συμβουλαί προς τους Χειρωνάκτας (Handbook of Working People or Advice for Labourers).49 This book was a translation of the French Conseils aux Ouvriers of Th. H. Barreau, which aimed explicitly at the political and moral guidance of the working class.50 The translation had been adapted to the particularities of Greek customs and the working class, offering advice concerning the behaviour of workers in their workplace, in the home, in church, in respect to their sexual life, to the management of their finances and nutrition.51 According to the translator, the eminent scholar Nikolaos Dragoumis: Dissemination of similar advice has taken place with great care in Europe and America in order to illuminate the most numerous class of people. This class, due to the nature of their work, is deprived of time and means. For this reason they need an endless and coordinated manipulation . . . This is what the Handbook does. It takes the inexperienced worker by the hand . . . and teaches him what to embrace and what to avoid for being happy in this world in moral and material terms.52 As shown in studies about the Mechanics’ Institutes in Britain, scientific and technical education as well as science popularization, did not only serve practical utility, but also it was employed as a tool for achieving further social, political and ideological aims as well as social control.53 Similarly, a Marxist historian of Greece has argued that, since the SFP was founded in a period when no vigorous industry nor a selfaware working class existed, its establishment served the elite of the country in two ways: on the one hand to maintain the social control of the lower social strata, by moralizing them according to its values, and on the other hand to prevent the expansion of socialist ideas and the social turmoil brought by the emerging labour movement.54 Indeed, the general-reader periodical Πανδώρα (Pandora) mentioned that the members of the SFP (some of whom were also editors and contributors) should be praised ‘for their efforts to become comprehensible, to teach and to inspire everyone to live in morality, love work, respect the state and obey the laws’.55

THE COMMITTEE FOR THE ENCOURAGEMENT OF NATIONAL INDUSTRY: PRIORITY TO AGRICULTURE The first institution of the Greek state which aimed at promoting industry was established in 1837 under the name ‘Committee for the Encouragement of National Industry’ (CENI , Επιτροπή επί της Εμψυχώσεως της Εθνικής Βιομηχανίας), following the example of the French Société d’Encouragement pour l’Industrie Nationale which had been founded in 1801.56 The aim of CENI was the growth of agricultural production and the encouragement of industry and trade, as well as the increase of national wealth. The members of CENI were mostly politicians and scholars and their task was to find and propose means for achieving the goals of the newly founded institution. Although established quite early in the newborn state, CENI remained inactive until the 1850s, when a boost came from Evangelos Zappas (1800–1865), a wealthy

SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY IN PUBLIC DISCOURSES

145

entrepreneur of Greek diaspora, who upgraded it, directing its activities to the organization of local and international exhibitions of Greek products.57 Actually, CENI started playing an essential political role in the late 1870s, when the numbers of its members were considerably augmented, including many scientists and engineers. Moreover, in 1877, the Bulletin of the Committee for the Encouragement of National Industry (Δελτίον της επί της Εμψυχώσεως της Εθνικής Βιομηχανίας Επιτροπής) was launched, lasting until 1880. The periodical was monthly with fifty pages and it was published by five members of the Committee. Among them was Theodoros Orfanidis, professor of Botany, Andreas Kordellas (1836–1909), an eminent mineralogist engineer teaching in the Military Academy and working in various key positions in mining companies, and Emmanouil Dragoumis (1850– 1917), a mineralogist physicist working in the Ministry of Finance and president of the Literary Society of Parnassos from 1878 to 1880. The aim of the Bulletin was to disseminate useful knowledge to those working in agriculture, industry and trade and to contribute to the promotion of those domains. For this reason, agricultural and industrial instruction was set at the centre of the Committee’s initiative. The launching announcement of the Bulletin underlined the lack of educational policy in Greece regarding agriculture and industry. Focusing on industrial instruction, it praised Western European countries for the establishment of special schools, the publication of practical handbooks, the circulation of periodicals devoted to industry, the organization of public lectures for workers and the establishment of evening schools which had contributed to the technical education of the working classes and therefore to the development of the industrial sector.58 Industrial instruction was an issue that was discussed broadly in the Bulletin of the CENI . Emmanouil Dragoumis in particular, recommended the introduction of industrial education into the degree programmes of the University of Athens. According to him, industry as a whole range of activities should be ‘elevated’ to science, because of the progresses of natural and mathematical sciences and their ‘applications’ to the industrial sector. A ‘real industrialist’, Dragoumis argued, was the one who had exact knowledge of mathematical, natural and economic sciences, who was ‘in need of so much scientific knowledge as any other scientist’. Dragoumis described ‘scientific industrialists’ mainly as managers of their companies running them in the specific national context of Greece. He opted for an appropriate scientific education provided by the state, in order for the national industry to find the type that suited the Greek particularities.59 In 1877 Dragoumis considered the University to be the only academic institution which could host the teaching of ‘industrial science’. Twenty years later, Anastasios Christomanos (1841–1906), professor of chemistry and rector of the University of Athens, would suggest the organization of ‘industrial/technical’ education on the basis of the establishment of industrial high schools and specialized schools in the context of the Polytechnic School, where he was teaching, and according to the German model.60 The issues of the Bulletin included proceedings of meetings, reports, memos, statistical studies, news, reports of international exhibitions in which the Committee’s members participated and a miscellaneous column. The periodical also contained original or translated articles and studies. Many of them were related to the state of

146

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

agriculture in Greece, methods and cropping tools, as well as the potential of the agricultural sector, reflecting the emphasis of governmental policy in agriculture. CENI aimed to promote the Bulletin to a wide readership. Its members envisioned that it ‘would enter the farmer’s cabin, the industrialist’s workshop and the merchant’s office’, and they argued for using a language with clear meanings and a practical, rather than theoretical instruction to that effect.61 Also, they encouraged the inclusion of illustrations representing the shape and structure of every new tool which was useful for agriculture and industry.62 Nevertheless, the actual readership of the Bulletin should have been rather restricted, since its articles were quite specialized and the language was not at all simple, in contrast with the initial aim of CENI ’s members. In any case, the periodical seemed rather unapproachable to the farmer who lived in his cabin. The mingling of agriculture with industry in the public discourse and the governmental policies, at least until the end of the nineteenth century, was reflected perfectly in the views of the members of CENI . As Theodoros Orfanidis put it: Agriculture and industry are so tightly linked and inseparable, that the progress of the latter facilitates the way to the progress of the former. Because when someone examines the places where agriculture has progressed and advanced, he will find out that these are the places where industry has been improved as well. Such places are Belgium, the Netherlands, Scotland, the banks of glorious Rhine, France and other states of Europe and America.63

THE GREEK INDUSTRIALIST: A PERIODICAL FOR ‘PRACTICAL SCIENTISTS’ Periodicals of agriculture, pharmaceutics and industry were published in the second half of the nineteenth century and were self-presented as journals for the ‘applications of sciences’ or of ‘applied sciences’. They appeared before the emergence of popularscience periodicals of the late 1880s and long before the publication of the first ‘scientific’ periodicals of the professional communities of engineers and scientists in the late 1890s and early 1900s.64 They were published in Athens by members of the scientific community and addressed specific audiences, whose individuals were professionally related. Their publishers did not aim at profit; instead, their initiatives were part of the general project of the diffusion of useful knowledge, not to the wide public but to specialized audiences, who were portrayed as being ‘in need for’ technical instruction and information. These journals connected scientific progress with the intellectual advancement of Greece, and the usefulness of their science and its applications to wealth-production domains with the national and economic progress of the state, emerging as defenders of national interests. Of all the applied sciences periodicals, there was only one devoted exclusively to industry, the Greek Industrialist. This one was unique in many ways. It was published fortnightly in 1882 by an independent mechanical engineer, Stamos Kagkadis, who owned an office in Ermoupolis of Syros. The island of Syros had been a significant international centre of trade in the Mediterranean and an industry-based area. The Greek Industrialist, which was launched as an instructive magazine, addressed

SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY IN PUBLIC DISCOURSES

147

numerous professional groups in the industrial domain: artisans and factory owners, as well as engineers, machinists, metallurgists, tanners, bakers, architects, shipbuilders and dyers, who were mentioned as ‘practical scientists’. Kagkadis’s explicit aim was to offer varied technical and practical knowledge and advices to a specialized readership closely related to industry. As referred in the Greek Industrialist, the periodical’s intention was to discuss ‘the means of the gradual development of all industrial disciplines’ in Greece and to monitor regularly the ‘intellectual progress of our [Greek] industrialist’.65 Relying on this purpose, Kagkadis asked the Greek industrialists all over the world to contribute intellectually to his journal, while he was willing to offer it for free to ‘the poor industrialists who were friends of progress’.66 Kagkadis soon left Syros and moved to Piraeus, the emerging industrial centre of the country, where he opened an engineering-architectural office and an ‘international repository’ of engines and machines. The repository functioned as an exhibition of imported foreign machinery and as a general agency of specialist factories of industrial products from all over the world.67 Kagkadis took on the sale, construction and order of various machines and industrial products, the publication of designs for the establishment of factories, houses and mechanical works and the assignment of many kinds of machines.68 These activities were demonstrated regularly in the Greek Industrialist, which was now published in Piraeus, so that the periodical served to publicize Kagkadis’s job as a contracting/consulting engineer. The Greek Industrialist presented various topics of many branches of industry: the structure and function of steam engines, locomotives, steam boilers and various machines, new techniques and methods in different industries, metallurgy, shipbuilding and shipping, industrial chemistry, tanning, bread making and dyeing, as well as scientific theories and practical advices. The columns of miscellaneous included various articles from the Greek and foreign press concerning international exhibitions of electricity, geology, metallurgy, hygiene, commerce, contractions, archaeology, as well as news, reports and statistics on the state of industry, manufactures and technical works.69 The periodical included few articles on agriculture, but many illustrated advertisements of agriculture-related machinery, such as threshing machines and equipment for the production of flour. Issues also contained engravings depicting machines, their components and function, as well as illustrated advertisements of the companies’ products of which Kagkadis was an agent. Moreover, they included announcements for job offers in industry (stokers, machinists, engineers, etc.) and various industrial services. The Greek Industrialist maintained regular columns titled ‘School of Stokers and Curators of Engines’ and ‘School of Engineers and Machinists’. Such columns, which were anonymous and perhaps translated from the foreign press, offered various instructions in relevant topics. A usual ‘method’ of instructing was by presenting brief questions and answers ‘for quick and efficient education’ specifically of stokers and curators of engines. This was a common practice also in the generalreader periodicals for the dissemination of scientific and technical knowledge. A typical example is the following: ‘How can someone acquire steam for the motion of a steam engine? – By heating a specific quantity of water in a watertight vessel, which is called [the] boiler’.70

148

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

The Greek Industrialist had a clear practical character and sciences were part of its content only as relevant to industrial and technical applications. The role of chemistry was quite elevated, since many examples of its relationship with industry were described. An article discussed this relationship as follows: ‘The object of various arts and industry is to render raw materials useful and suitable for covering human needs; they [arts and industry] depend on mechanics and chemistry; progress in these sciences introduces many improvements to industry’.71 The subordination of ‘arts’ and ‘industry’ to science and the superior cognitive status of the latter was more than evident. Conclusively, technical education was presented as the main mission of the Greek Industrialist dressed with the ‘innocent’ and ‘progressive’ veil of the dissemination of scientific and technical knowledge. This is not to say that the periodical did not offer technical knowledge. As a matter of fact, it did care to provide technical instruction for professional groups working in industry, covering the needs of an audience that the subsequent technical periodicals did not satisfy entirely, since they represented the scientific community of civil engineers. Yet, the discourse on technical education also served its editor, by using it as an advertising forum, to achieve his own private pursuits and benefit with regard to his professional activities.

CONCLUSION The request for technical education that would contribute to the advancement of the industrial domain in Greece emerged from different social and professional groups with various perspectives and interests between the 1860s and 1880s, when the foundations of Greek industry took place. In the absence of a governmental policy on this issue, initiatives towards this direction seemed fragmentary and incomplete. First, under social and cultural pressures, the question of technical education was primarily put and carried out by a voluntary association (SFP ), which cared not only about technical instruction of the emerging working classes but also about their moral and national edification and social control. This, however, was not an exception, as evidenced by the social function of the Mechanics’ Institutes in Britain during the first half of the nineteenth century, which was held up as an example for the SFP. The difference, though, lies in the balance between science and other cognitive areas in the curricula. Whereas all Mechanics’ Institutes paid outstanding attention to natural and experimental sciences in the curricula,72 the political context of Greece in the late 1860s prescribed – in the name of the social interest – an instruction more orientated to morals and history rather than to science and techniques. Besides, the crucial rhetorical connection between the applications of sciences and society through the idea of progress had not yet dominated the Greek public discourse, as happened two decades later. Secondly, in the late 1870s, when the first phase of industrialization had been realized, the official Committee for the Encouragement of National Industry proclaimed technical education for the growth of industry, yet its initiatives were directed mainly to the encouragement of agriculture, proving the priority given the latter in a country which was proudly characterized as agricultural in contrast to its industrial prospects. Moreover, although the question of industrial instruction had

SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY IN PUBLIC DISCOURSES

149

been put by few scientists and engineers, the solution to the ‘agricultural issue’ in the early 1870s had to be supported by efforts towards the organization of agricultural instruction, an aim which was more feasible for the Committee to achieve. As the example of provincial France shows, in the 1870s the emphasis was reasonably still on agricultural rather than on industrial instruction.73 Thirdly, as late as 1882 the Greek Industrialist was the one and only periodical publication that promoted technical and industrial instruction, targeting various professional groups in manufacturing who could take advantage of it at their workplaces. But the Greek Industrialist, although responding to the political environment of modernization, remained the enterprise of a single person without meeting support by the state, the private sector or – most importantly – by the local scientific community, who could legitimize it as a science or applied science periodical. One reason for that was that it belonged to a special category of journals which had a double aim: the diffusion of information about new technologies and progress in manufacturing and mechanical engineering and the advertising of products of the commercial and consulting activity of their editors, serving their private interests, as was the case of the Italian L’Industriale (1871–1877).74 Furthermore, the ‘isolation’ of the Greek Industrialist from the local scientific environment may also rest on the absence of a tradition of ‘low’ scientific culture in Greece. Such a tradition had generated popular-science periodicals in Britain and France in the 1820s and 1830s, which addressed principally the working class (especially mechanics).75 Their descendants were journals like the widely read English Mechanic (1865–1926), which addressed both the workers in manufacturing business and middle-class audiences and appealed to the interest of the scientific community’s members by merging science popularization and technical education.76 The public discourse on technical education is a privileged field within which to explore the relations between science and technology in the late nineteenth century. As many historians of science and technology have observed, at that period sciences, which already formed academic disciplines, were legitimated socially through the rhetoric about their ‘applications’ or their ‘applied’ character, whereas technical knowledge claimed scientific status relying exactly on the same rhetoric which was employed by its advocates in the various social and cultural contexts.77 From 1864 to 1887 the distinction between ‘pure’ and ‘applied’ sciences was still not clear in the Greek public discourse and issues related to technology were expressed mostly by the scientific community with the term ‘applications of sciences’. Moreover, ‘applied sciences’ applied both in industry and agriculture. This is another reason why industrial technology should not be considered as the legitimate descendant of ‘applied science’. Before the establishment of ‘applied science’ in academia and the public discourse, the cognitive status of industry was also vague. In the late 1870s industry could become a potential scientific discipline claiming a chair in higher education, according to – admittedly few – scientists and engineers who had been trained in Germany and were familiar with the arrangement of the industrial domain through scientific expertise. But during this decade, the very concept of science was also still under negotiation. Some years later instead, the workmen engaged in industrial business would be called ‘scientists’, albeit ‘practical’ ones. In this way, they were

150

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

implicitly juxtaposed with and surpassed by the ‘pure’ scientists. At this stage industry was a step behind science in intellectual and cultural terms. Therefore, the argument that the distinction of ‘pure’ and ‘applied’ science not only led to the subordination of technology to science but also contributed to the cognitive and cultural boundaries of science itself seems rather powerful.

NOTES 1. Thomas F. Gieryn, ‘Boundary-Work and the Demarcation of Science from NonScience: Strains and Interests in Professional Ideologies of Scientists’, American Sociological Review, 1983, 48: 781–795; Ronald Kline, ‘Construing “Technology” as “Applied Science”: Public Rhetoric of Scientists and Engineers in the United States, 1880–1945’, Isis, 1995, 86(2): 194–221. 2. Otto Mayr, ‘The Science-Technology Relationship as a Historiographical Problem’, Technology and Culture, 1976, 17(4): 663–673; Paul Forman, ‘The Primacy of Science in Modernity, of Technology in Postmodernity, and of Ideology in the History of Technology ’, History and Technology, 2007, 23: 1–152. For a conceptual history of the term ‘technology’ and its relation to the history of technology, see Aristotle Tympas, ‘On the Hazardousness of the Concept “Technology”: Notes on a Conversation between the History of Science and the History of Technology ’, in Theodore Arabatzis, Jürgen Renn and Ana Simões (eds), Relocating the History of Science: Essays in Honor of Kostas Gavroglu (Heidelberg/New York/Dordrecht/ London: Springer, 2015), 329–342. 3. Kline, ‘Construing “Technology” ’; Jennifer Karns Alexander, ‘Thinking Again About Science and Technology ’, Isis, 2012, 103(3): 518–526; Robert Bud, ‘ “Applied Science”: A Phrase in Search of a Meaning’, Isis, 2012, 103(3): 537–545; Graeme Gooday, ‘ “Vague and Artificial”: The Historically Elusive Distinction Between Pure and Applied Science’, Isis, 2012, 103(3): 546–554; Paul Lucier, ‘The Origins of Pure and Applied Science in Gilded Age America’, Isis, 2012, 103(3): 527–536. 4. Eric Schatzberg, ‘From Art to Applied Sciences’, Isis, 2012, 103(3): 555–563, on 556. 5. Νίκη Μαρωνίτη, ‘Βασιλευόμενη Δημοκρατία: Λόγοι και Πρακτικές’, in Aντώνης Λιάκος and Έφη Γαζή (eds), Η Συγκρότηση του Ελληνικού Κράτους: Διεθνές Πλαίσιο, Εξουσία και Πολιτική τον 19ο Αιώνα (Αθήνα: Νεφέλη, 2008), 91–118, on 101. 6. For the interrelation of the concepts of progress and technology, see Leo Marx, ‘Technology: The Emergence of a Hazardous Concept’, Technology and Culture, 2010, 51(3): 561–577, on 564–566. 7. See the figurative introduction in Robert Fox and Anna Guagnini (eds), Education, Technology and Industrial Performance in Europe 1850–1939 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press and Paris: Editions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, 1993), 1–9. 8. For a concise history on the Eastern Question and Balkan nationalism, see Mark Mazower, The Balkans: A Short History (New York: Modern Library, 2002), 97–111.

SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY IN PUBLIC DISCOURSES

151

9. Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, Οι Απαρχές της Εκβιομηχάνισης στην Ελλάδα τον 19ο Αιώνα (Αθήνα: Ιστορικό Αρχείο Εμπορικής Τράπεζας της Ελλάδος, 1986). 10. Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, ‘Η Ελληνική Οικονομία στον Πρώτο Βιομηχανικό Αιώνα’, in Βασίλης Παναγιωτόπουλος (ed.), Ιστορία του Νέου Ελληνισμού, vol. 4 (Αθήνα: Ελληνικά Γράμματα, 2003), 61–74; Μαρία Χριστίνα Χατζηιώννου, ‘Το Ελληνικό Εμπόριο: Το Παλαιό Καθεστώς και το Νέο Διεθνές Περιβάλλον’, in Βασίλης Παναγιωτόπουλος (ed.), Ιστορία του Νέου Ελληνισμού, vol. 4 (Αθήνα: Ελληνικά Γράμματα, 2003), 75–84. 11. Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, ‘Η Ελληνική Οικονομία: Η Συγκρότηση του Ελληνικού Καπιταλισμού, 1871–1909’, in Βασίλης Παναγιωτόπουλος (ed.), Ιστορία του Νέου Ελληνισμού, vol. 5 (Αθήνα: Ελληνικά Γράμματα, 2003), 55–70. 12. The first phase of the modernization programme ended with the bankruptcy of the Greek state in 1893, the defeat in the Greek-Turkish War in 1897 and the imposition of international control in 1898. It was resumed later, in the first decades of the twentieth century, mainly under the leadership of Eleftherios Venizelos (1864–1936), which began in 1910. For an overview, see Philip Carabott (ed.), Greek Society in the Making, 1863–1913: Realities, Symbols and Visions (Aldershot: Ashgate/Variorum, 1997). 13. For a contemporary description of this idea of national progress see the public speech with the title ‘Sciences and Progress’, which was delivered by the professor of experimental chemistry, Anastasios Christomanos, when he became rector of the University of Athens in 1896. Α. Κ. Χρηστομάνος, Φυσικαί Επιστήμαι και Πρόοδος. Λόγος Απαγγελθείς εν τω Εθνικώ Πανεπιστημίω τη 17 Δεκεμβρίου 1896 (Αθήνα, 1897), 32. 14. For the various activities of the scientific community in the public sphere, see Ειρήνη Μεργούπη-Σαβαΐδου, ‘Δημόσιος Λόγος περί Επιστήμης στην Ελλάδα, 1870–1900: Εκλαϊκευτικά Εγχειρήματα στο Πανεπιστήμιο Αθηνών, στους Πολιτιστικούς Συλλόγους και στα Περιοδικά’’, unpublished doctoral thesis, National Kapodistrian University of Athens/National Technical University of Athens, 2010. For the shaping of the professional community of engineers in the period 1887–1925 and issues on ‘technical objectivity’, see Σπύρος Τζόκας, ‘Για την Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση της Αντικειμενικότητας της Τεχνικής: Παραδείγματα από την Ιστορία των Ελλήνων Μηχανικών (τέλη 19ου – αρχές 20ού Αιώνα)’, unpublished Doctoral Thesis, National Kapodistrian University of Athens/National Technical University of Athens, 2011. 15. Μιχαήλ Στεφανίδης, Ιστορία της Φυσικομαθηματικής Σχολής. Εκατονταετηρίς 1837–1937, τεύχος Α΄ (Αθήνα, 1948). 16. Yiannis Antoniou and Michalis Assimakopoulos, ‘Notes on the Genesis of the Greek Engineer in the 19th Century: The School of Arts and the Military Academy’, in Konstantinos Chatzis and Efthymios Nikolaidis (eds), Science, Technology and the 19th Century State: The Role of the Army, Conference Proceedings, Syros, 7–8 July 2000 (Athens: National Hellenic Research Foundation, 2003), 91–138, on 115–116 and 118. 17. Κώστας Μπίρης, Ιστορία του Εθνικού Μετσοβίου Πολυτεχνείου (Αθήνα, 1957), 116–151 and 180–182; Γιάννης Αντωνίου, Οι Έλληνες Μηχανικοί: Θεσμοί και Ιδέες 1900–1940 (Αθήνα: Βιβλιόραμα, 2006), 99–106; Antoniou and Assimakopoulos, ‘Notes on the Genesis’, 132.

152

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

18. In an analytical report on technical education organized in the European institutions, the eminent scholar Alexandros Soutzos called the Polytechnic School of Athens a ‘freak’, mainly because of the combination of technical with artistic studies offered in it. See Αλέξανδρος Σούτζος, ‘Περί Τεχνικής Εκπαιδεύσεως’, Πανδώρα, 1 January 1866, 439–444, on 443. 19. Antoniou and Assimakopoulos, ‘Notes on the Genesis’, 120 and 132. 20. For such initiatives in Patras’ associations, see Νίκος Τόμπρος, Τα Σχολεία τα Λαϊκά…: Πατραϊκοί Σύλλογοι και η Φιλεκπαιδευτική τους Πολιτική (1876–1915) (Πάτρα: Το Δόντι, 2007), 92–110. 21. For an overview of technical education in the 1890s and the early twentieth century, see Στρατής Μπουρνάζος, ‘Η Εκπαίδευση στο Ελληνικό Κράτος’, in Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ (ed.), Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ού Αιώνα, 1900–1922. Οι Απαρχές, vol. A2 (Αθήνα: Βιβλιόραμα, 1999), 189–281, on 209–216. 22. Roussopoulos, who had graduated from the Universities of Athens and Berlin, gathered the elite of scientists and engineers who were teaching in the University of Athens, the Polytechnic School and the Military Academy, with the intention to provide theoretical education and practical exercise of industrialists. By 1904, the Academy included four schools: Agricultural, Mining and Metallurgic, Manufacturing, and Commercial Shipping. The level of the studies provided was high, so that in 1905 the Academy was recognized as equal to the higher-education engineering schools of Italy. Moreover, in 1905, the Greek state recognized the Commercial and Industrial Academy as equal to the Polytechnic School, but it soon withdrew the decision, due to various reactions and protests by students and professors of the Polytechnic School and the School of Sciences of the University of Athens which had been established as independent in 1904. Μπουρνάζος, ‘Η Εκπαίδευση στο Ελληνικό Κράτος’, 214–215. See also, ‘Αναγνώρισις Επίσημος της Ακαδημίας’, Δελτίον της Βιομηχανικής και Εμπορικής Ακαδημίας (Μάιος 1905–Απρίλιος 1906), 113–119. 23. Λεωνίδας Καλλιβρετάκης, Η Δυναμική του Αγροτικού Εκσυγχρονισμού στην Ελλάδα του 19ου Αιώνα (Αθήνα: Μορφωτικό Ινστιτούτο Αγροτικής Τράπεζας, 1990), 144–154. 24. Θανάσης Καλαφάτης, ‘Η Αγροτική Οικονομία: Όψεις της Αγροτικής Ανάπτυξης’, in Βασίλης Παναγιωτόπουλος (ed.), Ιστορία του Νέου Ελληνισμού, vol. 5 (Αθήνα: Ελληνικά Γράμματα, 2003), 79–90, on 71. 25. Entry ‘Βιομηχανία’, in Γεώργιος Μπαμπινιώτης (ed.), Ετυμολογικό Λεξικό της Νέας Ελληνικής Γλώσσας: Ιστορία των Λέξεων (Αθήνα: Κέντρο Λεξικολογίας Ε.Π.Ε., 2010), 266–267. 26. Γιώργος Δερτιλής, Ιστορία του Ελληνικού Κράτους 1830–1920, vol. I (Αθήνα: Εστία, 2005), 410. 27. Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ, Η Γηραιά Σελήνη: Η Βιομηχανία στην Ελληνική Οικονομία (Αθήνα: Θεμέλιο, 1993), 324; Μιχάλης Ψαλιδόπουλος, Κείμενα για την Ελληνική Βιομηχανία τον 19ο Αιώνα: Φυσική Εξέλιξη ή Προστασία (Αθήνα: Πολιτιστικό Τεχνολογικό Ίδρυμα ΕΤΒΑ, 1994), 17. 28. Also in the antebellum USA the term ‘application(s) of science’ was more preferable than ‘applied sciences’. Lucier, ‘The Origins of Pure and Applied’, 528.

SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY IN PUBLIC DISCOURSES

153

29. Μεργούπη-Σαβαΐδου, ‘Δημόσιος Λόγος περί Επιστήμης᾿. 30. These lectures were published in the general-reader fortnightly Πανδώρα. Θεόδωρος Ορφανίδης, ‘Γεωπονικά Μαθήματα, ήτοι Μαθήματα Εφηρμοσμένης Βοτανικής’, Πανδώρα, 15 November 1866, 395–399 and 15 February 1867, 532–535. 31. This is evidenced by the topics discussed in the various issues of Γεωπονικά. Such topics focused on these three sciences. 32. In the early 1890s, agriculturalists who were professors in the agricultural schools of the state participated in a long debate on whether a University of Agriculture in Greece should be established, or two chairs – those of agricultural chemistry and agricultural economics – should be included in the curriculum of the Physics Department of the University of Athens. See, for example, Σπυρίδων Χασιώτης, ‘Το Πανεπιστήμιον και η Γεωργία’, Γεωργική Πρόοδος, September 1893, 130–132. For an analytical description on the controversies about agriculture, see Δημήτριος Ζωγράφος, Η Ιστορία της παρ’ Ημίν Γεωργικής Εκπαιδεύσεως, 2 vols (Αθήνα: 1836 and 1838). 33. However, the Military Academy had introduced the course of ‘applied mechanics’ already in 1870. See Ηλίας Καρκάνης, ‘Οι Φυσικές Επιστήμες και το Πανεπιστήμιο στην Ελλάδα του 19ου αιώνα’, unpublished doctoral thesis, National Technical University of Athens, 2012, 717. 34. Χριστίνα Κουλούρη, Αθλητισμός και Όψεις της Αστικής Κοινωνικότητας: Γυμναστικά και Αθλητικά Σωματεία 1870–1922 (Αθήνα: ΙΑΕΝ/ΚΝΕ, 1997), 28–41; Christina Koulouri, ‘Voluntary Associations and New Forms of Sociability: Greek Sports Club at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century’, in Carabott (ed.), Greek Society in the Making, 145–160. See also, Λυδία Παπαδάκη, ‘Τοσούτοι Οξύφωνοι Αλέκτορες Αναφωνούντες “Γρηγορείτε”: Οι Ελληνικοί Πολιτιστικοί Σύλλογοι τον 19ο αιώνα’, Τα Ιστορικά, 1997, 27: 303–322, on 313–314. 35. For charities took over by the School of Poor Children (Σχολή Απόρων Παίδων) of the Literary Society of Parnassos see Μαρία Κορασίδου, Οι Άθλιοι των Αθηνών και οι Θεραπευτές τους: Φτώχεια και Φιλανθρωπία στην Ελληνική Πρωτεύουσα τον 19ο Αιώνα (Αθήνα: ΙΑΕΝ/ΚΝΕ, 1995), 153–170. For the public lectures and courses organized by scientists in the same society see Μεργούπη-Σαβαΐδου, ‘Ο Ρόλος του Φιλολογικού Συλλόγου “Παρνασσός” στη Συγκρότηση της Επιστημονικής Κοινότητας στην Ελλάδα’, in Ειρήνη Μεργούπη-Σαβαΐδου, Γεράσιμος Μέριανος, Φαίδρα Παπανελοπούλου and Χριστιάνα Χριστοπούλου (eds), Επιστήμη και Τεχνολογία. Ιστορικές και Ιστοριογραφικές Μελέτες. Εταιρεία Μελέτης και Διάδοσης της Ιστορίας των Επιστημών και της Τεχνολογίας-1 (Αθήνα: Εκδοτική Αθηνών, 2013), 227–249. 36. See Asa Briggs, The Age of Improvement, 1783–1867 (London: Routledge, 2014 [1959]), 114; Jean Claude Caron, ‘La Société des Amis du Peuple’, Romantisme, 1980, 10: 169–179. 37. ‘People’ acquired various meanings in the course of the nineteenth century. It meant the group of individuals who constituted a nation with a common culture, a group of individuals within a nation which belonged to the lower social strata or were distinct of the elite and a group of individuals under the same authority (state). See, for example, the entry ‘Λαός’ (people), in Νικόλαος Πολίτης (ed.), Λεξικόν Εγκυκλοπαιδικόν, vol. 5 (Αθήνα: Μπαρτ και Χιρστ, 1894–1896), 6–7.

154

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

38. Regarding the Polytechnic School, the challenge to the status of the technical studies provided in this institution reflected the disputes on the technical or artistic orientation of the School of Arts, which had reached their peak in the directorship of the architect Lysandros Kaftatzoglou (1811–1885) between 1844 and 1862. For these disputes see Μπίρης, Ιστορία του Εθνικού Μετσοβίου, 73–158. 39. Εταιρία των Φίλων του Λαού εν Αθήναις, Αγγελία, Καταστατικόν της Εταιρίας, Κανονισμός της Εταιρίας [Αθήνα, 1866], 4. 40. Αλέξανδρος Σούτζος, ‘Περί Τεχνικής Εκπαιδεύσεως’, Πανδώρα, 15 November 1865, 395–398, on 396. 41. Αγγελία, Καταστατικόν της Εταιρίας, 11. 42. Αγγελία, Καταστατικόν της Εταιρίας, 11. 43. Εταιρία των Φίλων του Λαού, Λογοδοσία του Διοικητικού Συμβουλίου (Αθήνα, 1867), 23. 44. Λογοδοσία του Διοικητικού Συμβουλίου, 5. 45. Λογοδοσία του Διοικητικού συμβουλίου, 1870, 9. 46. Μεργούπη-Σαβαΐδου, ‘Ο ρόλος του Φιλολογικού Συλλόγου ‘Παρνασσός’. 47. See Ορφανίδης, ‘Γεωπονικά μαθήματα’, Πανδώρα, 15 November 1866, 395; Εταιρία των Φίλων του Λαού, Λογοδοσία του Διοικητικού Συμβουλίου (Αθήνα, 1868), 10; Εταιρία των Φίλων του Λαού, Λογοδοσία του Διοικητικού Συμβουλίου (Αθήνα, 1870), 9. 48. Αγγελία, Καταστατικόν, Κανονισμός, 6. 49. Βιβλιοθήκη της Εταιρίας των Φίλων του Λαού, Εγκόλπιον του Εργατικού Λαού ή Συμβουλαί προς τους Χειρωνάκτας (Αθήνα, 1869). 50. Th. H. Barreau, Conseils aux Ouvriers sur les Moyens qu’ils ont d’etre Heureux, avec l’Explication des Lois qui les Concernent Particulièrement, (Paris, 1884 [1850]). A first translation of Barreau’s book had been published in Πανδώρα. Anon., ‘Συμβουλαί προς τους Χειρωνάκτας’, Πανδώρα, 15 March 1865, 594–595 and 15 November 1866, 402–403. 51. Εγκόλπιον, δ΄. An indicative piece of moral advice offered in Εγκόλπιον, 38–39 was the following: ‘When you go to your work in the morning, my friend labourer, enter the church, make the sign of the cross and say the Lord’s Prayer and let the Father whom you call bless your works’. 52. Εγκόλπιον, γ΄-δ΄. 53. See, indicatively, Ian Inkster, ‘The Social Context of An Educational Movement: A Revisionist Approach to the English Mechanics’ Institutes, 1820-1850’, Oxford Review of Education, 1976, 2: 277–307; Steven Shapin and Barry Barnes, ‘Science, Nature and Control: Interpreting Mechanics’ Institutes’, Social Studies of Science, 1997, 7: 31–74. 54. Γιάννης Κορδάτος, Ιστορία της Νεώτερης Ελλάδας, 1860–1900, vol. 4 (Αθήνα: Εκδόσεις ‘20ος Αιώνας’, 1958), 15–17. The SFP itself admitted that in Greece there was almost no industry in the early 1860s. Λογοδοσία του Διοικητικού Συμβουλίου (Αθήνα, 1870), 14–15. 55. Anon., ‘Ελεήμων Εταιρία. Αθήναιον. Εταιρία των Φίλων του Λαού’, Πανδώρα, 1 March 1866, 527.

SCIENCE AND INDUSTRY IN PUBLIC DISCOURSES

155

56. Καλλιβρετάκης, Η Δυναμική του Αγροτικού Εκσυγχρονισμού, 57. 57. Καλλιβρετάκης, Η Δυναμική του Αγροτικού Εκσυγχρονισμού, 68. 58. See the Announcement for the Publication of a Monthly Bulletin of the Committee for the Encouragement of National Industry, in Καλλιβρετάκης, Η Δυναμική του Αγροτικού Εκσυγχρονισμού, 363. 59. Εμμανουήλ Δραγούμης, ‘Υπόμνημα περί Ανωτέρας Βιομηχανικής Εκπαιδεύσεως εν Ελλάδι’, Δελτίον της επί της Εμψυχώσεως της Εθνικής Βιομηχανίας Επιτροπής, December 1877, 164–174. 60. Χρηστομάνος, Φυσικαί Επιστήμαι και Πρόοδος, 31. 61. Ιωάννης Μεσσηνέζης, ‘Προς τα την Διεύθυνσιν του Δελτίου Αποτελούντα Μέλη της Επιτροπής’, Δελτίον της επί της Εμψυχώσεως της Εθνικής Βιομηχανίας Επιτροπής, October 1877, 55–57. 62. See the Announcement in Καλλιβρετάκης, Η Δυναμική του Αγροτικού Εκσυγχρονισμού, 364. 63. Θεόδωρος Ορφανίδης, ‘Σχέσεις της Γεωπονίας προς την Βιομηχανίαν και ποία η Κατάστασις Αυτής εν Ελλάδι’, Δελτίον της επί της Εμψυχώσεως της Εθνικής Βιομηχανίας Επιτροπής, September 1877, 28–33, on 32. 64. For the ‘applied’ and popular-science periodicals see, Μεργούπη-Σαβαΐδου, ‘Δημόσιος Λόγος περί Επιστήμης’, Ch. 4. Concerning the first ‘scientific’ periodical, the Bulletin of Naturalist Society (Δελτίον της Φυσιοδιφικής Εταιρείας), see Θεόδωρος Κρητικός, ‘Οι Φυσικοί στην Ελλάδα στις Αρχές του 20ού Αιώνα (1900–1912)’, Τα Ιστορικά, 1991, 14–15: 141–156. With regard to the scientific engineering periodicals, see Σπύρος Τζόκας, ‘Περιοδικά και Κοινότητες Μηχανικών στην Ελλάδα: Η Περίοδος πριν την Ίδρυση του Τεχνικού Επιμελητηρίου της Ελλάδας’, Νεύσις, 2009, 18: 49–68 and Spyros Tzokas’s chapter in the present volume. 65. Ο Βιομήχανος Έλλην, 12 September 1882, 1. 66. Στάμος Καγκάδης, ‘Ο Βιομήχανος Έλλην’, Μη Χάνεσαι, 28 July 1882, 8. 67. Ο Βιομήχανος Έλλην, 20 Ιουνίου 1883, 16. 68. Ο Βιομήχανος Έλλην, 20 Ιουνίου 1883, 16. 69. One of these reports mentioned the number of the ‘industrial stores’ of Piraeus, year of their construction, monetary value, operation of their engines, amount and value of their products and the number of workers employed. ‘‘Πίναξ Βιομηχανικών Καταστημάτων Πειραιώς και Περιχώρων’, Ο Βιομήχανος Έλλην, 20 July 1883, 203–204 and 31 August 1883, 220. For industrial activities in Piraeus in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, see Λήδα Παπαστεφανάκη, Εργασία, Τεχνολογία και Φύλο στην Ελληνική Βιομηχανία: Η Κλωστοϋφαντουργία του Πειραιά, 1870–1940 (Ηράκλειο: Πανεπιστημιακές Εκδόσεις Κρήτης, 2009), 46–47. 70. ‘Σχολή Θερμαστών και Επιμελητών Μηχανών (Μηχανικών)’, Ο Βιομήχανος Έλλην, 12 October 1882, 6–8, on 6. 71. ‘Σχέσις Χημείας προς την Βιομηχανίαν’, Ο Βιομήχανος Έλλην, 12 September 1882, 13–14. 72. Inkster, ‘The Social Context of An Educational Movement’, 287–288.

156

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

73. Mary Jo Nye, Science in the Provinces: Scientific Communities and Provincial Leadership in France, 1860–1930, (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1986), 40. 74. Anna Guagnini, ‘A Bold Leap into Electric Light: The Creation of the Società Italiana Edison, 1880–1886’, History of Technology, 2014, 32: 155–189, on 163–164. 75. Susan Sheets-Pyenson, ‘Popular Science Periodicals in Paris and London: The Emergence of a Low Scientific Culture, 1820–1875’, Annals of Science, 1985, 42: 549–572. 76. William H. Brock, ‘Science, Technology and Education in the English Mechanic’, in his Science for All: Studies in the History of Victorian Science and Education, (Aldershot: Variorum, 1996), Ch. 14, 1–13. 77. See note 3.

Greek Engineers, Institutions, Periodicals and Ideology: Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Century SPYROS TZOKAS

INTRODUCTION Approaches towards modernity have highlighted the fact that it meant different things in different national, political and social milieus. The period under discussion in this article is the period when the different visions of modernity were constructed and debated internationally.1 In this context, the historiography of modern Greek history has highlighted the co-production of the geographical and the ideological-political integration during the late nineteenth century, based on a rhetoric about the glorious, distant (ancient) Greek past coming to the service of a vision of the near future of renewed Greek glory, of a nation settled on two continents (Europe and Asia). This nationalistic discourse fuelled the participation of the Modern Greek nation-state in a series of wars which, within the longer framework of the modern Balkan nation-states’ replacement of the Ottoman Empire during the 1910s, resulted in the doubling of its territory.2 Regarding Greek engineers’ discourse, the existing historiographical assumptions are in line with the standard narrative of the interwar period in Europe regarding reactionary modernism. In the Greek case, reactionary modernism was actually in interaction with enriched nationalism, a nationalist-fascist ideology that referred to a combination of ancient Greek rationality and the mainstream technocratic ideologies of the period.3 In the same line, studies of large Greek technical projects (like dams) are seen as an effort to Westernize or modernize the country.4 In this narrative, some particularities aside, 1930s Greece may fit well in the larger European picture. 157

158

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

From the perspective of the social and cultural historiography of technology, we know that the formation of engineering institutions and technology was neither automatic nor linear.5 Studies of the establishment of professional scientific and technical communities, of experts’ debates and controversies concerning the dominance of one technology over another, have shown that different cultures, education, ideologies and other social elements were the mediating characteristics of the technical factors in this formation.6 This article focuses on the constitution of the professional community of Greek engineers and their institutions (in which the first engineering journals are included), the technical debates between engineers, and the concurrent formation of ideologies and cultures concerning facets of engineering expertise and technology in Greece during the last decades of the nineteenth and the early decades of the twentieth century. It retrieves the continuities and discontinuities therein, significantly qualifying the standard image of how the Greek case fits into the grander narrative. I argue that, in order to understand the climax of this in the interwar history of Greece, we should focus on the beginnings of the formation of the communities of Greek engineers through a focus on indicative case studies, which refer to the formulation of the institutions of the Greek engineers’ scientific community at the end of the nineteenth century. Crucial in this are the debates regarding two large iconic urban technical projects of the Modern Greek nation-state: the attempts to solve Athens’ water supply problems (1887, 1899) and the efforts to expand the capacity of the port of Piraeus (1899–1912). The key figure in both was Elias J. Angelopoulos, the eminent civil engineer, who was trained at the École Nationale des Ponts et Chaussées. This approach shows how enriched nationalism, an ideological narrative of the interwar period that has been described as a type of reactionary modernism, was in interwar Greece the result of a dynamic process of co-construction of scientificengineering communities on the one hand, and large technical projects, implemented or simply contemplated in the late nineteenth century, on the other. Based on this, I argue that modernism was present in Greece much earlier, inscribed in significant ways not only in national ideology, not only in engineering institutions, not only in journals and texts, but, also, in the very material world that the Greeks inhabited. Late nineteenth-century technical projects were advanced as the embodiment of modern technology and ancient Greek history. They were material representations of the local version of modernism, the study of which can significantly add to our understanding of Western modernity.

A BRIEF OVERVIEW OF GREEK SCIENTIFIC ENGINEERING BEFORE THE INSTITUTION OF THE TECHNICAL CHAMBER OF GREECE The last quarter of the nineteenth century, with the development of trade and industry, the constitution of new industrial and professional sectors and institutions, of new professional classes, as well as the change in legislation among urban nationstates, was the apogee for the processes that saw the constitution of professional

GREEK ENGINEERS, INSTITUTIONS, PERIODICALS AND IDEOLOGY

159

communities. Communities, such as engineers, undertook internationally to either redefine older institutions or to establish new ones. The main aim of these communities was to develop new ways to negotiate and preserve the demands of their sector vis-a-vis the state. Professional engineers upgraded their social status precisely on the basis of the recognition of their scientific education and training as experts, and the effort to integrate other professional (but not only) communities, thus expanding the developing domains of their agency and jurisdiction.7 Meanwhile, ideological factors that have co-shaped engineering expertise and culture have emerged as the channel ‘par excellence’ of modernism.8 The years between 1870 and 1908 saw a period of further stabilization of the capital’s domination in Greece. In the following years, up until 1925, there was a transition to a capitalism of relative surplus value.9 This was also a long transitive period, which culminated, during the 1920s, in the professionalization of Greek engineers. Greek engineers were conforming and adapting to the changes that were transforming, either developmentally or recessionary, the international and the Greek economies. These changes were implemented during the late nineteenth century from the consecutive urban modernization efforts and reforms of the liberal governments of Charilaos Trikoupis (1832–1896) and after 1910 from the liberal governments of Eleftherios Venizelos (1864–1936), which, in line with the geopolitical planning of the Greek state during the fragmentation of the Ottoman Empire, identified themselves with the political project of nation-state integration and expansion, while being defined by: long, drawn out periods of war preparations (1895–1896, 1900– 1911) and war operations (1897, 1912–1922); by financial changes; and by extensive external loans in order to transform the economy from rural to industrial.10 The same period saw Greek engineers attempting to set up professional societies and associations. Through the publication of journals and intensive involvement in the public sphere, some of them created the first technical communities in Greek society, gradually contributing, via technical controversies, sectorial strategies and alliances, to the formation of those institutional infrastructures, with the final aim to develop aspects of a state policy on technical projects through the staffing of the bureaucratic machine. Concurrently, they were expanding their expertise on wider labour spaces that other professional groups used to control until then. In the first three decades of the twentieth century, the Greek Polytechnic Association (established in 1898) represented the main community to give shape to the basic principles regarding the above. The establishment of the Polytechnic Association was soon followed by other engineering professional unions and societies, established either due to sectorial contradistinctions or to appeal to different scientific targets. These were the Association of Engineers of Metsovion Polytechnic School (1906), the Association of Contractors (1908), the Club of Scientists (1916), the Union of Senior Technical Officers (1918), the Association of Greek Engineers (1920) and the General Union of Hellenic Scientists Engineers (1920). Some of these institutions were established and gained their own independence; others failed to become established in the long term. Most of these institutions became part of the Technical Chamber of Greece in 1923. Greek engineers participated not only in the scientific and technical organization of the state, but also in its political, economic and cultural reform. The rhetoric

160

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

regarding efficiency was incorporated in the engineers’ technical projections for the future of the country and its cities. This rhetoric would feed the technocratic ideology and the pursuit of the ‘rationalization’ of technical labour, that were prevalent during the interwar period.11 The social status and the professional identity of Greek scientists-engineers in the public sphere were gradually shaped by controversies in which the specific gravitas which their scientific training provided, was called for. The training they had acquired at polytechnic schools abroad or in Greece and the type of their specialization was defined either by the type and content of their speciality (whether they were civil engineers, chemical engineers or architects, etc.), or by a successful career in various professional areas. Mostly, though, this gravitas rested in the characteristics that they attributed to each collective/private or state institution with which they could be officially affiliated.12 Regarding the establishment of and recruitment in state departments, the year 1878 is considered a landmark, due to the establishment of the Department of Public Works, as well as that of the Civil Engineers Corps, which replaced the Military Engineers Corps that until then had been the main control mechanism and manager of technical projects and services. The state-engineer who evolved from these military corps gradually began to acquire the civil profile of the engineering profession.13 These institutional changes coincided with the development of contacts by Trikoupis’ governments (1880, 1882–1885, 1886–1890) abroad, mainly with France, aiming to introduce know-how and utilize the professional experience of those foreign engineers in technical works that had been successfully tested in Europe, the Ottoman Empire and the Mediterranean regions. The small French mission of engineers that arrived in Greece in 1880–1882 supervised the Department of Public Works while collaborating with, and taking advantage of, Greek engineers and technicians, thus playing an important role in spreading French education and culture to Greek engineers. It is the period of elaborate projects on major public works such as the water supply of Athens and Piraeus, the street lighting of urban centres, the construction of rail networks (urban and regional) and port projects. The last decade of the nineteenth century saw the completion of technical construction projects that had started in the previous period, such as the Corinth Canal (1893), road works and the continuation of some other grand projects, such as railway infrastructures (1880–1912) and the exsiccation of Lake Copais (1880–1930).14 From the late nineteenth century, Greek engineers were increasingly in a position to assert a more hegemonic role in the monitoring of technical works and in the hierarchy of state and municipal services, entering into debates with their French colleagues. An important factor in this was the renaming of the ‘Industrial School’ as the ‘School of Industrial Arts’ in 1887, with corresponding changes in the curricula in accordance with the standards of the French Écoles des Artes Industrielles. The School of Industrial Arts had set as a target to deliver ‘technical science men’ able to fill positions inherent in the technical and administrative apparatus of the state, in the context of its upcoming modernization. Until then, it appears that there coexisted in its planning different and conflicting characteristics for the orientation of its students, resulting from the spirit of the training of military engineers, but also from

GREEK ENGINEERS, INSTITUTIONS, PERIODICALS AND IDEOLOGY

161

the remnants of the artistic-cultural spirit and neoclassical ideals that had been incorporated in the institution from its founding in 1836–1837.15 A second important factor was that some families of the bourgeoisie (mainly merchants or landowners) had directed their offspring to study engineering in such senior French polytechnics as the École Nationale des Ponts et Chaussées and, towards the end of the nineteenth century, in higher technical institutes in Munich, Dresden, Karlsruhe, Berlin and, mainly, in Zurich, known as the ‘circle of Zurich’, assuming, on their return, the role of technical scientists, an hegemonic role in the Greek society and economy.16 Some of them invested their families’ capital to found, participate in or represent industrial and technical companies, while others started to increase their activities as technical experts in various workplaces. Some devoted themselves to academic teaching, others worked in the Department of Public Works, and the respective municipal and port services, while several others undertook the study of small and large technical projects or participated as technical advisers and consultants to companies. Most went through all these positions during their career. These engineers began to capitalize on the benefits resulting from their expertise.17 This expertise they exploited for both the construction of large civil engineering projects and also to preserve older branches of Greek industry, such as textiles, but also to strengthen emerging branches of industry in Greece, namely electricity, chemicals, the paper industry, the tobacco industry and cement. Scientists-engineers began to be actively incorporated in the professional environment of a new era, assuming nodal positions as engineers-consultants to state/public and, mainly, private technical companies for public utilities, as commercial agents of foreign engineering firms and as consultants of financial companies and banks.18 At the same time they began to get involved in debates with other hegemonic groups of that time, like jurisprudence, struggling to legalize their own aspects of expertise in new professional environments.19 At the dawn of the First World War, the decision to establish the Ministry of Transportation gave a new boost to public works, while it has also been related to the transformations that, since 1910, were already being established for the reorganization of public services. This newly founded institution expressed the technical guidance of state policy which was in line with the standards of ‘social engineering’ and the ‘rationalization’ of labour, standards of the internationally dominant ideology of technocracy. Furthermore, the founding and upgrading of faculties at the National Technical University of Athens, (Civil Engineering, Mechanical and Electric Engineering, Architectural Engineering, Chemical Engineering and Surveying Engineering), which took place during the same period (1914–1917), reinforced with its graduates the establishment and staffing of state mechanisms and, also, the supervision and implementation of public works.20 However, it was only from 1918 onwards that extensive engineering projects started to be constructed, mainly in the newly annexed regions of Macedonia, for example in Thessaloniki; after 1924, with the help of capital from international companies, the conditions began to change for the construction of large-scale technical infrastructures, like the dam of Marathon.21 In this direction the role of the newly established Technical Chamber of Greece, founded in November 1923, was catalytic. According to its statute, the purpose of the Chamber was to promote the

162

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

technical initiatives in the country, the production of proposals and studies for any technical issue in cooperation with other qualified authorities, the consultancy on technical aspects of the state regarding the preparation of technical contracts, the organization of technical education and more. Since then, the Technical Chamber constitutes the official technical adviser of the Greek state.22 During the long period leading up to the early years of the Technical Chamber of Greece, the issues that occupied Greek engineers, and co-formed their communities through their technical debates, had to do with, on the one hand, their role in guiding Greek society to fall in line with the major scientific and technological changes that took place internationally, and, on the other, with domestic issues that were either chronic or had resulted from the integration of new geographical regions and the corresponding problems being caused by the absorption of new populations (internal migrants in urban centres and refugees).23 Practical problems were added to the above, which related to the transition from military to state governance. More specifically, they had to do with the ‘smooth’ or ‘forced’ adaptation of the professional institutions, trade unions, enterprises and industries that existed and were active in geographical areas that the Greek state had conquered and the corresponding change in the technical managerial agenda for those areas.24 The difficulties deriving from the continuous incorporation of new geographical areas, amplified by the strong growth of populations and labour force in urban centres, shaped the content of the engineers’ proposals and studies, in order to achieve crucial ‘solutions’ for technical issues. The main engineering debates regarded issues that had to do with water supply and sanitation, projects of land reclamation, electrification, technical connection of urban centres and regions with port infrastructures and railroads, urban planning and the construction of massive buildings, industrial exploitation and utilization of natural resources, the improvement of old, and the development of new, types of industry, such as the chemical industry, and increased agricultural production and its mechanization.25 The third decade of the twentieth century would find Greek engineers – under the umbrella of the Technical Chamber – as a consolidated and hegemonic socioprofessional category that was selecting the specific technical variables that would determine not only national policy but also the ideological orientation of the transformation of Greece until the Second World War.

THE GREEK ENGINEERS’ PERIODICAL PRESS AND THEIR COMMUNITIES IN THE PERIOD UNTIL THE FIRST YEARS OF THE INSTITUTION OF THE TECHNICAL CHAMBER OF GREECE The key role of engineering journals and technical periodicals, as an institutional way of forming engineering communities worldwide, has been highlighted by the recent historiography of technology.26 In the Greek case, the establishment of such publications had been crucial since the late nineteenth century. Greek engineering communities have been professionally defined by the existence of such journals, particularly by using them for hosting debates about technical matters and in creating

GREEK ENGINEERS, INSTITUTIONS, PERIODICALS AND IDEOLOGY

163

consensus on technical ventures. In this section I will survey engineers’ journals that were published from the end of the nineteenth century until the first years of the establishment of the Technical Chamber of Greece, during the interwar period, since they were a constitutive component, alongside the scientific-professional societies and the technical controversies, of the shaping of Greek engineering communities. This is in order to demonstrate the second pillar of co-construction.27

Mechanical Review (1887–1888) The first engineering journal was the Mechanical Review (Μηχανική Επιθεώρησις), which was published during 1887 and 1888 by the French-trained civil engineer Elias J. Angelopoulos. Returning to Greece from Paris in 1886, Angelopoulos took the initiative to publish an engineering journal, gathering Greek and foreign engineers who were scientifically connected or worked in public services or works as well as in the Greek academia. In that context, Angelopoulos sought to cover the major technical and engineering issues with which Greek engineers had to deal. The journal was only available by subscription, maintaining a network of subscribers in Paris and Belgium, apart from Greece. In Mechanical Review, Angelopoulos suggested ways of prioritizing and dividing the main and secondary works in public projects, creating ways of communication for the cooperation and the specialization of state and private engineers, but also for construction foremen and craftsmen.28 He sought to develop a productive and hierarchical system that would work ‘scientifically’ according to the way that corresponding professionals conducted themselves in public works and technical services in France.29 The journal included articles about several technical issues that engineers faced in public works projects, laws and decrees that were in force in European countries, reports about running projects in Greece, upcoming auctions of technical projects, scientific news from abroad, and new book releases about theoretical and applied mechanics. Other articles were about the future of architecture in Athens, extensive research about road construction, harbour works and port projects, and the connection of urban centres via the railway system. Finally, there were many articles about the professional consolidation of ‘scientific engineering’ in Greece and the advancement of a network between academic, state and industrial engineering.30 At the same time, Angelopoulos was concerned with the continuing education of engineers. He frequently published reviews about technical essays, announcements about translated or original technical manuals and special presentations about large technical projects that were implemented in other countries. Mechanical Review was the first publication to systematically present studies about the water supply of Athens and Piraeus, as well as reports about sanitation and purification works in progress or about to be conducted in the Greek territory. The final issue of 1887 was entirely dedicated to an extensive study made by Angelopoulos about the water supply project of Athens. In that study, Angelopoulos expressed, for the first time, his vision to connect the ‘glorious past’ of ancient Athens with the modern city, through the solution of the water supply issue. Through the pages of Mechanical Review, Angelopoulos promoted a certain model concerning the methodology that engineers should use on their technical studies about the country’s

164

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

crucial issues, such as water supply, aiming, as he proclaimed, ‘to highlight the most economically advantageous and scientifically cohesive proposal’.31 In addition, he used the journal to publish his private correspondence with the ‘wise professor’ of the École des Ponts et Chaussées and director of the sanitation works of Paris, Alfred Durand-Claye (1841–1888).32 By the end of 1888, Angelopoulos discontinued the publication of the periodical. It had proven to be unsustainable due to the absence of an engineering institution to support it.

Archimedes (1899–1925) The second engineering journal, Archimedes (Αρχιμήδης) was published from 1899 to 1925 by the first scientific-engineering community in Greece, the Greek Polytechnic Association (Ελληνικός Πολυτεχνικός Σύλλογος). By 1899, publishing engineering journals, which Elias J. Angelopoulos had started alone with Mechanical Review in 1887, were very different due to the aforementioned transformation of the economic, social and technical context in Greece. This transformation was certainly connected to the development of several technical projects, the introduction of investments and capital from abroad, the reformation of the technical, scientific and engineering educational institutions (University of Athens and the National Technical University of Athens) and other institutions of their profession. The Greek Polytechnic Association was founded in March 1898 and was the result of the initiatives of graduates of polytechnic schools and technical universities from abroad and professors/lecturers of the Greek Polytechnic School. The founders included mainly engineers from different educational and scientific professions, such as A. Kordellas, E. Angelopoulos, F. Negris, P. Petropapadakis, K. Velinis, L. Economides, N. Triantafyllides and I. Isigonis, as well as physical scientists like C. Stefanos. At its founding, the Association had seventy-two members, which by the end of 1899 reached 114.33 The main purpose of the founding of the association was to become a kind of mediator between the members of the community, to contribute to their solidarity and mutual assistance and also to offer a critical eye to their scientific and technical work, following the standards of the relevant communities abroad. The aim of its founders was the promotion, on the one hand, of applied sciences and, on the other, of the beneficial character of education and industry. The publication of an engineering journal like Archimedes was a priority for the Association.34 In 1899 the first issue of Archimedes was published and the Association selected Elias J. Angelopoulos to be the director and editor of the journal. The vision of Angelopoulos about the journal was the same as the one he had ten years earlier. Archimedes was presented as the arena of the major engineering controversies and was established as the forum for Greek engineers’ discussions and contributions to crucial technical projects in Greece for a long period. From the establishment of the Association onwards, the themes of the periodical were co-produced with the Association’s scientific and social activities, while it constructed the scientific and ideological patterns that were influencing the culture of Greek engineers. The journal’s authors were mainly members of the Association who held important positions in both the public and the private construction sectors, or were scientists of various disciplines that had great influence in Greece and abroad. The

GREEK ENGINEERS, INSTITUTIONS, PERIODICALS AND IDEOLOGY

165

journal promoted the Technical University and the Association as ‘guarantors’ for the country’s introduction to modernity, in parallel with the promotion of the institutional equalization between University and Technical University. Several professors used Archimedes as one of the privileged fora for legalizing the scientific knowledge in the Greek engineering community and society at large. They were publishing extensive original essays and educational studies about engineers’ calculations, approaching technical matters from an academic and theoretical point. The journal hosted lectures, reviews of Greek and international scientific literature, conference announcements, and obituaries of prominent members of the technical community. Archimedes hosted several kinds of technical debates, like the urban development plan of the country’s capital. The most crucial, and the one that the Association was formed upon, was the long debate about the water supply of Athens and Piraeus that lasted from 1899 to 1925.35 The journal’s topics were chosen according to the Association’s scientific and social activities, as well as the overall engineering culture, such was the practice of ‘scientific fieldtrips’ at newly built industrial areas of Athens and Piraeus, aiming at the educational and scientific education of engineers, but mostly at their professional networking. Inventions from abroad, as well as the most interesting patents, were being reviewed in several articles written by engineers, who would also write suggestions on how these could relate to the Greek economy, and how their legal standing could be safeguarded.36 In 1913, an eminent industrial engineer, Angelos Skintzopoulos, undertook the editorship of Archimedes. He oriented the journal’s content towards mainstream political and economic issues of the period like the military industry, the industrial exploitation of the wealth-producing resources of the country, as well as the development of domestic, mainly chemical and electrical, industries in Greece and abroad. Furthermore, Skintzopoulos set the course towards a hegemonic and interventionist role of the Greek engineering community in the making of scientific, economic and industrial policies for the modernization of the Greek nation-state. After twenty-six years of continuous publishing, Archimedes closed in 1925. In that year, pressures for the coordination of a large-scale plan to modernize the country led to the institutional establishment of the Greek community of engineers and technical scientists, via the creation of a new association, the Technical Chamber of Greece.37

Polytechnic Review (1908–1918) Polytechnic Review (Πολυτεχνική Επιθεώρησις) was published between 1908 and 1918 by the Association of the Engineers of the Metsovio Polytechnic School (Σύνδεσμος Μηχανικών Μετσοβίου Πολυτεχνίου). This association was against the relative openness of the Greek Polytechnic Association to members who could challenge the predominance of academic training in engineering. Its president was the civil engineer Konstantinos Velinis and its director of publishing was the civil engineer, George Soulis.38 The main corpus of contributions to the Polytechnic Review was authored by civil, mechanical and chemical engineers and architects. Many of them continued to

166

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

present their studies in Archimedes as well. This journal presented updated reports about the major technical projects of the time, studies about Piraeus’s port works, papers about techniques of using modern reinforced concrete in construction works, and reports from major hydraulic works in urban centres. These articles were full of explanations about each technology’s theory and they were filled with functions and calculations. As for the journal’s form, its originality consisted in the use of several coloured technical drawings of projects and many impressive photographs taken from construction and industrial production sites, which gave a particular appeal to the articles’ presentation.39 Studies chosen to be published in the Polytechnic Review combined the theoretical knowledge and experience of their authors regarding special technical issues and would reflect their own views as both academic teachers and professional engineers. In this context, calculating tools, which were taught in theory at the Technical University, were presented in the journal. Moreover, the journal frequently presented articles and news that would strengthen the bonds between members of the Association and the Technical University. The news that D. Diamantidis, a founding member of the Association who reached the top of the political hierarchy, was made Minister of Transportation was presented by using several photographs of the Minister and with texts full of optimism about the future of the country’s technical community. According to the journal, the decision about Diamantidis’ appointment was taken in 1912, but due to the Balkan wars, this appointment began in 1914. Until 1918, when Polytechnic Review stopped being published, the journal promoted both Diamantidis’ work as minister and the Technical University’s professors’ actions towards the reform of the institution’s organization. The journal abruptly ceased being published in 1918, although the Association continued its activities.40

The first years of the Technical Chamber of Greece (1925–1932): Erga and Technical Chronicles In November 1923, the Technical Chamber of Greece was established. It started its function between 1925 and 1927. The Technical Chamber was the corporatist technical institution par excellence of the interwar period. It established itself as the unique representative of the engineering profession in Greece and remains until today the technical consulting institution of the State.41 Its first president was Elias Angelopoulos, retired at the time. The choice to award this position to Angelopoulos was a deeply symbolic act for the new institution. Angelopoulos was the figure who could transfuse the culture of the Greek Polytechnic Association – a mature community of the previous historical era, serving different requirements – to the Technical Chamber of Greece, the new, promising institution which was established in a different context.42 After the end of the publishing of Archimedes in 1925, a chemical engineer, Clisthenes Filaretos, undertook the initiative to publish the semi-monthly illustrated journal about industry, transportation and technical works, named Erga (Έργα, Works) which became the publishing arm of the Technical Chamber of Greece. Filaretos emphasized the development of the chemical, electric and cement industries, as well as the financial environment of Greece in relation to the Technical Chamber.43

GREEK ENGINEERS, INSTITUTIONS, PERIODICALS AND IDEOLOGY

167

Erga was illustrated and included, at the beginning of each issue, four to five main articles that presented the views and studies of engineers and industrialists for projects that were implemented in Greece and abroad. Being a chemist himself, Filaretos paid particular attention to the community of chemists, and the evolution of the chemical industry. At the same time, he showed great interest in matters of electricity and the electric industry. Other important industrial sectors, such as the concrete industry, were presented by specific references or by important engineers who used Greek concrete and reinforced concrete at their technical projects. At the end of every issue’s main editorial, Filaretos maintained a column where he provided information, news, announcements from the industrial and technical companies, news about the development of productive sectors and texts from subscribers that Erga had in Greece and abroad.44 The journal’s topics varied depending on the matters that engineers and particular industries dealt with at each period and according to public discussion on these issues. Erga’s aim was to discuss the issues of the scientific management of technical labour, technical education and the introduction of innovation in industry and engineering works. The foundation of middle and lower technical schools, where technicians and craftsmen who staffed the developing Greek industry would be trained, as well as innovation and new techniques that developed abroad were compared with the Greek case, suggesting ways of using international experience in technological issues. The engineers’ debates were presented differently than in the past. The letters from engineers/subscribers that were published constituted the main arena for controversies. The same way that the debate over the water supply network formed both the Greek Polytechnic Association and Archimedes, the debate over the selection of AC or DC power to the Greek electricity grid formed the debate in the first years of the Technical Chamber of Greece and Erga. Views of several engineers and electricians from abroad were presented as part of the debate’s coverage. The presentation of this conflict lasted from 1928 until the end of the publication of the journal, in 1932, when there was a conflict between Filaretos and the Technical Chamber about the orientation of the periodical.45 The Technical Chamber decided to break with Filaretos’s publishing company and, in 1932, introduced the journal Technical Chronicles (Τεχνικά Χρονικά), the major technical and engineering reference periodical in Greece until the present day.46

APPROPRIATING ANTIQUITY: THE FORMATION OF A GREEK TECHNOLOGICAL MODERNITY The case of the water supply system of Athens (1887–1900) At the fin de siècle, the conflicts of Greek engineers for the urban water supply system seemed to be those that defined both their professional scientific institutions (communities, journals, etc.) and the formation of technical networks for the country’s cities. When the construction of the Marathon Dam was completed in 1930, the city of Athens had changed dramatically compared to 1880, when the first engineering suggestions on the water supply of Athens had surfaced. During these

168

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

fifty years, the urban technical networks were configuring a capital city that was attracting more and more citizens. The engineers’ technical choices, suggestions and projects transformed the networks and the city. At the same time, during this long period, the controversies about the form of these networks shaped the terms for the future population growth of Athens and Piraeus. The technical proposals on increasing water in the existent water supply system had begun weakly in the mid1870s, and had intensified in the late 1880s, in line with the political will of Trikoupis to find a ‘permanent’ solution. Two severe droughts (1888–1889, 1898–1899) in both cities highlighted the water supply problem.47 From 1887–1888, the civil engineer Elias Angelopoulos had tried to convince the Greek engineers through Mechanical Review of the benefits of the transmission of water from Lake Stymfalia, located in the northern Peloponnesus, via a long aqueduct. This was a rather utopian suggestion for this specific time period. Along with his argumentation on the permanent solution of Stymfalia, Angelopoulos had advocated for the simultaneous preservation of the Roman Hadrian Aqueduct as a temporary solution to the problems regarding urban water supply. The use of the Hadrian Aqueduct as the dominant solution for the water supply of Athens had already been raised as a suggestion from the mid-1870s by several eminent engineers, like the Greek mining-engineer Andreas Kordelas and the French engineer-in-chief of the French technical mission in Greece, Eduard Quellenec.48 Since the 1870s archaeological excavations had begun to reveal parts of the Roman Hadrian Aqueduct around the region of Attica. However, only after 1885–1886 did the Hydraulic Department of the Municipality of Athens slowly begin the maintenance and repairing of the Roman Hadrian Aqueduct. This was when Elias Angelopoulos started his professional career in Greece at this Department, following his modern, Western engineering training in Paris.49 As I have argued elsewhere, together with my colleagues Aristotle Tympas and Yiannis Garyfallos, there is a version of spontaneous history of engineering that is inseparable from the technical text.50 This history has been spontaneous to engineering articles and treatises, usually covered in an introductory paragraph or section. Regarding Angelopoulos, this spontaneous history was an integral part of a calculation and the technical equation that it was based on.51 Angelopoulos’ opposition to the vertical alternative was mainly expressed as an interest in functioning Hadrian’s aqueduct. The ancient aqueduct was for him the Greek equivalent to Western modern technology. ‘The horizontal collection of waters, implemented in many European cities and exemplified in the most formal manner in Athens by Hadrian’s aqueduct,’ he wrote in 1888, ‘is without comparison superior to the vertical one.’52 In the absence of more radical measures, like supplying water from Lake Stymfalia, cleaning up more of the ancient aqueduct and repairing the damages to the one already cleaned was for Angelopoulos the right way to proceed. As it has been noted, the calculation of water demand was started by the ideal of Western urban everyday life, not by the reality of urban everyday life in Greece.53 To be sure, the calculations of Angelopoulos could not be exhausted to an appropriate interpretation of Western water supply technology. In order to advance his version of modernity, Angelopoulos invested in a rhetoric about the city’s ancient distant past, which was much more convenient than the city’s recent past as part of the

GREEK ENGINEERS, INSTITUTIONS, PERIODICALS AND IDEOLOGY

169

Orient. Angelopoulos focused on the aqueduct built in Athens by the Roman emperor Hadrian. He interpreted the ancient aqueduct as the modern equivalent to his modern long-distance water supply technology, and, accordingly, argued persistently about restoring it and using it as the best intermediary solution to the alleged water demand problem.54 The circle of those attending the gatherings of the Greek Polytechnic Institution and publishing their views on the issue of water supply in Archimedes included influential engineers. One of them, Fokion Negris, a minister and an engineer, was one of the most notable defenders of projects to search for water deep beneath the Attica soil. Angelopoulos contrasted such projects for ‘vertical’ supply of water to his own projects for ‘horizontal’ collection and transmission.55 Choosing the proper water supply technology has been the defining issue of the Greek Polytechnic Institution throughout this period, ‘a life or death issue for the city . . . It is to the great interest of the modern residents of Athens to improve their city by the indispensable scientific methods of our times,’ wrote Angelopoulos in the introduction to his 1887 study on the sanitation of Athens.56 The issue was especially complex, as everyday urban life in Athens was suffering from a list of ‘evils’. The list included the lack of water, lack of sewers and the poor condition of the existing ones, lack of forests and tree farms (indispensable for controlling floods), many surrounding swamps, high levels of dust and roads in bad condition. After six years in Paris, Angelopoulos had just completed his first year as director of the Athens municipality department in charge of hydraulics and roads. He was explicit about the need for technocratic solutions, based on scientific engineering. Scientific engineering could take care of all this so that Athens ‘would regain its ancient beauty and fame, which we all hope and wish for, in order to become the centre of Hellas, an exemplar to the East, and something that all Greeks who presently live abroad should be happy for’.57 As we saw, while promoting his long transmission scenario from the Peloponnesian lake of Stymfalia, Angelopoulos persistently defended the cleaning and maintenance of the 20 km Hadrian Aqueduct as an intermediary solution. In his subsequent engineering publications, the ancient aqueduct gradually emerged as the reason for the ancient Athenian glory. The discussion of Hadrian’s aqueduct was now adjusted accordingly by the substitution of an historical account of the aqueduct’s utility for an engineering description of the aqueduct’s repairs. ‘Historical details on the construction of the aqueduct and the state of the Athenian economy during construction,’ wrote Angelopoulos in a following 1899 Archimedes article, ‘should convince all that during Hadrian’s times, Athens was transformed into a global center, famous for the beauty of its buildings and its education-based artisanship, and, that the generously funded aqueduct was intended to serve the needs of the well-living residents of the city.’ By contrast, the lack of an analogous modern initiative had resulted in the aforementioned decrease of the rhythm of Athens growth. ‘How can a population be attracted to a city that doesn’t offer water to its residents for months? How can we attract foreigners to our city, when they can see us tyrannized greatly by the lack of water and by dust, when they can see us looking for escapes outside Athens?’58 In the same text, entitled ‘Study of the water supply of Athens’, Angelopoulos surveyed various technical initiatives undertaken from the Hellenic period to the

170

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

reign of Hadrian (117–138 CE ).59 He did so by reviewing remnants of ancient epigraphs, and appropriating the writings and the discourses of Pausanias, Strabo, Plutarch, Plato, Vitruvius and others. His study offered details on ancient water supply techniques. Abundance of water emerges out of this narrative as the number one problem for Athenians of all times, the solution of which was a prerequisite of Athenian glory. Since the vertical solution (better management of the Attica water) could not offer abundant water, the horizontal solution (long aqueduct) comes out of the same narrative as the most appropriate one – assuming, of course, that one wanted Athens to retrieve its ancient glory, as a result of the choice of the horizontal solution. The ancient aqueduct, responsible for the ancient glory, was presented as typical of the ancient equivalent to the horizontal solution that he sought to promote. ‘Very few know exactly how important it was’, he wrote, and how it has contributed to turning Athens into ‘a global focus, and a celebrated one’.60 Angelopoulos’ spontaneous history of a glorious past was offered as an integral part to his engineering approach, which in turn, was offered as a path to future glory.61

The case of the construction of two permanent dry-docks of Piraeus (1898–1912) By the end of the nineteenth century the port of Piraeus ranked eighth in Europe in traffic. Seeking to accommodate a further increase in traffic, Angelopoulos, in charge of designing the permanent dry-docks and supervising its implementation, became a protagonist in a debate concerning the selection of a proper site for their placement. A chief promoter of the project, Angelopoulos celebrated commencement of work by an analogy between both ancient and modern Piraeus shipping facilities. His technical report of 1899 in Archimedes began by stating that ‘it is the first time since Sulla deserted Piraeus from its infamous shipping facilities that we see the repetition of big port works, involving indeed the construction of two stone-built docks for the repair and cleaning of ships’.62 The subsequent misfortunes of the project proved that the selection of the site was indeed an important task. Contracted to the firms of L. Petitmermen and G. Raspini for a total cost of about 5.5 million drachmas, it turned out to become one of the biggest and most difficult technical projects in the history of modern Greece. Works on it started in 1899 and did not finish until 1912, due to repeated damage, geological problems, various interruptions, omissions, engineering debates and technical arbitrations, change of contractors and mainly change of the dimensions of their width for a predictable repairing of the famous and recently built battleship Averof. The opening for the exploitation of the dry-docks coincides with the year of the outbreak of the first Balkan War.63 Choosing the right site became an urgent task in 1898, when Angelopoulos was asked to make drawings of the two docks and decide on how they were to be built. That same year, Angelopoulos published his book-length study ‘On Piraeus and its Ports in Ancient Times’. According to his own account, this was the product of research on sources and site research, undertaken for the purpose of identifying with certainty the location of the ancient Piraeus port facilities. Angelopoulos argued that knowing more about the ancient facilities, the way they had been built, and their

GREEK ENGINEERS, INSTITUTIONS, PERIODICALS AND IDEOLOGY

171

technical capabilities was a difficult task, ‘like solving algebraic equations’. It was complicated, because of the ancient authors’ indifference to technical details, and the difference between the modern and ancient Greek naming of the ports, which had misled previous students of the ancient Piraeus ports, including historians and archaeologists.64 Angelopoulos chose a port called Kofos in ancient Greek and Kremmydarou in modern Greece (to him rather vulgar). According to his studies, it was the site that the ancients had also chosen for the construction of their warships (triremes, trieres). To rule out the port of Zea, one of the locations proposed against the one that he had chosen, he invited his readers to follow him on an imaginary observation of the various ports after climbing with him to the Piraeus hill of Castella: [S]houldn’t it convince them that, the natural evolution of reasoning can only follow one route, and remains unchangeable? Shouldn’t it convince them that, after all these centuries, the same thoughts, the same calculations, the same rules, governing issues of health, well-being, and prosperity, are determining how those living in modern Piraeus are selecting the sites for the erection of their noisy factories, with their tall chimneys, placed there where the ancients were building their ships? Should we not consider it accidental that the ancients, like us, have not chosen to place their shipyards at the port of Zea [the location proposed as an alternative to his], in the middle of the city?65 Notably, the ideological characteristics of this relationship between the ancient past and the modern future glory were not remaining only in the rhetoric of Angelopoulos regarding the preferable site for building a port. We can see the coconstruction of this discourse with his technical and entrepreneurial agenda in the selection and the implementation of the building materials of the project. Angelopoulos proposed – and which was finally carried out by the contractor during construction – what was to him the perfect combination: the various domestic structural materials – among them the marble and the theraiki gee – with ‘the excellent [άριστον] Greek cement’ (Portland type), which was produced by the newly established cement industry, Titan, and was advertised as competitive with the European cements.66 In addition, the technical uses of these materials were implemented in the two dry-docks, which were sealed by the first applications of the modern reinforced concrete technology that Angelopoulos’ engineering company was introducing at that time period in Greece.67 Angelopoulos’ history of the shipping facilities of the ports of ancient Piraeus was an organic element of his choice of the Kofos port as the host of the modern docks. This spontaneous engineering history represents an extreme case of an engineer who went as far as to publish one study on a modern undertaking and a separate one on its ancient equivalent. With this separate publication, Angelopoulos moved on from debating with engineers, to arguing with historians. Angelopoulos’ writings on the history of the ports of Piraeus received the attention of professional archaeologists and historians.68 He himself reviewed their criticism in the foreword of a collection of notes, which was published a year after his death in 1932 by his wife, under the title ‘Aristophanes and his views on Socrates’.69

172

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

CONCLUSION In this article, the formation of the Greek scientific-engineering communities in Greece is presented in a different light than the one offered by the available Greek historiography. The article achieved this in two ways. On the one hand, it traced the story of the formation of the engineering community back in the late nineteenth century, placing the emphasis on the establishment of societies and associations, the publications of journals and educational initiatives. On the other hand, it focused on specific large technological projects of the same period, approached from both the view of the debates concerning their construction and the very artefacts used. The debate regarding the water supply system of Athens was crucial in the period between the late nineteenth century and up to the interwar period. The construction of the two dry-docks in Piraeus was the first material demonstration of the new modern engineering community gradually establishing itself in Greece. The lens through which this new and enriched story was told was Elias Angelopoulos, a protagonist in both the social and the technological aspects. Angelopoulos’s approach to scientific engineering was two-dimensional. First, he articulated the narrative of building modern large technical projects linked with Greece’s ancient past. In the case of Athens’ water supply he argued for an aggressive solution through the building of an aqueduct from the Peloponnese to Athens, the longest of its kind in Europe, reproducing the technical and cultural reason for Athens’ past glory in Hadrianic times. In the case of expanding Piraeus’ port capacity he argued, and succeeded, for two permanent dry-docks for the repair and the cleaning of ships to be built in the site of Kofos port, which he himself identified as the location where ancient Athenians had built their docks. He argued so in a booklength academic-level study, which he wrote for this reason. Succeeding in this, secondly, he extended the continuity with the glory of the ancient past from discourse to the material, arguing for, and succeeding in, using marble and other domestic materials (like the pozzolan from Santorini, theraiki gee) in combination with the most modern building material: reinforced concrete. For the aqueduct, though his proposal for a solution seems to have failed, his approach lived in the actual materialization of the project which ‘solved’ Athens’ water supply problem. The dam in Marathon was built years later (1926–1929) with reinforced concrete and marble of the same kind as the Parthenon.70 Thus, already from the late nineteenth century, Angelopoulos and the other Greek engineers had established their scientific, not only the establishment of societies, journals and educational institutions, but through large engineering projects. The special characteristics of late nineteenth-century Greek modernism suggest – against the standard view that technological determinism is an ideology that has relied only on representations of the future – that it is much more flexible: it can actually find support in views of the past.71 In this case technological determinism was based on a certain appropriation of the past.72

In lieu of postscript In 1933 Otto Neurath, Le Corbusier and their scientific-modernist agenda arrived on board the ship Patris II in the port of Piraeus for the IVth CIAM conference and

GREEK ENGINEERS, INSTITUTIONS, PERIODICALS AND IDEOLOGY

173

‘strove to find European Modernism in the remnants of classical Greece’.73 What they failed to see was that a mile away it was staring them in their faces in the form of the two permanent dry-docks at Kofos, built with modern reinforced concrete and ‘ancient’ theraiki gee and marble by Elias J. Angelopoulos.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I am grateful to the editor, guest editors and anonymous referees for their comments. I am particularly grateful to Dr Alexandros Oikonomou for his helpful advice, comments and assistance in the writing of this article.

NOTES 1. See very indicatively: M. Hard and A. Jamison, The Intellectual Appropriation of Technology, Discourses on Modernity, 1900–1939 (Cambridge, MA : MIT Press, 1998); Thomas J. Philip Brey Misa and Andrew Feenberg (eds), Modernity and Technology (Cambridge, MA and London: MIT Press, 2003). 2. For an overview see indicatively: P. Carabott (ed.), Greek Society in the Making, 1863–1913: Realities, Symbols, and Visions (Aldershot, UK : Variorum, 1997); Eleni Bastea, The Creation of Modern Athens. Planning and Myth (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000); A. Liakos, ‘The Construction of National Time. The Making of the Modern Greek Historical Imagination’, in Jacques Revel and Giovanni Levi (eds), Political Uses of the Past, The Recent Mediterranean Experience (London: Frank Cass, 2002), 27–42; Y. Hamilakis, The Nation and its Ruins. Antiquity, Archaeology, and National Imagination in Greece (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007). For the linking of the issues with the historiography of technology see: Aristotle Tympas, ‘What have we been since “We have never been modern?”: A Macrohistorical Periodization based on Historiographical Considerations on the History of Technology in Ancient and Modern Greece’, Icon, 2002, 8, 76–106. 3. Γιάννης Αντωνίου, Οι Έλληνες Μηχανικοί: Θεσμοί και Ιδέες 1900–1940 (Αθήνα: Βιβλιόραμα, 2006), 261–408; Y. Antoniou, M. Assimakopoulos, K. Chatzis, ‘The National Identity of Inter-war Greek Engineers: Elitism, Rationalization, Technocracy, and Reactionary Modernism’, History and Technology, 2007, 23(3), 241–261; Y. Antoniou and V. Bogiatzis, ‘Technology and Totalitarian Ideas in Interwar Greece’, Journal of History of Science and Technology, 2010, 4, 50–61; Βασίλης Μπογιατζής, Μετέωρος Μοντερνισμός. Τεχνολογία, Ιδεολογία της Επιστήμης και Πολιτική στην Ελλάδα του Μεσοπολέμου (1922–1940) (Αθήνα: Ευρασία, 2012). 4. K. Chatzis and G. Mavrogonatou, ‘Marathon Dam: A Collaboration between American and Greek Engineers’, Proceedings of the ICE -Engineering History & Heritage, 2013, 166(1), 13–24. 5. David Edgerton, ‘Innovation, Technology, or History: What is the Historiography of Technology About?’ Technology & Culture, 2010, 51(3), 680–697. 6. Aristotle Tympas, ‘Methods and Themes in the History of Technology ’, in C. A. Hempstead and W. E. Worthington (eds), Encyclopaedia of 20th Century Technology,

174

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

vol.1 (London: Routledge, 2004), 485–489. On the inspiration see: Kenneth Lipartito, ‘Picture Phone and the Information Age: The Social Meaning of Failure’. Technology & Culture, 2003, 44(1), 50–81. 7.

For a historiographical overview of engineers’ profession, education and cultures see very indicatively: David F. Noble, America by Design: Science, Technology, and the Rise of Corporate Capitalism (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1977); R. A. Buchanan, The Engineers: A History of the Engineering Profession in Britain, 1750–1914 (London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 1989); Kees Gispen, New Profession, Old Order: Engineers and German Society, 1815–1914 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990); Antoine Picon, French Architects and Engineers in the Age of the Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992); Robert Fox and Ana Guagnini (eds), Education, Technology and Industrial Performance in Europe 1850–1939 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press and Paris: Editions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme, 1993); Antoine Picon, ‘Engineers and Engineering History: Problems and Perspectives’, History and Technology, 2004, 20(4), 421–436; Ben Marsden and Smith Crosbie, Engineering Empires: A Cultural History of Technology in Nineteenth-century Britain (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005); Bruce Sinclair, ‘The Profession of Engineering in America’, in Carrol Pursell (ed.), A Companion to American Technology (Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 363–384; John K. Brown, Gary Lee Downey, Maria Paula Diogo, ‘The Normativities of Engineers Engineering Education and History of Technology ’, Technology & Culture, 2009, 50(4), 737–752.

8. On the co-shaping of engineers’ identities with ideologies and materialities see very indicatively: Langdom Winner, ‘Do Artefacts have Politics?’, Daedalus, 109, 1980, 121–136; Eric Schatzberg, ‘Ideology and Technical Choice: The Decline of the Wooden Airplane in the United States, 1920–1945’, Technology & Culture, 1994, 35, 34–69; John Jordan, Machine Age: Ideology, Social Engineering and American Liberalism, 1911–1939 (North Carolina: The University of North Carolina Press, 1994); Paul Forman, ‘The Primacy of Science in Modernity, of Technology in Postmodernity, and of Ideology in the History of Technology ’, History and Technology, 2007, 23(1), 1–152. 9. Γιάννης Μηλιός, Ο ελληνικός κοινωνικός σχηματισμός: Από τον επεκτατισμό στην καπιταλιστική ανάπτυξη (Αθήνα: Κριτική, 1988), 345–405. 10. For an overview of the historiography of industrialization of Greece, from a history of technology point-of-view see: Tympas, ‘What have we been since “We have never been modern?” ’, 76–106. For the history of industrialization and economy of Greece, see indicatively: Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ, Η γηραιά σελήνη. Η βιομηχανία στην ελληνική οικονομία 1830–1940 (Αθήνα: Θεμέλιο, 1993); Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, ‘Βιομηχανία’, in Χ. Χατζηιωσήφ (ed.), Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου αιώνα: Οι Απαρχές, 1900–1922, Α.1. (Αθήνα: Βιβλιόραμα, 1999), 172–221; Xριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, ‘Βιομηχανία’, in Κ. Κωστής and Σ. Πετμεζάς (eds), Η ανάπτυξη της ελληνικής οικονομίας τον 19ο αιώνα (Αθήνα: Αλεξάνδρεια, 2006), 219–252. 11. For an overview of the history of Greek engineers, see: Κώστας Μπίρης, Ιστορία του Εθνικού Μετσοβίου Πολυτεχνείου (Αθήνα: ΕΜΠ, 1957); Yiannis Antoniou and Michalis Assimakopoulos, ‘Notes on the Genesis of the Greek Engineer in the 19th Century: The School of Arts and the Military Academy ’, in Konstantinos Chatzis and

GREEK ENGINEERS, INSTITUTIONS, PERIODICALS AND IDEOLOGY

175

Efthymios Nikolaidis (eds), Science, Technology and the 19th Century State: The Role of the Army, Conference Proceedings, Syros, 7–8 July 2000 (Athens: National Hellenic Research Foundation, 2003), 91–138; Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, ‘Οι μηχανικοί και η βιομηχανία’, in Χ. Χατζηιωσήφ (ed.), Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου Αιώνα: Μεσοπόλεμος 1922–1940, 2:2.1 (Αθήνα: Βιβλιόραμα, 2002), 269–293; Αντωνίου, Έλληνες Μηχανικοί; Antoniou, Assimakopoulos, Chatzis, ‘National Identity’; Σπύρος Τζόκας, ‘Για την κοινωνική διαμόρφωση της αντικειμενικότητας της τεχνικής: Παραδείγματα από την ιστορία των ελλήνων μηχανικών (τέλη 19ου – αρχές 20ού aιώνα),’ Unpublished Doctoral Thesis (Athens: National and Kapodistrian University of Athens/National Technical University of Athens, 2011). 12. Αντωνίου, Έλληνες Μηχανικοί, 91–193; Σπύρος Τζόκας, ‘Περιοδικά και κοινότητες μηχανικών στην Ελλάδα: Η περίοδος πριν την ίδρυση του Τεχνικού Επιμελητηρίου της Ελλάδας’, Νεύσις, 18, 2009, 49–68, Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση on 11–13. 13. Antoniou and Assimakopoulos, ‘Notes on the Genesis’, 91–138. 14. Konstantinos Chatzis, ‘La modernisation technique de la Grèce, de l’ indipendance aux annies de l’entre-deux-guerres: Faits et problemes d’interpritation’, Études Balkaniques [Balkan Studies], 2004, 3, 3–23. 15. Antoniou and Assimakopoulos, ‘Notes on the Genesis’, 91–138. 16. Αλίκη Βαξεβάνογλου, Έλληνες κεφαλαιούχοι 1900–1940. Κοινωνική και οικονομική προσέγγιση (Αθήνα: Θεμέλιο, 1994); Christine Agriantoni, ‘A Collective Portrait of Greek Industrialists’, Entreprises et Histoire, 2011, 63, 15–25. 17. Αντωνίου, Έλληνες Μηχανικοί and Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση. 18. Apart from Αντωνίου, Έλληνες Μηχανικοί, where we find statistics about, mainly, educational aspects of the 1930s, a wide and systematic statistical research on the evolution of the characteristics (educational, social, professional, places of work, political, etc.) of engineers working in Greece is missing. 19. Briefly: the jurisdictional service for resolving contract divergences by Greek engineers through Technical Arbitrations was introduced in the early years of the establishment of their community (Greek Polytechnic Association, 1898), as a key aspect of the formative procedures for the establishment of their profession. This found its climax with the establishment of the Technical Chamber of Greece in 1923–1925. It was a professional strategy in order to develop and establish their expertise and strengthen their authority in the hierarchy of the Greek State apparatus, as well as their advisory role to banks and other enterprises for the control of the industrial production and the construction of technical infrastructures. Σπύρος Τζόκας, ‘Η διαμόρφωση της ειδημοσύνης των ελλήνων επιστημόνων-μηχανικών: Οι τεχνικές διαιτησίες (1908–1935)’, in Ειρήνη Μεργούπη-Σαβαΐδου, Γεράσιμος Μέριανος, Φαίδρα Παπανελοπούλου and Χριστιάνα Χριστοπούλου (eds), Επιστήμη και Τεχνολογία. Ιστορικές και Ιστοριογραφικές Μελέτες. Εταιρεία Μελέτης και Διάδοσης της Ιστορίας των Επιστημών και της Τεχνολογίας-1 (Αθήνα: Εκδοτική Αθηνών, 2013), 251–276. 20. Antoniou, Assimakopoulos and Chatzis, ‘National Identity’, 241–261 on 244–255. 21. Chatzis, ‘La modernisation technique de la Grèce’, 3–23; Chatzis and Mavrogonatou, ‘Marathon Dam’, 13–24.

176

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

22. Αντωνίου, Έλληνες Μηχανικοί, 301–352. 23. Αντωνίου, Έλληνες Μηχανικοί, 301–352. 24. Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ, ‘Το προσφυγικό σοκ, οι σταθερές και οι μεταβολές της ελληνικής οικονομίας’, in Χ. Χατζηιωσήφ (ed.), Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου Αιώνα: Μεσοπόλεμος 1922–1940, 2:2.1 (Αθήνα: Βιβλιόραμα, 2002), 9–57. 25. Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση. 26. For historiographical approaches on the study of engineering and technical journals from the perspective of history of technology see indicatively: Eugene Ferguson, ‘Technical Journals and the History of Technology ’, in S. Cutliffe and R. Post (eds), In Context: History and the History of Technology–Essays in Honour of Melvin Kranzberg (Bethlehem: Lehigh University Press, 1989), 53–70; K. Chatzis, P. Bret and L. Pérez (eds), La presse et les périodiques techniques en Europe, 1750–1950 (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2008); Casper Andersen, British Engineers and Africa, 1875–1914 (London and Brookfield, VT: Pickering & Chatto, 2011). 27. See elaborately: Τζόκας, ‘Περιοδικά’, 49–68. 28. Ηλίας I. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Μηχανική Επιθεώρησις, Σύγγραμμα περιοδικόν εκδιδόμενον άπαξ του μηνός’, Μηχανική Επιθεώρησις, 1887, 1(1), 1–2. 29. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Μηχανική Επιθεώρησις’, 1–2. 30. Τζόκας, ‘Περιοδικά’, 52–57. 31. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Μηχανική Επιθεώρησις’, 1. 32. Ηλίας Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Μελέτη Περί Εξυγιάνσεως των Αθηνών’, Μηχανική Επιθεώρησις, 1:6, 1887, 97–162. 33. Συλλογικό, ‘Ελληνικός Πολυτεχνικός Σύλλογος’, Αρχιμήδης, 1899, 1(1), 1–2. 34. Τζόκας, ‘Περιοδικά’, 57–63. 35. Τζόκας, ‘Περιοδικά’, 57–63. 36. Τζόκας, ‘Περιοδικά’, 57–63. 37. Τζόκας, ‘Περιοδικά’, 57–63. 38. Κ. Βελλίνης, ‘Πρόλογος’, Πολυτεχνική Επιθεώρησις, 1908, 1(1), 1–2. 39. Τζόκας, ‘Περιοδικά’, 63–67. 40. Τζόκας, ‘Περιοδικά’, 63–67. 41. Antoniou, Assimakopoulos and Chatzis, ‘National Identity’, 245. 42. Ηλίας Ι. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Λόγος Εκφωνηθείς υπό του προέδρου του Τεχνικού Επιμελητηρίου κ. Ηλία Αγγελόπουλου, κατά την εγκατάστασιν των Αρχών’, Έργα, 30 Ιουνίου 1925, 44–46. 43. Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση, 144–158. 44. Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση, 144–158. 45. Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση, 144–158. 46. Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση, 144–158. 47. For an overview of the history of engineering debates about water supply of Athens from the nineteenth century until the finishing of the Marathon Dam’s construction in 1926 see: Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση, 161–226.

GREEK ENGINEERS, INSTITUTIONS, PERIODICALS AND IDEOLOGY

177

48. Ανδρέας Κορδέλλας, Ηλίας Ι. Αγγελόπουλος, Π. Ε. Πρωτοπαπαδάκης, ‘Συνοπτική μελέτη περί υδρεύσεως Αθηνών και Πειραιώς’’, Αρχιμήδης, 1899, 1(5), 67–75. 49. Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση, 161–226. 50. On the concept of the spontaneous histories of engineers see: A. Tympas, ‘Perpetually Laborious: Computing Electric Power Transmission Before the Electronic Computer ’, International Review of Social History, 2003, 48, 73–95. 51. Τέλης Τύμπας, Σπύρος Τζόκας, Γιάννης Γαρύφαλλος, ‘Το μεγαλείτερον υδραγωγείον της Ευρώπης: Αντιπαραθετικοί υπολογισμοί μηχανικών για την Αθήνα και την ύδρευσή της’, in Λ. Σαπουνάκη-Δρακάκη (ed.), Η Ελληνική πόλη στην ιστορική προοπτική. (Αθήνα: Ευρωπαϊκή Κοινότητα Αστεακής Ιστορίας, Διόνικος, 2005), 209–219. 52. Ηλίας Ι. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Ύδρευσις Αθηνών και Πειραιώς’, Μηχανική Επιθεώρησις, 1888, 2(12), 129–139. 53. Τύμπας, Τζόκας, Γαρύφαλλος, ‘Μεγαλείτερον’, 209–219. 54. Τύμπας, Τζόκας, Γαρύφαλλος, ‘Μεγαλείτερον’, 209–219. 55. Φωκίων Νέγρης, ‘Μελέτη επί των υπογείων υδάτων της Λαυρεωτικής και της σχέσεως αυτών προς το λεκανοπέδιον Αθηνών’, Αρχιμήδης, 1899, 1(6–9), 99–102; Ηλίας Ι. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Ομιλία περί της διοχετεύσεως των υδάτων Στυμφαλίας’, Αρχιμήδης, 1899, 1(6–9), 153–159, Τζόκας, ‘Τεχνικές Διαμάχες’, 167–182. 56. Ηλίας Ι. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Μελέτη Περί Εξυγιάνσεως των Αθηνών’, Μηχανική Επιθεώρησις, 1887, 1(5), 97–162 on 99. 57. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Μελέτη Περί Εξυγιάνσεως των Αθηνών’, 99. 58. Ηλίας Ι. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Μελέτη περί της υδρεύσεως των Αθηνών’, Αρχιμήδης, 1:6–9, 1899, 107–116. 59. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Μελέτη’, 107–116. 60. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Μελέτη’, 108. 61. Aristotle Tympas, ‘On the Hazardousness of the Concept “Technology”: Notes on a Conversation between the History of Science and the History of Technology ’, in Theodore Arabatzis, Jürgen Renn and Ana Simões (eds), Relocating the History of Science: Essays in Honor of Kostas Gavroglu (Heidelberg/New York/Dordrecht/ London: Springer, 2015), 329–342, on 339. 62. Ηλίας I. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Αι λιθόδμηται δεξαμεναί Πειραιώς εν Κωφώ λιμένι προς επισκευήν και καθαρισμόν των πλοίων’, Αρχιμήδης, 1899, 1(1), 9–15 and 1(2), 21–26. 63. In regard to the history of the engineering design, construction and technical debates for the two dry-docks on Piraeus (1899–1913) see particularly: Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση, 229–323. 64. Ηλίας Ι. Αγγελόπουλος, Ο Αριστοφάνης και αι περί Σωκράτους ιδέαι αυτού (Θεσσαλονίκη: Μ. Τριανταφύλλου, 1933), 26–27. 65. Ηλίας Ι. Αγγελόπουλος, Περί Πειραιώς και των Λιμένων αυτού κατά τους αρχαίους χρόνους (Eν Αθήναις: Καταστήματα ‘Παλιγγενεσίας’, 1898), 173. 66. Ηλίας I. Αγγελόπουλος and Γεώργιος Χρυσοχόος, Λιμενικά έργα Πειραιώς, Κατασκευή δύο δεξαμενών εν Κανθάρω προς καθαρισμόν και επισκευήν των πλοίων. Τιμολόγιον,

178

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

προϋπολογισμός, συγγραφαί (Εν Αθήναις: Εκ της Βασιλικής Τυπογραφίας Νικολάου Γ. Ιγγλέση, 1897); Άγγελος Γκίνης, Συνοπτική έκθεσις περί της αποπερατώσεως των εν τω όρμω Κανθάρου του Λιμένος Πειραιώς Δύο Μονόμων Δεξαμενών επισκευής και Καθαρισμού Πλοίων (Εν Πειραιεί, 1905); Γ. Ηλιάδης, ‘Εταιρεία Τσιμέντων ο Τιτάν’, in Η Εργαζόμενη Ελλάς: Αι νέαι Βιομηχανίαι της Ελλάδος. Περιγραφαί και γνώμαι ειδικών περί του βιομηχανικού μας μέλλοντος, T. 1 (Εν Αθήναις: Εκδοτικά Καταστήματα Ακροπόλεως-Β. Γαβριηλίδης, 1918), 101–106. 67. Ηλίας I. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Το σιδηροπαγές σκιρροκονίαμα και αι ποικίλαι αυτού εφαρμογαί’, Αθήναι: Μηνιαίον Παράρτημα, 6 Απριλίου 1908, 25–39; Γ.Α. Σούλης, ‘Επισκευή κρηπιδωμάτων δια σκυρροκονιάματος εκ σιμεντοκονίας’, Πολυτεχνική Επιθεώρησις, Β΄:2, 1909, 19–21. 68. See indicatively: Harold N. Fowler, ‘Archaeological News’, American Journal of Archaeology, 1899, 3(2–3), 241–277; E. A. Gardner, ‘Angelopoulos on the Piraeus’, The Classical Review, 1899, 13(1), 88; John Day, ‘The Kofos Limin (Κωφός Λιμήν), of the Piraeus’, American Journal of Archaeology, 1927, 31(4), 441–442. 69. Αγγελόπουλος, Αριστοφάνης. 70. Maria Kaika, ‘Dams as Symbols of Modernization: The Urbanization of Nature Between Geographical Imagination and Materiality ’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 2006, 96, 276–301. 71. For the thematic of the technological determinism see: Merritt Roe Smith and Leo Marx (eds), Does Technology Drive History? The Dilemma of Technological Determinism (Cambridge, MA and London: MIT Press, 1994) and Tympas, ‘On the Hazardousness of the Concept “Technology” ’, 329–342. 72. Τύμπας, Τζόκας, Γαρύφαλλος, ‘Μεγαλείτερον’, 209–219, Τζόκας, Κοινωνική Διαμόρφωση. 73. M. Kohlrausch and H. Trischler, Building Europe on Expertise: Innovators, Organizers, Networkers (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 117.

Water Management, Expertise and Technopolitics in Energy and Agriculture in Greece, 1940–2014: The Case of the Acheloos River STATHIS ARAPOSTATHIS AND SERKAN KARAS

INTRODUCTION On 19 January 2014, the journal Eleftheria (Ελευθερία), an historic press in the city of Larissa at the heart of the prefecture of Thessaly, published an article entitled ‘Acheloos: Blessing or Curse?’.1 The article reported the continuing conflict over the dams and suggested tunnels for the diversion of the river Acheloos. The renowned project of Acheloos’ diversion has been one of the major incomplete technological infrastructures in modern Greece, and this debate has frequently featured both in the local and national press. Since the 1970s it has been a contested project and an ongoing technological, political and cultural struggle between supporters of the diversion (comprising communities of power engineers, hydraulic and civil engineers, farmers’ associations, local politicians and political parties in Thessaly) and its opponents. There have been fierce legal battles and court cases in Greece and the European High Court.2 Acheloos is the second longest river in Greece at a length of 280 km and the one with the highest mean annual flow (137 m3/s).3 In Greek mythology, Acheloos was the god and father of the living rivers and since antiquity the river’s history, function and role for the population of the adjacent regions and the environment has been part and parcel of the collective memory. The river basin is estimated to be 5,472 km2 and is located in Western Greece, while the river crosses five different prefectures: Aitoloakarnania, Karditsa, Arta, Trikala and Evritania. Its source is located at Mount Lakmos on the south side of the Pindos mountain range, and it eventually flows into 179

180

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

the Ionian Sea. It is estimated that the annual outflow of the river is between 2.5–3.5 billion m3 of water. The first 160 km is known as the upper part of the river and the management of water in that part is what has triggered contemporary conflicts (see Map 1). In the lower part of the river, dams were planned and built from the 1960s. The river basin includes four natural lakes (Trichonida, Lysimachia, Amvrakia and Ozeros), a series of artificial lakes due to four dams (Kremasta, Kastraki, Stratos I and II ) as well as an estuary with wetlands and lagoons. These are of high environmental importance, have been protected by the Ramsar Convention and belong to the NATURA 2000 zones of environmental importance and conservation.4 The majority of the population residing in the areas around the river basin work in the agriculture sector, while the lagoons have been used extensively for aquaculture. In the water drainage area in the lower part of the river there is an extensive irrigation and drainage network of

MAP 1: Map of Greece showing the location of Acheloos in Western Greece. The arrow points to the site of the contested diversion project on the upper part of the river. Source: Σ. Μαγειρίας Eκτροπή Υδάτων απο τον Αχελώο προς τη Θεσσαλική Πεδιάδα, Αθήνα, 1979

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

181

canals: more than 40 per cent of the land in the region of Aitoloakarnania has been used for agriculture purposes.5 As a key cotton production area Thessaly needed water for furthering the intensification of the relevant farming activities, so the diversion of the river has been conceived as a major project to secure irrigation water for the area. Currently, Thessaly consumes one-fifth of the country’s water, fostering long-term pressures for the implementation of the diversion as critical infrastructure work.6 The case of the water management of Acheloos has acquired an emblematic status in Modern Greek history as a series of public infrastructures linking public discourses of ‘development’, ‘modernity’ and relevant dominant ideologies and technological determinist approaches, within the contemporary political history of Greece. The present study aims to bring together the history of technology with environmental history, using the case of the river Acheloos to examine the way that natural common resources and technological infrastructures co-produced energy, agriculture and environment. We reconstruct the story of the use of the river water, and the engineering plans, visions and the ideologies that were inscribed on them, from even before the Second World War. Following existing historiography, we argue that natural common resources acquired meanings through technologies and technological infrastructures that engineers and experts proposed or contested. The article is directly influenced by the groundbreaking approach of Disco and Kranakis, who recently provided an historically informed approach to aid understanding the concept of natural common resources. They attempt to understand natural common resources within the context of technological regimes, industrial capitalism and national policies. In doing so, they introduce the term ‘resource space’ to show that the space of natural common resources is not defined only by geomorphologies but also by technologies, politics and natural resources. They equally argue that we need to historicize the formation of ‘resource spaces’, the political process of their configuration and to unravel the changes in the meanings and the conceptualization of natural common resources under different periods and within different socio-technical regimes.7 Disco and Kranakis emphasize technologies that expand or shrink ‘resource spaces’, that include and exclude human and nonhuman actors. In this framework, the ‘technization’ of common resources can become the condition for defining new areas of tension between the state, local communities and authorities. The approach raises questions about who controls ‘resource spaces’ as well as the risks and uncertainties that technology and industrialization might introduce for the environment due to the increase of scale and the complexity of socio-technical ensembles. In this historiographical framework, we are studying the role of experts in the configuration and reconfiguration of Acheloos as ‘resource space’. We argue that until the late 1970s the management of water and relevant experts’ discourses prioritized the hydraulic potential of the river for energy purposes, and that since this period, the diversion of the river has been linked both to the national priorities relevant to agriculture, and discourses of peripheral ‘development’. In the 1990s the project of river diversion faced fragmentation due to the reactions and different understandings of Acheloos’ ‘resource space’ by national and transnational regulatory and legislative expert institutions, engineering and environmental experts, as well as by civil society actors.

182

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

WATER, TECHNOLOGICAL DETERMINISM AND THE MANAGEMENT OF NATURAL SOURCES IN TWENTIETH-CENTURY GREECE The productive use of water for each country and above all for poor countries like Greece, is of major importance for the welfare of the population. We can argue that the resolution of economic problems of water management can be the necessary condition for the growth of the country. This is a well-known principle that bypasses any other aspect of the problem.8 In January 1942, amidst the German occupation, the engineering journal Technical Chronicles (Τεχνικά Χρονικά) published a report on water management which was presented as the national cornerstone of Greece’s growth and development. The report was pessimistic about the industrial prospects of the country. It argued that trade transactions with foreign countries, and engineering innovations that exploited natural resources and maximized economic energy production could restore the lagging industrialization of the country (which resulted from the pitfalls and drawbacks of Greece’s geography). The report, written and signed by technologists in the Department of Public Works in the Ministry of Transport, made clear that technological and scientific research was necessary for the ‘rational’ management of water and the implementation of a national water policy. According to the report, techno-scientific rationalism would increase productivity and would contribute to the systematization of approaches, and the decrease of any fragmented responses to problems and issues that emerged as a result of local needs. In turn, technology and the technocratic understanding of the problems would provide the setting for the organized use of water resources and an organized response to natural disasters like floods.9 These opinions represented the principal conceptualization and ideological understanding of socio-technical problems and their solutions by water management infrastructures in twentieth-century Greece. Hydraulic works – the construction of large-scale infrastructures for water management oriented towards water supply, irrigation or energy – started to attract the interest of the technical world in 1917 following the establishment of the Department of Public Works in the Ministry of Transport. This department became the centre of national policymaking for technological infrastructure. Harbours, bridges and hydraulic works were planned by that department as an attempt on the part of the state to rationalize its policies and technological infrastructures. There was an emphasis on the importance of hydraulic research, as demonstrated in 1917 by the establishment of the Research Office of Hydraulic Works (Γραφείο Μελετών Υδραυλικών Έργων).10 The office facilitated intensive projects after the First World War and emphasized the systematic management of water even further after 1922. The early years of the twentieth century marked a dominant discourse that linked water, the ‘God-given source’, with the reconstruction and the development of Greece. The engineers’ arguments were influenced by the emerging technocratic ideology. Initially water supply was the major concern among the technical community, yet by the eve of the Second World War the use of hydraulic resources and the

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

183

construction of relevant public works were at the centre of the engineers’ attention.11 A major public work of symbolic, political, social and technological importance was the water supply of Athens from the artificial lake of Marathon, constructed at the meeting point of the Varnava and Haradrou rivers.12 Engineers promoted the technocratic vision13 of building a national economy based on the use of technology in industrial production and social governance as part of Eleftherios Venizelos’s prime ministerial agenda for bourgeois modernization at a time of increasing urbanism and population exchange with Turkey.14 Particularly prominent among the engineers was Theologos Genidounias, who played a key role in securing engineering consensus over the appropriateness and feasibility of the work, and in persuading the government of its viability. For Genidounias, the prospective artificial lake was proof of the ability of the technocratic way of understanding and ordering the world. Educated at the Eidgenossische Technische Hochschule in Zurich and with much experience in hydraulic works in Turkey and Egypt, Genidounias wanted to see extensive public works and irrigation channels for agriculture, the use of hydraulic potential for industrial production, and the creation of extensive water supply networks for urban centres. Genidounias believed that post-war economic reconstruction would only be achieved with engineers at the forefront of the reconstruction and with public works as a governance tool. He argued that: The realization of the national wealth is a wide program whose initiation we should not postpone. We ought to take immediate action if we want to maintain what we have achieved so far and we aim to be included among the developed and progressed countries and those that do not want to vanish. For that we have the appropriate human intellect.15 In the interwar period the interest in the hydraulic potential of the country remained strong yet attempts at implementation remained fragmented. Water management and the optimal use of river water was linked mostly with the prospects of hydroelectricity and irrigation. Rivers, lakes and streams were conceptualized as sources of hydroelectric power only for the regions of the two largest urban centres of Athens and Thessaloniki. In 1922, Genidounias suggested using three streams in the North Peloponnese to generate electricity for Athens.16 The engineering company Galileos had suggested the use of Stymfalia Lake for hydropower generation and electricity transmission in Athens. In 1932 in his sixty-six-page treatise on the hydraulic potential of Greece, electrical engineer Alexandros Galatis argued that hydraulic public works would be necessary for the national economy. Galatis argued that Stymfalia should be used for electricity production for the Peloponnese while Ladonas in the Peloponnese, and Fidaris, Mornos and Acheloos in the prefecture of Aitoloakarnia could be used for producing electricity in order to supply Athens. In northern Greece, he identified the river Aliakmonas as a major source of hydraulic power, yet electricity demands in Thessaloniki were low enough to prevent investments.17 During the years of the Greece’s reconstruction post-Second World War – a period of ‘technological nationalism’ – the use of natural resources for power became a core issue of concern.18 Politically centre-right engineers like Theodore I. Raftopoulos,

184

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

who was consultant to the National Bank, suggested a plan for an electricity network that considered the Desaretian lakes on the northern borders of Greece as a Greek natural common resource. On the other hand, left-wing engineers, while arguing in favour of large-scale electricity generation viewed the Desaretian lakes as a transnational natural resource that should be exploited by several Balkan countries. Finally, the American engineers, who were considered more authoritarian, credible and ‘rational’, ousted this proposal due to mountainous morphology and the lake’s proximity to communist countries.19 After the Second World War the American consulting company EBASCO tried to combine both interests by promoting a plan of comprehensive electricity production that would be based on native natural resources: water and lignite (coal). The necessary infrastructures for the water management of the rivers Agras, Ladon, Acheloos and Louros were conceptualized as critical infrastructures in an integrated system capable of providing energy by using indigenous energy resources.20 In 1950, with the establishment of the Public Power Company (PPC ) and the design of the national electricity grid, these plans became part of the national energy programme, and gradually hydroelectricity was integrated into the energy mix of Greece. The spirit of ‘technological nationalism’ became part of the public policy paradigm that prioritized the use of native natural resources in electricity production, and most importantly lignite and water.21 The paradigm and the relevant public political discourses were forged further during the 1970s; particularly after the energy crisis of 1973 when the use of oil started to decrease dramatically.22 PPC ’s hydroelectric projects were designed to serve both for electricity production and irrigation because from 1959 onwards, five-year state-planning programmes were implemented for the increase of the number of irrigated farms.23 In the late 1970s the joint issue of environmental impact and liabilities started to emerge as a consideration in the management of natural resources (see also Chapter 8 in the present special issue about public conflict over the nuclear power station in Karystos). Yet still the paradigm of water management in which large-scale hydraulic infrastructures should be a priority remained strong in public policies.24 In 1996, Professor Themistoklis Xanthopoulos, major hydraulic engineer at the National Technical University of Athens and with a prominent role in technological policy of relevant infrastructures during the preceding two decades, promoted the ideology of ‘technological nationalism’, arguing that large-scale hydroelectric infrastructures were and would be public infrastructures of multiple purposes.25 He argued that large-scale hydroelectric infrastructures were necessary for the management of water resources, because the low rate of exploitation of water resources and the hydraulic potential of the country, meant that large-scale dams should be considered as major critical infrastructures both for energy and the agriculture sector, with the aim of increasing the numbers of irrigated farms in the plains of Central and Northern Greece. Xanthopoulos argued that technological infrastructures should be considered as major factors for national economic growth. While acknowledging the contribution of small dams in the management of water resources he stressed that the period of large-scale infrastructures was far from being over. In the late 1990s Xanthopoulos promoted the appropriation of science-based ‘rational’ water management models and practices. He argued that in the emerging liberal European paradigm of water

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

185

management, and the market-led governance patterns, the emphasis on scientific principles of water management would result in a cost-efficient and effective management of the native water resources that would consider the ‘environmental cost and impact’ of the infrastructures.26 As we shall see in the case study the latter has been a major consideration for legislative and regulatory national and transnational institutions. Furthermore, it would acquire different framing by different actors, stakeholders and knowledge communities.

WAKING THE RIVER-GOD IN POST-WORLD WAR GREECE: COMPETING VISIONS AND TECHNO-SCIENTIFIC TENSIONS Dams, transmission lines and the river Early surveys and studies of the potential of Acheloos were conducted during the interwar period. In 1923, the Swiss engineer Senn conducted a study of the hydraulic potential of the rivers of Mornos and Acheloos in the prefecture of Aitoloakarnania. It was the same period that Alexandros Sinos, Professor of Technological Mechanics at the National Technical University, was employed by the state to conduct studies of the rivers.27 However, the first proposal and visionary plan was developed in 1925 by Apostolos Koutsokostas, professor in the National Technical University of Athens. Acheloos was presented as a critical infrastructure for increasing the productivity of agricultural land in Thessaly. In August 1936, just days after the establishment of the dictatorship of General Ioannis Metaxas – a nationalist and fascist regime – the government permitted the American engineering companies Hugh L. Cooper and Chemical Construction Corporation of New York to conduct studies on Acheloos’ hydraulic potential.28 In 1938 their report identified the promising hydraulic potential of the river for power generation.29 Two years later, on 24 January 1940, the dictatorial regime of Metaxas signed a contract with the Hellenic Hydroelectric and Metallurgical Company (founded by the two American companies and American banks) for the exclusive use of the water and the banks of Acheloos for a period of seventy years. The construction of three dams and hydroelectric power stations in the locations of Kremasta, Kastraki (known as Kriekouki) and Prevetzas were specified in the contract. Furthermore, the agreement gave the company rights to establish electrometallurgical and electrochemical industries in the area. Plants for the production of nitrogen fertilizers and aluminium were planned: the latter due to the abundance of the necessary mineral sources in the area.30 The plans did not materialize due to the advent of the Second World War, but from this time onwards, the Acheloos river became part of all suggestions and energy studies that took place during the Nazi occupation (1941–1944)31 and the following civil war (1946–1949).32 Yet during and just after this period, left-wing economists and engineers severely criticized the agreement that gave exclusive rights to a private company. Dimitris Batsis, a Marxist economist, lawyer and scholar, argued that the so-called ‘Cooper contract’ was an imperialist achievement towards the exploitation of the country’s natural resources and its industrial potential. The

186

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

combination of power generation for industrial purposes made the contract profitable for its foreign capital and monopolist interests.33 The contract was part of the public policy of a dictatorial and absolutist regime that promoted the interests of foreign capital through interventionist policies.34 Similarly in 1945 the politically left-wing engineer Stavros Stavropoulos called for the ‘[c]ancellation of the contract today with no prior discussion with anybody’.35 Both Batsis and Stavropoulos demanded national planning and nationalized industrial units and development patterns. In 1950 the American company EBASCO recommended the establishment of a nationally integrated transmission and distribution system. The system considered Acheloos to be an important natural resource and argued that it should be used to secure the stability of electricity production, the autarky of the electricity regime and the independence of Greece from imported oil, as in the pre-Second World War period of oil-fuelled plants. Kremasta was recommended as the site for the establishment of the dam. EBASCO ’s network design plans made the Kremasta dam an indispensable piece of infrastructure for the implementation of the substitution programme of oil-based power plants. Acheloos was thus conceived as a natural resource that would be critical in the early phase of system integration and electricity grid building. The report suggested that the Kremasta dam be completed by 1955. In order to further emphasize the necessity of the project, EBASCO argued that the Kremasta dam would contribute substantially to flood control in the lower part of the river.36 It was an attractive argument since the drainage area was agricultural and the rural population in the adjacent region derived its income from farming and livestock breeding.37 By the late 1950s consulting engineering companies and state engineers framed the management of the water of Acheloos as one related predominantly to energy production. The PPC implemented its technocratic plans for a comprehensive exploitation of the hydraulic power of the Acheloos and Tavropos rivers. The intervention in Acheloos would include three dams along the lower part of the bank of the river in the regions of Kremasta, Kastraki and Stratos in the Acheloos basin in the prefecture of Aitoloakarnania. The dams in Stratos and Tavropos were planned with the aim of increasing the energy production potential of the ‘resource space’ of the river. The PPC planned further exploitation of the hydraulic dynamic of Acheloos by constructing two more dams in Avlaki and Mesohora. Attracted by the increased interest of the PPC to develop a programme of exploitation of the hydraulic potential of Acheloos, consulting companies from Europe38 – mostly from Italy39 and France40 – expressed interest in providing consulting and contracting services to the Greek state in that phase of the country’s energy programme.41 Despite the strong interest by European consultancies, the established role in energy policy by American engineering companies such as EBASCO, who had forged a trust relationship with the Power Company, meant prioritization was given to American consulting services. It was the American engineers who emphasized the emerging technocratic ideology in which large-scale infrastructure was expected to increase the productivity of the country.42 In this framework, the construction of the Kremasta dam, the so-called King Paul Dam, started in 1959 and by 1965 was completed with four energy production units.

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

187

From 1960 to 1966, the Engineering Consultants, Inc. of Denver, Colorado, functioned as the design consultants, supervisors and coordinators of the whole project.43 They suggested and constructed a fill-type dam that remained the highest such dam (at 160 m) in Western Europe during the 1970s. By early 1963 a fifth production unit with a reversible turbine was being discussed for the power plant at Kremasta.44 Its introduction was deemed as important because it was conceived as critical infrastructure not only for the stability of the whole electricity system of the country but also for the introduction and economic viability of prospective nuclear power stations.45 Papamatheakis, a power station engineer of the PPC , in his report to the Company’s Department of Technology Planning, argued that ‘from the years 1974 or 1975 the Corporation would be forced to nuclear power for the base loads of covering demand’. He continued by stressing that ‘[a]fter 1974 in an increasing percentage the PPC would need to integrate more hybrid units for irrigation and power production in order to increase the load of nuclear units’.46 He had reservations over the premature integration of a fifth unit, believing that it might result in the increase of the cost of production due to the necessary investment. Yet still – in an ironic way – he understood that water was a way to secure nuclear power production in the energy mix of Greece, since electric power from any prospective nuclear station, that for technical reasons had continuous function, could be directed to that unit to work in the reverse mode for irrigation purposes. In the first half of 1966, the PPC considered and designed a high voltage transmission line from the Acheloos plant to the metropolitan area of Athens. The line was designed as a critical infrastructure to secure, first, the exploitation of the hydraulic potential of the river in the most optimal way; second, the energy demands of the metropolis as it was projected for the 1990s; and third, as the best way to interconnect the hydraulic complex of Acheloos with the prospective nuclear power plants that in the mid1960s were intended to be established close to the capital.47

The reconceptualization of Acheloos as ‘resource space’ in the 1970s The period of Colonel Georgios Papadopoulos’ dictatorship (1967–1974) saw the reconsideration of the use of Acheloos. Papadopoulos’ regime was a political system with a clear anticommunist, nationalist and militaristic agenda and with populist economic and agriculture policies intended to overcome public reactions and opposition to the undemocratic government.48 There was a series of foreign and local consultants who conceptualized and forged the expansion of the ‘resource space’ understanding of the river as a natural source for energy and agriculture. Engineering companies like Swiss Electrowatt (1968), the Canadian Surveyer, Nenniger and Chenever (SNC ) (1972), Greek experts from the National Technical University of Athens, and the Doxiadis Consulting Engineering Company contributed to an alternate framing of the water management strategies for the Acheloos basin. They provided different understandings of the vitality of Acheloos in the much sought ‘development’ of the Thessaly region as well as the whole country. It was during the years of dictatorship that Thessaly, the major agricultural centre of Greece, began to take centre stage in the engineering plans and discourses surrounding the use of Acheloos.

188

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

In 1968 the Swiss company reported on the water management of Acheloos after the dictatorship’s request. The Swiss company considered different scenarios for the irrigation and energy problem of Thessaly and linked it to Acheloos’ water and to the management of the upper basin of the river, and the necessary dams and diversion tunnel. The Swiss company had also considered the scenario of no diversion and of solving the problem of water demand in Thessaly with the construction of five small dams (Krias Vrisis/Pineios, Pylis/Portaikos, Mouzaki/Pliouris, Smokovo/Sofaditis, Paleoderli/Enipeas) and relevant ponds, as part of a plan for the irrigation of 136,720 hectares of agricultural land. It was argued both technically and economically that the diversion would increase the uncertainty and the economic and technological risks. The engineers argued that the diversion would decrease the hydraulic potential of the river and would increase the cost of energy production from hydraulic power in the lower part of the river. They also acknowledged that the diversion would be a complex socio-technical project with major difficulties related to its finances as well as the socio-economic repercussions to the region of the lower Acheloos.49 The Swiss report made the junta regime reconsider their plans for major interventions in the region in order to further boost agriculture in Thessaly. The Ministry of Public Works began giving greater attention to water management on the plain of Thessaly rather than the diversion project. Yet the diversion would encounter further major reconceptualization in the 1970s as Thessaly’s water demand became a major concern for policymakers, engineers and the governments of the period. In 1972, the link between the water management of Acheloos and the irrigation problems in the Thessaly basin became stronger through the intervention of the PPC engineer, Stylianos Magerias.50 While reservations had already been expressed by foreign consultants for a combined use of the river for energy and irrigation, it was the visionary study and arguments of Magerias – an engineer who had come from the USSR and who was well-versed in the ideology of large-scale public infrastructures – that gave direction to the technocratic discourse.51 In a report entitled ‘Thessaly’s development into a major energy, agriculture and river navigation centre of Greece’ he laid out his visionary scheme that made provision for the diversion of three rivers: Upper Aoos, Upper Acheloos and Upper Arachos.52 In this scheme, Thessaly was conceptualized as an energy production centre for the rest of Greece with the construction of large-scale hydroelectric stations. Magerias introduced a complex plan that involved a series of interconnected basins, of dams and diversions, the construction of a number of ponds and two artificial lakes, as well as the construction of five hydroelectric power plants.53 The installed generation capacity would be 5 million KW securing energy of 6 billion KWH , an amount that would double the national electricity production at that particular moment.54 Magerias envisioned Thessaly as an agricultural centre where intensive agricultural production would be facilitated by an extended irrigation system. According to his plan the irrigated fields would be 3.5–4 million km2. In this scheme, the Pineios River would become the backbone of a complex of rivers with the parallel establishment of river ports in Trikala and Larissa to secure the connection of the agricultural area with the Aegean Sea.55 There was an obvious difference between the proposals of Magerias and Swiss Electrowatt. Magerias believed that Thessaly’s water resources were insufficient to secure the development of agriculture in the region. He developed a

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

189

plan based on the view that Thessaly could not be self-sufficient in water. Ideologically, his plan was informed by the dictatorship’s priorities on large-scale technical public works, yet they were still contested within the engineering circles of the PPC . On 14 December 1972 an ad hoc committee of eight engineers was established, led by the hydraulic engineer, A. Therianos.56 The committee was composed of PPC engineers (including Magerias) with the exception of H. Meitanis from the consulting engineering company SNC . Magerias’ participation and arguments were not enough to persuade his fellow committee members of the importance of the scheme – they expressed reservations over the economic feasibility of such a grandiose scheme with multiple diversions. Magerias did not sign the report produced by the committee, and accused Therianos, along with the director and subdirector of the PPC , of unfair treatment of his estimations and deliberate distortion of his plans.57 The result was that two competing visions developed inside the Power Company based on different priorities and understandings of a natural resource.58 Hydraulic and power engineers of the PPC , such as Therianos, insisted that the diversion of Acheloos would reduce the hydraulic potential of the river from 2,060 GWH to 974 GWH .59 In 1967, Therianos and other PPC engineers studied and planned the use of the water in the east part of Acheloos (the lower part of the river) through the establishment of a series of eight small-scale dams with flows variable from 5–24 m3/sec and small hydroelectric installations. They stressed the importance of water management along the banks of the river.60 In 1972, Therianos supported that solution, yet still he and the fellow members of the committee acknowledged Thessaly’s needs for water. Instead of Acheloos’ diversion they suggested the diversion of the small Agrafiotis tributary to the Tavropos River, the construction of a big dam of 175 m height and a tunnel of 17 km for the diversion of 6 m3/sec to Thessaly. The estimated flow of this design was very low in comparison to Magerias’ plans for a diversion of 75 m3/sec. Magerias presented a view of Acheloos as a natural common resource that could be a vital source not only for the development of Thessaly but also of the whole country via hydropower and water supply for the intensification of agriculture and large-scale farming. He argued that national development would be underpinned by the formation of a corridor that would link the capital, Athens, to Thessaloniki, the second largest urban centre, via Larissa, the major city of Thessaly. He believed that the plan for a high-speed railway interconnection between Athens and Thessaloniki, with links to the European railway networks as well as the upgrade of the port of Volos in south-east Thessaly would transform Thessaly into a vital agriculture and industry-based hub.61 Magerias rejected the economic feasibility of water management based on small-scale dams and the separation of the basins and water resources of central Greece from those in Thessaly. He argued that Thessaly’s increased water demand would have made any modest solution a drawback to the national plans for growth and prosperity. The postponement of the diversion would necessitate the construction of small dams of a short life cycle and increase the use of underground water by individual electric water pumps which would also increase energy demand. Magerias’ proposal, which emphasized the intensification of agricultural activity in Thessaly, was not the only alternative. Planners, engineers and economists had developed several alternate scenarios for the development and growth of the local

190

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

economy. In November 1972, the consultancy company of Constantine Doxiadis was called by the junta regime to advise them on the appropriate national development policies.62 They developed scenarios with modest agricultural sectors and the expansion of tourism and urban economic activities. Those scenarios would necessitate a different water management policy and would only prioritize the use of local water sources.63 In 1978 at a conference on the water potential of Thessaly a variety of approaches were suggested about water management and the role of Acheloos in regional and national ‘development’. Those in attendance included engineers such as Panagiotis Kyriazis and Giorgos Hatzilakos, and economists such as Tortopidis (from Doxiadis Associates), who supported combined water management strategies with Acheloos’ diversion along with dams in the rivers of Thessaly.64 Also in attendance was the politically left civil engineer D. Konstandinidis, who supported a holistic approach with an emphasis on complexity and ‘development’.65 He questioned the importance of the intensification of agriculture and the economies of scale, prioritized quality and product value over quantity and mass production, and argued that new and more synthetic models were necessary to understand the problem. Konstandinidis maintained the view that the development of a region should be limited by its ‘carrying capacity for a specific time period’. Establishing several parameters to define the ‘carrying capacity’ – economic feasibility of public investments, environmental capacity and socio-psychological impact – he suggested ‘carrying capacity’ was a tool for effective policymaking and a means for persuading investors and most importantly the World Bank to invest in the problem.66

THE MULTIPLE FACES OF DIVERSION IN THE 1980s AND 1990s During the 1980s and 1990s discussion over the water management of Acheloos acquired further momentum both within the scientific communities of civil engineers, environmentalists and water managers, as well as local communities, political authorities and legal institutions. Acheloos was considered to be key to Thessaly’s irrigation problems. This view was furthered by the potential prospect of European funding following Greece’s entry into the European Commission. The conservative government of the New Democracy had, since 1979, accelerated the plans for Acheloos by ordering a new study of the project, while in 1981 the New Social Democrat (PASOK ) government – with a strong populist profile – introduced the project in its agricultural policy agenda. On 13 March 198367 Andreas Papandreou, the socialist prime minister, in a highly political and symbolic gesture, announced the government’s decision to commence the diversion during the commemoration of the Kileler Revolt.68 The project made its way to the first fiveyear (1983–1987) national development programme as one of the priorities of regional and national development.69 The diversion project as announced by the socialists, was designed by PPC engineers in 1984 (see Map 2). It made provision for the construction of a water diversion tunnel (18.5 km) that would transfer 1.5 billion m3 of water annually in order to irrigate more than 200,000 hectares. There was European opposition based

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

191

upon the feasibility of the project, and the economic repercussions on agricultural production, as well as the environmental impact.70 The technical details of the proposal changed in the years between 1987 and 1994 as the design changed in a bid to secure European funding. A period of ‘design fragmentation’ occurred which resulted in the distinction between energy- and irrigation-related infrastructures within the project – energy infrastructures were thought more likely to secure European funding than irrigation development. By 1989 plans for irrigation had disappeared from funding applications submitted to the EU , and in 1994, the diversions were re-invented as an energy-oriented project. In the context of socialist populism with high political obligations to farmers and rural communities in Thessaly, the ‘diversion’ had to remain a viable project. Thus, the so-called ‘short diversion’ emerged with different technical specifications.

MAP 2: Plan with the location of the dams and the diversion tunnel to the Thessaly Plain in the 1980s. The diversion tunnel (the bold arrow) was designed from Sykia to Pefkofito. Dams were planned in Mesohora (Μεσοχώρα), Sykia (Συκιά) and Avlaki and hydroelectric power stations in Sykia (Συκιά) and Glistra (Γλύστρα). Source: ΔΕΗ, Εκτροπή τομ Αχελώομ στη Θεσσαλία, τ.1, 1984

192

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

In the new political context of the European Commission, the project acquired a new framing, and was scaled down from a diversion of 1.5 billion m3 to 600 million m3 annually. The ‘short diversion’ was promoted in Brussels by the Greek government as an environmentally friendly energy infrastructure. There were competing technical estimations by experts over the needs of water for agriculture on the plain of Thessaly. While the consultants Morgan Grenfell (1988) estimated that 1 billion m3 per annum was necessary for watering 150,000 hectares of new fields, CooperLybrand (sponsored by the EU ) estimated that 1 billion m3 per annum would be necessary for watering the existing fields in Thessaly with no additional new fields.71 The diversion was ‘short’ in application but practically it was technologically immense because the diameter of the diversion pipeline remained 6 m instead of the 4.2 m that the new plans would necessitate, while the heights of the dams were similar to the original planning. The diversion may have been downgraded on the funding application but in practice the technological design inscribed the technological priorities of a system for both hydroelectric power and irrigation. In reality the project would satisfy political priorities developed in the public domain as well as the strong lobby of farmers in Thessaly. Competing visions and approaches expressed by Greek experts and driven by their different techno-scientific and political cultures emerged in the public sphere and shaped public discourses. The politics of expertise were inscribed once more in the politics of infrastructure. Themistoklis Xanthopoulos expressed reservations about the scale of the project. He questioned the national importance of the diversion, and emphasized the negative side effects of the diversion including its high cost, and the reduction of the energy capacity of the river. He thought the plans for the use of existing drainage channels were ‘clever’ but that they were inappropriate from a technical and legislative point of view. He insisted that the use of drainage channels would result in excessive waste of water while at the same time argued it was a highly risky technical solution that increased the possibility of flooding in rainy periods with severe repercussions for farms and local communities.72 Xanthopoulos was not alone in questioning existing policies and engineering practices. Leo Louloudis, Professor of Agriculture Systems and Rural Sociology at the Agriculture University of Athens, argued that the momentum of the Acheloos project was based on the environmentally harmful agricultural policies of the 1970s and 1980s.73 At the same time George Vavizos, a biologist and member of the Expert Committee for the Environmental Study of the Project, supported a realist problem-solving strategy. He argued that any structural changes that economized water (such as changing the monoculture paradigm or the existing crop production in Thessaly) would be very slow and timeconsuming; that Thessaly’s water problem needed immediate solutions like the diversion, and that the diversion should be viewed as a multi-purpose project. He insisted that the diversion would increase the water of the underground aquifers and thus improve the regional environment, contrary to what was argued by other engineering and scientific experts.74 While public disputes among experts shaped the contested identity of the river diversion it was national politics and policies that set the agenda and priorities.

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

193

EXPERTS, CIVIL SOCIETY, TECHNO-POLITICS AND THE QUEST FOR SUSTAINABILITY The debates over the Mesohora dam brought to the fore ambivalences and oppositions to the dominant development paradigm. As mentioned above, the construction of the 160 m dam of Mesohora started in 1986. In April 1984, N. Margaris, Professor of Ecology at the University of Aegean, questioned the suitability of the diversion as it would involve tunnelling through the mountain of Pindos. Margaris suggested that instead of the diversion it would be better for the local environment and the regional development to recreate Lake Carla that was drained in 1960 with harmful effects for the existing natural wells that were used in the past for irrigation purposes. But above all, he questioned the emerging development paradigm.75 Over the next thirty years his core argument would be developed and expanded by different experts and stakeholders who opposed the diversion project and developed a variety of strategies ranging from protests to legal battles. On 8 August 1989, local residents and political activists circulated a petition against the PPC and its practices. They argued that the company had misinformed them about the tunnel for the diversion of Acheloos’ water. According to locals, by the summer of 1989 water from the upper basin of Acheloos was transferred to the Thessaly side. They demanded that geological and environmental studies be made available for public consideration. They also asked for reimbursement for the expropriation of their land.76 There was a widespread mistrust of the PPC and the implementation of state policies that did not take into account local conditions, the views of local people and alternate proposals. On 5 June 1990, the committee for the coordination of community actions argued that the series of high dams would result in a detrimental shortening of the river from 200 km to less than 60 km. The river would become an artificial lake that would destroy forests, plants and villages like Mesohora and Armatoliko, as well as monuments of local cultural heritage such as historical churches and ancient ruins. Protesters contended that people of the region could find other energy sources and exercise alternative agriculture, but that once again the state had decided to promote policies favouring a different direction.77 Ecologists from the city of Trikala questioned the integrity of the scientific studies, particularly those that asserted that the seismicity of the region would not be made the worse by the landfalls triggered by the construction of the dams and the degradation of the land.78 In a 1993 letter to the European Commission the local community demanded either the scaling down of the dam or the establishment of a new village in the region for the relocation of its inhabitants.79 Reactions from ecologists and left-wing political parties were swift.80 The battle acquired the character of West/Central Greece versus Thessaly (see Figure 1). Local communities struggled for better terms of compensation based upon an argument that stressed ownership of the water. It is indicative to look at the arguments developed by the Technical Chamber of the Aitoloacarnania Branch in the early twenty-first century. In 2005, the Chamber argued that the diversion did not meet the necessary standards of sustainability, and lacked consensus among experts over its viability and importance. Furthermore, the local branch of the Technical Chamber argued that there was no trustworthy methodology by which to

194

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

measure the water needs of these regions. In the same announcement, the Chamber criticized water management in Thessaly for overconsumption and lack of a ‘rational’ strategy for tackling irrigation problems.81 On the other hand, engineering experts and professional bodies from Thessaly presented the construction of the dam of Mesohora as an energy project that was unrelated to the diversion, hence the construction of the diversion tunnel 30 km away from the Mesohora dam.82 The Thessaly branch of the Technical Chamber and the Geoengineering Chamber in Central Greece promoted the dam in Mesohora as infrastructure related to sustainable development, growth and progress.83

FIGURE 1: The battle of Acheloos. The caricature shows the local tensions and public debates over the ownership of the water of Acheloos. While people from Volos, Larissa, Trikala and Karditsa supported the diversion, the locals in West Greece, in Mesologi and Agrinio contested the project. In a rather inspirational moment one of the actors involved in the battles – most likely an expert – argued that the solution would be to move the river banks to a different place every six months! Source: Το Βήμα, 15 April 1984, 38.

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

195

Non-governmental organizations, such as Greenpeace, WWF, Greek Society of Nature Protection and the Hellenic Ornithological Society also took an active part in these public battles and opposed the project in all its presentations, including both its long and short versions.84 They condemned the populist ideology, political lobbying and understanding of environmental issues in terms of local interests, and the continuation of agricultural policies that did not comply with European sustainability policies. These organizations also condemned infrastructure policies that aimed to absorb European money, feed political clientelism, and gain the patronage of large corporations in the construction industry.85 Environmental concerns were at the centre of the discourse of these NGO s. They characterized the river as a physical entity and as a cultural and material heritage built by local communities. They highlighted the danger for species on the delta and along the bank of the river as well as the danger for ecologies in the Mesolongi lake which was protected by European Directives as well as international agreements such as Ramsar and Directive 92/43/EU .86 Thus national policies and techno-politics were identified as violations of European Directives and European environmental policies. National policies were condemned for promoting unsustainable agricultural programmes that increased pesticide pollution and further intensified Greek agriculture. Civil society used several means to combat the project, ranging from public demonstrations and conferences to legal challenges. This is still an ongoing battle with a series of cases before Greek and European courts. Until now these court cases before the Greek Council of State or the European High Court of Justice have favoured local communities and NGO s which asked for the interruption of any construction work, and for an environmental evaluation of the project that would explore the cumulative environmental effects upon the region.87 Furthermore, they demanded studies for the development exemplar of Thessaly and its relation to the diversion project.88 The legal battles continued in the next twenty years and since the 2005 decision of the Council of State, the issue at stake was that any environmental evaluation of water management and resource exploitation could not be credible without the existence of a national plan of water management that made provision for the European Water Framework Directive (2000/60/EK ).89 It was this Directive that introduced the environmental and ecological dimensions to the management of water.90 Concepts like ‘river basin district’, ‘ecological status’ and ‘river basin management plan’ as well as the criteria and standards for evaluating the environmental impact of the human activities were introduced and defined in the regulatory culture instituted with the Directive. Yorgos Souflias, the Minister of Public Works and Environment, tried to bypass the decision of the Council of State with a law – the so-called Souflias’s Law (Act 3481/2006).91 Souflias was a leading politician of New Democracy, from the city of Larissa, the centre of the prefecture of Thessaly. NGO s and environmental activists believed that his legislative measures promoted the interests of the local farmers in Thessaly and more importantly of Larissa’s plain, his motherland. The law was criticized as an act of favouritism and nepotism that was based upon narrow understandings of the development of the local economy and agriculture, and which also promoted an incomplete and misleading understanding of the environment. Souflias responded by stressing the possible improvements that the diversion would

196

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

introduce in the quantity and quality of water supply in Thessaly. He argued that ‘the diversion is primarily for water supply and environmental purposes and secondly for the irrigation of the farms’.92 Souflias’s political rhetoric appropriated an argument that had already emerged among parts of the Greek engineering community. The interventionist politics of the conservative government triggered a new round of legal disputes in the Council of State that temporarily ended in 2012.93 In the public debates of the early twenty-first century the environmental aspects of the project coexisted and fused with arguments about its role in national and regional development. The research and consultation committee of the Technical Chamber of Greece continuously studied the project, and in 2005 announced (in a report they submitted to a national conference on the water management in the river basin of Acheloos) that they supported the regional and national importance of the project, by stressing Thessaly’s dominant role in the agriculture of the country. There were members of the committee who argued that the project would boost unsustainable agriculture practices with the increased use of agro-chemicals as well as would result in unequal development between the two adjacent regions, Thessaly and Aitoloakarnania, due to the latter’s environmental degradation.94 Despite the existing opposition, the majority of the committee members supported the view that the project would improve the prospects of the national economy within the European and global economies.95 Declining Greek agriculture needed an additional boost, which could not be achieved without the use of water that would expand the cultivated land and would increase the numbers of new farmers, and the avoidance of the exploitation of the rural populations by a small group of landowners.96 It focused on the issue of cost and stressed that the diversion of water to the Thessaly Plain would reduce the cost of production since it would minimize irrigation by the use of private drillings and wells, a technological solution that proved to be energy intensive. The committee was clear in focusing on the role of infrastructure in forging social acceptance, and the legitimization of structural changes in agricultural policies of the region, that would introduce new plant varieties and new crop production.97 The committee, following the Studies of Environmental Assessment of the project, argued that the water sources provided by Acheloos for the economic, social and cultural activities of communities in Aitoloakarnania were sufficient and that human interventions secured the ‘ecological status’ or ‘ecological potential’ as defined by the European Directive 2000/60. On the other hand, the water sources in the basin of Thessaly required to support the economic and social life of the region needed drastic improvement, while the ecological deterioration of the water of Pineios, the major river of the basin, was deemed to be one more reason for the legitimization of the diversion of water from the upper part of Acheloos. Experts such as John Mylopoulos, professor of hydraulics and environmental technology, who supported the diversion, promoted the so-called ‘third way’ by arguing that existing infrastructure and preparatory works already conducted should be respected and so be understood as materialities that obliged planners and policymakers to develop a realist approach. He insisted that the ‘soft’ diversion of 60 million m3 of water should be conceived as an environmental project that would be integrated within the broad development and agricultural policies that made

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

197

provision for drastic changes in farming, and the establishment of sustainable agricultural patterns. For Mylopoulos, the diversion was framed as necessary for any shift towards sustainable agriculture.98 The conflict over the water of Acheloos has divided local communities, national politics and communities of knowledge, and has marked the politics of development in Greece and the understanding and framing of modernity in the country.

CONCLUSION Acheloos’ ‘resource space’ has been continuously disputed in the Greek public sphere, making headlines in the national and regional news. The case of Acheloos has played an emblematic role in Greece’s national water management politics. In post-Second World War Greece, rivers defined vital sources of hydraulic potential for the energy policy and development of the country. The way engineers viewed natural common resources, and defined and configured state policy priorities was informed by their institutional and social legitimization, the emergence of a professional ideal and the technocratic ideology that placed engineers at the centre of public affairs.99 The configuration of Acheloos as ‘resource space’ was a struggle about defining the ways and means of national and regional development, which involved a boundary between prefectures and sovereign state power. Acheloos was conceptualized as both a national natural common resource and a regional source; therefore, the case for water management in the basin of Acheloos was alternately presented as either a national or local problem. Engineers prioritized the hydraulic potential of the river and its contribution in the national electricity system and thus national growth. Without a coherent nationwide water management policy, it was left to engineers to set the agenda of the PPC in relation to the use and exploitation of the energy potential of the river. Given the absence of centrally organized state policies, expert engineers and economists framed problems, legitimized optimal solutions and configured state policies through their visionary schemes, individual initiatives and by participating in the politics of technological infrastructures. In this article, we have argued that the story of Acheloos is more than mere local history. The policies and technological design of infrastructure depended on different ideologies and conceptualizations of the development and modernization of both Greece and Thessaly. Repertoires about the ‘development’ and ‘growth’ of the country co-evolved with the boundaries of the river’s ‘resource space’. Two main periods are identified in the story: first the post-war period to the end of the 1970s when large-scale infrastructure was part of state policy for the modernization and development of the national economy. In this period in particular, the conceptualization of the river Acheloos as a natural common resource was bound up in the ideology of development and by economies of scale, and was linked to the energy priorities of the PPC . This was a policy developed by local and foreign power station and hydraulics engineers. This was a policy pathway developed in national contexts like France, Spain, India and China. The rhetoric about national or regional ‘development’ shaped the hydraulic politics of a hierarchical state and legitimized large-scale projects and technocratic visions and identities that promoted limitless exploitation

198

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

of natural resources and human hubris.100 The second period refers to the early 1980s and more particularly the 1990s, when civil society and their allied experts were central in developing infrastructure politics. Engineering, energy and hydraulic experts as well as experiential experts like NGO s and ecological movements, political activists and local inhabitants demarcated the boundaries of Acheloos as a ‘resource space’, and brought into the fore new meanings of ‘development’ and ‘growth’. The public conflict is an ongoing dispute in which the river, the river basin, the plain and the environment have changed and acquired new, dynamic meanings.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We would like to thank Graeme Gooday, Robert Fox, Ian Inkster and the two anonymous reviewers. Also, the participants of the EASST 2014 conference in Torun and those of the Tension of Europe 2015 conference in Stockholm where earlier versions of the article were presented. We are grateful to Mr Mezaris, Mr Kalantzis and Mr Vlitsakis for letting us access their private archives.

NOTES 1. Ελευθερία, 19 January 2014, 6. 2. Γιώργος Μπάλιας, ‘Οι αποφάσεις του ΔΕΕ και ΣτΕ για την εκτροπή του Αχελώου: Μία κριτική αποτίμηση’, Νομικό Βήμα, 2012, 60 (10): 2231–2242. 3. A. Efstratiadis, A. Tegos, A. Varveris and D. Koutsoyiannis, ‘Assessment of Environmental Flows Under Limited Data Availability – Case Study of Acheloos River, Greece’, Hydrological Sciences Journal, 2014, 59 (3–4): 731–750. 4. N. Fourniotis, ‘A Proposal for Impact Evaluation of the Diversion of the Acheloos River, on the Acheloos Estuary in Western Greece’, International Journal of Engineering Science and Technology, 2012, 4 (4): 1793–1802. 5. N. P. Nikolaidis, N. Skoulikidis and A. Karageorgis, ‘Pilot Implementation of EU Policies in Acheloos River Basin and Coastal Zone, Greece’, European Water, 2006, 13/14: 45–53, esp. 46. 6. N. Margaris, C. Galogiannis and M. Grammatikaki, ‘Water Management in Thessaly, Central Greece’, in A. Baba et al. (eds), Groundwater and Ecosystems, 237–242. 7. Nil Disco and Eda Kranakis, Cosmopolitan Commons: Sharing Resources and Risks across Borders (Cambridge, MA , 2013), 20–21. 8. ‘Γενική έρευνα της υδατικής καταστάσεως της Ελλάδας’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1942: 35. 9. ‘Γενική έρευνα της υδατικής καταστάσεως της Ελλάδας’, 35. 10. Initially the office recruited four engineers and soon the number of engineers increased to thirty, among whom were some French and Italians. Γ. Μαυρογόνατου, Η Ύδρευση της Αθήνας, Από τα δίκτυα στο δίκτυο: 1880–1930 (Διδακτορική Διατριβή, ΕΜΠ, 2009), 474. 11. K. Γαλάτης, ‘Η εκμετάλλευσις των υδραυλικών δυνάμεων στην Ελλάδα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, Δεκέμβριος, 1932.

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

199

12. Μαυρογόνατου, H Ύδρευση της Αθήνας; Maria Kaika, ‘Dams as Symbols of Modernization: The Urbanization of Nature between Geographical Imagination and Materiality’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 2006, 96 (2): 276–301. 13. Yiannis Antoniou, Michalis Assimakopoulos and Konstantinos Chatzis, ‘The National Identity of Inter-war Greek Engineers: Elitism, Rationalization, Technocracy, and Reactionary Modernism’, History and Technology, 2007, 23(3): 241–261. 14. Eleftherios Venizelos was a prominent politician; a centrist who promoted the ideology of a ‘modern’ and ‘rational’ state as part of a process of Europeanization of Greece. For Venizelos’ policies see Gunnar Herring, Τα πολιτικά κόμματα στην Ελλάδα, 1821–1936 (Athens, 2004); Γ. Μαυρογορδάτος και Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ (επιμ.), Βενιζελισμός και αστικός εκσυγχρονισμός, (Athens, 1988). 15. Γενίδουνιας Θεολόγος, ‘Το οικονομικό Μέλλον’, Αρχιμήδης, έτος ΚΒ’, αρ.7, Ιούλιος 1921: 53–57. 16. Selinounta, Vouraikos, Krathira. Γαλάτης, ‘Η εκμετάλλευσις των υδραυλικών δυνάμεων στην Ελλάδα’, 1163. 17. Γαλάτης, ‘Η εκμετάλλευσις των υδραυλικών δυνάμεων στην Ελλάδα’, 1173, 1176–1177, 1180. 18. S. Zaidi and H. Waqar, ‘The Janus-face of Techno-nationalism: Barnes Wallis and the “Strength of England” ’, Technology and Culture, 2008, 49 (1): 62–88. 19. Aristotelis Tympas, Stathis Arapostathis, Katerina Vlantoni and Yannis Garyfallos, ‘Border-Crossing Electrons: Critical Energy Flows to and from Greece’, in Per Hogselius, Anique Hommels, Arne Kaijser and Erik van der Vleuten (eds), The Making of Europe’s Critical Infrastructures (Hampshire, 2013), 157–183. 20. EBASCO Services Inc, Electric Power Program of the Kingdom of Greece for the Economic Cooperation Administration, Washington DC , 1950. 21. Ν. Παντελάκης, Ο εξηλεκτρισμός της Ελλάδας: Από την ιδιωτική πρωτοβουλία στο κρατικό μονοπώλιο (1880–1956) (Aθήνα, 1991). 22. Σ. Τσοτσορός, Ενέργεια και Ανάπτυξη στην Μεταπολεμική Περίοδο: Η Δημόσια Επιχείρηση Ηλεκτρισμού (1950–1992) (Αθήνα, 1995), 143–149; Π. Ευθύμογλου, ‘Η φύση του ενεργειακού προβλήματος της χώρας και η εξέταση των στόχων μιας αποτελεσματικής ενεργειακής πολιτικής’, Επιστημονικόν Δελτίον ΔΕΗ, 1977, 14: 38; Σ. Νικολάου, ‘Σύγχρονοι προσανατολισμοί εξελίξεως και διαμορφώσεως υδροηλεκτρικών έργων’, Συνέδριο: Το ενεργειακό πρόβλημα της Ελληνικής Οικονομίας Σήμερα, 23–28 Μαΐου, 1977. 23. G. E. Papadopoulos and K. C. Salapas, Agriculture and Reclamation Projects of Greece (Athens, 1978), 40–43. 24. Ι. Γ. Αργυράκης, ‘Οι Υδροηλεκτρικοί Σταθμοί της ΔΕΗ Α.Ε. και η συμβολή τους στην κάλυψη των ενεργειακών αναγκών της χώρας’, 1˚ Πανελλήνιο Συνέδριο Μεγάλων Φραγμάτων, 13–15 Νοεμβρίου 2008. 25. Xanthopoulos was Professor of Hydraulics and Hydraulic Infrastructures at the National Technical University of Athens from 1975 to 2004, chancellor of the same institution for six years from 1997 to 2003, and president of the Public Power Company (1989–1993).

200

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

26. Θ.Σ. Ξανθόπουλος, ‘Διαχείριση Υδατικών Πόρων: Θεωρητικές Ελπίδες και Ρεαλιστική Προσέγγιση’, ΤΕΕ Συνέδριο, Διαχείριση Υδατικών Πόρων, 13–16 Νοεμβρίου 1996. 27. Γαλάτης, ‘Η εκμετάλλευσις των υδραυλικών δυνάμεων στην Ελλάδα’. 28. Εφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως (Government Gazette), Ref.no 481, 30 October 1936; X. Χατζηιωσήφ, Η γηραιά Σελήνη. Η βιομηχανία στην ελληνική οικονομία, 1830–1940, (Αthens, 1993), 199–200. 29. Engineering Consultants Inc., Kremasta Project Technical Report (1961–1966), V.I (Denver, CO, 1974), 1. 30. Αναγκαστικός Νόμος 2220 (Compulsory Act 2220), Εφημερίς της Κυβερνήσεως, Ref. no. 65, 17 February 1940; Κώστας Κωστής, Κράτος και Επιχειρήσεις στην Ελλάδα: Η ιστορία του Αλουμινίου της Ελλάδας (Athens, 2013), 57–58. 31. Kremasta Project Technical Report, 1. 32. Παντελάκης, Ο εξηλεκτρισμός της Ελλάδας. 33. Δημήτρης Μπάτσης, Η Βαρειά Βιομηχανία στην Ελλάδα (Αθήνα, 1949), 59–62, 90–101. 34. Δημήτρης Μπάτσης, ‘Ολοκληρωτισμός στην Οικονομία μας!’, Ανταίος, July 1945, 98. 35. Σταύρος Σταυρόπουλος, ‘Η Υδρενεργειακή αξιοποίηση και ο αναγκαστικός νόμος 2220/40’, Ανταίος, 20 September 1940, 186. 36. EBASCO Services Inc, Electric Power Program of the Kingdom of Greece for the Economic Cooperation Administration, Washington DC , 1950, esp. 1–1, 1–7, 14–2. 37. Engineering Consultants Inc., Kremasta Project Technical Report (1961–1966), V.I (Denver, CO, 1974), 2. 38. Γ.Ν Πεζοπουλος στον Υπουργό Βιομηχανίας, Ε. Μάρτη, 17 Ιουνίου 1958, PPC Archives, Acheloos Folder [3287 (447)]; Πρακτικόν της συσκέψεως της λαβούσης χώραν εις τα γραφεία της Δημόσιας Επιχειρήσεως Ηλεκτρισμού (ΔΕΗ) εν Αθήναις τη 16 Μαίου 1958, PPC Archives, Acheloos Folder [3287 (447)]. 39. Alberto Modiano to PPC , 20 June 1958, PPC Archives, Acheloos Folder [3287 (447)]. 40. Techint to PPC , 9 October 1957, PPC Archives, Acheloos Folder [3287 (447)]. 41. There were some reparation budgets from Italy to Greece and there were estimations that $10 million could be used for the hydroelectric projects in Acheloos. 42. Τσοτσορός, Ενέργεια και Ανάπτυξη στην Μεταπολεμική Περίοδο; Γιώργος Σταθάκης, Το δόγμα Τρούμαν και το σχέδιο Μάρσαλ: Η ιστορία της αμερικανικής βοήθειας στην Ελλάδα, (Athens, 2004). 43. Engineering Consultants Inc., Kremasta Project Technical Report (1961–1966), V.I (Denver, CO, 1974), 9–10. 44. Kremasta Hydroelectric Project, Pump-Turbine Installation Fifth Unit-Technical Feasibility Report, 1, PPC Archives, [334]. 45. Γ. Παπαματθαιάκις, ‘Έκθεσις Επί της σκοπιμότητος κατασκευής της Πέμπτης Μονάδος του Υδροηλεκτρικού Σταθμού Κρεμαστών ως συνθέτου μονάδος αντλήσεως ύδατος και παραγωγής ενέργειας’, 22 November 1965, 10–11, PPC Archives, [334]. 46. Παπαματθαιάκις, ‘Έκθεσις Επί της σκοπιμότητος κατασκευής της Πέμπτης Μονάδος του Υδροηλεκτρικού Σταθμού Κρεμαστών ως συνθέτου μονάδος αντλήσεως ύδατος και παραγωγής ενέργειας’.

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

201

47. Technical Specifications for the design supply and erection of the Acheloos–Athens 380KV line, July 1966, PCC Archives, [Folder: High Voltage Transmission Line 380KV, 9/2/1966-29/7/1966]; Ε. Ν. Μαλαγαρδής προς τον Γενικό Διευθυντή, ‘Εκλογή υψηλής τάσης’, 2–4, 8. 48. Κώστας Κωστής, Τα κακομαθημένα παιδιά της ιστορίας: Η Διαμόρφωση του Νεοελληνικού Κράτους 18ος–21ος αιώνας (Athens, 2013), 776–782. 49. Electrowatt, The Development of Thessaly’s Plain: Preliminary Study and Report of the Economic Feasibility, v.II (June 1968) [Αξιοποίησις Πεδιάδος Θεσσαλίας: Προκαταρκτική Μελέτη και Έκθεσις Οικονομικής Σκοπιμότητας, Μέρος ΙΙ], esp. 108– 110, 113–114, 116. While the cost would have been 0.16 drachmas/KW h without diversion, with the planned diversion this would be increased to 0.18 drachmas/KW h. Electrowatt, The Development of Thessaly’s Plain, 113–114. 50. Magerias initially presented his ideas and suggestions in a study for the Planning Unit of PPC in June 1972. He reiterated his ideas in December of the same year in the Technical Chamber of Greece. 51. For grandiose Soviet engineering projects and the Soviet technocratic ideology see Kendall E. Bailes, ‘The Politics of Technology: Stalin and Technocratic Thinking among Soviet Engineers’, The American Historical Review, 1974, 79 (2): 445–469; Frank Westerman, Engineers of the Soul: The Grandiose Propaganda of Stalin’s Russia (Overlook Press, 2011); Andrew L. Jenks, ‘A Metro on the Mount: The Underground as a Church of Soviet Civilization’, Technology and Culture, 2000, 41 (4): 697–724. 52. Έκθεσις επι της σκοπιμότητας εκτροπής ποταμών δυτικής Ελλάδος προς Θεσσαλίαν, Τόμος 1, 3. 53. Έκθεσις επι της σκοπιμότητας εκτροπής ποταμών δυτικής Ελλάδος προς Θεσσαλίαν, Τόμος 1, 3. 54. Σ. Μαγειρίας, ‘Αναπτυξης της Θεσσαλίας εις πρώτο ενεργειακό, αγροτοκτηνοτροφικόν και ποταμοπλοικόν κέντρον της χώρας’, Επιθεώρησις (Συλλόγου Διπλωματούχων Ηλεκτρολόγων και Μηχανολόγων Μηχανικών), Φεβρουάριος 1973, 1. 55. Έκθεσις Επι της σκοπιμότητας εκτροπής ποταμών δυτικής Ελλάδος προς Θεσσαλίαν, Τόμος 1, 1. 56. ‘Σύστασις Ομάδος Αξιολογήσεως Προμελετών ΥΗΕ’, in Σ. Μαγειρίας, ΑΠΟΨΕΙΣ επί εκθέσεως Ομάδος κ. Θέριανου, Αθήνα, Μάιος 1974. 57. ‘Σύστασις Ομάδος Αξιολογήσεως Προμελετών ΥΗΕ’, 32. 58. There was a conflict between Magerias and Therianos with allegations by the former of the latter’s attempt to bury his suggestions and to distort his proposals. Σ. Μαγειρίας, ‘Η εκτροπή των υδάτων του Αχελώου (από λίμνη Συκιάς) προς την Θεσσαλική Πεδιάδα’, Πρακτικά Συνεδρίου Υδάτινου Δυναμικού Θεσσαλίας, τόμος 2ος, (Λάρισα, 1979), 349–412, esp. 354–357. 59. Έκθεσις επι της σκοπιμότητας εκτροπής ποταμών δυτικής Ελλάδος προς Θεσσαλίαν, Τόμος 1, 10–14; Μαγειρίας, ‘Η εκτροπή των υδάτων του Αχελώου (από λίμνη Συκιάς) προς την Θεσσαλική Πεδιάδα’, 356–357. 60. Μαγειρίας, ‘ΑΠΟΨΕΙΣ επί εκθέσεως Ομάδος κ. Θέριανου’, 45.

202

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

61. Μαγειρίας, ‘ Η εκτροπή των υδάτων του Αχελώου (από λίμνη Συκιάς) προς την Θεσσαλική Πεδιάδα’, 349, 350, 353. 62. Constantine Doxiadis was an architect and planner who had played an important role in the post-Second World War reconstruction of Greece from several governmental and state positions. Α. Α. Κύρτσης (επιμ.), Κ. Δοξιάδης: Κείμενα, Σχέδια, Οικισμοί (Athens, 2006). 63. Υδατικοί Πόροι, Τόμος V, Εθνικό Χωροταξικό Σχέδιο και Πρόγραμμα της Ελλάδος (Αθήνα, 1980), 148–149. 64. Π. Κυριζής, ‘Αξιοποιούμενα ύδατα Θεσσαλίας: Υπάρχουσες μελέτες και έργα’, Πρακτικά Συνεδρίου Υδάτινου Δυναμικού Θεσσαλίας, τόμος 2ος, 68–74; Γ. Χατζηλάκος, ‘Υπολογισμός των αναγκών σε νερό για άρδευση στον Θεσσαλικό κάμπο’, Πρακτικά Συνεδρίου Υδάτινου Δυναμικού Θεσσαλίας, τόμος 2ος, 136–155; A. Τορτοπίδης, ‘Προοπτικές και δυνατότητες αναπτύξεως του θεσσαλικού χώρου’, Πρακτικά Συνεδρίου Υδάτινου Δυναμικού Θεσσαλίας, τόμος 2ος, 36–45. 65. Δημ. Κωνσταντινίδης, ‘Μακροπρόθεσμα προγράμματα περιφερειακής αναπτύξεως με βάση την αναπτυξιακή χωρητικότητα σε ορισμένα χρονικά όρια’, Πρακτικά Συνεδρίου Υδάτινου Δυναμικού Θεσσαλίας, τόμος 2ος, 252–285. 66. Κωνσταντινίδης, ‘Μακροπρόθεσμα προγράμματα περιφερειακής αναπτύξεως με βάση την αναπτυξιακή χωρητικότητα σε ορισμένα χρονικά όρια’, 281. 67. Ελευθερία, 16 March 1983, 1. 68. A revolt of the landless rural workers against wealthy landowners of large-scale farms in the early twentieth century. 69. Υπουργείο Οικονομικών, Πρόγραμμα Οικονομικής και Κοινωνικής Ανάπτυξης, 1983–1987 (Αθήνα, 1985), 495, 497–499. 70. Ηλίας Ευθυμιόπουλος, Δήμος Τσαντίλης και Κίμων Χατζημπύρος (επιμ.), H Δίκη του Αχελώου (Αθήνα, 1999), 21–23. 71. Ευθυμιόπουλος, Τσαντίλης και Χατζημπύρος (επιμ.), H Δίκη του Αχελώου, 24–25. 72. Ευθυμιόπουλος, Τσαντίλης και Χατζημπύρος (επιμ.), H Δίκη του Αχελώου, 70–78, esp. 70–71, 73. 73. Ευθυμιόπουλος, Τσαντίλης και Χατζημπύρος (επιμ.), H Δίκη του Αχελώου, 127–132. 74. Ευθυμιόπουλος, Τσαντίλης και Χατζημπύρος (επιμ.), H Δίκη του Αχελώου, 78–89, esp. 80–81, 86. 75. N. Μάργαρης, ‘Αχελώος και Θεσσαλία’, Βήμα, Απρίλιος 1984. 76. Ψήφισμα εναντίον της ΔΕΗ των κατοίκων της Μεσοχώρας, 8 August 1989, Kalantzis’ Archive. 77. ‘Προκήρυξη Διαμαρτυρίας’, 5 June 1990, Μεσοχώρα, σ.4, Kalantzis’ Archive. 78. ‘The Ecological Movement of Trikala Supports the Citizens of Mesohora’, 5 June 1990, Μεσοχώρα, σ.4, Kalantzis’ Archive. 79. Letter to the President of the European Parliament, 29 August 1993, Kalantzis’ Archive. 80. A. Alavanos, Question in the EP, 7 November 1990; Dimitris Dessylas to the European Commission, 7 November 1990, Kalantzis’ Archive.

WATER MANAGEMENT, EXPERTISE AND TECHNO-POLITICS

203

81. Κυριζής, ‘Αξιοποιούμενα ύδατα Θεσσαλίας’, 68–74. 82. Questions and Comments in relation to the ‘partial diversion’ by Kostas Mezaris, 11/12/2009, Mezaris’ Private Archive. 83. ‘Θετική υποδοχή με επιφυλάξεις για Μεσοχώρα-Αχελώο’, Ελευθερία, 7 October 2014. 84. David H. Close, ‘Environmental NGO s in Greece: The Achelöos Campaign as a Case Study of their Influence’, Environmental Politics, 1998, 7 (2), 55–77. 85. Two dominant parties that constituted the political system of Greece and governed in successive periods from the late 1970s till the recent crisis in Greece. Despite the change of their politics both parties maintained a characteristic political identity. ND represented the neoliberal, conservative and traditional Greek right, while PASOK , a mass social phenomenon in the early 1980s, represented social democrat and middle-class values. 86. Ευθυμιόπουλος, Τσαντίλης και Χατζημπύρος (επιμ.), H Δίκη του Αχελώου, 27–28. 87. Oliver A. Houck, Taking Back Eden: Eight Environmental Cases that Changed the World (Washington, DC , 2010), 135–137, 139–147; N. Frantzeskaki, J. Grin and W. Thissen, ‘Drifting between transitions, the case of the Greek environmental transition in relation to the river Acheloos Diversion project’, Technological Forecasting and Social Change, 2016, 102: 275-286. 88. Μπάλιας, ‘Οι αποφάσεις του ΔΕΕ και ΣτΕ για την εκτροπή του Αχελώου’; Close, ‘Environmental NGO s in Greece’. 89. DIRECTIVE 2000/60/EC OF THE EUROPEAN PARLIAMENT AND OF THE COUNCIL , Official Journal of the European Communities, 22 December 2000, L327/1-72. 90. DIRECTIVE 2000/60/EC , L327/6–9. 91. http://www.dsanet.gr/Epikairothta/Nomothesia/n3481_06.htm 92. Μάχη Τράτσα, ‘O Αχελώος και η «εκδίκηση» των Θεσσαλών’, To BHMA, 30 July 2010, http://www.tovima.gr/default.asp?pid=2&artid=174746&ct=75&dt=30/07/2006 93. Mπάλιας, ‘Οι αποφάσεις του ΔΕΕ και ΣτΕ για την εκτροπή του Αχελώου’. 94. ‘Αχελώος: Η Βέλτιστη διαχείριση ή η εκτροπή της λογικής’, Ομάδα Εργασίας ΤΕΕ Αιτωλοακαρνανίας, Αχελώος: Η Βέλτιστη Διαχείριση, ΤΕΕ, Αθήνα, 1–2 Δεκεμβρίου, 2005, 1–30. 95. ‘Έργα εκτροπής Αχελώου ποταμού’, Ομάδα Εργασίας ΤΕΕ, Αχελώος: Η Βέλτιστη Διαχείριση, ΤΕΕ, Αθήνα, 1–2 Δεκεμβρίου, 2005, 82. 96. ‘Έργα εκτροπής Αχελώου ποταμού’, 32. 97. ‘Έργα εκτροπής Αχελώου ποταμού’, 25, 28–29, 81. 98. Γιάννης Μυλόπουλος, ‘Η ‘Τρίτη’ λύση για τον Αχελώο’, Αχελώος: Η Βέλτιστη Διαχείριση, ΤΕΕ, Αθήνα, 1–2 Δεκεμβρίου, 2005. 99. Γιάννης Αντωνίου, Οι Έλληνες Μηχανικοί (Αθήνα, 2006); Bruce Sinclair, ‘Engineering the Golden State: Technics, Politics and Culture in Progressive Era California’, in Volker Janssen (ed.), Where Minds and Matter Meet (Huntington Library Press, California, 2012), 43–70; K. Hajibiros, ‘The River Acheloos Diversion Scheme’, Working Paper, National Technical University of Athens, Greece, 2003 (http:/ /users. itia.ntua.gr/kimon/ACHELOOS.pdf, accessed 10 January 2016).

204

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

100. Ramya Swayamprakash, ‘Exportable Engineering Expertise for “Development”: A Story of Large Dams in Post-independence India’, Water History, 2014, 6 (2): 153–165; S. B. Pritchard, Confluence: the Nature of Technology and the Remaking of Rhone, (Cambridge, 2011); David Pietz, ‘Researching the State and Engineering on the North China Plain, 1949–1999’, Water History, 2010, 2 (1): 53–60; Erik Swyngedouw, ‘Technonatural Revolutions: The Scalar Politics of Franco’s Hydrosocial Dream for Spain, 1939–1975’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 2007, 32 (1): 9–28; Erik Swyngedouw, Liquid Power (Cambridge, MA , 2015).

‘Tobacco for Atoms’: Nuclear Politics, Ambivalences and Resistances about a Reactor that was Never Built STATHIS ARAPOSTATHIS, ASPASIA KANDARAKI, YANNIS GARYFALLOS AND ARISTOTLE TYMPAS

INTRODUCTION Since the 1960s there has been a continuous discussion about the nuclear future of Greece and the introduction of nuclear technology to secure the increasing energy demand.1 Greek engineers, scientists and foreign consultants, along with politicians and political activists, shaped the conditions for the emergence in Greece of what Gabrielle Hecht called ‘nuclear exceptionalism’.2 Gabrielle Hecht has shown that following the Second World War the public discourse of Western societies presented nuclear power as fundamentally different from other technologies. For supporters, the exceptional status of nuclear power was related to the expectation of a nuclear future of low cost and abundant electricity – a utopia of promises within a capitalist and liberal context. For opponents, political activists and sceptics, nuclear power represented a continuous threat of apocalyptic disaster.3 Some state and corporate campaigns attempted to present nuclear power as a domesticated and riskless technology. Hecht argues that ‘Nuclearity, like many other categories, can be deployed as a tool of empowerment and disempowerment. Its significance depends on its techno-political distribution’.4 She explains that ‘nuclearity’ varies from country to country and from region to region, as it depends on the socio-cultural and political setting. Different actors configure different meanings and visions and shape different discourses and socio-political agendas in regards to nuclear technologies. 205

206

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

In the present article, we tell a ‘nuclearity’ story about a reactor that was never actually built. We situate our narrative within the context of the Cold War and seek to unravel how the prospective ‘nuclear’ age of Greece was conceptualized, debated and contested from the 1960s to the early 1980s by local engineers and atomic scientists, foreign consulting companies, economists, state officers, politicians and governmental ministers, protesters, local lay people, and participants to ecological movements. The geopolitical context of Cold War Europe influenced Greece’s energy policies, plans and aspirations in many ways. For many of the actors involved, the nuclear vision was legitimized in the public discourse as a necessary step for the energy autarky of the country and its more robust positioning in the geopolitics of the South-East Mediterranean and the Balkans. On the other hand, ambivalences and opposition to the nuclear plant were influenced by scepticism for the economic feasibility of the project and by concerns about the ensuing technological dependency, which could result in socio-political dependency. They were also influenced by emerging concerns about the environment and public health. These concerns were amplified by the accident at Three Mile Island in the USA in 1979 and were reinforced by the strong 6.7 Richter scale earthquake on the Corinthian Gulf of Greece on 24 February 1981. These two events provided an extra legitimacy to opposing environmental movements and to local protestations in Karystos, a town on the island of Evoia that had been selected for building the first Greek nuclear power station. In this context, the newly elected socialist and populist government of Andreas Papandreou moved on to cancel the plans for a nuclear power plant. The abandonment of these plans boosted exploitation of Greek lignite ores and the reliance on timely transnational electricity flows from linkages with neighbouring countries. Interestingly, just as Greece abolished its plans for a nuclear plant, in the midst of rising anti-nuclear criticism, it became dependent on critical imports of electricity produced in nuclear power facilities in neighbouring Bulgaria and other Balkan countries.5

FROM IMPORTED COAL AND PETROLEUM TO LOCAL LIGNITE: NETWORKS, CONNECTIONS AND ENERGY FLOWS The first five decades (c. 1890–1940) of the electrification history of Greece shared common organizational and governance characteristics with other European countries. The urban or suburban electric lighting and power lines were small-scale and isolated, owned either by private companies or municipal corporations. Electricity generation was based on imported coal or petroleum. Lignite would start playing a prominent role in electricity generation only after the 1960s.6 In 1938 only 8 per cent of energy generation was based on lignite. Ten years later this had increased to 12 per cent.7 After the Second World War, the national energy programme, which was implemented by the infant Public Power Company (PPC , 1950) and unfolded under the auspices of the national reconstruction programme from 1948 to 1958, brought to the fore the argument of energy autarky as a main priority. Initially hydroelectricity attracted the interest of the Greek and foreign engineers and managers. Yet by the 1960s, lignite became the dominant source to define the electricity generation regime

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

207

TABLE 1: Sources of electricity production, 1961–2005

1961–1967 1968–1973 1974–1979 1980–1985 1986–1991 1992–2000 2001–2005

Lignite (%)

Oil (%)

Hydro (%)

42 35 48 54 69 84 63

32 41 37 28 20

24 22 14 13 9 8 6

9

Gas (%)

16

Renewables (%)

Import (%)

2

2 2 1 5 2 2 4

Source: Data from the PPC Monthly Reports 1961–2005.

of Greece (see Table 1).8 In 1958 64.3 per cent of lignite in Greece was used in electricity generation. This percentage increased to 80.9 per cent by the 1970s. Energy dependency was a primary concern after the 1950s due to the reliance on imported petroleum and coal and the comparative low development of hydroelectricity. During the 1960s and the 1970s the dependence of Greece on imported fuels was as high as 75 per cent.9 This was considered a drawback that made the country vulnerable to the energy crises and the geopolitical pressures of the period.10 The first and the second oil crisis, in 1973 and 1979, had a strong impact on the Greek energy system. Noticeably, soon after 1973, strong pressure resulted in the temporal reduction of electricity demand by 9 per cent. The second oil crisis triggered reactions and policy strategies that structurally transformed the country’s energy regime in general and the electricity regime in particular. Among other things, the 1979 crisis initiated industry and state policies that promoted programmes for the search for oil and natural gas sources in the Ionian and the Aegean Seas. New investments were made in the State Oil Distilleries. Yet, the major investments were actually made in lignite mines by the PPC .11

THE QUEST FOR ENERGY AUTARKY: POLICIES AND POLITICS SURROUNDING THE GREEK NUCLEAR PLANT IN THE 1960s The 1950s was the period of the emergence of atomic and nuclear research in Greece, the establishment of the Greek Atomic Energy Commission (1954) and the preparations for the establishment of the Nuclear Research Centre ‘Democritos’. With considerable assistance by the United States, through the political patronage of the Greek Palace and Queen Frederika, nuclear physics was symbolically linked to the quest for the modernization of the Greek state and the dominance of Western values in the country.12 It was the period of Eisenhower’s ‘Atoms for Peace’ policy, which promoted the expansion and diffusion of industrial, technological and scientific expertise as a way to forge the techno-political dominance of the United States in Europe.13 This policy resonated with the priorities of Queen Frederika who sought legitimization as a key figure in the political life of the country. Aiming to

208

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

promote herself as the guardian of the state from the communist danger, she aligned interests and forces with the US government and the state research foundations, the International Atomic Energy Agency as well as with key European scientists with important roles in CERN .14 Research in nuclear and atomic physics was institutionalized with the establishment of the ‘Democritos’ research centre while Greece’s involvement in CERN was secured. On 28 June 1963, Professor Mihail Angelopoulos gave a lecture at the National Technical University of Athens (NTUA ), on the ‘evolution in the construction of nuclear plants’, which was attended by Queen Frederika and a crowd of Greek engineers. It was sponsored by the PPC , which had started to consider the possibility of having a nuclear power station built in Greece.15 A graduate of the electrical and mechanical engineering department of NTUA , Angelopoulos had received a PhD in engineering at Braunschweig, Germany. He had the opportunity to familiarize himself with nuclear energy while being at the Imperial College and at the UK Atomic Energy Commission. After a thorough review of the international situation from a technical and economic viewpoint, Angelopoulos focused on the Greek case. A nuclear plant was for him a ‘basis station’ of electricity generation that would have to operate continuously. This led him to the estimation that a nuclear reactor in Greece ought to operate above the capacity of 150 MW. Angelopoulos moved on to argue that the available thermal plants could ‘easily compete against’ a nuclear station of this size in Greece.16 He insisted that planning ‘on indigenous sources’ – like lignite – for the following ten years would have to cover the expected increase in the demand for electricity in response to the hopeful advance of industrialization.17 He also pointed to the high installation cost and the lack of trained personnel to run a nuclear plant as additional defects of a nuclear power station. For Angelopoulos, further complexities would stem from the fact that the economics of a nuclear power plant would necessitate its installation near a large urban and industrial centre like Athens. This would require extra precautionary measures for the health and safety of the population.18 Three years later, Professor Angelos Th. Angelopoulos (a different Angelopoulos), a well-known economist and editor of the journal New Economy (Νέα Οικονομία) would start from the opposite direction. Lignite – the key indigenous source of energy in Greece – was not a priority for him. Angelopoulos was a leading centrist intellectual whose sympathy to the political left dated back to the turbulent 1940s. Speaking in his capacity as President of the Greek Society for Planning (Ελληνική Εταιρία Προγραμματισμού),19 Angelopoulos agreed on the priority of hydroelectric plants, but he also argued in favour of the erection of a 280–300 MW nuclear plant so as ‘to cover the big gap in the energy economy of Greece’.20 In his opinion, everything was on the side of nuclear energy. First, he was estimating that nuclear electricity would cost less than half of its conventional alternatives. Second, the cost to build the nuclear plant was for him reasonable, about 40–45 million US dollars. Angelopoulos contrasted this to the 50 million dollars that were about to be spent on building two lignite units that would together give only 230 MW, which was less than the 280 MW expected from one nuclear unit. Third, he stated that the installation of a nuclear plant could offer the Greek scientific community a unique opportunity to develop rapidly and substantially.21

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

209

Considering that uranium was becoming a commodity,22 Angelopoulos believed that Greece could take advantage of a competitive uranium market to secure a good deal on uranium supply by Britain or France, or even the Soviet Union. Moreover, he saw no problem in the high consumption load that the availability of a nuclear plant would necessitate. For him this could be a problem only if the industrial development of the Greek economy would be slow so that the country would become an industrially underdeveloped ‘province for tourists of the European Common Market’.23 Angelopoulos viewed the nuclear plant as an infrastructure that would secure energy supply and forge Greece’s economic and diplomatic position in Europe.24 Being of the opinion that the energy problem of Greece was ‘extremely urgent’, he stressed that Greece had to increase its electricity generation capacity by five times.25 His arguments had the support of the influential centrist Greek economic journal, Economic Postman (Οικονομικός Ταχυδρόμος).26 A favourable public discourse and a friendly political climate set a rather supportive context for a nuclear plant. In 1966, Industry Minister I. Toumbas, publicly supported the creation of such a plant and suggested that the state should subsidize the high cost of generation in the early stages of its operation.27 By 1966 there was an increasing interest by foreign countries and their industrial interests in the nuclear future of Greece.28 Consulting and contracting engineering companies as well as manufacturers of nuclear reactors were competing in order to secure the central place in an emerging market. The Swiss engineering companies Electrowatt29 and Bonnard-Gardel,30 as well as the Belgian Societé de Traction et d’Electricité,31 submitted proposals to conduct studies in relation to the construction and operation of a nuclear plant in Greece. The American manufacturers General Electric and Westinghouse were also keenly interested. On 23 January 1967, General Electric proposed the establishment of a boiling water reactor that would be using enriched uranium and common water for freezing and deceleration purposes.32 Negotiations with the British Atomic Energy Committee started in the middle of the spring of 1996. They resulted in a detailed proposal for the establishment of a nuclear power plant in Greece, based on design principles, practices and technologies from Britain.33 The aim was the establishment of a British-designed advanced gascooled reactor, different from those proposed in the same period by American interests.34 A joint committee of experts from Greece and Britain was to carry out a relevant study.35 The committee would be presided by K. J. Norman, from the British Atomic Energy Committee. Globally renowned consulting companies like Merz and McLellan would also be represented.36 Greece was expected to contribute a group of economists and engineering experts from the Economic Planning Centre of the Ministry of Coordination, the PPC and the Greek Atomic Energy Commission. The scope of the study would be to assess the state of the energy system of Greece, the existing and projected demand, to calculate the cost of conventional and nuclear power stations, to study to carry out the integration of nuclear power generation into the existing electricity production and transmission system, and to forecast the repercussion of the use of nuclear power generation in the economic, industrial and commercial life of the country.37

210

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

FROM JUNTA TO NUCLEAR DEMOCRACY: BETWEEN POLITICS AND TECHNO-POLITICAL VISIONS In the late 1960s the PPC engineers appeared cautious about the prospect of a nuclear plant. As a result, the company remained vague about the plans for a nuclear plant.38 The discussion and planning of the nuclear power station acquired rhetorical momentum during the years of the military dictatorship by a group of colonels (1967–1974), when it was formally added to the PPC agenda. The regime of the colonels presented its nuclear policy as part of a broader agenda that emphasized national sovereignty and political empowerment in the context of Cold War Europe. The regime continued the patronage and the political support of the Greek Atomic Energy Commission, following the practice instituted by Greece’s Queen Frederika.39 It stressed the importance of keeping pace with the developed world through a comprehensive programme of industrial policy and energy politics that sought energy independence, the ending of technological dependence, and the forging of an advanced capitalist economy.40 The colonels’ regime promoted the ideals of the atomic age as a means to advance its nationalist and militarist ideology. By August 1968 it had developed a plan for increasing the experimental nuclear reactor of the state research centre ‘Democritos’ from 1 MW to 5 MW. The project was completed three years later, in November of 1971. It was celebrated through a series of festivities.41 The Greek Atomic Energy Commission was given the funding and the space to advance the ideals of the atomic age through educational programmes for young physicists.42 From 1967 to 1974 several educational seminars and conferences were organized, along with more than 1,000 educational tours for Greek scientists and engineers to countries with nuclear facilities.43 The increased interest by the Greek government on a nuclear reactor generated corresponding interest among foreign governments and companies from USA , Britain and Italy, which wanted to be involved in the business of consulting about and constructing the first nuclear plant in Greece.44 In the first half of 1969 the Greek Atomic Association and the PPC sought further discussions with the British Atomic Energy Committee for the installation of a nuclear reactor in Greece.45 At the same time the regime began promoting a public discourse that assumed Greece’s self-sufficiency in natural resources, placing special emphasis upon the exploration of uranium ores to be found in Greek territories. Exploratory mining began near the town of Kilkis in 1968. In April 1970 experts from the Development Programmes of the United Nations visited Greece to meet and discuss the prospects of uranium mining in Greece with representatives from the Greek Atomic Energy Commission. The initial negotiations resulted in an agreement between the Greek state and United Nations about the research for uranium deposits in Greece, a $500,000 project that would be funded by the United Nations.46 The 18 June 1972 issue of Macedonia informed readers that a programme for research into uranium ores in Eastern Macedonia and Thrace had been planned at a joint meeting of scientists from the state nuclear research centre ‘Democritos’, the state institute for geological research and other research institutions. ‘The pure uranium discovered in the Serres county is as much as 1,000 tons,’ claimed Macedonia on 9 September

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

211

1979. This was estimated to be enough to run a planned uranium nuclear plant of 600–700 MW for about 25 to 30 years.47 In January 1972, P. Demopoulos, the PPC director, presented long-term plans that included nuclear plants that would be introduced by 1980.48 In the midst of the junta period, utopianism surrounding nuclear energy was reaching a peak. By June 1972 the PPC had actually introduced grandiose plans to install eight nuclear 600 MW units by 1991, and six more that would be ten times more powerful (6,000 MW each) between 1993 and 2000. In a press conference designed to promote citizen support for a large loan for the PPC , president Demopoulos and vice president G. Pantazopoulos stated that the technical consultant on nuclear stations and their possible location would be chosen before the end of 1972. The PPC officers added that the final choice of a nuclear plant would be based on an international competition. Expectations regarding the discovery of uranium ores also reached a peak during the same period. According to the PPC officers, the results of a preliminary search for uranium were ‘very encouraging’ and the search for it was already entering its ‘second stage’.49 In an attempt to present PPC as the guardian of national energy security, Demopoulos and Pantazopoulos coupled the announcement of the PPC ’s ambitious nuclear energy planning with information about negotiations to double the exchange of electricity between Greece and Yugoslavia and to raise the voltage of their interconnection from 150 KV to 400 KV. They also mentioned studies to connect to the Bulgarian network by a 400 KV line, and also to the Italian and Turkish networks.50 It made sense to announce plans for transnational electricity infrastructure alongside plans for developing national infrastructure. Such announcements could strengthen the country’s negotiating power over transnational infrastructure while at the same time boosting the nationalist ideology that was at the core of the colonels’ political regime. Lacking legitimacy within Greece and in Western Europe, the dictatorial government had extra reasons for announcing plans that promised both national abundance of electric power by nuclear plants and transnational infrastructural links. At the September 1972 Thessaloniki International Fair – a national and international trade and industrial fair – Pantazopoulos announced the construction of a 600 MW plant by 1981. To make this sound more convincing, a miniature of a nuclear unit, modelled after the 800 MW Kraftwerke nuclear plant that was installed at Brunsbuttel (near Hamburg, Germany), was a central piece of the PPC fair room.51 PPC director, Demopoulos, established a Nuclear Office in 1971. In 1972, the Greek Atomic Energy Commission announced some ambitious nuclear plans, which included the availability of 4,2000 MW from nuclear plants by 1990. These plans were similar to those announced by the PPC in the same year. The junta had already tried to obtain a nuclear plant through the so-called ‘atoms for tobacco negotiations’ of the late 1960s and early 1970s. In 1971, 40,000 tons of tobacco were offered to Great Britain in exchange for the construction of a nuclear station that would be ready as early as in 1974. The British tobacco industry showed no interest so this junta initiative was quickly killed. Interestingly, the Soviet Union expressed some interest but the Greek dictators did not enter negotiations.52 Plans for a Greek nuclear plant were given further consideration after the fall of the dictatorship and the election of the conservative governments of Konstantinos

212

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

Karamanlis and Georgios Rallis. In July 1975, the first Karamanlis government established the National Energy Council and invited an MIT professor, Elias Gyftopoulos,53 to chair the Council and advise on energy issues. Gyftopoulos believed that nuclear power electricity generation would be 30–40 per cent cheaper than that from conventional power plants. Anticipated techno-scientific advancements would, for him, make the cost of electricity generation from a nuclear plant less than 20–25 per cent lower than that from coal. Gyftopoulos also expected that technological advancement would also lower the risks. The MIT professor argued that even though the dependency on reactor technology and nuclear fuel was a major concern for most countries, there was no reason for fear of monopolist interests that would threaten the sovereignty of countries.54 In 1976 the plan for a nuclear reactor was incorporated into the PPC ten-year development programme. The nuclear facility was supposed to be operational by 1986. The plans of the conservative government generated interest from foreign countries that sought an opportunity to promote both their geopolitical agendas and their commercial interests. In October 1977, during a visit to France by the Minister of Industry, Konstantinos Konofagos, the French authorities expressed interest in getting involved in the Greek nuclear programme.55 Pressures from the French government were also exercised by the French Prime Minister, Raymond Barre, during his visit to Athens in July 1979. In a meeting with Prime Minister Karamanlis, Barre praised the French nuclear programme and argued that Greece should invest in small nuclear reactors of 600 MW rather than in larger ones of 900 MW or 1200 MW.56 Karamanlis revealed that he would discuss the issue with the president of the French Republic, Valery Giscard d’Estaing. In the hope of pursuing Greece’s inclusion in the European Community, Karamanlis negotiated the construction of a nuclear plant with both d’Estaing and the German Chancellor Helmut Schmidt.57 D’Estaing was very active in pushing the collaboration between his country and Greece. The French company Pechiney, the aluminium plant of which at the Corinthian Gulf had been the largest consumer of electricity in Greece since the beginning of its operation in 1960, had already recommended ten sites for the installation of a nuclear plant.58 In the end, it was an American consulting company that became seriously involved in selecting a site for the nuclear plant. In 1980, after an international competition, EBASCO was engaged by the PPC to identify possible sites and provide consulting services. The contract made provision of a fee of 5.3 million dollars.59 While it is not clear when exactly EBASCO first became involved, we know that as early as 1976 the southern Evoia town of Karystos (70 km from Athens) was chosen as the most appropriate site for the installation of a 1,000 MW nuclear plant. The consulting company conducted geological, geophysical, seismological, demographic, aquatic, ecological and power systems surveys and, where necessary, exploratory drillings, in order to provide evidence-based assessment of suitable installation sites. The PPC was expected to consult on a list of sites based on the shortlisting of EBASCO. In a memoir, Evangelos Kouloumbis, a leading engineer and president of the Technical Chamber of Greece – the professional association of Greek engineers – during this period, who subsequently (1982) became Energy Minister of the populist socialist government of Andreas Papandreou, mentioned that he found in his ministerial

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

213

office a secret EBASCO report on the site selection process. According to Kouloumbis, EBASCO was hired to select ten possible locations for the installation of a nuclear plant, all far from the northern borders of the country, below Olympus and as far south as the Peloponnese. They should also all be as far as possible from urban centres and areas with high seismic activity.60 The initial shortlist included five sites: a site in Evoia (codified in a relevant report as ES -1-2), at the extreme southeastern coastline of the island, along the Strait of Kafireos, near the town of Karystos; a site in Lakonia (LA -9A) about 5 km west of Cape Maleas; a site in Ilia about 3 km northwest of the Kendron Reservoir (PK-1); a site in Arcadia, 3 km southeast of Dafni (PC -2); and a site 18 km from the city of Larissa (LR-2). The PPC decided to replace the site near Larissa with one in Lakonia, just 2 km from Archagelos (LA -7), and the site in Ilia (PK-1) by a second Evoia site, 3.5 km north of Mandudi (EN -5).61 The Karystos site became the focus of a prospective plant, and, as a result, of protests and demonstrations. For EBASCO, this was the most appropriate site.62 In its report EBASCO reassured that ‘there are regions in Greece which are suitable and defensible for the siting of nuclear power plants’.63 This resonated with members of the conservative government.64 In their view, given there was adequate international experience with nuclear energy, and, also, that other Balkan countries were heading towards their own nuclear future, Greece had to follow the nuclear path in order to secure its geopolitical position and the satisfaction of its energy needs.65 Several expert communities did not share the optimism of this view, while plans had already been undermined by reservations, tensions and opposition by civilians, particularly in Karystos. Political and ideological change as well as political activism and a lack of consensus among experts led to the abolition of plans for a nuclear reactor and the Greek nuclear programme altogether.

IN THE MIDST OF PUBLIC CONTESTATION, CONFRONTATION AND EARTHQUAKES: FROM POLITICS OF EXPERTISE TO NATIONAL POLITICS Experts on their toes: debating plants and policies The second half of the 1970s was a period of intense deliberation about the nuclear plant, with engineers and scientists from a variety of disciplines participating in public discussions. Professional and scientific associations, in their attempt to contribute to the broader discussion of the energy crisis following the 1972 oil crisis, organized workshops, seminars, conferences and other public events to publicly promote their position. The Technical Chamber of Greece, the Association of Greek Physicists, the Association of Greek Nuclear Scientists, the Greek Atomic Energy Commission and the Panhellenic Association of Biologists, were institutions and professional bodies that contributed to public debates. The arguments of critics contributed to a lack of enthusiasm for the nuclear plant while they gave crucial support to local protestations in Karystos. The Technical Chamber of Greece did not reject the nuclear reactor in principle but pointed to the local conditions that would increase uncertainties and risks. To

214

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

start with, it insisted that Greece had done very little towards the exploitation of its hydraulic potential and that only 16 per cent of this potential had been used in an optimal way. In 1977 the Technical Chamber came to doubt that nuclear power would reduce energy costs and came to argue that any decision towards a nuclear future would further increase the technological dependence of Greece on American military and industrial interests. The official body of Greek engineers also brought up the uncertainties in managing nuclear waste or nuclear leakages in case of accidents and war conflicts, considering the geography and the geopolitics of the region and given the recent conflict with Turkey over Cyprus. The Chamber representatives argued that the projected cost would exceed the modest predictions of its supporters while, at the same time, a plant of 600 MW or 1,000 MW would be excessive and therefore most of the investment on it would remain in a latent state.66 The Technical Chamber wanted to have a stronger role in the making of energy policy and so it organized a key conference in 1977, entitled ‘The Present Energy Problem of Greece’.67 During a roundtable discussion entitled ‘Hydrocarbons or Nuclear Power’68 several scientific groups registered their opinions: the group of scientists ‘Physics in the service of man’; the Technical Chamber’s Permanent Committee on the Environment; the Union of Greek Nuclear Scientists; and representatives of PPC . The arguments advanced by the ‘Physics in the service of man’ group against the installation of a nuclear plant in Greece were based on international experiences regarding the economic and social risks from nuclear energy. In regards to the Greek case, the group mentioned a 1976 study that estimated the cost of the installation of a nuclear plant in Greece to be 30 per cent higher due to extra costs to transfer the technology and educate the necessary technical personnel. This cost could rise much higher if the plant was to be built underground. The group thought that this was necessary for a nuclear plant that was to be installed in a politically unstable region.69 The group’s argument concerning the percentage of national energy to be supplied by a nuclear plant deserves special attention. It started by assuming that the capacity of a nuclear reactor could not be less than 1,000 MW, because international experience has shown that even a 600 MW reactor was economically unsustainable. Based on existing predictions, the group estimated that a nuclear reactor in the order of size required would cover 15 per cent of the overall estimated capacity of the Greek electricity system by 1985. This was understood as a very high percentage, which would incur major investments in reserve generating facilities for periods of regular or other maintenance.70 This anti-nuclear group argued that countries that produced electricity from nuclear power relied far less than 15 per cent on nuclear power.71 Quite naturally, the presentation of the ‘Physics in the service of man’ group started with an analysis of nuclear energy only to conclude by recommending research into alternative energy sources, which were described as especially appropriate for the Greek climate and geography.72 The seismicity of Greece was by then a key argument of the anti-nuclear camp. Foreign experience and standards argued in favour of building nuclear power stations away from urban centres. At the 1977 conference, the Technical Chamber’s Permanent Committee on the Environment pointed out ‘the difficulty to find in Greece an area that is non-seismic and is adequately distant from the urban centers’.73

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

215

Expressing well-established views within the Technical Chamber, the Committee reminded that in the event of an accident, radioactivity could spread easily and quickly into Greek urban centres. More specifically for the case of Karystos, a leakage would threaten more than a third of the Greek population because of its proximity to the country’s sizable metropolis.74 The pro-nuclear plant groups used information and experiences from existing nuclear countries to show that the international comparison was in favour of a Greek nuclear plant. A leading actor in the pro-nuclear camp was the Union of Greek Nuclear Scientists, a scientific body comprising engineers, biologists, physicists, doctors and agriculture scientists that supported the use of nuclear power and promoted the establishment of the new plant. The Union wanted to play a role in shaping energy policy and especially in the decision-making process about the nuclear plant. It referred to a well-circulated international report – the Rasmussen Report – that listed the annual possibility of an accident to an individual: 1 per 4,000 for a car crash, 1 per 25,000 for a fire, 1 per 100,000 for an airplane fall, 1 per 2,000,000 for a lightning strike. The calculated possibility for a nuclear accident was identified to 1 per 5,000,000,000.75 The Union sought to deconstruct the arguments from the anti-nuclear camp that stressed the possibility of illegal circulation of smuggled nuclear materials surrounded by nuclear neighbours, Greece could become a route for stolen nuclear materials for this camp.76 The neighbouring countries as exemplary cases for energy policy were stressed by K. Kasapoglou, a representative of the PPC group. He noted that ‘introducing a nuclear unit in Greece by 1986 would not be premature, because countries of the region that are richer than Greece or have comparable resources already have or would have nuclear plants by 1986: Yugoslavia, Bulgaria and Turkey’. Kasapoglou referred to a PPC study that showed that the Greek grid could remain stable and absorb a surplus of 7 per cent due to the integration of a nuclear plant. To him, this meant that a 600 MW plant could be safely integrated into the Greek network.77 In February 1978, the Union of Greek Nuclear Scientists organized a public discussion on nuclear reactors. Members of the Union in favour of the establishment of the nuclear reactor complained about the obscure and excessively cautious governmental procedures as well as about their own exclusion or marginalization from the decision-making process.78 During this public discussion, the president of the Union, Chr. Markopoulos, proposed that the country’s existing mineral sources should be surveyed and mapped to provide a basis for the organization and systematization of the energy policy. A new, supposedly more technologically advanced reactor was proposed, which would not necessitate additional expenditure for the enrichment process.79 In 1980 the Union organized a similar meeting of professional bodies, scientific groups and individual experts.80 It was so overwhelmed by a pro-nuclear majority that it was accused of excluding anti-nuclear experts like the Union of Greek Physicists. Among the participants there was consensus that lignite and nuclear power would be the solutions for the energy requirements of Greece. While the establishment of the reactor was approved as the optimal energy solution, there was disagreement about the conditions or preconditions for its construction. The energy demands of the country, the type of the reactor, the role of the scientific and

216

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

technological human capital that existed in Greece and could assist in the construction of the technology, were all topics of interest for the speakers. Authoritative experts like M. Angelopoulos, the aforementioned Professor of Nuclear Physics and Technology at the National Technical University, presented the nuclear future of Greece as necessary. He saw technological dependence as an unavoidable side effect of the need to expand the energy mix of the country. In the absence of the anti-nuclear groups, Kouloumbis, president of the Technical Chamber, appeared to be one of the more cautious and ambivalent participants. While he neither questioned nor criticized the establishment of the plant, Kouloumbis insisted that this should only be realized under specific conditions and within a strict legal and institutional setting. The Chamber president stressed the use of local engineering expertise rather than external American advice as a critical factor in avoiding the problem of technological dependency. This was a straightforward criticism of the practice of PPC and the Greek government, which relied on foreign expertise like that of EBASCO in order to identify locations and evaluate technologies for the plant. On this issue, A. Markopoulos, the president of the Union, argued that there was a lack of technologically oriented research and therefore a lack of experts with the credentials necessary for the planning and design of a nuclear reactor. He argued that this was a problem of leadership, both managerial and political, directing his criticism against those who headed the ‘Democritos’ Nuclear Research Centre and its projects. In his view, the Centre was dominated by a culture of strict separation between pure and applied science, giving emphasis and being successful on the first but completely neglecting the more applied or technological research that would make it possible for the state to base its policies on native expertise.81 This 1980 meeting took place in a highly critical period for nuclear energy, functioning as a key forum to attempt to reaffirm the need and the appropriateness of a nuclear plant. The accident at Three Mile Island had changed the attitude towards the plans for the nuclear plant. It had shaken certainties, bringing into the fore the uncertainties and vulnerabilities of nuclear power infrastructures, raising in the most prominent way the primacy of the issue of safety. In his public statements and analysis of the accident, Efstathios L. Bourodimos, Professor of Engineering at Rutgers University, argued that the accident on the other side of the Atlantic would be a starting point for changes in state policies. In his view, no expert would be able to design and plan a safe plant in a country as seismogenic as Greece. Small mechanical faults and failures could result in large-scale contamination and disaster. Instead of raising hopes and boosting further the nuclear ‘hubris’, a new moral, social and political contract was, for Bourodimos, necessary, particularly after the accident in the US . In his opinion this accident increased the evidence of the great risks involved in the operation of a nuclear plant.82

From local protests to national politics While experts debated the nuclearity of Greece, local citizens’ groups and ecological groups developed a more location-specific strategy. The late 1970s and early 1980s were the period of the emergence of a series of public reactions and protestations in

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

217

several areas in Greece, by locals who reacted to the environmental degradation of their regions through the establishment of environmentally harmful factories, petrochemical plants or fossil-fuelled power stations. The public discourses that emerged from the processes that resulted in the early environmental movements were characterized by a dominance of the local factor and an emphasis on the local context and environment. The people’s struggle in Karystos is a case in point.83 The information about EBASCO ’s search of appropriate locations for the nuclear power station triggered concerns by people that gradually transformed local protests to national politics. The ‘noise’ about the plan to install a nuclear plant in Karystos quickly became very loud. The thousands gathered at the central square of Karystos on 15 May 1977 included not only people from Evoia, but also elected parliamentarians from the whole of the political spectrum. In his talk, the Karystos mayor, Avg. Saravanos, argued that ‘our country will come to depend on the country that will construct and sell to us the nuclear reactor’.84 Several gatherings took place over the next four years. On Sunday 28 May 1978, the main speaker, the president of a club of Evoians living in Athens, sought to discredit the nuclear plant as a ‘junta plan’.85 The last Karystos meeting took place on Sunday 3 May 1981. The Karystians gathered at this meeting to protest the nuclear plants were ‘holding black flags and did not stop ringing church bells’.86 The Karystos mayor, Dimitris Chatzinikolis, gave the main speech. He asked for a formal government confirmation that the nuclear plant would not be built. Mayors from other Evoia towns and from the Cycladic island of Naxos were there to support him.87 Representatives from the conservative party, the main opposition party (by then that of Papandreou) and the rest of the political parties were also there.88 While few were as determined against the nuclear plant as Mayor Chatzinikolis and his fellow Karystians, there were even fewer who were determined to support it. The pro-Soviet communist party was not against nuclear energy in general. Several Rizospastis (the party’s newspaper) articles of the period between 1976 and 1977 supported the Evoia protests but also stated that the party would support nuclear energy development following the Soviet model. This was not the model to be followed in the case of the Karystos plant, so this party could not defend it. The pro-Soviet communist party was against the construction of the technology by private interests and private companies. For this party, the construction of the reactor by private companies would increase the risk of the technology. This was framed as a major defect. On the other hand, the communist party claimed that reactors of Soviet design and construction were technologically, morally and politically appropriate, representing a riskless technology.89 The pro-Western communist party, which was smaller than the pro-Soviet one but enjoyed recognizable appeal among intellectuals and the engineering and scientific communities, was against nuclear energy more generally. Several of its members were pioneers in the pursuit of the substitution of the choice between alternative energy sources and nuclear energy for the choice between Western and Eastern nuclear reactors. The members of the populist socialist party of Papandreou were not explicitly against the nuclear plant but neither were they eager to support it. The situation changed drastically after an earthquake measuring 6.7 on the Richter scale hit the Greek capital on 24 February 1981, with an epicentre near the Halcyon

218

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

islands, 77 km away from Athens, about the same distance to the west of the capital as Karystos was to the east. Despite the earthquake, the conservative government tried to keep a strong and robust political stance in support of the nuclear plant. Against the concerns raised with the earthquake, the conservative Minister of Industry and Energy, Stephanos Manos, argued a month later that ‘despite the earthquake, the nuclear production unit of 600 MW will be constructed by the PPC ’.90 He insisted that since the buildings in the metropolis remained untouched by this strong earthquake, it would be difficult to support any argument for the vulnerability of the prospective power station. This was a view that had the support of the EBASCO company in Greece.91 Primed by the compound effect of the Karystos protests and anti-nuclear arguments like the ones heard at the 1977 TCG conference, Greek society quickly moved on to abort plans for a nuclear plant.92 The conservative government came under massive fire from the leaders of the opposition parties, who took the parliament floor one after the other to argue that the state had been proven totally incapable of preparing for a strong earthquake hit. ‘Fifty per cent of Europe’s seismic energy is released in Greece,’ noted Papandreou before moving on to ask for the resignation of the government. The chaotic conditions prevailing in Greece after the earthquake were an issue that presented the opposition leader with an opportunity to gather additional support for his own political agenda. A few months before an election that would give him a commanding electoral victory, Papandreou seized the opportunity to eliminate from this agenda an issue that could undermine him in the same way that it had undermined the conservative government. On 14 March 1981, just a few months before his party’s victory in the national elections, Papandreou argued in a parliamentary speech: There is another issue that we want to state our position on. Our country is seismogenic. Dangerously so. This is why the construction of nuclear reactors is not a desirable path for our country. The reactor is not the only issue. The waste is also an issue. Where in Greece should we place the nuclear plant? I challenge for an answer . . . In any case, I believe that we should all agree on the following position: No to the nuclear reactors. No to the nuclear plant.93 In the autumn of 1981 Papandreou won the elections. A thermonuclear unit of 600 MW appeared in the PPC plans up until the 1981–1985–1990 programme, which was announced on August of 1981. Starting with the following programme (1983– 1987–1992), which was announced in September 1982, there would be no thermonuclear unit in the PPC programmes.94

CONCLUSIONS In this article, we have introduced the unrealized plans for a nuclear power plant in Greece. We have unravelled the phases of an incomplete transition and of a failed project as processes that were politically, ideologically and culturally embedded.95 The Greek nuclear programme passed through several stages, from its visionary conceptualization to its political deconstruction. During these different stages, Greece’s nuclearity was co-constructed with political power and the ideological

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

219

priorities of the governments and the Greek state. The Greek ‘nuclear exceptionalism’ was embedded in the political and social context of the Cold War in the South-East Mediterranean. For both the conservative and the centrist governments of the 1960s the integration of nuclear power in the energy mix of the country was conceived as an issue of energy economics. The colonels’ regime sought to integrate the nuclear plant into its energy agenda, attempting to denote autarky as a national duty and as way for the country to find its place and position in the geopolitical arena of the South-East Mediterranean. Nationalism was fused with the grandiose nuclear visions of a political regime that wanted to invest in energy sufficiency and energy supply at low cost. In the second half of the 1970s, conservative Prime Minister Karamanlis brought into his agenda the nuclear option in order to respond to the energy crises of 1973 and 1979 but also in order to integrate Greece into the European Community. The political priorities of the populist socialist party that succeeded the conservatives in the government, the increasing concern by expert scientists and engineers about the dangerous character of nuclear power generation, local protests and, more importantly, a strong earthquake, framed nuclear power generation as dangerous. In the 1960s the arguments about autarky and sovereignty were enriched by a technocratic deterministic vision that linked large-scale technologies with ‘progress’ and growth. This was also the case in several other countries in Cold War Europe, including Denmark, France and the UK . In France and the UK military purposes strongly influenced policies, aspirations and discourses.96 In Greece there were engineers and scientists who prioritized and directed public policy towards a nuclear future within a technological discourse that constructed and represented nuclear energy as a possible and, for some, optimal option for the energy autarky of the country. Greek and foreign experts framed the establishment of a nuclear reactor as an energy-related problem. Based on this, their public discourses, arguments and reasoning stressed the economics of nuclear plants and their integration into the electricity system and the energy regime. In the 1960s and 1970s any public or quasi-public contestation was related to the economics and the politics of nuclear power rather than the risks involved. Concerns about the environment and the concept of the nuclear power plant as a highly risky technology for nature and human alike started to emerge in public discourses in the late 1970s, both as part of a cautionary engineering rationale and as an integral component of political activism against the prospects of the establishment of a plant. Citizen arguments and protests – particularly those from Karystos who were the most energetic – were effective in shaping the public representation of nuclear power as uncertain, risky and dangerous. While political activism was far from being the sole reason for the cancellation of the plans, it framed the problem in ways that encouraged a large part of society to politically delegitimize nuclear power generation as a possible solution to Greece’s energy problem. The cancellation of the project to construct a nuclear power plant in Karystos and, in effect, the cancellation of a nuclear programme of any kind in Greece, took place in a period of restructuring the country’s energy mix. It also overlapped with the construction of large-scale lignite plants and the introduction of

220

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

electrical interconnections with the neighbouring countries to the north, and, through transnational networks, with the rest of Europe. The irony is that despite the delegitimization of the plan for a nuclear power plant, Greece indirectly became a nuclear country, since critical incoming flows of electricity were secured from nuclear power plants in Bulgaria. The story of the cancelled nuclear reactor in Greece has striking similarities and differences with the Danish nuclear programme. In Denmark, the environmental movement and continuous social opposition to the project, along with the gradual positioning of the Danish Social Democrats against nuclear energy, created a strong coalition that resulted in the complete disappearance of the nuclear programme from any energy planning since the mid-1980s. Yet, Denmark set policies that boosted further its tradition in the use of renewable energy sources, most importantly wind energy, while Greece’s policies carved a different energy pathway, one that was dominated by the extraction and burning of lignite.97

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors would like to thank Graeme Gooday, Robert Fox, Ian Inkster and the referees for their comments and suggestions. Also, the colleagues from the ‘Tensions of Europe’ network and the ESF ‘Eurocrit’ project, especially Anna Åberg, Ivaylo Hristov, Arne Kaijser, Vincent Lagendijk, Karl-Erik Michelsen, Tihomir Mitev, Ivan Tchalakov, Katerina Vlantoni and Erik van der Vleuten. Part of the research presented here was funded by the EU HORIZON 2020 project ‘HoNES t – History of Nuclear Energy and Society’.

NOTES 1. The unrealistic character of contemporary plans has been frequently a source of jokes in energy policy portals, see indicatively http://www.energia.gr/article.asp?art_id=80510 2. Gabrielle Hecht, Being Nuclear (Cambridge, MA : MIT Press, 2013). 3. Hecht, Being Nuclear, 8. 4. Hecht, Being Nuclear, 16. 5. Aristotelis Tympas, Stathis Arapostathis, Katerina Vlantoni and Yannis Garyfallos, ‘Border-Crossing Electrons: Critical Energy Flows to and from Greece’, in Per Hogselius, Anique Hommels, Arne Kaijser and Erik van der Vleuten (eds), The Making of Europe’s Critical Infrastructures (Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 157–183. 6. N. Παντελάκης, Ο εξηλεκτρισμός της Ελλάδας (ΜΙΕΤ, 1991), 360. 7. Στάθης Ν. Τσοτσορός, Ενέργεια και Ανάπτυξη στη Μεταπολεμική Περίοδο: Η Δημόσια Επιχείρηση Ηλεκτρισμού, 1950–1992 (Αθήνα, 1995), 57–59. 8. Tympas et al., ‘Border-Crossing Electrons: Critical Energy Flows to and from Greece’, 157–181. 9. Τσοτσορός, Ενέργεια και Ανάπτυξη στη Μεταπολεμική Περίοδο, 61. 10. Τσοτσορός, Ενέργεια και Ανάπτυξη στη Μεταπολεμική Περίοδο, 63.

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

221

11. Τσοτσορός, Ενέργεια και Ανάπτυξη στη Μεταπολεμική Περίοδο, 67. 12. Maria Rentetzi, ‘Gender, Science and Politics: Queen Frederika and Nuclear Research in Post-war Greece’, Centaurus, 2009, 51, 63–87. 13. J. Krige, ‘Atoms for Peace, Scientific Internationalism, and Scientific Intelligence’, Osiris, 2006, 21, 161–181. 14. Rentetzi, ‘Gender, Science and Politics’. 15. The lecture of M. Angelopoulos was published in the Scientific Editions of PPC . See Μιχαήλ Αγγελόπουλος, Εξέλιξις Κατασκευής Πυρηνικών Σταθμών Παραγωγής, Επιστημονικές Εκδόσεις, Δημοσία Επιχείρησις Ηλεκτρισμού, 1963. On the 1950 institution of PPC as a nationwide public utility and its history until 1992, see Τσοτσορός, Ενέργειακαι Ανάπτυξηστη Μεταπολεμική Περίοδο. On the agenda that Queen Frederika sought to promote by supporting the development of nuclear physics in Greece, see Rentetzi, ‘Gender, Science and Politics’. On the technological enthusiasm about the ‘wonderful future’ of nuclear energy, see S. L. Del Sesto, ‘Wasn’t the Future of Nuclear Energy Wonderful?’, in Joseph Corn (ed.), Imagining Tomorrow: History, Technology, and the American Future (Cambridge, MA, MIT Press, 1986), Chapter 3. For an overview of the technological enthusiasm and utopianism displayed in connection to the future of nuclear physics and engineering in Greece, see Ηλίας Λεμοντζόγλου, ‘Δημιουργία προσδοκιών εξαιτίας της χρήσης πυρηνικής ενέργειας στην Ελλάδα από το 1947 έως τις μέρες μας’, MS c Thesis, University of Athens, 2007. 16. Αγγελόπουλος, Εξέλιξις Κατασκευής Πυρηνικών Σταθμών Παραγωγής, 23–24. 17. Αγγελόπουλος, Εξέλιξις Κατασκευής Πυρηνικών Σταθμών Παραγωγής, 27–28. 18. Αγγελόπουλος, Εξέλιξις Κατασκευής Πυρηνικών Σταθμών Παραγωγής, 25. 19. The Greek Society for Planning was a research and consultative institution that was established in 1958 aiming to conduct economic and sociological research and to compile a ten-year plan for the economic development of Greece. The Society produced publications based on the research of its members or translations of studies of foreign European and American economists. Σωτ. Ι. Αγαπητίδη, Η Οικονομική Επιστήμη εις την Ελλάδα κατά την Πεντηκονταετίαν 1921–1970, Αρχείο Οικονομικών και Κοινωνικών Επιστημών (Αθήνα, 1970), 279. 20. Άγγελος Θ. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Είναι πλέον καιρός: Πυρηνικός ηλεκτρισμός και εις την χώραν μας’, Οικονομικός Ταχυδρόμος, Πέμπτη 10 Φεβρουαρίου 1966, 14 (98), quoting from page 14. 21. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Είναι πλέον καιρός’, 14. 22. Hecht, Being Nuclear, 34–36, 55–82. 23. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Είναι πλέον καιρός’, 14. 24. On the views of Angelopoulos regarding the relationship between Greece and the European Market, see Άγγελος Θ. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Διατί δεν συμφέρει προς το παρόν η σύνδεσις με την Κοινήν Αγοράν’, Νέα Οικονομία, Αριθμός 1959, 11 (155), Νοέμβριος, 722–725. For a suggestive overview of how the diplomacy of Greek conservative and centrist politicians tried to make the best out of this positioning, see Evanthis Hatzivassiliou, Greece and the Cold War: Front Line State, 1952–1967 (London:

222

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

Routledge, 2006). For a pioneering account on the same issue from a perspective that focuses on the history of the economic relationships between Greece and the socialist East, see the works of Sotiris Wallden: Σωτήρης Βαλντέν, Ελλάδα και Ανατολικές Χώρες, 1950–1967: Οικονομικές Σχέσεις και Πολιτική, Τόμοι Α και Β, Οδυσσέας/Ίδρυμα Μεσογειακών Μελετών (Αθήνα, 1991); ‘Η Ελληνική Δικτατορία και οι Ανατολικές Χώρες, 1967–1974’, Ελληνική Επιθεώρηση Πολιτικής Επιστήμης, Τεύχος 13, Μάιος 1999, 123–139; ‘Σημασία και Διαρθρωτικά Προβλήματα του Εμπορίου της Ελλάδας με τις Χώρες Κρατικού Εμπορίου’, Σύγχρονα Θέματα, 1982, 14(3), 25–38; and ‘Το Εξαγωγικό Εμπόριο Αγροτικών Προϊόντων: Μια Περιγραφή’, Σύγχρονα Θέματα, 1984, 22(7–9), 67–83. Wallden’s studies are very informative about the mechanisms and institutions developed in order to accommodate economic relationships between Greece and the societies of ‘state trade’ (Wallden’s term). For a study that is focused on Balkan institutions of economic negotiations, see Σωτήρης Βαλντέν, ‘Πολυμερής βαλκανική συνεργασία 1961–1966: Οι διασκέψεις των κινήσεων βαλκανικής συνεννόησης’, Σύγχρονα Θέματα, τεύχος 96–97, December 1991, 32–41. On the broader context of the economic relationships between the European Economic Community, Comecon and Eastern Europe, see Σωτήρης Βαλντέν, ‘Οι Οικονομικές Σχέσεις της ΕΟΚ με τις Ανατολικές Χώρες και την ΚΟΜΕΚΟΝ’, Σύγχρονα Θέματα, Τεύχος 32–33, December 1987, 62–78. 25. Αγγελόπουλος, ‘Είναι πλέον καιρός’, 1. 26. Παύλος Κυριαζής, ‘Από τα ανακοινωθέντα εις το συνέδριον πολιτικών μηχανικών: Ανατομία του ενεργειακού μας προβλήματος’, Οικονομικός Ταχυδρόμος, Αριθμός 618, 17 Φεβρουαρίου 1966, 109. Παύλος Κυριαζής, ‘Σοβαρά ελλείμματα ενέργειας: Αι διαπιστώσεις και προτάσεις του Α Ενεργειακού Συνεδρίου που διωργανώθη από τον Σύλλογον Πολιτικών Μηχανικών Αθηνών’, Οικονομικός Ταχυδρόμος, Αριθμός 619, 24 Φεβρουαρίου 1966, 123(7), 124(8) και 133(17). 27. Γ. Κ. Τσαπόγας, ‘Ενεργειακή Πολιτική και Πυρηνική Ενέργεια’, Οικονομικός Ταχυδρόμος, 31 Μάρτιος 1966, 217(5). 28. Μ. Στρατηγάκης προς Πρόεδρο ΔΣ της ΔΕΗ (M. Stratigakis to the PPC President), 3 August 1967, ‘Εξέτασις των μέχρι σήμερον φακέλλων, προτάσεων και προσφορών προς ΔΕΗ από ξένους οίκους, δια θέματα Ατομικής Ενέργειας’ [Confidential], Atomic Energy File, PPC Archives. 29. M. Stratigakis to the PPC President, 3 August 1967, 12–14. 30. M. Stratigakis to the PPC President, 3 August 1967, 9–12. 31. E. Maryssael and M. Dubois to M. Stratigakis, 12 October 1966, Atomic Energy File, PPC Archives. 32. M. Stratigakis to the PPC President, 3 August 1967, 12, 14–15; D. E. Kahlson to M. Stratigakis (Director and General Manager of PPC ), 15 February 1967, Atomic Energy File, PPC Archives; D. E. Kahlson to PPC , 19 May 1967, Atomic Energy File, PPC Archives. 33. M. Stratigakis to the PPC President, 3 August 1967, 6. 34. J. C. Petersen to Myron Stratigakis, 28 January 1967, Atomic Energy File, PPC Archives. 35. Petersen to Myron Stratigakis, 28 January 1967.

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

223

36. M. Stratigakis to the PPC President, 3 August 1967, 7. 37. Petersen to Myron Stratigakis, 28 January 1967. 38. Τσαπόγας, ‘Ενεργειακή Πολιτική και Πυρηνική Ενέργεια’. 39. Rentetzi, ‘Gender, Science, and Politics’, 63–87; Maria Rentetzi, ‘ “Reactoris Critical”: Introducing Nuclear Research in Postwar Greece’, Archives Internationales d’ Histoire des Sciences, 2010, 60 (164): 137–154; Μαρία Ρεντετζή, ‘Στήνοντας την μεταπολεμική φυσική στην Ελλάδα: Η ελληνική Επιτροπή Ατομικής Ενέργειας και το Ερευνητικό Κέντρο Πυρηνικών Ερευνών ‘Δημοκριτος’, Νεύσις, 2009, 18, 88–110. 40. Θάνος Βερέμης, Ελλάδα – Ευρώπη: Από τον Πρώτο Πόλεμο ως τον Ψυχρό Πόλεμο (Πλέθρο, Αθήνα, 1999), 108–109. 41. Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 50ον, 1 June 1970, 13; Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 67ον, November 1970, 1–10. 42. Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 30ον, 5 March 1969, 1–11; Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 44ον, 1 December 1969, 1–2; Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 57ον, 1 January 1971, 1–6; Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 23ον, 15 November 1968, 1; Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 22ον, 1 November 1968, 4. 43. Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 99ον, 30 June 1974, 1–4. 44. Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 25ον 15 December 1968, 10; Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 13ον, 10 May 1968, 3; Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 31ον, 16 March 1969, 3. 45. Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 37ον, 16 June 1969, 3. 46. Δελτίον Ενημερώσεως Προσωπικού, Φύλλον 63ον, July 1971, 14. 47. See ‘Πρόγραμμα Ερεύνης των Ουρανιούχων Μεταλλευμάτων’, Μακεδονία, 18 Ιουνίου 1972, 16; ‘Τους 1.000 τόνους φθάνει το καθαρό ουράνιο στην περιοχή Σερρών’, Μακεδονία, 9 Σεπτεμβρίου 1979, 6. 48. ‘Έντονος υπήρξε η δραστηριότης της ΔΕΗ εις τον τομέα εξηλεκτρισμού της χώρας: Η πυρηνική ενέργεια και το πετρέλαιον’, Μακεδονία, 6 Ιανουαρίου 1972, 9. 49. ‘Ποσόν 36.000.000.000 δραχμών θα διατεθή υπό της Δ.Ε.Η. δι’ εκτέλεσιν μεγάλων έργων’, Μακεδονία, 16 Ιουνίου 1972, 9. 50. ‘‘Ποσόν 36.000.000.000 δραχμών θα διατεθή υπό της Δ.Ε.Η. δι’ εκτέλεσιν μεγάλων έργων’, 9. 51. ‘Επιδεικνύεται εις την Έκθεσιν η δραστηριότης της ΔΕΗ κατά την τελευταίαν πενταετίαν’, Μακεδονία, 5 Σεπτεμβρίου 1972, 5 και 13. 52. The information presented in this paragraph is based on a Greenpeace document with information on nuclear plants that were cancelled throughout the world (‘Σχέδια πυρηνικής ενέργειας που ναυάγησαν’, http//:e-telescope.gr/gr/cat08/art08_040802.htm) and a talk that Raphael Moissis, a former PPC director who became head of the National Energy Research Council, gave at the Nuclear Energy Renaissance May 2008 workshop of the Demokritos National Centre for Scientific Research (ipta. demokritos.gr/Documents/MOISSIS ).

224

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

53. Elias Gyftopoulos studied mechanical and electrical engineering in the National Technical University of Athens and then completed his PhD at MIT, USA . Subsequently he became a professor at MIT in nuclear engineering, member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, American Nuclear Society, American Association for the Advancement of Science as well as a corresponding fellow of the Academy of Athens in Greece. He was a world expert in nuclear physics and engineering, thermodynamics, material science and safety in nuclear reactors. He was an adviser in the American government and state and in several industrial concerns. ‘Συνέντευξη’, Οικονομικός Ταχυδρόμος, 11 Αυγούστου 1977, φ.1214, 22. ‘Professor emeritus Elias P. Gyftopoulos dies at 84 at Massachusetts Institute of Technology’, by Alissa Mallinson and Ilavenil Subbiah; published 27 June 2012 (http://news.mit.edu/2012/obit-gyftopoulos). 54. ‘Συνέντευξη’, Οικονομικός Ταχυδρόμος, 22–23. 55. Report of Konofagos to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 17 October 1977, 3, Karamanlis Archives [52–1597]. 56. Transcript of the discussion between Konstantine Karamanlis and Roland Barre, 9 July 1979, Karamanlis Archives [50–2255]. 57. Constantine Karamanlis Archives: Events and Documents, Europe of ‘Ten’, v.11, 163–164. 58. Γιώργος Βότσης, ‘Να αντιδράσουμε στους πυρηνικούς αντιδραστήρες’, Ελευθεροτυπία, 9 Ιανουαρίου 2006. 59. Γ. Παπανικολάου, ‘Σε εφαρμογή η πρώτη φάση εγκαταστάσεως πυρηνικής μονάδας’, Οικονομικός Ταχυδρόμος, 27 Μαρτίου 1980. 60. Ευάγγελος Κουλουμπής, ‘Πυρηνικό εργοστάσιο στην Ελλάδα: 10 περιοχές εξετάστηκαν, καμμιά κατάλληλη’, ΤΕΕ 2491, 9 June 2008, 72–73. As far as the EBASCO involvement goes, the 15 September issue of Macedonia had reported that Industry Minister M. Evert had informed that EBASCO was hired because it had won a relevant competition. See ‘Τους 1.000 τόνους φθάνει το καθαρό ουράνιο στην περιοχή Σερρών’, Μακεδονία, 15 Σεπτεμβρίου 1979, 6. 61. Nuclear Power Plant Project Preconstruction Phase, Task 2: Site Evaluation Report, v.1, EBASCO, January 1981, 1.0-1-1.0-2 [Archives of PPC ]. 62. Nuclear Power Plant Project Preconstruction Phase, Task 2: Site Evaluation Report, v.1, EBASCO, January 1981, 1.0-7. 63. Nuclear Power Plant Project Preconstruction Phase, Task 2: Site Evaluation Report, v.1, EBASCO, January 1981, 1.0-7. 64. ‘To 1990 παραγωγή πυρηνικής ενέργειας στην Ελλάδα’, Μακεδονία, 29 Αυγούστου 1980, 1. 65. ‘Το 1980 θα αρχίσει η εκμετάλλευση των πετρελαίων Θάσου’, Μακεδονία, 23 Ιουνίου 1979, 1. 66. Νανά Νταουνάκη, ‘Αν γίνει ατύχημα’, Τα Νέα, 7 Μαΐου 1977, 3. 67. A parallel exhibition was taking place in the Cultural Center of the Municipality of Athens. Τεχνικά Χρονικά, τεύχος 47, Φεβρουάριος 1978. 68. Τεχνικά Χρονικά, Μάιος-Ιούνιος 1978, 183–197.

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

225

69. See Τεχνικά Χρονικά, Μάρτιος-Απρίλιος 1978, 261–298. It included the following: Κίνηση Φυσικών, ‘Η Φυσική για τον άνθρωπο’, ‘Πυρηνικοί Αντιδραστήρες Ισχύος στην Ελλάδα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, Μάρτιος-Απρίλιος 1978, 261–268, and, Μόνιμη Επιτροπή Περιβάλλοντος του ΤΕΕ, ‘Αντιδραστήρες και Περιβάλλον’ Τεχνικά Χρονικά, ΜάρτιοςΑπρίλιος 1978, 268–278. For information on other forums of scientific and engineering debates over the plans for a nuclear plant, see Μάριος Νικολινάκος, Έκθεση Πάνω στο Ενεργειακό Πρόβλημα: Συμπεράσματα και Προτάσεις από το Ενεργειακό Συνέδριο του Τ.Ε.Ε. που διογρανώθηκε τον Μάη του 1977, Τεχνικό Επιμελητήριο της Ελλάδας, (Αθήνα, 25 Απριλίου 1978), see especially 55–67. 70. Κίνηση Φυσικών, ‘Η Φυσική για τον άνθρωπο’, ‘Πυρηνικοί Αντιδραστήρες Ισχύος στην Ελλάδα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, Μάρτιος-Απρίλιος 1978, 264. 71. Τεχνικά Χρονικά, Μάρτιος-Απρίλιος 1978, 261–298, here quoting from page 288. 72. Κίνηση Φυσικών, ‘Η Φυσική για τον άνθρωπο’, ‘Πυρηνικοί Αντιδραστήρες Ισχύος στην Ελλάδα’, 265. 73. Φυσικών, ‘Η Φυσική για τον άνθρωπο’, ‘Πυρηνικοί Αντιδραστήρες Ισχύος στην Ελλάδα’, 277. 74. Φυσικών, ‘Η Φυσική για τον άνθρωπο’, ‘Πυρηνικοί Αντιδραστήρες Ισχύος στην Ελλάδα’, 277. 75. Τεχνικά Χρονικά, Μάρτιος-Απρίλιος 1978, 261–298, quoting from page 289; on the Rasmussen Report, a standard reference in debates over the risks of nuclear energy, see a Greek translation of it: Ερωτόκριτος Τσίγκας, ‘Μελέτη της ασφάλειας των πυρηνικών αντιδραστήρων’, Επιστημονικό Δελτίο Δ.Ε.Η., Τεύχος 25, Ιούνιος 1980, 29–41. 76. Τεχνικά Χρονικά, Μάρτιος-Απρίλιος 1978, 261–298, quoting from page 289. 77. Τεχνικά Χρονικά, Μάρτιος-Απρίλιος 1978, 293. 78. Βήμα, 7 Αυγούστου 1979. 79. Πρακτικά Δημόσιας Συζήτησης, Ένωση Ελλήνων Πυρηνικών Επιστημόνων, Φεβρουάριος 1978, Αθήνα, 443–450. 80. The group of attendees included leading figures of the engineering and scientific community like R. Moses, president of the PPC , M. Angelopoulos, Professor of Nuclear Technology in NTUA , E. Kouloumpis, president of the TCG , K. Ntokas, president of the Greek Association of Atomic Science, and P. Orfanidis, president of the National Energy Board. 81. BHMA , 16 Μαρτίου 1980, 6. 82. Ε.Λ. Μπουροδημος, ‘Ο εφιάλτης του Χαρρισμπουργκ και το ελληνικό πρόβλημα’, Καθημερινή, 31 Μαΐου 1979. 83. Σ. Αλεξανδρόπουλος, Ν. Σερντεδάκις and Ι. Μποτετσάγιας, ‘Το ελληνικό περιβαλλοντικό κίνημα’, Ελληνική Επιθεώρηση Πολιτικής Επιστήμης, 2007, 30, 5–31; S. Alexandropoulos and N. Serdedakis, ‘Greek Environmentalism: From the Status Nascenti of a Movement to its Integration’, ECRP Workshop on Environmental Organizations, Copenhagen, April 2000, 13–14; M. Kousis, ‘Local Environmental Protest in Greece, 1974-1994: Exploring the Political Dimension’, Environmental Politics, 2007, 16(5), 785–804; M. A. Boudourides and D. Kalamaras, ‘Environmental

226

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

Organizations in Greece’, STAGE Thematic Network, Gothenburg Workshop, 24–26 October 2002. 84. ‘Όχι στο πυρηνικό εργοστάσιο’, Ριζοσπάστης, 17 Μαΐου 1977, 6. 85. ‘Όχι πυρηνικό εργοστάσιο στην Κάρυστο’, Ριζοσπάστης, 30 Μαΐου 1978, 2. 86. ‘Παγώνει η σύμβαση για το πυρηνικό εργοστάσιο ηλεκτροπαραγωγής’, Μακεδονία, 23 Μαΐου 1981, 3. 87. ‘Διαμαρτυρία στην Κάρυστο για το πυρηνικό εργοστάσιο’, Μακεδονία, 5 Μαΐου 1981, 3. According to a web posting by Charis Karanikas, Mayor Chatzinikolis and a group of Karystians that included some municipality workers visited the EBASCO people on-site and threatened to burn their equipment. They were holding gasoline containers, which made them look rather convincing. The EBASCO people had to leave the site. To protect the main EBASCO equipment, they moved it right outside the Karystos police department. It had to stay there for a few days. A group of Karystians had also chased the EBASCO people two years earlier, in April 1978. See http://indy.gr/other-press/pali-dimosieyma-gia-pyrinika-ergostasia [accessed 27 September 2009]. 88. ‘Συγκέντρωση ενάντια στην εγκατάσταση πυρηνικού εργοστασίου στην Κάρυστο’, Ριζοσπάστης, 5 Μαΐου 1981, 7. 89. ‘Το θέμα της εγκατάστασης πυρηνικού αντιδραστήρα στην Κάρυστο, έφερε στη Βουλή το ΚΚΕ’, Ριζοσπάστης, 18 Μαΐου 1977. 90. ‘Δήλωση Μάνου: Ολοταχώς για πυρηνικές μονάδες’, Ελευθεροτυπία, 13 Μαρτίου 1981. 91. Γ. Παπανικολάου, ‘Προχωρούν οι μελέτες για την εγκατάσταση πυρηνικών μονάδων: Συνέντευξη του διευθυντή της ΕΜΠΑΣΚΟ ΔΡ. Ιωάννη Κωστόπουλο’,Οικονομικός Ταχυδρόμος, 26 Μαρτίου 1981. 92. The earthquake had exposed the vulnerability of the country’s existing infrastructure. For an engineering report written by an international team that included an EBASCO employee, see Panayotis G. Karydis, Norman R. Tilford, Gregg E. Brandow and James O. Jirsa, The Central Greece Earthquakes of February–March 1981: A Reconnaissance and Engineering Report (Washington, DC : National Academy Press, 1982). 93. ‘Η Βουλή για τα μέτρα μετά τους σεισμούς’, Μακεδονία, 14 Μαρτίου 1981, 6. 94. On the place of the first (1968–1972) and last (1981–1990) PPC programmes to include plans for nuclear plans in the history of the PPC , see Τσοτσορός, Ενέργεια και Ανάπτυξη στη Μεταπολεμική Περίοδο, 95 and 102 respectively. 95. Trevor Pinch, ‘Understanding Technology: Some Possible Implications of Work in Sociology of Science’, in Brian Elliot (ed.), Technology and Social Process (Edinburgh, 1988), 75–76; David Noble, Forces of Production: A Social History of Industrial Automation (New York, 1984). 96. Gabrielle Hecht, The Radiance of France: Nuclear Power and National Identity After World War II (Cambridge, MA : MIT Press, 1998); E. Rough, ‘Policy Learning through Public Inquiries? The Case of UK Nuclear Energy Policy 1955–61’, Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy, 2011, 29, 24–45; I. Welsh and

‘TOBACCO FOR ATOMS’

227

B. Wynne, ‘Science, Scientism and Imaginaries of Publics in the UK : Passive Objects, Incipient Threats’, Science as Culture, 2013, 22, 540–566; Henry Nielsen, Keld Nielsen, Flemming Petersen and Hans Siggaard, ‘Risø and the Attempts to Introduce Nuclear Power into Denmark’, Centaurus, 1999, 41 (1–2), 64–92. 97. Sezin Topçu, ‘Confronting Nuclear Risks: Counter Expertise as Politics Within the French Nuclear Debate’, Nature and Culture, 2008, 3 (3), 225–245; Nielsen et al., ‘Risø and the Attempts to Introduce Nuclear Power into Denmark’, 64–92; Kristian Nielsen and Matthias Heymann, ‘Winds of Change: Communication and Wind Power Technology Development in Denmark and Germany from 1973 to ca. 1985’, Engineering Studies, 2012, 4 (1), 11–31; Kristian Nielsen, ‘Technological Trajectories in the Making: Two Case Studies from the Contemporary History of Wind Power ’, Centaurus 2010, 52 (3), 175–205; Matthias Heymann, ‘Signs of Hubris. The Shaping of Wind Technology Styles in Germany, Denmark, and the USA , 1940–1990’, Technology and Culture, 1998, 39 (4), 641–670.

228

Computer Technology Periodicals and the Circulation of Knowledge about the Personal Computer in 1980s Greece THEODORE LEKKAS

INTRODUCTION In this article, I study aspects of a computer knowledge management process that is largely concerned with identifying, structuring, evaluating and sharing the computer knowledge held by either experts or other users in the Greek society of the 1980s. More specifically, I demonstrate that the Greek computer technology periodicals of this period promoted specific and historically traceable standards of computer use, mediated the procedures that established these standards and, moreover, attempted to leverage computer knowledge to the user’s advantage. The development of a dynamic community of Greek computer technology periodicals, consisting of dozens of publications, played an important role in stabilizing the negotiable identities of the use of microcomputers and the microcomputer itself: whether for business, science, gaming, self-reference or education.1 This article studies computer technology periodicals as a central factor in the use of home microcomputers and the management of related computer knowledge.2 Recent studies of the history of computing technology have focused on the ways in which the everyday users cooperated and conversed with the multiple social, technological and political developments that shaped modern society.3 Other studies connect the computer technology press with the formation of a computer hobbyist culture.4 Despite its prominence in several treatises and articles on the history of computer technology in many countries, only recently has a history of use appeared in Greece.5 However, I am concerned primarily with issues of use and the users of home microcomputers as these are represented in computer periodicals. Nevertheless, there is a gap in identifying the process by which computer knowledge was transferred 229

230

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

into a form where it could be more readily shared and understood in order to enhance specific computer uses. In the case of Greece, this process was crucial since other factors found in other national accounts were non-existent, such as state-controlled computer literacy programmes, educational programmes in primary or secondary schools, official support services by computer manufacturers or resellers, adequate user documentation or well-organized user communities.6 I will apply this approach to addressing the relationship between the computer technology periodicals published between 1980 and 1990, and specific and recognizable standards of use and knowledge management of a subcategory of personal computers, the so-called home microcomputers. The term ‘home microcomputer’ requires historical justification. At the end of the 1970s the US corporations Apple, Commodore and Tandy RadioShack commercialized cheap microcomputers to a market that would extend to encompass homes (hence the use of ‘home’ in the term), education and small business. Interestingly, these machines and the ones which followed them were highly incompatible with each other; yet, the new machines found enthusiastic support among users with no previous knowledge of computers. IBM ’s entry to the business of microcomputing in 1981 led to a gradual uniformity of the PC platform and an explosion of PC clones, known as IBM PC compatibles.7 The latter was more expensive than the affordable home microcomputers produced by small computer manufacturers like Acorn Computers Ltd, Amstrad, Sinclair Research, Dragon Data, Grundy Business Systems, Jupiter Cantab and Oric Int’l/Tangerine to name but a few British makers. During the opening years of the 1980s Greek users had their first contact and conciliation with the technology of home microcomputers and personal computers. In this newly formed socio-technical landscape, computer technology periodicals appeared to mediate the aspects of computer use, while certain standards of use became gradually prominent via a negotiation procedure with the users and readers, who in the Greek case were also active shapers of periodical content. The study of the Greek computer technology periodicals of that decade is of special importance since they also articulated and promoted a specific and recognizable rhetoric aimed at shaping the standards of computer use. Furthermore, the editors of the periodicals took it upon themselves to shape, circulate and disseminate the computer knowledge which was deemed necessary for the use of home microcomputers. I examine the way in which the computer magazines mediated these aspects of use, by focusing on ‘experimentation’ with and ‘modification’ of the computer software. The computer magazines made software practically and culturally accessible to Greek users while in the same time they were evaluating, aggregating and transferring knowledge of the home microcomputers.8 The identification and analysis of this process will contribute to the broader understanding of the interaction between users and home microcomputing technology in the historical context of the 1980s and more specifically in identifying the factors applied in the Greek case. These were the crucial role of the computer periodicals in transferring computer knowledge and the technical (via practices like the modification of software) and social activities (via the circulation of knowledge and the articulation of a home tech-savvy culture) to overcoming barriers to the transnational adoption of home microcomputing technology.

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

231

GREEK COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS IN THE 1980s: AN OVERVIEW The decade between 1980 and 1990 can be viewed as the era when the use of home microcomputers emerged, became established and finally prevailed. During that time the printed press was one of the dominant sources of information for microcomputer users through publishing presentations, reviews and advertisements for computer hardware, software and peripherals. The Greek computer technology periodicals that first circulated during the early 1980s were – mainly – a response to the needs of the users for information on personal computing technology, especially for the so-called home microcomputers. The CEO of the newly formed Greek publishing company Compupress, N. Manousos, publisher of the very popular PIXEL and Computer για Όλους (Computer for All) periodicals, stated that the demand for more and better information about home microcomputers increased enormously, both among the users of this technology and those who just wished to see what it was about and how they could use it.9 In the US , periodical publications on personal and home computing technology began to appear in the middle to late 1970s and grow in numbers and content by the beginning to middle of the 1980s. In order to fill the gap left by the inadequate manuals of the first microcomputers and the uninformed dealers, computer technology periodicals spread quickly and dynamically. According to David Bunnell, in 1975 only two periodicals dealt with different aspects of personal and home computing technology; by 1984 almost 200 periodicals dealt with these issues.10 The year 1984 can be seen as the year when computer magazines reached maturity. Both the technical characteristics and the standards of use of personal microcomputers would lead to the emergence of a dynamic community of computer publications: from wide-spectrum magazines like Personal Computing and Microcomputing, to publications dedicated to specific machines like 80-Micro for Radio Shack computers and PC Magazine for IBM PC compatible computers.11 In Greece, the computer periodicals on personal and home computing emerged during 1982 as a result of the realization of the necessity for a medium that would satisfy a number of diverse needs. These ranged from information and knowledge about the new field, communication among the users, troubleshooting because of the lack of consistent and adequate official support by the resellers of home computers and other possible knowledge centres, as well as initiatives of visionary amateurs who wished to propagandize the potential of this new technology for the Greek users. By the end of the 1980s the relatively small Greek computer technology press saw the emergence of twenty-seven titles for all types of personal and home microcomputers (see Table 1). At the same time, the international computer publications available in Greece were highly priced and also hard to find (especially in the Greek periphery), since they were imported irregularly and in small numbers.12 For these reasons they were often shunned by individual Greek users.13 Both the authors and readers of the periodical were almost exclusively male. The representations of home microcomputing technology were addressed not only to a predominantly male community, but to a wider audience: women were regularly used in computer advertisements at the time.14 An inquiry into the periodical’s

232

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

content (specifically the corresponding columns and the user participation) reveals a male-oriented vocabulary and also the active participation of exclusively male users. Similar to the British case, the user community was strongly coded as masculine, but not because of the meanings inscribed in the machine or the computing technology itself.15 The root of the masculinity can be ascribed to the social attributes of the Greek socio-technical context. In the latter, women are not so much excluded from computing, rather they are included, but through a specific gender-stereotyped manner.16 There are no indications of exclusion because of the purchase cost of the periodicals or other factors. Readers came from all social classes, occupations and geographical territories implying that Greek periodicals were accessible from and open to a wide audience. Since user communities in Greece were not established and remain fragmented throughout the entire decade of the 1980s, we cannot recognize patterns of readership or authorship from specific social groups (e.g. hobbyists, hackers, teachers, etc.). Greek users were eager to learn how to use the microcomputing technology believing that they would be able to leverage this technical knowledge to improve their everyday life either in the present time or in the near future. This belief was common across different social groups. Many Greek periodicals addressed both IBM PC compatibles and home computers. This was realized in a fluid socio-technical context where, at least to the mid-1980s, the fields where each personal computer would be used were vague and under negotiation, with users providing feedback and negotiating the standards of use. By the end of the 1980s, differentiation became more evident, with periodicals constructing a clear identity that reflected a consolidation of the aspects of microcomputer use. The study of Greek computer technology periodicals that circulated during the 1980s reveals a pluralism in content and reader base. They could be categorized in the following groups: 1. Periodicals about home personal computers, independent of model or manufacturer, type of user (amateur, hobbyist, professional) or type of applications (entertaining, professional, etc.). In this category we find titles like MICRO, ΗΛΕΚΤΡΟΝΙΚΗ & COMPUTER (ELECTRONICS & COMPUTER), Computing, PIXEL, MicroMad and SPRITE. 2. Periodicals dedicated to home computers and IBM PC compatibles with a (sometimes absolute) emphasis on the entertaining aspect of their use. Their content was dominated by presentations, tests and advertisements of computer games. In this category there are titles like Computer Games, ΖΖΑΠ !, USER and later PC MASTER.17 The first magazine dedicated exclusively to IBM PC compatible entertainment was the short-lived PC Leisure (published by EMAP between Spring 1990 and September 1991), followed by gaming magazines such as PC Zone in 1993. 3. Periodicals that initially divided their content between home micros and IBM PC compatibles but later focused on users of the latter. In this category there are Computer για Όλους (Computer for All) and PC MASTER. 4. Periodicals that addressed the users of a certain brand of home computer, like Amstrad, Sinclair and others, including corporate publications by these

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

233

brands. This category contains Ο Κόσμος των Amstrad (The World of Amstrad), ZX Microforum and Η Ελληνική Πλευρά του Amstrad (The Greek Side of Amstrad). 5. Periodicals that belong to none of the above categories, and focus on broader subjects about computers (Hardware & Robotics), on the distribution of software through the publication of listings (Pixel Junior, ΠΙΜ ), or dedicated a minimal space to computers (GamePro). Table 1 presents the Greek computer technology periodicals published between 1980 and 1990, listed by year of publication and publisher. It is apparent that some loan words from Roman alphabet languages were used in the titles of the Greek

TABLE 1: Greek computer technology periodicals published in the 1980s Title (in Greek)

Publisher (in Greek)

Year of Publication

MICRO / MICRO & Computer Age Ηλεκτρονική & Computer/ Πληροφορική & Computer Computer για Όλους Pixel Computing ΖΧ Microforum Hardware & Ρομποτική MicroMad Ελληνική Πλευρά του Amstrad (Ε.Π.Τ.Α.) Information Σύγχρονη Επιχείρηση Μόνο για χρήστες του Amstrad (initially insert in MICRO ) Ο Κόσμος του Ελληνικού Software/ Computer & Software Junior Computer Software Ελληνική πλευρά των Personal Computers Pixel Junior Πληροφορική Εβδομάδα ΠΙΜ Ο Κόσμος του Amstrad ΖΖΑΠ ! Ελληνικό Compute! RAM

Infopublica MultiPress

1982 1982

Compupress Compupress Datapress ECS Compupress MultiPress Ανάδραση Compupress Compupress Ιnfopublica

1983 1983 1984 1984 1985 1985 1986 1986 1986 1986

Motor Press

1986

Motor Press Ανάδραση Compupress Compupress PIM Εκδοτική ECS Eκδόσεις X.A. Σαμούχος Eκδόσεις X.A. Σαμούχος Δημοσιογραφικός Οργανισμός Λαμπράκη Ανάδραση Future Press Compupress Motor Press Νέα Εκδοτική

1986 (?) 1987 1987 1987 1987 1987 1987 1987 (?) 1988

SPRITE GamePro PC MASTER Computer Games USER

1988 1989 1989 1990 1990

234

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

periodicals allowing for hybrids such as Hλεκτρονική & Computer, Hardware & Ρομποτική or Computer για Όλους, while others used only Roman alphabet words, for example Pixel, Computing or RAM . Most of the published periodicals used in their titles either words only from the Roman alphabet or a combination of the latter with words from the Greek alphabet. Some other titles were inspired by a Greek version of international publication. ΖΖΑΠ! was a Greek adaptation of Zzap!64, a Commodore 64-oriented computer games magazine published in the UK by Newsfield Publications Ltd.18 The Greek version of Zzap! was not an exact translation of the English version; many pages were for other types of home computers including Amstrad, Sinclair and Atari. An important characteristic of the Greek periodical editions in the field of personal computers is the fact that they represented initiatives of newly established publishing companies, small and micro companies; even computer stores that up to then only published manuals and guides and produced computer software. Those early publishing attempts in Greece were not the product of professionals or large publishing houses, but of amateurs that recognized the potential offered by the microcomputing technology to both non-specialists and professionals. The first computer technology periodical published by an established publisher was RAM , by Lambrakis Press Group which was published in February 1988, almost six years after the appearance of the first periodical in the field.19 The most illustrative examples are the Computer for All and PIXEL periodicals, two of the oldest publications in the field that were also the most successful and widely circulated computer periodicals during the 1980s. These two periodicals were not published by an established publishing house, but emerged from the independent, newly created technological publisher Compupress Ltd.20 Despite the amateur character of most publications, certain periodicals were welcomed by the Greek computer users. The thirty-fifth issue of PIXEL sold 25,000 copies (without counting subscriptions on which no data exists) while its average circulation per year was 21,000 copies.21

PUBLISHING AND LEVERAGING THE HOME COMPUTER PROGRAMMING KNOWLEDGE I have a COMMODORE 64, I am in the fifth grade and am ten years old. This program makes the BORDER blink in all its 16 colours. [program listing then follows] What do you think? D. Fotinos22 In 1985 readers of PIXEL magazine could read on the cover page article ‘generation of tomorrow’ that the MSX computers had just arrived in Greece.23 This piece of news was presented as the arrival of the ‘future generation’ of technology for home microcomputers. The most important element of the article was the ideology within which it was construed: the idea of ushering Greek society towards the future. This ideology was defined by rhetorical constructions of the public space of the computer technology press, and the home microcomputer technology through

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

235

which the so-called ‘generation of tomorrow’ would be established. Millennialism and technological prophecies in home microcomputing can be found elsewhere, but in the case of Greece had only positive meanings.24 Public debates on whether home computing technology inspired ‘millennial’ hopes or fears are absent, since it was believed that home microcomputers would be the vehicle for the transition of Greek users to the so-called ‘society of information’, which was expected to be beneficial for all Greeks.25 The technical characteristics of the first generation, based on an 8-bit technology, home microcomputers (lack of graphical interface and need for manual input of commands; user interface, keyboard and operating system not adapted to the Greek alphabet) favoured the development of a home tech-savvy culture. The latter was also encouraged by cultural dimensions (enthusiasm for the computing technology; hopes for shaping a better future using the power of the new technology; desire for quick adaptation). In contrast to international accounts, home microcomputers in Greece were not machines for learning computing, but rather designed for serving specific needs and the fulfilment of technological prophecies articulated in the public sphere.26 The ‘tech-savvy culture’ term questions the ‘self-referential’ term used in Leslie Haddon’s analysis. Haddon argues that the first home microcomputers in Britain were not capable of running ‘serious’ applications. Haddon’s focus, however, is firmly on the marketing discourses surrounding particular brands of microcomputers in the British and US contexts while my analysis is on use, users and rhetoric. This aspect of use needed to be mediated since computer knowledge which was a sine qua non condition for the successful operation of the home microcomputing technology in new spaces like home or micro businesses, was non-existent. Several factors contributed to the lack of computer knowledge. First, at the beginning of the 1980s there was no concrete educational policy in the field of new personal computing technology. Although some primary and secondary schools made use of the new technology for educational purposes or created new courses in the field, this practice was unofficial and limited to only a few, mainly private, schools, or was the result of initiatives taken by computerenthusiast teachers.27 Although courses in computing literacy had already been introduced in the curricula of the US education system alongside those of the United Kingdom and Finland, Greek governments in the 1980s did not take any real educational initiatives to raise public interest in computing technology.28 Only from 1985 onwards did private institutes (which already offered courses on typewriting and secretarial duties), begin to offer courses in how to operate home computers. Another important factor that contributed to the development of the home techsavvy culture in Greece was the rarity of the available software. In the first half of the decade home microcomputer software was rare and expensive in Greece; it was mostly imported. Only a few Greek software houses created home microcomputer software, since the Greek user base was extremely fragmented. Moreover, the presentation of technical information in most computer manuals made help mandatory for most Greek users. The majority of Greek users found the manuals written during the early 1980s to be unhelpful: they were written in a foreign language and also they contained numerous errors and instructions which were difficult to understand.29 Since technical knowledge of the new home microcomputing

236

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

technology was scarce, Greek users sought it through the creation of communication hubs in the computer technology periodicals.30 In response to this situation, many computer technology periodicals, especially PIXEL , actively promoted the idea that Greek users should experiment with the new technology and learn how to write their own software programs, or modify existing programs in order to adjust them to their needs. Through relevant articles Greek users could acquire technical knowledge on the operation of microcomputers, their usage and their programming: ‘This time we are going to provide you with a short but quite impressive routine, which you can use in any program written in ST BASIC . Experiment by changing the number 3 in line 1200 (try 0 through 8).’31 According to the rhetoric which developed and circulated about home microcomputer technology, the Greek user should have a thorough understanding of the machine, programming and utilizing its potential, as far as this was possible. Part of this rhetoric was the computer technology press ‘responsibility’ to direct, so to speak, users towards this so-called ‘proper use’ of microcomputers. This responsibility was often viewed as an important duty. Commenting on the publication of MicroMad periodical, its editor-in-chief wrote in 1986: A small group of people that for many years have been making informatics history in our country and represent personal involvement, research and a hobbyist attitude on every level, met with a Single Goal. To help every Greek user evolve through the help of the computer. [. . .] Today we see in Greece the eruption of a well-directed informatics revolution on every level, creating a well-oriented infosphere.32 The focus on programming was realized during this period mainly through the publication of program listings that the user could type and run on his computer. This practice was almost universal wherever microcomputers were available.33 Computer for All (Computer για Όλους) was the first periodical in Greece to regularly publish listings of every kind (educational, entertaining, applications and others) for the most popular home microcomputers available in Greece at the time. The MicroMad periodical established the ‘Program of the Month’ column. This column published a program, usually in BASIC , that could run on the most popular home microcomputers, and even on IBM PC compatibles with a few adjustments. In Greece such publications contained the listing itself as well as a thorough analysis of its structure and philosophy, often through accompanying diagrams so as to enhance the experience of the knowledge transfer process.34 Together with ‘Program of the Month’, MicroMad published a collection of other listings for microcomputers through the column ‘Parallel Programs’.35 Routines were published in the ‘BITS & BYTES ’ column.36 In September 1985 PIXEL launched an insert dedicated to the publication of listings called PIXELWARE. PIXEL dedicated many pages to program listing for home microcomputers. PIXELWARE , on the other hand, was aimed exclusively at users and readers of PIXEL who wished to see their own programs published in the periodical. The importance of programming is evident in the fact that users who programmed home microcomputers were considered to be those who would set ‘the foundations of Greek software’. The publication of their own listings in the periodicals was for

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

237

many ‘the beginning of an aspiring career in the exciting world of programming’.37 This practice was very important since the Greek software houses were few in number during the first half of the 1980s, and what software existed was mainly imported.38 For those users of older models the acquisition of software was especially difficult, and frequently led to demands for software, from the periodicals, as is evident from the following example, taken from the correspondence column of MicroMad: ‘I am in the second grade of high school. [. . .] I would like to see more material on this machine [the Amstrad 6128], not just complete programs, but also in the columns “Next Step”, “Program Creations” and elsewhere.’39

FIGURE 1: In home microcomputing technology, even the simplest tasks needed special applications and could not be performed by the operating system. One of these was the keeping of a contacts list, with addresses and phone numbers. Such programs, known as address books, were available as listings in the Greek computer technology press of that time; they were usually written by the Greek users themselves. Source: PIXEL , 1988, 47: 102.

238

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

To counteract the lack of software, the computer technology press called on the readers themselves to write programs, which would later be distributed to other users. Characteristically, the MicroMad periodical describes the situation as follows: ‘It is regrettably not easy to find programs for certain computers on a monthly basis. If any reader knows of a source, we would be glad to hear about it. [. . .] If you have your own programs in listings (or cassettes and not handwritten) and wish to publish them, contact us by phone. Especially if they are programs for “neglected” computers.’40 A study of the Greek computer technology periodicals of that era reinforces the view that programming was integral to the ‘indicated and proper use’ of the home microcomputer. Those users would be ‘privileged’ to lead the ‘informatics revolution’, that would soon happen in Greece, since they would be experts in using the home computing technology and also the holders of the technical knowledge. From its opening issue the editors of PIXEL emphatically declared that the periodical’s initiative was to publish programs that the readers – who had written these programs – offered them the unique opportunity to count themselves among the few crazy pioneers, that would soon see their names recorded in the first page of the History of Microcomputers in Greece! The process is very simple. Send us the great programs, that you undoubtedly make late at night and we will publish them under your name, written in large print, surrounded in laurels and so on . . .41 Through the process of publishing the program listings, readers were transformed into programmers, and the periodicals into a ‘software house’, which would publish and circulate the software programs sent in by the users. In this context, the computer technology press and its users co-shaped the representation, but also the content, of the home microcomputer technology. They mediated what was important in the use of computers on the level of software: we are in a constant, interactive relationship with our readers, that gives rise to the responsibility to respect every opinion, every preference, the complete spectrum of applications.42 The fact that users were sometimes offered editors’ positions in the magazines that published their listings has its own importance. Such an offer was considered a great technical achievement and brought great admiration and respect from the acquaintances of the aspiring editor.43 In the public space a certain antagonism was evident among users for the best program submission. As the programming practice was considered of major importance, those who practised it should be rewarded and their achievements published under their name as a mark of recognition. For this reason, and for many years to follow, the publications of listings submitted to PIXEL by users were always signed and accompanied by the user’s full contact information (name, address and phone number). The inclusion by default of the authors’ full contact details including phone number is solely characteristic of the aspects of use developed in Greece. No records exist to show that this practice was happening in similar magazines internationally. Moreover, in many cases the user’s directions were published as submitted, written in the first person.44 The programming culture was adopted by many readers who wrote programs and negotiated their publication

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

239

FIGURE 2: The publication of program listings was considered a core characteristic of the identity of the expert user who was responsible to transfer his technical knowledge to other users in knowledge-seeking networks developed within and around the computer periodicals. The sense of responsibility and belonging was displayed by the inclusion of the authors’ full contact details. Source: PIXEL , 1984, 5: 87.

to the periodicals.45 Since the available space in periodicals was limited, the users often had to compete with each other.46 It can be argued that these practices of users’ contributions to the computer periodicals’ content necessitated a stricter code of honesty than was typical in other forms of the international press. The computer magazines (and specialist magazines in general) often started up on very limited resources, with an editor and one or two writers working under multiple pseudonyms, and where reader correspondence was sometimes faked when there was nothing suitable available. Although this practice can be also traced in Greece, the most prominent periodicals, at least until 1987, prompted users to contribute to their content and published their programs and

240

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

articles.47 Under this perspective, user contribution was aligned with the rhetoric expressed by the periodicals about the necessity of a home tech-savvy user base.

KNOWLEDGE TRANSFER ON SOFTWARE MODIFICATION I am the owner of an Amstrad 6128 and I would like you to explain how I can crack a program and add the POKE command before or after a specific CALL command. Yannis Aliprantis Cracking a program is a form of science. I assure you that if I could explain how to crack a program in a few lines we would have no ‘Hackers’ Column’ in the last . . . 20 (or more) issues. First experiment by yourself and if you have a specific problem contact us again.48 The users’ interest in elementary programming led to the necessity of understanding the different dialects of BASIC programming language, a fundamental knowledge that was absolutely necessary to home microcomputer users of that time.49 As already described, many users spent several hours typing listings or trying to design their own. A particularly popular occupation for enthusiasts was the design of program listings that would bypass a program’s security. Users were not content with simply typing in commands and running the software they found published in the Greek computer technology press when they wished to copy a program, they sought a more active occupation with their home microcomputer: From this issue onwards, dear readers, a new column begins its career that aims at shoving you into the world and the techniques of the HACKERS . This idea was a response to your own requests, since many of you were not content with passively typing our modifications and wrote to us asking for explanations of their design. We’d like to think that in this column you will find all the answers you seek and you will soon be initiated into the magical world of hacking.50 The periodicals, mediating this aspect of use, published machine language guides for the Z80 and other processors of the most popular home microcomputers. This understanding of machine language along with a disassembler program gave the user the potential to modify a software program in order to alter its parameters. This focus on the use of assembly can be justified by the fact that BASIC was an easy to learn, fine general-purpose tool, but it had its limitations.51 On the other hand, learning machine language was very demanding and not obvious for the novice users. One of the basic modifications for a home microcomputer during the 1980s was the depiction and printing of Greek language characters. As already stated, few computer manufacturers in the 1980s had been concerned with addressing the peculiarities of the Greek language and its characters. The first personal and home microcomputers, even those by major manufacturers, came with no software to accommodate Greek.52 Furthermore, most of the newly formed manufacturers’ sales representatives contented themselves with selling the computers as imported, usually

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

241

FIGURE 3: The unlocking of programs was one of the prevailing aspects of use of the home microcomputers in Greece in the 1980s. The user holding the keys for unlocking the software programs was a popular representation of that time. Source: PIXEL , 1986, 20: 144.

without translating the manuals or customizing the software to depict and print all Greek characters in the proper way. This posed significant problems to many Greek users although the solution could be found in software or hardware additions, frequently constructed by the users themselves.53 Indicatively, the Greek user of the home computer Spectra video could not type Greek characters. The solution was a short program written in machine code, which the user had to run in order to store Greek characters.54 For the last generation of 8-bit computers, notably the Amstrad PCW and the Commodore 128, the software solution (without requiring additional hardware) demanded from the user an ability to program in the CP /M+ environment. It was basically the process of ‘paging’ the memory; an 8-bit processor could not address a memory larger than 64 kilobytes (e.g. a Z80 could not ‘read’ beyond this limit), despite the fact that the CP /M+ operating system fully employed the 128 kilobytes.

242

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

For the user to program in the CP /M environment it was necessary to understand the machine code of the 8080 or the Z80 (whichever the given microcomputer employed). In this case the Greek user would have to search the memory in order to locate the characters, and then through a very complicated procedure to call enough routines in order to modify and alter them. Alternatively, the user could use one of the program listings in BASIC , which contained the Greek characters. These program listings were created by other users and were either published in the periodicals or circulated in unofficial or official (computer clubs) networks of friends. Through the use of an assembler for the CP /M the user produced the necessary files, which he called upon every time he wanted to use Greek characters in programs that did not support them.55 The most popular technique for modifying programs written for the 8-bit microcomputers was the finding of its ‘initial conditions’. In order to change these, the user would have to seek in the memory the location of the specific sequence of numbers and record its address. The user would then have to find where it was referenced in the program so that he could find the suitable routine and modify it. There were many different programming ways in which a program’s parameters could be modified. The location of all this data in the game’s code was a toilsome activity that demanded technical knowledge of the computer’s machine code and a lot of time to explore the various routines that controlled the specific parameters. Nevertheless, it required a thorough understanding of the machine’s technical characteristics. For example, the knowledge of the way in which the screen of a home computer depicted pixels helped locate the address of the first byte of a square (necessary to the user who wanted to display or change a message).56 In many cases the modification required copying the original software into an empty cassette. Thus, the user had to type the listing found in the periodical and save it on a new cassette. He then took the original and at a certain point stopped the recorder. He then typed the next listing that represented the appropriate LOADER for the program, before he typed the final listing, the one containing the new information.57 If the program was too large to fit in the memory along with the disassembler, the user had to ‘break’ it in two parts (the case was the same when it was compressed and had first to be decompressed in the memory). This could be done with the help of appropriate software, like DEVPAC 80, which allowed several kilobytes of code to be loaded on to the memory at the same time.58 Program listings of this kind were often submitted by the users themselves.59 Periodicals promoted this aspect of use by guiding the user throughout the whole procedure apart from the last step: ‘Try building the relevant program in machine code, until next month when we will provide you with the complete routine in this column. You now have a very good example of a simple modification in your hands. See how it works and try to copy more locked programs until next month when we will give you more information.’60 The use of POKES was recommended in many of the modifications published for home microcomputers. BASIC , dialects of which accompanied all microcomputers of the time, contained the low-level commands PEEK (returns the value of a byte in memory) and POKE (writes a byte to memory). Through the use of the PEEK and POKE commands the user could make low-level modifications and directly control

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

243

the hardware for modifying programs that operated in machine code. If the user did not own an assembler to program in machine code level, he had to use the POKE commands so that he could write the bytes of his program in consecutive memory locations. One way to do this was the writing of a routine that contained the program header address, the amount of bytes in the program and the values (decimal or hexadecimal) of those bytes.61 For the user to be able to use those POKES several conditions needed to be met. Most importantly the program had to be unlocked: if it was protected the POKES available in magazines could not be used in the form provided. Contrary to international experience, in Greece, software copying and modification was not understood as an illegal activity until at least 1987 when a new legislation on software copy was implemented as a response to a European Community directive. Till then, Greek periodicals reflected the user culture about the software proper use;

FIGURE 4: The use of POKE commands was very popular among users who wished to modify a program. Their use was explained in articles that were available in the public space and were often written to allow the user to experiment with the various values they could take, like the ‘XXX ’s in the image. Source: D. Raptopoulos, ‘Crack Boulder Dash for the Commodore 64’, PIXEL, 1986, 25: 157.

244

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

not the software industry position that copying was a serious crime. Even if software industry representatives tended to imply that unlocking, cracking, and other such unauthorized modification practices meant piracy, the same periodicals advertised copying utilities and wrote regularly about techniques for the purpose of software modification. Because copying was not considered illegal in the later context of the term, many amateurs began to advertise their business in the periodicals.62 Conspicuously, and in contrast to international accounts, the Greek periodicals published POKE s, not only for cheating in games, but also for educating users on how to modify the software in order to adjust the software to the Greek users’ needs. However, the use of PEEK and POKE commands required an understanding of basic microcomputer use that went beyond simply running a program from a cassette or disk. The user should for example know what the LOADER of a program was. Another dimension of program modifications was the possibility to load the programs of one home microcomputer to another, for example Spectrum programs to an Amstrad. This was a typical problem for microcomputer users. In the Netherlands for example, the Basicode system was developed to tackle the need for software translation for the different home computer types. However, the Greek case was different since there was no centrally organized initiative nor a vision for a unified language able to be used by all home computers.63 Since the Greek user base was fragmented and the available software was limited and expensive, the computer periodicals constituted the prevailing mediating factor. The effort to make it possible for a home computer to use software written for a different machine was mediated by the technical press through specialized articles.64 All the above required the users of home microcomputers to possess advanced computer technical knowledge. Computer technology periodicals of the era took it upon themselves to mediate this technical knowledge through specialized articles and guides for every aspect of modification programming. Indicatively, in 1984 Computer for All (Computer για όλους) launched the ‘Language Lesson’ column that aimed at training readers to understand the ZX-80 machine language. It was a series of long training articles that appeared in five consecutive issues and dealt with specialized subjects, including data processing, static memory allocation and program flow modification.65 In September 1985 PIXEL launched the ‘PEEK & POKE ’ column that published technical advice, routines and commands for the operating systems of home microcomputers. The MicroMad periodical published programming guides in the column ‘Let’s Compute’ and guides on the Z80 language, as did PIXEL , without lacking references in machine codes of other microprocessors used by home microcomputers of the time. In the same context, in September 1986, PIXEL published a series of training articles, this time for the CP /M operating system.66

CONCLUSION In this article, I have unfolded the process that formed the identity of the Greek computer technology press. In Greece during the 1980s the state regulatory regime did not extend to the regulation of home microcomputer use and the establishment of standards in this field. Furthermore, the identity inscribed on home microcomputers by their manufacturers and importers was widely disputed and thus unsettled. The

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

245

vacuum left by the deregulation of new technology was filled by social actors. The primary actors that took it upon themselves to stabilize the identity of home microcomputing technology were the computer periodicals. The Greek computer technology press served as a key mediating factor that not only evaluated and diffused computer knowledge to the Greek users but also shaped the way that this technology would – and should – be used by them. The study of the computer periodicals revealed the formation of a rich and multifaceted public space, where both typical and atypical relationships formed among various social actors: users, manufacturers, importers, journalists, institutions and the state. Computer periodicals played a key role in consolidating the competing definitions of the identity of home microcomputers, by promoting specific standards of use: programming, unlocking and modification. The mediation of these aspects of use was implemented through the construction of an ideology which shaped and legitimized the development of a community of expert computer users. Those would constitute the first generation of programmers on a large scale. Computer periodicals set the agenda of the community of computer users for the near future in a socio-technical environment confronted with barriers (economic and localization issues) to transnational adoption of technology. Whereas the manufacturers and their local importers were seeking to understand how they would be able to profit from this technology, adopting an ambivalent or indifferent stance against the newly formed Greek home microcomputer market, Greek computer periodicals managed to prevail against the state and commercial companies in debates over the formation of the identity of both the technology and its users, establishing themselves as the rightful representatives of Greek users. On the other hand, Greek users were trying to establish knowledge-seeking networks which were ultimately implemented within and around the computer periodicals and were largely mediated by them. The ambition of actors involved in these networks was not to profit from their participation but rather to be part of the construction process of the social, cultural and symbolic capital of home microcomputer technology. Home microcomputing technology was an uncharted territory in the early 1980s and the benefits of participating in its exploration were unclear and of uncertain outcome. What was being exchanged through these networks was not enterprise sales expertise of companies aiming at profit but rather the options available to Greek users to unlock new opportunities in a newly formed socio-technical landscape and a possible new industry.

NOTES 1. Melanie Swalwell explores how the perceptions of home microcomputers’ usefulness and use changed in the 1980s in Australia and New Zealand. M. Swalwell, ‘Questions About the Usefulness of Microcomputers in 1980s Australia’, Media International Australia, Incorporating Culture & Policy, 2012, 143: 63. 2. The importance of magazines has been raised by research in game studies, where it has been argued that the computer game magazines of the 1980s formed a culture of reception and appreciation that shaped the computer game and its players. The focus of these game studies includes the ideas of cheating, gameplay and gamer identity.

246

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

M. Consalvo, Cheating: Gaining Advantage in Videogames (London: MIT Press, 2007); G. Kirkpatrick, ‘Constitutive Tensions of Gaming’s Field: UK Gaming Magazines and the Formation of Gaming Culture 1981–1995’, Game Studies, 2012, 12 (1). In studies of home computer cultures and subcultures, computer magazines are mentioned as promoting home computers to ordinary people but there is a lack of thorough analysis of their role in knowledge management and computer use. B. Jakic´, ‘Galaxy and the New Wave: Yugoslav Computer Culture in 1980s’, in G. Alberts and R. Oldenziel (eds), Hacking Europe. From Computer Cultures to Demoscenes (New York: Springer, 2014), 107–128; P. Wasiak, ‘Playing and Copying: Social Practices of Home Computer Users in Poland During the 1980s’, in G. Alberts and R. Oldenziel (eds), Hacking Europe. From Computer Cultures to Demoscenes (New York: Springer, 2014), 129–150. 3. For recent historical works on the importance of the technology users, see N. Oudshoorn and T. J. Pinch (eds), How Users Matter. The Co-construction of Users and Technology (Cambridge, MA : MIT Press, 2003); W. E. Bijker, T. P. Hughes and T. J. Pinch (eds), The Social Construction of Technological Systems. New Directions in the Sociology and History of Technology (Cambridge, MA : MIT Press, 1987); R. Oldenziel, Consumers, Tinkerers, Rebels: The People who Shaped Europe. (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013); especially for computing technology, see G. Alberts and R. Oldenziel (eds), Hacking Europe. From Computer Cultures to Demoscenes (New York: Springer, 2014); L. Haddon, Everyday Innovators: Researching the Role of Users in Shaping ICT’s (Dordrecht: Springer, 2005); F. Turner, From Counterculture to Cyberculture: Stewart Brand, the Whole Earth Network, and the Rise of Digital Utopianism (Chicago: University of Chicago, 2006); S. Levy, Hackers: Heroes of the Computer Revolution (Garden City, NY: Anchor Press/Doubleday, 1984); T. Bardini and A. T. Horvath, ‘The Social Construction of the Personal Computer User ’, Journal of Communication, 1995, 45(3): 40–66; T. Lean, ‘The Making of the Micro: Producers, Mediators, Users and the Development of Popular Microcomputing in Britain (1980–1989)’, PhD thesis, University of Manchester, 2008. 4.

G. Kirkpatrick, The Formation of Gaming Culture (Houndmills: Palgrave Pivot, 2015).

5. T. Lekkas, ‘Legal Pirates Ltd: Home Computing Cultures in Early 1980s Greece’, in Gerard Alberts and Ruth Oldenziel (eds), Hacking Europe. From Computer Cultures to Demoscenes (New York: Springer, 2014), 73–103; T. Lekkas, ‘Software Piracy: Not Necessarily Evil or its Role in the Software Development in Greece’, in S. Arapostathis and G. Dutfield (eds), Knowledge Management and Intellectual Property: Concepts, Actors and Practices from the Past to the Present (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2013), 85–106; A. Tympas, H. Konsta, T. Lekkas and S. Karas, ‘Constructing Gender and Computing in Advertising Images: Feminine and Masculine Technology Parts’, in T. J. Misa (ed.), Gender Codes: Why Women Are Leaving Computing (New Jersey: Wiley, 2010), 187–210. 6. J. Sumner, ‘Standards and Compatibility: The Rise of the PC Computing Platform’, in J. Sumner and G. J. N. Gooday (eds), By Whose Standards? Standardization, Stability and Uniformity in the History of Information and Electrical Technologies (London:

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

247

Continuum 2008), 101–127; F. Veraart, ‘Basicode: Co-producing a Microcomputer Esperanto’, History and Technology, 2008, 28: 129–147. 7. Sumner, ‘Standards and Compatibility’. For the technical characteristics of the IBM PC , see D. Bradley, ‘The Creation of the IBM PC ’, Byte, 1990, 15(9): 414–420. 8. User intervention, modification and experimentation were not confined to software. Computer hardware also provided users with many opportunities for adjustments, but here I am concerned solely with issues of software use. 9. N. Manousos, ‘Interview to the Retrovisions Amateur Users’ Community’, http:// www.retrovisions.gr/inv/topic/6945-συνέντευξη-του-διευθυντή-της-compupressκνικόλαου-μανο/ [accessed 29 January 2016]. 10. D. Bunnell, ‘The Role of Magazines in Personal Computing’, Creative Computing, 1984, 10(11): 146, http://www.atarimagazines.com/creative/v10n11/146_The_role_ of_magazines_in_.php [accessed 29 January 2016]. 11. PC Magazine circulated (in printed form) from February/March 1982 to January 2009. Its first issue appeared as ‘The Independent Guide to IBM Personal Computers’, PC Magazine, 1982, 1. 12. The American magazine COMPUTE , for example, cost 750 drachmas in 1986, while the Greek MicroMad was sold for 180 drachmas. 13. ‘ΕΣΕΙΣ & ΕΜΕΙΣ’, MicroMad, February 1986, 2: 136. 14. Tympas et al., ‘Constructing Gender and Computing in Advertising Images’. 15. L. Haddon, ‘The Roots and Early History of the UK Home Computer Market: Origins of the Masculine Micro’, PhD thesis, University of London, 1988. 16. H. Konsta, ‘The Public Image of Computing Technology in Greece, 1954–2004: Labour, Gender, Workplace, Educational Issues’, Unpublished PhD thesis, (Athens: University of Athens, 2014). 17. Interestingly, although PC MASTER was dedicated to IBM PC compatibles its focus was on home entertainment: unusual for Europe in the 1980s. In the UK , even those relatively non-technical PC titles such as PC Plus (launched in 1986) generally assumed that an IBM PC compatibles-oriented periodical should give prominence to white-collar office and productivity context, not entertainment features. 18. For a history of Newsfield’s magazines see the extract from the Newsfield Publications Ltd liquidation report, http://www.crashonline.org.uk/99/newsfield.htm [accessed 29 January 2016]. 19. G. Kouseras, ‘The History of the First USER Issues. An Interview to the Retromaniax Amateur Users Community’, http://www.retromaniax.gr/vb/showthread.php?4315%C7-%E9%F3%F4%EF %F1%DF %E1-%F4%F9%ED -%F0%F1%FE %F4%F9%ED USER [accessed 29 January 2016]. 20. Compupress was founded in 1982 when Greeks started to show appreciation for the new technology of home microcomputers. Its initial goals included the publishing of magazines and books for personal computing. In the 1980s, Compupress published the best-selling Greek computer magazines and, from 1987, the newsletter of the Greek Computer Society (GCS /ΕΠΥ ), PIXEL , 1987, 30: 69.

248

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

21. Data taken from the Daily and Periodical Press Agency for the period from July 1986 to September 1987, Α. Λεκόπουλος, ‘PIXEL και HOME MICROS : Παρελθόν, Παρόν και Μέλλον’, PIXEL , 1988, 41: 136. 22. PIXEL , 1988, 46: 134. 23. PIXEL , 1985, 8. MSX stands for ‘MicroSoft eXtended BASIC ’, a firmware version of its BASIC designed for the Zilog Z80-based family of home computers, which appeared in 1983 as an attempt to establish a standard in mainstream home computing similar to the IBM PC standard in 16-bit computing. The MSX standard was designed by ASCII Corporation, a Japanese publishing company, in cooperation with Microsoft. Although MSX did not become a worldwide computer standard, it proved to be an easy to use home computer and thus popular in quite a few European countries and the former Soviet Union. T. Smith, ‘MSX : The Japanese are Coming! The Japanese are Coming!’, The Register, 2013, http://www.theregister. co.uk/2013/06/27/feature_30_years_of_msx/ [accessed 29 January 2016]. See also J. Dvorak, ‘What Ever Happened to . . . MSX Computers’, http://www.dvorak.org/ blog/whatever-happened-to-msx-computers/ [accessed 29 January 2016]. 24. D. Skinner, ‘Technology, Consumption and the Future. The Experience of Home Computing’, unpublished PhD thesis, Brunel University, 1992, 32–69. 25. See Chapter 3 of T. Lekkas, ‘Public Image and User Communities of the Home Computers in Greece, 1980–1990’, unpublished PhD thesis, University of Athens, 2014. 26. L. Haddon, ‘The Home Computer: The Making of a Consumer Electronic’, Science as Culture, 1988, 2: 7–51. In Greece one of the prevailing aspects of use of the 8-bit generation of home computers was the so-called ‘real’ or ‘serious’ problem, as they were seen as a real computer able to be used in numerous professional activities. See Chapter 4 of Lekkas, Public Image and User Communities of the Home Computers in Greece, 1980–1990. 27. Lekkas, Public Image and User, Chapter 3. 28. The most notable example is the BBC Computer Literacy Project, an account of which is written by John Radcliffe and Robert Salkeld and published online at the UK National Archive of Educational Computing, http://www.naec.org.uk/organisations/ bbc-computer-literacy-project/towards-computer-literacy-the-bbc-computer-literacyproject-1979-1983 [accessed 29 January 2016]. For the Finnish case, see P. Saarikoski, ‘Computer Courses in Finnish Schools during 1980-1995’, in J. Impagliazzo, P. Lundin and B. Wangler (eds), HiNC 3 (IFIP AICT 350, 2011), 150–158. 29. E. Rose, User Error: Resisting Computer Culture. Between the Lines (Toronto: Between the Lines, 2004). 30. ‘Ήρθαν με τον ταχυδρόμο’, MicroMad, 1986, 7: 87. 31. Text that accompanied the ‘Mouse Mask’ routine for the Atari ST computer. It was published in the ‘PEEK & POKE ’ column, whose aim was described as follows: ‘Every month through this column we offer some useful ideas and routines for the most popular home micros. We hope that they will help you find ways to improve your programming skills.’ ‘PEEK & POKE ’, PIXEL , 1988, 42: 136.

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

249

32. ‘ΒΙΤ-ΤΟ-ΒΙΤ. Η κρίσιμη καμπή’, MicroMad, 1986, 3: 6. 33. The procedure of how type-in listings spawned experimentation and new knowledge is also described in Lean, The Making of the Micro. 34. ‘Το πρόγραμμα του μήνα’, MicroMad, 1986, 2: 45–59. 35. Γρ. Ζώργος and Γ. Αράπογλου, ‘Παράλληλα Προγράμματα. Αναγραμματισμοί’, MicroMad, 1986, 2: 60. 36. T. Πανόπουλος, ‘BITS & BYTES . Αλγόριθμοι Ταξινόμησης’, MicroMad, 1986, 2: 66. 37. ‘PIXELWARE . Προγράμματα για όλους’, PIXEL , 1985, 14: 75. 38. T. Lekkas, Public Image and User Communities of the Home Computers in Greece, 1980–1990. 39. ‘Ήρθαν με τον ταχυδρόμο’, MicroMad, 1986, 6: 107. 40. Ibid, MicroMad, 106. 41. ‘Προγράμματα για όλους … για πολλούς … για μερικούς … για λίγους … για …’, PIXEL , 1984, 5: 86. 42. ‘Αλληλογραφία’, PIXEL , 1986, 20: 13. 43. Indicative user’s story from that era in the ‘insomnia’ user community, http://www. insomnia.gr/forum/archive/index.php/t-114493.html [accessed 28 March 2014]. 44. PIXEL , 1984, 5: 86. 45. ‘Ήρθαν με τον ταχυδρόμο. Δημοσίευση Προγράμματος’, MicroMad, 1986, 7: 87. 46. In April 1986, reader G. Lappas sent a letter to PIXEL to express his frustration; the ‘pokes’ he had submitted had not been published. ‘Αλληλογραφία’, PIXEL , 1986, 21: 12. 47. The editor-in-chief of the USER periodical, Giorgos Kouseras, stated that its publication in the late 1980s was the effort of a small group of amateurs, directed from a tiny space in the centre of Athens. As was typical of the specialized press in the 1980s, the periodical employed few permanent editors (2–3 according to the editor-in-chief), who wrote their columns under an alias, giving the reader the impression of a more numerous staff, reinforcing the periodical’s objectivity and credibility. G. Kouseras, ‘The History of the First USER Issues’. 48. PIXEL , 1988, 48: 141. 49. This is a belief which can be traced internationally. According to an article published in Popular Science in 1983 ‘their most important feature: They are programmed in BASIC . [. . .] Its version of BASIC language is as powerful as many I’ve used on large business systems’. W. J. Hawkins, ‘The Boom Is On In New Personal Computers’, Popular Science, 1983, 95. Supplying home computers with an easy to understand programming language, was helpful for the users ‘to get their new computers running, thousands even millions are going to learn to use BASIC ’. ‘InfoViews’, InfoWorld, 1983, 32. 50. Φ. Γεωργιάδης, ‘Η στήλη των hackers. Εισαγωγή στο hacking’, PIXEL , 1986, 23: 103. 51. ‘Fifty Years of BASIC , the Programming Language That Made Computers Personal’, TIME , 2014, http://time.com/69316/basic/ [accessed 29 January 2016].

250

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

52. A. Tympas, F. Tsaglioti and T. Lekkas, ‘Universal Machines vs. National Languages: Computerization as Production of New Localities’ in R. Anderl, B. Arich-Gerz and R. Schmiede (eds), Proceedings of Technologies of Globalization (Darmstadt, 2008), 223–234. 53. Alphabet adaptation in the Greek context was not historically linear. In a later period when other technological approaches were available, ‘Greeklish’ was critically adopted and different social attitudes towards it were deployed in Greek society. D. Koutsogiannis and B. Mitsikopoulou, ‘Greeklish and Greekness: Trends and Discourses of “Glocalness” ’, Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, 2003, 9(1). 54. For similar cases, see Lekkas, ‘Legal Pirates Ltd’. 55. ‘Amstrad CPC -6128. Ελληνικά στο CP /M PLUS ’, PIXEL , 1987, 32: 128–132. 56. PIXEL , 1987, 32: 152; Γ. & K. Βασιλάκης, ‘Hacking. Άπειρες ζωές. Πώς να βρίσκετε τα θαυματουργά POKES – παραδείγματα’, PIXEL , 1987, 37: 140–145. 57. Γ. Σπηλιώτης, ‘Επεμβάσεις. Αντιγράψτε το way of exploding fist (top ten) και το Alien 8’, PIXEL , 1986, 21: 160–161. 58. ‘Αλληλογραφία’, PIXEL, 1989, 56: 28. 59. Γ. Σπηλιώτης, ‘Επεμβάσεις. Σπάστε το Killer Gorilla’, PIXEL , 1986, 21: 165. A few issues later, PIXEL hosted the attempts of three other users, who were honorably mentioned as ‘hackers’. Φ. Γεωργιάδης, ‘Η στήλη των Hackers. Αρχίζοντας τις επεμβάσεις’, 68. 60. Φ. Γεωργιάδης, ‘Η στήλη των Hackers. Η πρώτη αντιγραφή’, 130. 61. ‘Πρώτα βήματα’, PIXEL , 1986, 26: 48. 62. Lekkas, ‘Legal Pirates Ltd’. 63. Veraart, ‘Basicode’. 64. Z. Ζαχαριάδης και K. Μπάνιτσας, ‘Έχετε Amstrad; Φορτώστε Spectrum’, PIXEL , September 1986, 25: 159. 65. Issue 10 covered the commands of logical processes, the comparison commands and the commands that modify the flow of a program written in machine language. In issue 11, the data processing commands of the Z80 were completed, after acquainting users with the important notion of the stack (a memory location used by the Z80 to store numerical data) and in issue 12 commands were presented that acted upon a whole area of the memory, like entry–exit commands. Χρ. Δελλαρόκας, ‘Μαθήματα Γλώσσας. Κώδικας μηχανής για αρχάριους’, Computer για Όλους, 1984, 11: 114–122; Χρ. Δελλαρόκας, ‘Μαθήματα Γλώσσας. Κώδικας μηχανής για αρχάριους’, Computer για Όλους, 1984, 12: 128–135. 66. Γ. Κότσιρας, ‘Γλώσσα μηχανής για όλους. Ζ-80’, MicroMad, 1986, 7: 56–57; Γ. Κότσιρας, ‘Ζ-80. Βασική αριθμητική δυαδικών αριθμών’, MicroMad, 1986, 8: 68–69; N. Δεονάς, ‘Ζ-80. Peek & Poke’, MicroMad, 1987, 10: 61; Α. Τσιριμώκος, ‘Ο προγραμματισμός του Ζ80 σε απλά μαθήματα’, PIXEL , 1986, 20: 152; N. Κάσσος, ‘Γλώσσα μηχανής για όλους. 6502’, MicroMad, 1986, 7: 57–58; Ηλ. Σκορδίλης, ‘Γλώσσα μηχανής για όλους. 6800’, MicroMad, 1986, 7: 58; N. Κάσσος, ‘6502.

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PERIODICALS

251

Απαραίτητα εφόδια’, MicroMad, 1987, 10: 60–61; Α. Λεκόπουλος, ‘Γνωριμία με το CP /M. Μια γενική θεώρηση του CP /M’, PIXEL , 1986, 25: 172–173; Α. Λεκόπουλος, ‘Γνωριμία με το CP /M. Οι πρώτες εντολές’, PIXEL , 1986, 26: 184–187; Α. Λεκόπουλος, ‘‘Γνωριμία με το CP /M. Αλλαγές στα ονόματα των αρχείων’, PIXEL , 1986, 27: 184–185; Α. Λεκόπουλος, ‘Γνωριμία με το CP /M. PIP: Εκτελούνται μεταφοραί αρχαίων παντός τύπου’, PIXEL , 1986, 28: 195–197; Α. Λεκόπουλος, ‘Γνωριμία με το CP /M. Χειρισμός των περιφερειακών’, PIXEL , 1987, 29: 148–149; Α. Λεκόπουλος, ‘Γνωριμία με το CP /M. Δουλεύοντας πάνω στο δίσκο’, PIXEL , 1987, 30: 152–154; Α. Λεκόπουλος, ‘Γνωριμία με το CP /M. Τα παροδικά προγράμματα’, PIXEL , 1987, 31: 158–159; Α. Λεκόπουλος, ‘Γνωριμία με το CP /M. Περισσότερα παροδικά προγράμματα . . .’, PIXEL , 1987, 31: 158–159; Α. Λεκόπουλος, ‘Γνωριμία με το CP /M. Submit και εντολές’, PIXEL , 1987, 33: 130–131.

252

PART THREE

Technology between Accidents and Mobilities

253

254

Efrosini Crossing Syngrou Avenue: Automobile Accidents and the Introduction of the Automobile in Greece (1900–1911) CHRISTOS KARAMPATSOS

INTRODUCTION At the turn of the twentieth century, Athens was a city experiencing a rapid transport paradigm shift. ‘In just ten years’, we read in a newspaper from 1904, ‘the trolley car acquired a double line, we saw the appearance of “vis-a-vis” coaches, coaches were doubled in number, bicycles have multiplied and automobiles have appeared’. The article went on to complain that ‘various kinds of centaurs of the new civilization are increasing, but the breadth of Stadiou Street remains constant’.1 Stadiou Street, the large boulevard connecting Omonia Square with the Royal Palace, was one of the oldest, largest, most emblematic avenues of Athens.2 But even there, traffic was becoming more complicated and hazardous. The journalist went on with exceptional vividness: In Stadiou Street I see desperate women jumping around to save themselves, elderly men crossing the street with the impetus of a 15 year old gamin [street urchin], screaming mothers trying to save their child that has already been enmeshed in a quarrel between five different coaches, bulky fat men jumping like clowns before the charging coach.3 One can find many similarities between this journalistic description and the ‘violent revolution’ around the dominant meaning of city streets that has been described by 255

256

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

historians of technology in the case of the United States or other European countries.4 But there were significant differences too. Firstly, automobiles remained scarce in Greece for more than a decade after their introduction. According to available sources, the total number of automobiles in Greece from 1900 to 1912 did not exceed 150, all of them in the possession of the extremely rich, especially the royal family, and employed almost exclusively in Athens and the surrounding areas of Attica.5 Secondly, Athens was a much smaller city than the ones usually studied by historians of automobility. In 1907 its population amounted to 142,754 people.6 Thirdly, the lower classes, moving to Athens from the rural countryside in order to work or emigrate overseas, tended to live around the houses of the middle class, a structure that historian Lila Leontidou has called ‘bestudded social demarcation’.7 Finally, we should take note of the fact that Greece was a young nation-state, placed in the trouble-ridden southern portion of the Balkan Peninsula, also known as ‘the powder keg of Europe’. As a result, the Greek territory was significantly expanded in various distinct phases during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The short period under consideration here, 1900–1911, is also a period between two wars waged against the Ottoman Empire and Bulgaria. The first war took place in 1897. Greece was bitterly defeated. The second war (known as the First and Second Balkan Wars) transpired in two phases between 1912 and 1913; Greece was victorious and its territory was almost doubled in size (see Map 1).8 Until at least 1923 and the Treaty of Lausanne, the territory of the Greek state was a patchwork of different nationalities and languages, customs and religions, remnants of Ottoman rule that had to be homogenized, resulting in a constant urge ‘to remove, shift or weaken the spatial barriers posed by geographical conditions, economic relations and social bonds’.9 The automobile, I show, played a small, though ideologically significant, part in this homogenizing drive. As far as the more general concerns of automobile historians are concerned, a version of what Gijs Mom has called ‘the adventure machine’ appeared in Greece at the turn of the century.10 Various scholars concerned with countries such as France, Italy, Germany or the United States, have argued that on top of the touring, speeding and tinkering aspects of automobilism documented by Mom, the owners of the new machines were seeking to invade space and impose themselves on its regular users, resulting in – often violent – conflicts with class and cultural overtones.11 I argue that the introduction of the automobile in Greece is defined by similar conflicts, during the course of which notions such as ‘street’, ‘public’, ‘private’, ‘accident’, and ‘speed’ were renegotiated and eventually transformed. I examine the resulting historical process by following automobile accidents that happened between 1904 and 1911.12 By following automobile accidents and not what is considered ‘regular use’, I confirm one of Enda Duffy’s broader historiographical claims, namely that we can better understand technology by studying accidents and breakdowns than by letting ourselves be dazzled by ‘the spectacle of its smooth functioning’.13 At the same time, I document the conflict around the meaning and the use of space that took place in Greece between 1900 and 1911. I show that the supposedly dominant ‘narrative of progress’ faced fervent opposition and that its opponents, who are usually considered ‘the losers’ and who tend to be invisible in our historical narratives, must be taken into account when discussing this period.14

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

257

MAP 1: Expansion of the Greek national territory (1832–1923). Greece’s national territory was expanded in various distinct phases during the first century of its existence. In the period treated here the northernmost Greek territory was Thessaly, annexed in 1881, as shown in the third of the six maps. Greece’s national territory after the Balkan Wars of 1912–1913 is shown in the fourth map. Source: Γ. Μηλιός, Ο Ελληνικός Κοινωνικός Σχηματισμός: Από τον Επεκτατισμό στην Καπιταλιστική Ανάπτυξη, [The Greek Social Formation: From Expansionism to Capitalist Development] (Athens, 2000), 389.

258

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

IN SEARCH OF THE ‘SINGLE NEW PLEASURE INVENTED BY MODERNITY’: USES AND USERS OF THE ROYAL AUTOMOBILES In September 1902, Constantinos I, then thirty-two years old, heir to the Greek throne and general commander of the Greek Army, became one of the first members of the royal family to own an automobile. The automobile cost him ‘5,000 golden francs’, was delivered by steamship at the port of Piraeus, and within a few hours had crashed into a ‘fifteen meters deep ravine’ near the royal county retreat of Tatoi, 20 kilometres from Athens (see Map 3).15 Actual descriptions of the accident vary spectacularly, but we can be certain that the royal automobile was being tested for its speed in a manner that made it susceptible to accidents. In the months that followed, the royal family began building a veritable automobile fleet.16 The most heavily used of the royal automobiles was undoubtedly the one belonging to Prince Andrew. When he acquired his first car, at the end of 1903, Andrew was twenty-one years old and fourth in line to the throne. The automobile was initially used on short excursions between the various royal palaces and the Faleron coast, but soon it started venturing further, as far as the city of Thebes, about 100 kilometres to the northwest of Athens. It seems that by regularly using the car for such endeavours, Prince Andrew and his chauffeur, a Mr Everhart, acquired and refined a taste for the ‘only genuinely new pleasure of modernity’: speed.17 In October 1904 Prince Andrew’s automobile broke down near Thebes. In order to avoid spending the night in Thebes, the prince was forced to return to Athens by a ‘specially arranged’ train, a hint that the countryside was not considered to be a safe place for royalty, especially after the assassination attempt against Prince Andrew’s father, King George, a few years beforehand.18 The prince’s chauffeur on the other hand remained behind in order to perform the necessary repairs. Indeed, having repaired the car, Everhart managed to return from Thebes to Athens in ‘two hours and eight minutes, an unprecedented speed for Greece’.19 Apart from the unsafe nature of the Greek countryside, there is another important point to be made here, namely the accuracy of the time measurement. The prince’s chauffeur not only managed to return to Athens with ‘unprecedented speed’, but took it upon himself to measure his speed to the accuracy of one minute. This measurement was considered important enough to be published in the press. Within the space of a few months, speed as provided by automobiles and the control of speed as exercised by the vigorous young men of the royal family had gradually become an important part of the royal court’s daily life. As one would expect given its heavy use, only two weeks passed before Prince Andrew’s automobile broke down again in November 1904.20 The eventual repair took about four months as ‘the engine had to be sent to England’, and the prince used the opportunity to perform certain conversions of his own: [Prince Andrew’s] automobile will be put to use in a few days, after testing the power and endurance of the engine, and after removing the seats and various surplus weights, so that it can reach a speed equal to Prince Nicholas’ automobile, which at present remains the fastest automobile in Greece.

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

259

The article went on, pointing out that ‘only a week before, Prince Nicholas’ automobile covered the distance between [the coast of] Paleon Faliron and the royal stables [in the centre of Athens] in exactly seven minutes’.21 There can be little doubt that ‘holding the steering wheel had a peculiar effect on people’.22 Speed as an end in itself, its precise measurement and competition around it, had become the new exciting pastimes of the young males of the royal family. However, Prince Nicholas’ speed feat was only possible because of the recent construction of Syngrou Avenue.

THE MECHANICAL ANNIHILATION OF SPACE AND ITS ENEMIES: USES AND USERS OF SYNGROU AVENUE Syngrou Avenue was perfect for speeding. ‘The widest street Athens ever had’ was finished on 21 November 1904. It was surprisingly long and straight in a city that lacked straight roads.23 The avenue connected Athens with the ‘picturesque’ coast of Paleon Faleron, 10 kilometres to the south (see Map 2). Three weeks before Nicholas used Syngrou Avenue as a track for his seven-minute run, the ‘Greek Bicycle Society’ had used it in order to organize an excursion to the coast: Over 120 cyclists, of which four were driving automobiles, set off from the Society’s headquarters in Philellinon Street. Coming from Amalia Avenue they entered Syngrou through which they arrived in Paleon Faleron where they formed groups and found accommodation in the hotels of the area. Then again by Syngrou Avenue they returned to Athens and their original point of departure.24 The emphasis given to the description of the (very well-known) road route is noticeable, particularly when compared to the downplayed description of the destination. It is yet more peculiar if one considers that the various touring clubs that emerged in Athens during the turn of the century monotonously declared that their actual purpose was the ‘discovery of the country’s unknown beauties’.25 Nor was this description the only one of its kind. A year and a half later, the heir to the throne, accompanied by Princess Sofia, as well as the Prince of Saxe Meiningen and his wife, ‘exited for a promenade at 3 pm in their sleek automobile; they were all wearing masks, due to the high speed of the automobile’. The esteemed excursionists traversed the Paleon Faleron Avenue and arrived to Neon Faleron with lightning speed. After facing certain difficulties upon reaching the inclined Javela street, they turned towards the circumferential Koumoundourou Avenue, eventually arriving to Mr. Skouloudi’s manor in Freattida, whereupon, by the same lightning speed and following the same itinerary, they returned to Athens by 4 pm.26 What is described here is a kind of movement with no destination whatsoever; it is the kind of movement where any possibility of a stop is considered a ‘difficulty’. Toponyms rapidly succeeding each other, the twice repeated ‘lightning speed’ metaphor, finally the time of departure and its spectacular proximity to the time of return; this is all that is needed in order to sufficiently describe the experience of the

260

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

esteemed excursionists. The point here is the description of genuinely new experiences and possibilities. The main experience brought forward by this new innovating kind of ‘promenade’ was the ‘annihilation of space by time’, no longer as the general tendency of capitalist transport systems, but as a concrete individualized feeling.27 We can now better comprehend the political significance of Prince Nicholas’ speed record, namely that from the point of view of the upper class, machinerybased speed signalled the possibility of the abstraction of space, and thus of a new

MAP 2: Syngrou Avenue in 1908. In this 1908 map, Syngrou Avenue is the straight diagonal avenue connecting Athens to the seaside resort of Paleon Faleron to the southwest. Notice the abundance of unbuilt space. (1): Analatos hill; this is the place of the assassination attempt against King George in 1898, of the first automobile fatality in Greece (see ‘The battle for space as tragedy’), as well as one end of the 1906 automobile race (see ‘The battle for space as farce’). (2): The bridge over the Ilissos river near which Froso Kalogera was killed; Karolos Fix’s brewery, the other end of the 1906 automobile race, lies to the northeast of the bridge. (3): Paleon Faleron, destination of various upper-class promenades discussed in various sections of the article. (4): Brahami, one ‘arvanitohori’ like the ones discussed in ‘The battle for space as an enduring process’. Source: Ε. Χατζηκωνσταντίνου, ‘Αστικός Εκσυγχρονισμός, Οδικό Δίκτυο και Πόλη’ [Urban Modernization, Road Network and City: The Example of Syngrou Avenue During the Turn of the Century], Unpublished Doc. Diss., Athens, 2014.

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

261

relation to space. It signalled new possibilities, ranging from the individual level of the automobile owner all the way up to the level of the state. This kind of association between the individual ‘wills and whims’ of the members of turn-of-the-century touring clubs and broader state tendencies and objectives has been noted by Kurt Moser. Moser stated that the elite’s fascination with ‘the new mobility machines’ should also be seen as part of a wider social preparation for war.28 In the Greek case we can find the same association between individual fascination and state objectives taking especially concrete forms. As I noted in the introduction, the objectives of the Greek state during the turn of the century stemmed from its particular geographic place and turbulent history. It is thus much less surprising that one can find Greek ‘nature loving’ touring clubs such as the ‘Excursions Club’, founded in 1899, stereotypically proposing ‘to intimate ourselves with our fatherland, to appreciate its unexploited natural beauty’, only to conclude with the rather foresighted sentence ‘in order to defend it better in the future than we defended it in the past’.29 On the one hand, the ‘unfortunate war’ of 1897 had left loose ends and a future war seemed rather probable if not certain. On the other hand, the honorary president of the ‘Excursions Club’, Spyridon Lambros, had also served as the vice president of ‘Ethniki Etairia’ [National Society], the clandestine military lobbying group that had played a significant and much criticized part in the declaration of the 1897 war.30 The ruling class’ fascination with ‘touring’, hence with the new mobility machines and the creation of abstract space, was not itself abstract. It was based on the readily perceived compatibility between individual whims and state objectives and pointed to past and future military and political endeavours, inside and outside the territory of the Greek state. Yet, justified as it was, this technological euphoria would first have to face grave obstacles. As I have already mentioned, the city’s working-class inhabitants used the same streets as the owners of the new machines. For example, the northeastern part of Syngrou Avenue entered Athens by traversing residential areas that were registered in 1908 during the first official demarcation of the city’s municipal areas. By examining this first official catalogue of Athens’ districts, we find out that the neighbourhoods that were artificially separated by the construction of Syngrou Avenue were inhabited by at least 5,000 people. It is likely that some of these inhabitants were workers at the Fix brewery, the dominant factory of the area.31 All existing accounts agree that the streets of Athens were heavily used by the working class for work, recreation and daily life purposes. Workers walked a lot, either from and to their work, or in the course of their work: the transport facilities were expensive. The streets were full of vendors of various commodities, milk for example was sold ‘straight from the animals’ breasts’. Most working-class families lived in single room houses with no running water: women often cooked, washed clothes and/or kitchen utensils, sewed and stitched clothes, and met with other women in the street. Syngrou Avenue traversed the Ilissos river which was used for clothes-washing throughout the nineteenth century. Working-class children, when not working, played games in the streets, including ‘stone wars’.32 In the early twentieth century tensions rose among the various users of Syngrou Avenue, and this was reflected throughout Athens’ streets. On the one side were young upper-class men increasingly aware of the fact that automobility signalled the

262

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

possibility for a new relation with space, pleasurable and at the same time compatible with broader state objectives; on the other, the residents of the areas surrounding the streets – the total opposite of the proponents of the Greek version of ‘the adventure machine’ and their correlative notions of machinery, space and speed. From 1905 onwards, these tensions were heightened.

THE BATTLE FOR SPACE AS FARCE: AUTOMOBILE RACES AND DEMONSTRATIONS OF POWER IN SYNGROU AVENUE In 1905 bicycles were being replaced by automobiles and Athens was home to a devoted cadre of automobilists who made up for their miniscule numbers with the power of their high social status.33 In that year, the automobilists of Athens tried to include automobile races in the ‘Intercalated Olympic Games’ that were due to take place in Athens in 1906.34 When their request was rejected, they decided to organize a race of their own. Organization of the race was assumed by the Greek Bicycle Society, along with an otherwise unidentified ‘sportsmen group’ and Constantinos I, the Heir to the throne, thus ‘demonstrating his interest in progress as represented by the automobile’. Syngrou Avenue was selected as ‘the most suitable Avenue’ for the race, an obvious choice given its breadth and amplitude. Less obvious is why the race took place not in the southern uninhabited part of the avenue but instead ‘between Analatos hill and the Fix brewery’, an area that encompassed a large part of the avenue’s inhabitants (see Map 2). Newspapers announced the event a month in advance of the race. Four days before the race the aforementioned part of the avenue was in the process of being ‘properly enclosed’ with ‘wire fences’ in order to ‘place seats for the spectators’. We have no way of knowing how strict this enclosure was, if it restricted the movement or affected the sentiments of the people living around Syngrou Avenue. On the other hand, they certainly watched the race. On 26 February 1906, ‘a vast crowd, mainly belonging to the lower classes flocked towards Syngrou Avenue’, but very few of the crowd proved themselves willing to comply to the discipline imposed by the enclosed space: ‘There were so many people that by 2 pm horsemen and policemen had already given up attending order and were being carried away by the crowd; all the wire fences had been stomped upon’. Given the collapse of the fences it was only natural that ‘one could find much more people wandering the street where automobiles and motorcycles were to compete than on the sidewalk’. Things did not look much better on the sidewalk. The seats ‘arrayed in long rows by the organizational committee, who was apparently aspiring to a lot of ticket sales’, ‘remained empty for the most part’, while other accounts suggest certain individuals ‘settled themselves on the prepaid seats without even being in the possession of a ticket’. Further down the road, the Royal Navy brass-band was meticulously striking up military marches near the grandstand of the organizational committee, undoubtedly inspired by the presence thereto of the Heir, the Minister of Economics Mr Simopoulos, the Minister of Foreign Affairs Mr Skuze, their families and other esteemed automobilists. However, ‘the sound of their instruments was repeatedly covered by the cries of the gamins who were mocking the passing cyclists’, and obviously by the angry shouts of the curators who ‘fisted a lot of gamins

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

263

in a commendable demonstration of zeal’. It was in this environment that the first official automobile race in Greece commenced: A bugle sounded and another answered from afar and the bellow of an automobile approached in the midst of a thick dust cloud. People were unable to comprehend the purpose of this demonstration. -It must be the races, one said. -Nah, impossible, intervened another. That is not how races are supposed to be. In the meantime automobiles were passing, two or three in all, as well as some bicyclists and the crowd was still waiting for the race to begin. (. . .) Finally the automobile of His Highness the Heir arrived before the committee, His Highness went on board along with Princess Sofia and the young Princes and they headed for Paleon Faleron. (. . .) Then people finally apprehended that the race was over and set off towards Athens commenting on the transpired events.35 However, we must not let the comic awkwardness of the transpired events disorient us from other procedures that were taking place around Syngrou Avenue. This first automobile race can be apprehended as an attempt to impose a new notion of ‘street’ upon the ‘popular classes’ of the surrounding areas. The enclosure of the street for four days and the organized and expensive march of the new impressive machinery were demonstrations of power akin to a military parade.36 The goal here was the demonstration of the power of the new machines and their masters and at the same time the consolidation of a new dominant meaning of the city’s streets. Space no longer belonged to everybody: it belonged solely to the upper class and the tool used for its occupation was the new automotive machinery. For these reasons the street was enclosed, tickets were sold for entry, horsemen patrolled, gamins were fisted and a noisy navy brass-band played to the gathered audience. However, the attempt by the Greek upper classes to demonstrate their power proved to be a spectacular failure. The fences collapsed, the horsemen abandoned their attempts to control space and pedestrians roamed the avenue. The automobiles had to amble slowly along the wide avenue, and were unable to demonstrate their full power. The conflict I hinted at in the previous section on the subject of public space and its use was already raging in Athens. And if its bitterness is still barely visible, it is due to the elusiveness of one of the conflicting sides. E. P. Thompson has remarked that many of our historical narratives tend to ‘read history in the light of subsequent preoccupations, and not as it in fact occurred’. We tend to remember ‘only the successful, in the sense of those whose aspirations anticipated subsequent evolution’, while ‘the blind alleys, the lost causes, and the losers themselves are forgotten’.37 The people living around Syngrou Avenue in 1906 are a perfect example of ‘the losers’ of our historical narratives. But as we shall see, their passing through history has not been completely without a trace.

THE BATTLE FOR SPACE AS TRAGEDY: THE FIRST AUTOMOBILE FATALITIES IN GREECE Ironically, the first two automobile fatalities in Greece happened on Syngrou Avenue, along the length of the race described in the previous section. The first of these

264

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

happened one month after the race and has gone virtually unnoticed. In the small hours of 3 April 1906, ‘Mr. Empirikos’ automobile, which was moving on Syngrou Avenue with great speed, ran down a middle-aged man by “Analatos” hill. The victim, whose name remains unknown, was severely injured.’ The victim of the first automobile fatality in Greece never regained his senses and remained anonymous until his death, two days later, ‘due to internal haemorrhage of the brain’.38 As far as we know nobody claimed his body and there were no consequences for the perpetrators, a well-known shipowners family. The second automobile fatality took place near the Fix brewery at noon on 4 March 1907 and immediately gained wide publicity. That day, ‘a competition apparently took place between two automobiles seeking to demonstrate their speed’ on Syngrou Avenue. The drivers of the two automobiles were Nikos Simopoulos, an MP and son of the Minister of Economics, and Prince Andrew, the avid automobilist with whom we have already been acquainted. Riding alongside Prince Andrew were Princess Alice and the prince’s aide, Metaxas. The victim was Efrosini Vamvaka. According to newspapers published on 6 March 1907, Vamvaka was twenty-five years old; her husband Theodore was ‘a poor shoemaker’ while she herself was of ‘unknown occupation’. The day of the accident was the Sunday of the carnival and Vamvaka was trying to cross Syngrou in order to invite a friendly family for ‘an evening distraction’ in her house, accompanied by her six-year-old son. She probably died on the spot, the condition of the body being such that ‘the moment ha[d] been wildly emotional for poor Princess Alice’.39 Constable Polichronakos, head of the nearby Gargaretta police department, and Damilatis, the chief constable of the police, swiftly arrived at the scene of the accident. Their duty was complicated. On the one hand, they had to negotiate the exact circumstances of the accident, exonerating Prince Andrew while at the same time respecting Simopoulos senior’s political power. On the other, they had to invent a reason for the automobile accident on the spot, such that it soothed the public sentiment and preserved public order. The first of these they excelled in. In the police department, where some of the people involved were transferred immediately after the accident, Polichronakos ‘took [Vamvaka’s six-year-old son] aside and threatened [sic] him’ so that he revealed that it was Simopoulos’ automobile that had killed Vamvaka and that the young boy had been bribed by ‘the fat man’ (Simopoulos’ secretary), in order to testify against Prince Andrew.40 At the same time, chief of police Damilatis took it upon himself to convince the public that the blame in fact belonged to the victim: ‘Not all blame should be attached to Mr. Simopoulos, for one can argue that the deceased actually committed suicide. Because if she had remained on the sidewalk, as her young son did, the automobiles would have passed her by and nothing would have happened. But by the look of things, the boy had more brains in his head than his mother’.41 His contempt aside, Damilatis had obviously discovered the basic principle (as well as the political pay-off) of the dominant ‘behavioural’ paradigm that came to condition automobile accidents in the twentieth century: ‘auto mishaps occur because humans are careless’.42 However, there were other, even more difficult matters to be dealt with. Damilatis went on to formulate a general synopsis of the notions governing correct street usage:

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

265

The police decree is applied strictly, hence it is forbidden to travel at a speed exceeding 10 kilometres inside city limits.43 In my opinion though, the decree cannot and must not be implemented outside city limits, as is the case for Syngrou Avenue. For it is already allowed for every man to entertain himself by achieving a high speed using his coach or his bicycle, always outside city limits. Likewise, it should be allowed, in my opinion, to automobiles to achieve as high a speed as they desire outside city limits. And the only suitable place for such a purpose is Syngrou Avenue.44 Chief Damilatis had found himself facing similar problems and performing similar ‘linguistic feats’ to those of his contemporary US judges who (thousands of miles away and in rather more formal ways) sought to define the automobile not as a complex technical system but as a common everyday object.45 The twice repeated ‘in my opinion’ serves to show us that he was fully aware of his venturing in uncharted territories. The thrice repeated ‘outside city limits’, as well as his reference to speed as pleasure, serve to show us that he had moved beyond the matter of civil liability and that he was aware of the broader political implications of the accident he was trying to manage. The automobile, that strange novel object, fluctuated between public and private, between labour and leisure, between entertainment and murder. It was pregnant with an urgent need to radically redefine notions that until then were taken for granted. Public space, private property, entertainment, speed, civil rights, life, death and civil liability, all these notions are featured in chief Damilatis’ short decree. They are all vague, they seek their definition which is to be a project for future accidents, future courtrooms and decades to come. Damilatis’ main concern was for ‘our social issue’. He was attentive in his choice of language; by using the phrase ‘automobiles’ in the second to last sentence he carefully avoided pointing the finger at the people who owned and used automobiles. That was because public attention had already been focused on them much more than was appropriate. Indeed, immediately following the accident, a number of local people, largely from the ‘pocket’ around the Fix brewery, gathered at the scene, and attacked the two cars involved, though this was not reported in the newspapers: ‘Immediately after the accident, a crowd began gathering from everywhere in the vicinity, thickening as time went by and as people were informed of the dismemberment and commented upon it. It wasn’t long before the position of the two automobiles became problematic and they departed’.46 The crowd that gathered at the scene of the accident originated from the ‘pocket’ around the Fix brewery. True, it ‘does not speak of itself, does not write about its past’, exactly like Saliba’s women workers.47 In this particular case however, thanks to the extreme nature of the circumstances, we are able to know some extra details about a random inhabitant of the area, namely about the victim, Efrosini Vamvaka. As we learn from the newspapers of the following days, Vamvaka’s name was not Efrosini; her friends called her Froso or Frosini. Her surname was not ‘Vamvaka’, because Froso was not married to Theodoros Vamvakas, the ‘poor shoemaker’. Rather, she appears to have been his mistress/housemaid: she had been living with Vamvakas for the two months prior to the accident, taking care of the two children

266

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

he had from a previous marriage, implying a multifaceted material transaction since she had recently arrived in Athens ‘from Kefallonia island and she belonged to the Kalogeras family’.48 Damilatis’ thorough investigation revealed that Froso Kalogera had just moved from a ‘hut’ in Kallithea district to a rented ‘room’ near the bridge of Ilissos river together with Vamvakas and his two children.49 The Sunday of the carnival was a holiday and Kalogera, dressed in red, was heading towards the (also rented) house of Vamvakas’ best man walking ‘through the fields’. She was not holding Vamvakas’ young son by the hand; she was chasing him in order to beat him up, which explains how the child escaped unscathed.50 Froso Kalogera was not married, she had to take care of two children that were not her own and undoubtedly were roaming the streets from a very young age. She had to walk a lot and attend to domestic chores, all the while remaining ‘the most beautiful daughter of the Gargaretta area’. Froso Kalogera was one of the thousands of internal migrants who were arriving in Athens in order to work in factories, to become housemaids or to emigrate overseas. Women who found themselves in a similar place had to solve the accommodation problem as soon as possible, or be arrested by the police and categorized as prostitutes.51 Males eager to comply abounded. As far as ‘the poor shoemaker’ is concerned, Vamvakas did not make a fuss over Kalogera’s death. Apparently, his main interest in the following days was to acquire as much money as possible from the powerful people that fate had brought into his path, a compensation for the death of a woman he barely knew.52 The result of the police investigation was that the automobilists did not face any consequences for the murder of Kalogera. Prince Andrew was interrogated for two hours and was found to be uninvolved in the accident. Nikos Simopoulos’ trial was constantly adjourned; by 1922 he owned one of the first automobile agencies in Athens and was one of the founding members of the Greek Automobile and Touring Club (ΕΛΠΑ), established in 1924.53 Mr Vamvakas and the esteemed automobilists were not the only concerned parties following the accident. The accident had taken place in the midst of a working-class ‘pocket’, and in such places ‘news circulated with inconceivable speed’.54 The crowd that attacked the automobiles on Sunday 4 March, continued making its presence felt in the following days. From 4 to 12 March 1907, the newspapers reported at least four different incidents of ‘terrible attacks’, ‘barracking’, and ‘stoning’ of automobiles, not only near the scene of the accident, but all over Athens.55 Apparently, these incidents caused grave concern in various circles (see Figure 1). ‘I am certain that even [the stone throwers themselves] would confess that they overreacted and that they do not want adherents or imitators’, concluded an article published in Empros newspaper on 13 March.56 Chief Damilatis and Constable Polichronakos were particularly concerned. On the same day that Empros published its pacificatory article, they had returned ‘by coincidence’ to the quintessential ‘out of city limits’ locus: Syngrou Avenue. This time, by ‘putting their own lives at risk’, they managed to arrest Mr Empirikos’ automobile – Empirikos had of course been responsible for the first of the two accidents, on 3 April 1906 – which was ‘running at a dizzying speed’ and to lodge a complaint ‘against the driver and the owner’. Before they did this, Damilatis and Polichronakos had to once more save the passengers of the automobile from ‘the thick crowd of pedestrians that tried to attack them with stones’.57

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

267

FIGURE 1: A future scene. Satirical representation of the streets of Athens, published on the front page of Athinai newspaper, one week after Froso Kalogera’s death. The caption reads: ‘A future scene during the appearance of the two automobiles’. The effort given to fully depict Athens’ class stratification is obvious. Yet, the most ill-disposed towards the new automotive machines is the barefooted man angrily climbing the lamp post, and the gamin to the right who, as usual, is mocking the automobilists. Source: Αθήναι, 11 March 1907.

Yet not everybody possessed Damilatis’ politically informed conciliatory spirit. On the next day, a sincerer article was published in the same newspaper, stating that people who walk in such a wide and straight road and still manage to find themselves before an automobile and be dismembered by it, are obviously either destined to die such a death, or they are such animals that their death is not such a great loss. [. . .] Of course progress will not stop for their sake, even if it is progress of the luxurious kind.58 According to C. Hadziiosif, during the first decade of the twentieth century ‘intellectuals and the propertied classes were led to a new awareness of the social question [. . .] but as usual in Greece, the perception of social antagonisms led to their negation’.59 Indeed, under ‘normal circumstances’, this pervasive suppressive tendency would have ensured that the conflict we are trying to describe here would remain forever elusive. Of course the propertied classes might still have ‘despised’ the working class, and they might still have used their newfound machinery in order to attest their ‘class superiority’ and violently claim public space.60 The lower classes might still have resisted to a point that they would have to be taken seriously into account. But their antagonism would have remained obscure, undocumented, hidden from the historian under the trivial multitude of everyday events not worth mentioning. Not so in the case of Froso Kalogera. As we have seen, she was a typical

268

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

woman of her time, place and class. If she had remained on the sidewalk, the automobilists would have passed her by, in the same manner they passed by countless others like her. The power they claimed over her, their cordial association with the police and the press, the opposition they faced and the political way they tried to cope with it, would all have remained absent from our sources. Froso Kalogera’s violent ‘accidental’ death serves to show us an extreme moment of what is normally perceived as the normal use of an innovative technology. At the same time, it attests to the fact that what we sometimes perceive as the ‘smooth functioning’ of technology (and society at large), may indeed be nothing more than ‘a spectacle’.61

THE BATTLE FOR SPACE AS AN ENDURING PROCESS: AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENTS IN THE VICINITY OF ATHENS AND BEYOND Princes and members of Parliament were chased away by the crowd on 4 March 1907. A decade earlier such an incident would have been inconceivable. But in the years following the accident on 4 March 1907, this kind of momentary proximity between people that until then had been divided by a vast cultural and material chasm occurred again and again, thanks to the strange nature of the new machines. By November 1908, the Greek Bicycle Society had abandoned bicycles almost completely; now their automobiles were traversing (once more ‘with dizzying speed’) the streets of Pikermi village, about 40 km from the centre of Athens. Like many Attica villages at the turn of the century, Pikermi was an ‘arvanitohori’, which means a village inhabited by ‘Arvanetes’.62 As we have already mentioned, the Greek national territory was a patchwork of different peoples, languages and customs, remnants of the Ottoman multi-ethnic social structure. The Arvanetes in particular were Albanian-speaking Christians inhabiting villages all over southern Greece. In Attica district, surrounding the Greek ‘ancient’ capital of about 200,000 people, one could find about fifty such villages, comprising several tens of thousands of Arvanetes (see Map 3). The case of the Arvanetes and their slow assimilation into the Greek national identity has been a chronic source of awkwardness for Greek historiography. Kostas Mpiris for example, in the last pages of a book dating from 1960, advocates at length the ‘Greek nationality’ of Arvanites who supposedly descended from ancient ‘Dorians’, and concludes optimistically that ‘during the last decades the Arvanitohoria [villages of Arvanites], at least the ones favoured by transport infrastructure, have enjoyed a noticeable advance of civilization’, by which he means ‘the remission of Arvanitika [the Albanian dialects] and the prevalence of Greek’.63 As one can imagine, despite the lack of ‘transport infrastructure’ in 1907, automobile excursions crossing ‘arvanitohoria’ with ‘dizzying speed’, such as the one organized by the Greek Bicycle Society, were aiming at a similar ‘civilizing’ effect. The children of Pikermi village, obviously unaccustomed to such mechanical invasions, began throwing stones, thus provoking the automobilists’ response: The chauffeur stopped the car, arrested the culprit and carried him by automobile fifteen minutes away from the village, as [the child] was screaming in incomprehensible Albanian. Then he let him go.

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

269

-This promenade will prove to be a sour one for him [observed] the chauffeur. Do you know how much time he will need to return to his village? About two hours!64 The novel machine could invade contested space against the will of its inhabitants, confirming that its owners were the rightful masters of the national territory. It could also transform space into time and time into punishment. Such unprecedented qualities made its owners’ arrogance partly justifiable. But not completely so. Automobilism as a process of invasion into space, brought the upper class in contact

MAP 3: Excursions in arvanitohoria. Some of the ‘arvanitohoria’ of Attica presented superimposed on the excursions mentioned in the main text. The map has been constructed especially for this article. (1): The royal county retreat of Tatoi, 20 km to the north. (2): To Thebes, 100 km to the northwest. (3): Paleon Faleron, 10 km to the southwest. (4): Freattida, a point in the ‘lightning speed’ excursion mentioned in the earlier section on ‘The mechanical annihilation of space and its enemies’. (5): Pikermi, where children spoke ‘incomprehensible Albanian’, 40 km to the east. (6): Elefsina, where the Heir was ‘bruised by the chin’, 30 km to the west. (7): Kalamos, home of villager Spiros Fafoutis, 40 km to the northeast. Source: Γ. Νακρατζάς, Η Στενή Εθνολογική Συγγένεια των Σημερινών Ελλήνων, Βουλγάρων και Τούρκων: Ήπειρος – Νότια Ελλάδα, [The Close National Kinship of Contemporary Greeks, Bulgarians and Turks: Epirus – Southern Greece], (Thessaloniki, 1996), 85.

270

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

with the various versions of underclass, not in environments of militarily controlled order, like in a parade or during the various games that until then were organized in stadiums, but individually, in the course of the daily routine. And events did not play out as the upper classes expected them to. For instance, a few months after the Pikermi incident, the children of the arvanitohori of Elefsina, about 30 km to the west of Athens, confronted Constantinos’ automobile which ‘was on an excursion’ carrying, among others, the Queen Mother, Beatrice of Spain. Stones were once more thrown and Constantinos was ‘bruised by the chin’. When the angered heir to the Greek throne ‘berated and slapped’ the culprits he was faced by their mothers who ‘began swearing at him in Albanian’.65 Constantinos was forced to confront stone-throwing Albanian children using his own physical strength and suffer their incomprehensible mothers before eventually making his exit with a bruised chin. This kind of momentary crack of the social boundaries can be observed at various instances during the first decade of the twentieth century, and is always associated with automobility. Take the following examples: the time the King and his heir were forced to take the tram – perhaps for the first time in their lives – and to eventually return to the palace on foot. Or the time they had to stand in the sun for hours under the gaze of passing peasants, all because of a car breakdown.66 The various times when automobile owners were arrested, possibly for their own safety, after an accident and the crowd’s intervention.67 The instance when Ms Empirikos and her driver were guided to the police station after an accident, under police custody, surrounded by an angry mob demanding justice.68 Or the incident when Constantinos hopped on to the tram and disappeared after running over a policeman’s daughter, letting his chauffeur take the blame.69 A strange trial took place in December 1910, involving on the one side Spiros Fafoutis, a peasant from Attica’s village of Kalamos and the accused party, and on the prosecuting side King George and Prince Andrew. The royal automobile had crashed into Fafoutis’ cart and the peasant was being accused of addressing the royals with phrases such as ‘you’re lucky I am not carrying my gun’. Fafoutis wisely chose to abstain from the trial probably presuming that the authority of the Greek courts was difficult to assert in the arvanitohori of Kalamos Attica, some 40 kilometres from the centre of Athens.70 The state attorney particularly insisted on proving that Fafoutis had used the phrase ‘I don’t care if you are the King himself ’, a quite understandable concern, especially if we take into account the challenge to royal power posed by the ‘Goudi movement’ a year and a half earlier. The ‘Goudi movement’ took place in August 1909, under the political leadership of military officers. In the course of the following years the party-political system was restructured and the constitution was reformed resulting in a relative abatement of royal power: it signalled ‘the amplification of the power of state apparatus’, and ‘the beginning of the transformation of the liberal state to an interventionist one’. One of the main driving forces behind these profound changes was the ‘abatement of social divisions in the face of the impending military involvement in the Balkans’.71 Indeed, George Mavrogordatos has claimed that the legislation eventually worked out by the ‘Venizelos Regime’ between 1910 and 1920 comprises ‘a unity, a single plan of rational organization and representation of all class interests’.72 One of the

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

271

first such laws, introduced in December 1911, concerned the use of automobiles and the pertinent ‘civil and penal liability’. The law stated that deaths or bodily injuries connected with automobiles would be ‘dealt with according to the relevant articles of the penal law’. Despite a number of objections from MPs who argued that automobilists remaining on the scene of the accident ‘provoke immediate revenge’, ‘disorder’, and hence ‘further accidents’, the law made a reference to the common practice of abandoning the victims, for which a penalty of ‘six days to three months imprisonment’ was introduced.73 It went on to state that ‘the driver is dispensed of all liability if the accident has occurred due to automobile deficiencies impossible to be known under any degree of procuration on his part’.74 At last, thanks to this truly ‘rational organization of class interests’, automobile owners could be tried according to law like every other citizen and still avoid conviction due to ‘unknowable circumstances’ brought upon by the machine’s obscure nature. This special providence of the legislator should come as no surprise given that one of the major exponents of the new automobile law was Pericles Karapanos, a young MP whose automobile, just one year before, on 6 August 1910, had killed ‘30-year-old I. Evangelou’.75 Such individual interest-driven approaches to automobile use and legislation were not bound to last. Greece entered the Balkan Wars in 1912. Dozens of Athens’ prominent automobilists readily offered their cars, their chauffeurs and even their personal services to the military effort. An ‘automobile park’ of the Greek army was formed under the leadership of Miltiades Negrepontis, co-founder of the Athens Tennis Club in 1895, president of the Greek Bicycle Club and organizer of the 1906 Syngrou Avenue automobile race mentioned previously. Its upper-class members were constantly praised in the press for carrying injured soldiers and provisions with their ‘bullet ridden’ automobiles. In the ten turbulent years that followed, Greece’s territory and population almost doubled through constant military and diplomatic action (see Map 1). At the end of this decade of warfare, about 13,000 automobiles could be found in Greece, in the possession of various military outfits. The automobile had been transformed into an indispensable component of the state’s technical apparatus, thus proving that the first automobilists’ premonitions about the compatibility of their fascination with broader ‘national’ objectives were in fact correct.76 Yet, despite this spectacular wartime multiplication of automobiles, the battle for space described thus far in this article took more decades to settle. In 1931, Aristotelis Koutsoumaris, vice chief of police in the city of Patras and pioneering police statistician, compiled the first known statistical survey of automobile accidents in the history of the Greek state. He ascertained that ‘66.66% of the injured [in Patras] are minors up to the age of 15’ and promptly suggested to his superiors that a police decree should be implemented ‘so that parents who, despite the great traffic of vehicles, abandon their children to play completely unattended in the streets, are punished accordingly’.77 This ambiguity in street use persisted as late as 1940; even then, a traffic police list of ‘instructions to pedestrians’ had to begin by clarifying that ‘streets are used for vehicle traffic and sidewalks are used for pedestrian traffic, so one should avoid walking on the street, as well as standing on the sidewalk, engaging in conversations, or reading newspapers’.78

272

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

CONCLUSION The automobile made its appearance in Greece as a version of what Gijs Mom has called ‘the adventure machine’, instantly fascinating the elite with its speeding, tinkering and touring aspects. But there was more to it than that. Greek automobilists of the turn of the twentieth century realized that their individual fascination with automobiles was compatible with broader state objectives, namely the preparation for an oncoming war as well as the homogenization of the cultural and linguistic patchwork of the Greek national territory. The automobile was understood not only as an adventure machine, but also as a tool used to individually break the ‘barriers’ that until then cut across the national space, a powerful symbolic and technical means recruited in the broader task of space homogenization.79 Automobile owners invaded space enthusiastically, drawing their confidence from their immense technological supremacy. They soon found themselves facing equally powerful social forces. Far from being ‘empty spaces’, the city streets, as well as the ‘countryside’, were already socially demarcated in the strict manner pointed out by labour and women’s historian Zizi Salimba: ‘the country belonged to the popular classes; parlours and private spaces belonged to the bourgeoisie’.80 For the popular classes, ‘the country’ was the particular loci where hard work, entertainment and daily life took place. They empirically (hence immediately) understood the automobile as a machine seeking to violently invert this old arrangement in favour of its owners. The ensuing conflict was fought by technical, symbolic, police, juridical and political means, as we saw in the case of the techno-politically prepared Syngrou Avenue Races and the complex negotiations following the death of Froso Kalogera. Eventually it was fought violently as demonstrated by the various accidents and small riots that made up this account. The conflict could not be ignored, as the upper classes soon realized the repossession of space could not be carried out exclusively through the owning and use of a machine. A new ‘common sense’ had to be invented concerning what was public and what was private, what was space, property, mobility and civil liability. The whole process was impossible without taking into account the interests, opinions and everyday practices of the lower classes. In the decades that followed, this dialectical process of constructing new notions went on; it is this historical process that we must come to understand as the introduction of the automobile in Greece. Undoubtedly it was a bloody process with a heavy price, paid mainly by the working class. But it was by no means one-sided. If nowadays we tend to neglect this dialectic process, as well as many others of its kind, it is because our societies apprehend technology and its use as a set of smooth uninterrupted processes. Contrary to this pervasive opinion, the preceding narrative of the introduction of the automobile in Greece adopts the thesis according to which ‘the accident tells us much more about the cultural effects of technology than the spectacle of its smooth functioning ever could’.81 The sources used revolve around violent accidents, that is, around extreme peaks pointing out of an otherwise even surface. These extreme moments are bound to elude us if we insist on dealing exclusively with the smooth everyday function of capitalist societies and their technologies. Yet it is during these

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

273

extreme moments that the elite came to momentary, violent contact with the working class. Hence, I was able to discern the discourse, practices and meanings surrounding the relations between them with a clarity that could not have been attained otherwise. Automobile accidents in Greece during the turn of the century were, among other things, momentary instances during which Leontidou’s ‘invisibles’ become visible in our historical sources, rescued ‘from the enormous condescension of posterity’.82 We should rejoice in their newfound visibility. Not because of having fulfilled some moral imperative, but because without these ‘invisibles’ the history of technology, as well as Greek history, remains partial and incomplete.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I am grateful to E. Chatziconstantinou for our many lengthy discussions on the geography of Attica and the history of Syngrou Avenue, A. Papazafeiropoulou for providing me with a copy of her dissertation just a few days after its completion, S. Tzokas for enlightening me on the matter of Athens’ water supply during the first half of the twentieth century, A. Fotakis for information on the Patras’ police department, E. Masoura for her invaluable help with the maps and the anonymous peer reviewer for his/her many fruitful suggestions. Finally, I would like to thank A. Tympas and S. Arapostathis for encouraging me to venture into the history of automobility in Greece, but mainly for providing an academic environment permissive of dissenting views, hence fertile in various unpredictable ways.

NOTES 1. ‘Οι Kίνδυνοι’ [The Dangers], Σκριπ, 19 May 1904. 2. For a history of Athens, see Κ. Μπίρης, Αι Αθήναι: Από του 19ο εις τον 20ο Αιώνα [Athens: From 19th to the 20th Century] (Athens, 1966). 3. ‘Οι Κίνδυνοι’ [The Dangers]. 4. For the introduction of the automobile in various European countries, G. Mom, ‘Civilized Adventure as a Remedy for Nervous Times: Early Automobilism and Fin-de-Siecle Culture’, History of Technology, 2001, 23: 157–190, 170. For the United States and the ‘violent revolution’ transpiring around city streets, see P. Norton, Fighting Traffic: The Dawn of the Motor Age in the American City (Cambridge, MA, 2008), 2. Also C. McShane, Down the Asphalt Path: The Automobile and American City (New York, 1994), 174–175. For France, C. Lavenir, ‘How the Motor Car Conquered the Road’, in M. Levin (ed.), Cultures of Control (Amsterdam, 2000), 113–134. For Turin, Italy, Massimo Moraglio, ‘Knights of Death: Introducing Bicycles and Motor Vehicles to Turin, 1890–1907’, Technology and Culture, 2015, 56(2): 370–393. For Germany, K. Moser, ‘The Dark Side of Automobilism: Violence, War and the Motor Car ’, Journal of Transport History, 2003, 24(2): 238–258. 5. Sixty-five automobiles were called to arms in 1912 for the First Balkan War, but it is probable that many automobiles remained undeclared in an effort to avoid conscription. Π. Χατζημιχάλης, Συγκοινωνίαι και Μεταφοραί [Communication and

274

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

Transports] (Athens, 1938), 15. See also Ε. Ρούπα and Ε. Χεκίμογλου, Η Ιστορία του Αυτοκινήτου στην Ελλάδα: Εμπόριο και Παραγωγή στη Μέγγενη του Κράτους [The History of the Automobile in Greece: Commerce and Production Under the Boot of the State] (Athens, 2009), 53–56. For a recent review of Greek mobility historiography see A. Tympas and I. Anastasiadou, ‘An Indistinct Constellation: Mobility History in Greece’, in G. Mom, G. Pirie and L. Tissot (eds), Mobility in History: The State of the Art in the History of Transport, Traffic and Mobility (Suisse, 2009), 201–212. 6. The number rises to 196,327 if we add the population of Piraeus. Α. Καραδήμου – Γερολύμπου, ‘Πόλεις και Πολεοδομία’ [Cities and Urban Planning], in Χ. Χατζηιωσήφ (ed.), Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου Αιώνα, τ. Α1 [History of Greece in the 20th Century, vol. Α1] (Athens, 2003), 226. 7. For the formation of an urban working class in Greece during the end of the nineteenth century, see C. Hadziiosif, ‘Class Structure and Class Antagonism in Late Nineteenth Century Greece’, in P. Carabott (ed.), Greek Society in the Making (1863–1913): Realities, Symbols and Visions (Aldershot, 1997), 3–17. For their accommodation in Athens in the beginnings of the twentieth century, Λ. Λεοντίδου, Πόλεις της Σιωπής: Εργατικός Εποικισμός της Αθήνας και του Πειραιά, 1909–1940 [Cities of Silence: Workers’ Settlement of Athens and Piraeus, 1909–1940] (Athens, 1989), 115–146. 8. For an account of the Greek military involvement in the Balkans, see Γ. Γιανουλόπουλος, ‘Η Ευγενής μας Τύφλωσις . . .’: Εξωτερική Πολιτική και ‘Εθνικά Θέματα’ από την Ήττα του 1897 έως τη Μικρασιατική Καταστροφή [‘Our Noble Blindness . . .’: Foreign Policy and ‘National Matters’ from the Defeat of 1897 to the Asia Minor Disaster] (Athens, 2003). In English, see D. Dakin, The Unification of Greece, 1770–1923 (London, 1972). 9. Χ. Χατζηιωσήφ, ‘Εισαγωγή’ [Introduction], in Χ. Χατζηιωσήφ (ed.), Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου Αιώνα, τ. Α1 [History of Greece in the 20th Century, vol. Α1] (Athens, 2003), 11. 10. Mom, ‘Civilized Adventure’. 11. See above, note 3. 12. The two newspapers systematically reviewed for the period 1898–1911 were Εμπρός [Forward] and Σκριπ [Scrip]. They were edited in Athens and enjoyed national distribution, selling between 15,000 and 20,000 copies per day. Κ. Μάγερ, Ιστορία του Ελληνικού Τύπου, τ.1 [History of the Greek Press, vol. 1] (Athens, 1959), 237–251. 13. Enda Duffy, The Speed Handbook: Velocity, Pleasure, Modernism (Durham, 2009), 199–261. Duffy attributes this thesis to P. Virilio, Speed and Politics (Los Angeles, 2006), passim. For a similar plea to look at the destructive side of automobilism, see I. Vardi, ‘Auto Thrill Shows and Destruction Derbies, 1922–1965: Establishing the Cultural Logic of the Deliberate Car Crash in America’, Journal of Social History, 2011, 45(1): 20–46. 14. E. P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class (London, 1991), 12. 15. ‘Δυστύχημα εις την Α.Β.Υ. τον Διάδοχον’ [His Majesty’s Accident], Σκριπ, 22 September 1902.

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

275

16. King George and Prince Nicholas bought their own cars in October 1904. ‘Βασιλικά Αυτοκίνητα’ [Royal Automobiles], Εμπρός, 12 October 1904. 17. Duffy, The Speed Handbook, 1–16. 18. The attempt on King George’s life took place after the ‘unfortunate war’ of 1897, the blame for which was largely directed towards the royal family. ‘Απόπειρα Δολοφονίας του Βασιλέως’ [Assassination Attempt on the King], Σκριπ, 15 February, 1898. 19. ‘Βλάβη του Αυτοκινήτου εν Θήβαις’ [The Automobile Breaks Down in Thebes], Εμπρός, 29 October 1904. ‘Το Αυτοκίνητον του Πρίγκηπος – Ταχύτης Καταπληκτική’ [The Prince’s Automobile – Extraordinary Speed], Σκριπ, 30 October 1904. 20. ‘Ποικίλα’ [Various], Εμπρός, 14 November 1904. 21. ‘Το Αυτοκίνητον του Πρίγκηπος Ανδρέου’ [Prince Andrew’s Automobile], Εμπρός, 29 March 1905. 22. Mom, ‘Civilized Adventure’, 166. 23. Ε. Χατζηκωνσταντίνου, ‘Αστικός Εκσυγχρονισμός, Οδικό Δίκτυο και Πόλη’ [Urban Modernization, Road Network and City: The Example of Syngrou Avenue During the Turn of the Century], Unpublished Doc. Diss., Athens, 2014, 238. 24. ‘Η Χθεσινή Ποδηλατική Εκδρομή’ [Yesterday’s Bicycle Excursion], Εμπρός, 7 March 1905. 25. Χ. Κουλούρη, Αθλητισμός και Όψεις της Αστικής Κοινωνικότητας: Γυμναστικά και Αθλητικά Σωματεία (1870–1922) [Athleticism and Aspects of Bourgeois Sociality: Gymnastic and Athletic Clubs, 1870–1922] (Athens, 1997), 363. 26. ‘Περίπατος δι’ Αυτοκινήτου των Υψηλών Ξένων’ [Automobile Promenade of the Esteemed Guests], Εμπρός, 26 January 1907. 27. K. Marx, Grundrisse: Foundations of the Critique of Political Economy (London, 1993), 524. Duffy, The Speed Handbook, 21–57. 28. For bicycle touring clubs ‘throughout Europe’ seeking ‘to take possession of the road and submit it to their wills and whims’, see Lavenir, ‘How the Motor Car Conquered the Road’, 116. For Moser urging us not to take the automobilists’ bucolic fascination at face value, see Moser, ‘The Dark Side of Automobilism’, 253–254. 29. The quote in Κουλούρη, Αθλητισμός και Όψεις της Αστικής Κοινωνικότητας, 364. 30. See Επιτροπή Εκδόσεως των Καταλοίπων Σπυρίδωνος Λάμπρου, Εις Μνήμην Σπυρίδωνος Λάμπρου [In memoriam of Spyridon Lampros] (Athens, 1935), 9. For the ‘National Society’, Γιανουλόπουλος, ‘Η Ευγενής μας Τύφλωσις . . .’, 1–183. 31. This estimate is based on the population of the Kalliroi, Kinosargus, Alopekis, Sikelias and Filopappou neighbourhoods as cited in Ξ. Γιαταγάνα and Β. Ματζώρου (επ.), Ελευθέριος Σκιαδάς, οι Συνοικίες των Αθηνών: Η Πρώτη Επίσημη Διαίρεση, 1908 [The Districts of Athens: The First Official Demarcation, 1908] (Athens, 2001). 32. Μπίρης, Αι Αθήναι: Από του 19ο εις τον 20ο Αιώνα, 246–250. Also, Ζ. Σαλίμπα, Γυναίκες Εργάτριες στην Ελληνική Βιομηχανία και στη Βιοτεχνία 1870–1922 [Women Workers in Greek Industry and Handicrafts, 1870–1922] (Athens, 2002), 273–296. For Athens’ water infrastructure, Γ. Μαυρογόνατου, ‘Η Υδροδότηση της Αθήνας: Από τα Δίκτυα στο Δίκτυο, 1880–1930’, [Building Athens’ Water Supply System: From Networks to Network], Unpublished Doc. Diss., Athens, 2009.

276

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

33. For the discovery and relinquishment of the bicycle by the upper classes between 1890 and 1910, see Κουλούρη, Αθλητισμός και Όψεις της Αστικής Κοινωνικότητας, 374. 34. ‘Οι Ολυμπιακοί Αγώνες’ [The Olympic Games], Εμπρός, 14 October 1905. 35. The description of the automobile race is based on ‘Αγώνες Αυτοκινήτων εις τας Αθήνας’ [Automobile Race in Athens], Εμπρός, 23 January 1906; ‘Οι αγώνες της Κυριακής – Αυτοκίνητα και Ποδήλατα’ [Sunday’s Race – Automobiles and Bicycles], Εμπρός, 22 February 1906; ‘Οι σημερινοί Αγώνες – Ο Καταρτισμός των Επιτροπών’ [Today’s Race – Formation of the Committees], Εμπρός, 26 February 1906; ‘Οι Χθεσινοί Αγώνες Αυτοκινήτων (!)’ [Yesterday’s Automobile Race (!)], Εμπρός, 27 February 1906; ‘Οι χθεσινοί Αγώνες της Λεωφόρου Συγγρού’ [Yesterday’s Race on Syngrou Avenue], Ακρόπολις, 26 February 1906; ‘Οι Χθεσινοί Αγώνες’ [Yesterday’s Race], Αθήναι, 27 February 1906; and ‘Οι Χθεσινοί Αγώνες Αυτοκινήτων: Πλήρης . . . Αποτυχία’ [Yesterday’s Automobile Race: A Complete . . . Failure], Καιροί, 27 February 1906. 36. For nineteenth-century exhibitions of (industrial) machinery as demonstrations of power aiming to the intimidation of the working class, see G. Caffentzis, ‘Why Machines Cannot Create Value, or Marx’s Theory of Machines’, in Jim Davis, Thomas Hirschl and Michael Stark (eds), Cutting Edge: Technology, Information, Capitalism and Social Revolution (New York, 1997), 40–47. For the oldest example regarding machinery as the material embodiment of the ‘power of the master’, see K. Marx, Capital, 3 vols., vol. I (London, 1990), 492–564. 37. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class, 12. 38. ‘Νυχτερινόν Δυστύχημα’ [A Nocturnal Accident], Εμπρός, 4 April 1906. ‘Το Προχθεσινόν Δυστύχημα’ [The Day Before Yesterday’s Accident], Εμπρός, 6 April 1906. 39. ‘Τα Κατορθώματα δύο Αυτοκινήτων: Κατασύντριψις Νεαρής Γυναικός’ [Deeds of Two Automobiles: The Crushing of a Young Woman], Αθήναι, 6 March 1907. 40. ‘Τα Κατορθώματα δύο Αυτοκινήτων: Κατασύντριψις Νεαρής Γυναικός’. The incident is described by Prince Andrew’s aide, Metaxas. 41. ‘Το Προχθεσινόν Ατύχημα της Λεωφόρου Φαλήρου: Τα δύο Αυτοκίνητα’ [The Day Before Yesterday’s Accident on Phaleron Avenue: The Two Automobiles], Εμπρός, 6 March 1907. 42. Vardi, ‘Auto Thrill Shows and Destruction Derbies, 1922–1965’, 32–33. 43. The ‘police decree’ was published in the press: ‘Automobile velocity in narrow streets and on street turns, should be akin to human walking speed; only where the street is visible in its whole length there is no reason to reduce speed’. ‘Αστυνομική Διάταξη περί των Αυτοκινήτων’ [Police Automobile Ordinance], Εμπρός, 30 August 1906. 44. ‘Το Προχθεσινόν Ατύχημα’, 6 March 1907. 45. For the ‘linguistic feats’ performed by US judges, see S. L. Jain, ‘Dangerous Instrumentality: The Bystander as Subject in Automobility ’, Cultural Anthropology, 2004, 19(1): 66. 46. ‘Τα Κατορθώματα δύο Αυτοκινήτων: Κατασύντριψις Νεαρής Γυναικός’. 47. Σαλίμπα, Γυναίκες Εργάτριες στην Ελληνική Βιομηχανία και στη Βιοτεχνία 1870–1922, 10.

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

277

48. ‘Ανακρίσεις: Το Δυστύχημα της Λεωφόρου Συγγρού’ [Interrogations: The Syngrou Avenue Accident], Αθήναι, 8 March 1907; ‘Το Δυστύχημα των Αυτοκινήτων: Ανακρίσεις επί Τόπου’ [The Automobile Accident: Interrogations on the Spot], Αλήθεια, 11 March 1907. 49. ‘Φρικτός Θάνατος υπό τους Τροχούς των Αυτοκινήτων’ [Terrible Death Under Automobile Wheels], Καιροί, 6 March 1907. 50. ‘Το Δυστύχημα των Αυτοκινήτων’, 11 March 1907. 51. Μ. Κορασίδου, Οι Άθλιοι των Αθηνών και οι Θεραπευτές τους: Φτώχεια και Φιλανθρωπία στην Ελληνική Πρωτεύουσα τον 19ο Αιώνα [Les Miserables of Athens and their Therapists: Poverty and Philanthropy in the Greek Capital During the Nineteenth Century] (Athens, 1995), 200–207. 52. ‘So we have come at a point where even murder (. . .) proves to be a matter of negotiation between murderers and the victims’ indirect beneficiaries (. . .) Since the husband was comforted then let us all be comforted’. These cryptic lines can be found in an untitled article of Αθήναι newspaper, 7 March 1907. 53. For Simopoulos’ automobile agency, see Εφημερίς των Αυτοκινήτων [The Automobile Journal], 1 January 1923. For Simopoulos as a founding member of ΕΛΠΑ, see Α. Φωτάκης, ‘Η Δημιουργία της Αστυνομίας Πόλεων και η Βρετανική Αποστολή, 1918–1932’ [The Creation of the City Police and the British Mission], Unpublished Doc. Diss., Athens, 2016, 115. 54. Σαλίμπα, Γυναίκες Εργάτριες στην Ελληνική Βιομηχανία και στη Βιοτεχνία 1870–1922, 277. 55. ‘Πάθημα Αυτοκινήτου’ [An Automobile’s Pratfall], Αθήναι, 12 March 1907. ‘Τα Αυτοκίνητα’ [The Automobiles], Αθήναι, 14 March 1907. 56. ‘Μια Αποδοκιμασία’ [A Decrial], Εμπρός, 13 March 1907. 57. ‘Αυτοκίνητον Τρέχον με Ιλιγγιώδη Ταχύτηταν’ [Automobile Running at a Dizzying Speed], Εμπρός, 14 March 1907. 58. ‘Διατί τρέχει’ [Why Does it Run], Εμπρός, 15 March 1907. 59. Hadziiosif, ‘Class Structure and Class Antagonism’, 15. 60. For French ‘authors of automobile magazines’ despising ‘common people’ but hiding their feelings after 1905, Lavenir, ‘How the Motor Car Conquered the Road’, 131. For automobilism as a means of expressing ‘class superiority’, Moser, ‘The Dark Side of Automobilism’, 247. 61. Duffy, The Speed Handbook, 199–261. 62. According to A. Τσίγκος, Κείμενα για τους Αρβανίτες [Articles on Arvanites], (Athens, 1991), 55, all Attica villages are Arvanitohoria. 63. Mpiris goes on to state ‘maybe one can still discern a certain callousness of character, a certain grimness in the faces (. . .)’. Κ. Μπίρης, Αρβανίτες, οι Δωριείς του Νεώτερου Ελληνισμού: Ιστορία των Ελλήνων Αρβανιτών [Arvanites, the Dorians of Modern Hellenism: History of Greek Arvanites] (Athens, 1960), 329. 64. ‘Πώς τον ετιμώρησε’ [How he Punished him], Εμπρός, 4 November 1908. 65. ‘Σοβαρόν Επεισόδιον εις τον διάδοχον εν Ελευσίνι’ [Grave Incident Against the Heir in Elefsina], Εμπρός, 7 March 1909.

278

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

66. ‘Το Τέλος της Κρίσεως’ [End of the Crisis], Σκριπ, 13 May 1905. 67. ‘Η Kοινή Αντιπάθεια’ [A Common Antipathy], Εμπρός, 22 October 1909. 68. ‘Νέο Δυστύχημα από Αυτοκίνητο στα Πατήσια: Η Αγανάκτησις του Κόσμου’ [Another Automobile Accident in Patissia: Popular Indignation], Σκριπ, 23 May 1908. After causing the first automobile fatality in Greece, Ms Empirikos’ automobile, referred to in the press as ‘the green automobile’, became notorious for its reckless speeding. 69. I arrived at this conclusion by combining ‘Παρ’ Ολίγον Δυστύχημα εις τον Διάδοχον’ [Almost an Accident for the Heir], Εμπρός, 3 September 1908, with ‘Το Αυτοκίνητον του Διαδόχου: Δυστύχημα εις Νεανίδα’ [The Heir’s Automobile: Accident for a Young Girl], Σκριπ, 3 September 1908. 70. ‘Η Χθεσινή Δίκη του Πλημμελειοδικείου’ [The Misdemeanour Tried Yesterday], Εμπρός, 21 December 1910. 71. See Θ. Μποχώτης, ‘Η Εσωτερική Πολιτική’ [Domestic Politics], in Χ. Χατζηιωσήφ (ed.), Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου Αιώνα, τ. Α1 [History of Greece in the 20th Century, vol. Α1] (Athens, 2003), 75–83. 72. Γ. Μαυρογορδάτος, ‘Βενιζελισμός και Αστικός Εκσυγχρονισμός’ [Venizelism and Bourgeois Modernization], in Γ. Μαυρογορδάτος and Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ (eds), Βενιζελισμός και Αστικός Εκσυγχρονισμός [Venizelism and Bourgeois Modernization] (Heraklion, 1988), 12. 73. Εφημερίς των Συζητήσεων της Βουλής [Journal of Parliamentary Discussions], 18 November 1911. 74. Πρακτικά Βουλής [Minutes of Parliament], 23 November 1911. 75. For Karapanos’ interventions in the parliamentary debate concerning the automobile law, see ‘Η Βουλή: Ψήφισις Νομοσχεδίων’ [The Parliament: Discussion of Legislation], Σκριπ, 23 November 1911. See also Εφημερίς των Συζητήσεων της Βουλής [Journal of Parliamentary Discussions], 18 November 1911. For ‘an automobile belonging to Mr Karapanos’ killing Evangelou, ‘Θανάσιμος Τραυματισμός υπό Αυτοκινήτου’ [Deathly Injury Brought Upon by an Automobile], Εμπρός, 7 August 1910. 76. For German automobilists joining the army along with their automobiles during the First World War, see Moser, ‘The Dark Side of Automobilism’, 251. For the Greek ‘automobile park’, see Η. Καφάογλου, Ελληνική Αυτοκίνηση (1900–1940): Άνθρωποι, Δρόμοι, Οχήματα, Αγώνες [Greek Automobility (1900–1940): Men, Roads, Vehicles, Races] (Athens, 2013), 125–127. Also Ρούπα and E. Χεκίμογλου, Η Ιστορία του Αυτοκινήτου στην Ελλάδα: Εμπόριο και Παραγωγή στη Μέγγενη του Κράτους, 66–69. For Negrepontis’ athletic interests, see Κολούρη, Αθλητισμός και Όψεις της Αστικής Κοινωνικότητας, 368. 77. Ε.Λ.Ι.Α., Αρχείο Αριστοτέλη Κουτσουμάρη, Φάκελος 28/5, Επιθεωρήσεις Αστυνομικού Τμήματος Πατρών, (1931) [National Popular History Archive, Aristotelis Koutsoumaris Archive, File 28/5, Reviews of the Police Department of the City of Patras, (1931)]. For the creation of the traffic police, see Φωτάκης, ‘Η Δημιουργία της Αστυνομίας Πόλεων και η Βρετανική Αποστολή, 1918–1932’, 111–124. 78. ‘Ανακοινώσεις του Τμήματος Τροχαίας Κινήσεως του Υπουργείου Πρωτευούσης’ [Announcements of the Department of Road Traffic of the Ministry of the Capital],

EFROSINI CROSSING SYNGROU AVENUE

279

Τεχνικά Χρονικά, February 1940. According to automobile historian Alexia Papazafeiropoulou, the conflict was settled only after the Second World War and especially after 1960. Α. Παπαζαφειροπούλου, ‘Το Εθνικό Οδικό Δίκτυο κατά την Περίοδο 1930–1980. Η Κουλτούρα του Αυτοκινήτου στην Ελλάδα’ [The National Road Network between 1930 and 1980. Automobile Culture in Greece], Unpublished Doc. Diss., Athens, 2015, 563–637. 79. Χατζηιωσήφ, ‘Εισαγωγή’, 11. 80. Σαλίμπα, Γυναίκες Εργάτριες στην Ελληνική Βιομηχανία και στη Βιοτεχνία 1870–1922, 296. 81. Duffy, The Speed Handbook, 211. 82. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class, 12.

280

History of Mobility in Greece: The Building of the National Road Network in the Interwar Period EVANGELIA CHATZIKONSTANTINOU AND ARETI SAKELLARIDOU

INTRODUCTION This article aims to investigate the role of mobility infrastructure in the production of modern space in interwar Greece. It analyses the socio-spatial ideas inscribed within transport infrastructure planning and construction, and outlines the main characteristics of modern space. Specifically, it focuses on the Makris project, Greece’s most important national road-building scheme of the interwar period. This project changed the way space was perceived and produced, introduced technical innovations, and activated new socio-spatial relations.1 Furthermore, it reflected the experience of similar European projects that were based on road infrastructure and were, during the turbulent interwar years, promoted as part of a broader attempt at modernization. Through an analysis of the Makris project, our research shows why the modernization of transportation unfolded as it did in Greece and reassesses the building of the national road network in all its geographical and socio-technical complexity. In Greece, the history of transport and mobility has been the subject of different academic interpretations. In the discipline of history, the study of mobility infrastructure followed the main shifts in Greek historiography. During the 1970s it was influenced by modernization and dependency theories;2 in the 1980s it was mostly related to economic history.3 In this same period, in the emerging field of Planning History, mobility infrastructure was discussed as an integral part of planning practices, focusing mainly on the urban scale. Even now, few studies go beyond the local scale and place mobility infrastructure construction in the broader geographical 281

282

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

context of the Mediterranean or the Balkans.4 Yet, a number of developments in Greek and international historiography have recently reshaped much of what was considered as common ground in the study of mobility infrastructure. The rise of interdisciplinary and comparative research agendas and the scholarship produced by Science and Technology Studies (STS ) has resulted in a new shift in the way the scholarly community views technical infrastructure.5 Building on these contributions, our approach outlines the shifts in the perception of infrastructure and mobility during the interwar period, and interprets the production of modern space in the particular socio-spatial setting. The first decades of the twentieth century were characterized by socio-political upheaval, intense interactions between countries and regions, and international transfers of capital and expertise. In Europe, the First World War and its side effects fostered new social and material practices that made possible hitherto unforeseen spatial transformations and activated broader reconstruction attempts. These practices coincided with the rise of new means of transport and eventually redefined the perception of time and space, the experience of mobility, and the social appropriation of technology. In this context, the building of mobility networks proved crucial in manifold ways. It was a way to control space, it enabled the implementation of modern planning theories that during the interwar years transcended the urban scale for the first time, and it became a privileged field for political differentiation, particularly after the October Revolution and the establishment of authoritarian regimes that followed the crisis of 1929. It was under these circumstances that national states undertook extensive planning and infrastructure development projects: vast investments were channelled into building increasingly efficient transport systems, and important questions were raised regarding their scale and character. In the interwar period, Greece was vitally affected by the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire, the Balkan and Greco-Turkish wars, and the exchange of populations and the translocation of diaspora capital that followed these events. These processes required state interventions in order to organize economy and regulate space at national level, and they were imprinted on public works and broader administrative, institutional and educational reforms. And even though they are usually associated with the modernizing visions of the Liberal Party, they actually reflected the will of wider social groups during the interwar years ‘to modernize and to become modern’.6 Major reforms related to infrastructure planning and construction in this period, included the establishment of the first ‘technical’ ministry, the Ministry of Transport, as early as in 1914, the upgrading of the Polytechnic School of Athens to university level in the same year, and the founding of the Technical Chamber of Greece in 1923.7 It was an era of technological optimism, that generated transport-related expertise, during which technical experts acquired a central role in political debates, whilst modern theories of spatial regulation were implemented in the legislative setting.8 Since regional planning was not yet an autonomous discipline in Greece, nor was it a platform for state intervention, the building of mobility networks became a crucial element for the production of modern space. Acknowledging the tensions and dynamics of the interwar period, and building on recent approaches regarding mobility infrastructure, we view the Makris project as a representative episode of the history of mobility in Greece; a project that is

HISTORY OF MOBILITY IN GREECE

283

characteristic of the role of mobility infrastructure in the production of modern space in the specific context. In doing so, we employ an explicit socio-spatial focus on the Makris project. We argue that modern space is not just an outcome of imposed top-down modernization policies, or merely a spatial entity in which the aesthetic/organizational principles of the Modern movement in architecture and urban planning are applied.9 We perceive modern space as the dynamic spatial expression of multiple modernization attempts and often conflicting social practices that were connected with the rise of modern civil societies, involved wider social groups and finally transformed their realities and perceptions. To us, modern space is characterized, among other things, by increased mobility, the creation of new geographies of movement (regional, national, international), the introduction of new production methods (Fordism), and the social appropriation of new mechanized transport technologies. On this basis, we study ‘mobility infrastructure’ as a structural element of the modern landscape. We analyse the social priorities embedded in it and its mediation in human relations. Mobility infrastructure is much more than the building of railroads and bridges: it connects people, organizes territories and establishes new hierarchies (and asymmetries) based on technological innovation. Its planning reflects specific ideas regarding development and its construction interlinks local practices and land markets with international capital investments. As a result, modern mobility networks have not followed similar spatial patterns, but present significant divergences between different countries and regions. Based on the above, we analyse the most important road-building project in Greece during the interwar years within the ‘European periphery’ context. Undoubtedly, the concept of periphery is ambiguous, involves assumed images and preconceptions, and is charged with multiple, often contradictory connotations.10 However, in this article we use the term periphery without adopting the deterministic overtones and the Eurocentric meaning it has acquired in development and dependency theories, because we believe it allows and enables a relational understanding of space.11 Building mostly on Fernand Braudel’s contextual analysis of space, we employ the concept of periphery to analyse historical and geographical interactions ‘without constructing new fixed entities’.12 Within this perspective, we adopt a definition that describes ‘European periphery’ as the in-between geographical region that is not included in Western European countries or colonies. Techniques and concepts developed in Western Europe, and projected as modern, are introduced into this open and dynamic space, where they are transformed and selectively appropriated.13 Our argument here is that the study of mobility infrastructure planning and construction in a country such as Greece on the European periphery, and the analysis of the practices and visions associated with it, can provide fertile ground for addressing questions related to the diverse socio-spatial characteristics of modern space. The research is based on archival material. Information related to the building of the Greek road network during the interwar period was retrieved from the National Bank of Greece Historical Archive and the National Research Foundation ‘Eleftherios K. Venizelos’ Digital Archive. The analysis of the transfer of expertise draws upon original material from the Diplomatic and Historical Archive of the Hellenic Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Additional information about the Makris project derives from laws and governmental decrees, articles from the Greek Press

284

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

and selected secondary material, including biographies, encyclopedia entries, and technical publications.

AN OVERVIEW OF THE HISTORY OF MOBILITY IN GREECE The origins of the discussion about building modern mobility networks throughout Greece can be traced back to the first half of the nineteenth century. For most of the nineteenth century inland transport in Greece was limited, and transport needs between different parts of the country, and between Greece and the rest of the world, were largely accommodated on sea routes. It was not until the mid-nineteenth century that the Greek state made the first attempts to transcend the traditional dichotomy between the coastal areas of the country and its mainland. These attempts focused on the reconstruction of traditional ports and slowly expanded on the building of roads that would connect these ports with the local markets. After all, road infrastructure was the most efficient means of controlling the national territory, organizing the administrative sector, and disseminating information throughout the country. The second half of the nineteenth century signalled a major transition in the geographies of movement through the introduction of new transport technologies. Steamboats replaced sailboats, whereas steam-powered trains made a dynamic entrance in land transport. Traditional transport routes were also reconfigured, mainly due to the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 that enabled new intermodal and transnational connections. As a result, specific port-cities in the Eastern Mediterranean were transformed into transport hubs, since they became a stopover on the way to India. This new mobility infrastructure acted as a catalyst that, in just a few decades, reshaped social relations and urban surroundings, while its construction became an arena in which Western European countries and their contractors competed.14 We should note that by the second half of the nineteenth century, most of the national railway networks in Western Europe had already been constructed and international connections had been built, so investors’ interest shifted to new territories in the European periphery and colonies.15 The conjuncture was also favourable inside Greece; capital was available, after the regulation of the national debt that permitted Greece to obtain external loans, and different social groups were promoting building mobility networks. In this context, the discussion about building mobility networks that would achieve the anticipated sea and rail penetration towards the East acquired a greater significance and publicity. The Greek prime minister, Alexandros Mavrokordatos, joined the discussion in 1855 by pointing out that ‘no one can ignore the power of the railway and steamboats without the risk of being doomed to underdevelopment’.16 But it was not until the 1880s that an extended programme of technical modernization – directly related to foreign investments – fostered the construction of mobility infrastructure.17 In this context, the Hellenic Parliament made its first decisions related to the planning and construction of railways and all Greek politicians agreed that the country, with its newly expanded borders, could function as a natural bridge between the East and West. In spite of this agreement, a major debate ensued over defining the parameters

HISTORY OF MOBILITY IN GREECE

285

of the network. Acknowledging that the technical specifications of the railway network would determine its viability as well as its international (or local) character, the main political actors of the time developed contradictory arguments that reflected different political perceptions of development.18 One line of argument suggested that building a network compatible with international standards would attract international capital and thereby result in economic and social development.19 The opposing side argued that it was the activation of the local economy that would foster development rather than the construction of an international network per se. This latter proposal prevailed. Given the lack of local technical expertise, the Greek state turned to France, who had prior experience of similar, relevant projects, and an Engineering Mission was commissioned in 1882 to reform the Greek technical services.20 The construction of 2,000 km of railway line began in 1882 and, according to the initial proposal, should have been completed within five years. However, when the works finally stopped, in 1909, only 1,600 km of line was in operation.21 The constructed network was modest compared to those of Western European countries and remained isolated from the major European routes. This was due to the topography, the geographical position of the country and the inability of Greece and the Ottoman Empire to reach an agreement to connect their railway networks.22 Only after the annexation of parts of Thrace and Macedonia into the Greek state and the incorporation of former Ottoman international lines into the Greek network were the much-anticipated European connections achieved. Greek railways were built along the coastline, connected the country’s ports and prompted other technical projects, such as bridges and irrigation works.23 They formed the backbone of the land mobility network and were complemented by specific roads and the flourishing maritime connections. However, the biggest investment and technical project of the early twentieth century in Greece did not alter traditional perceptions related to mobility or influence long-established spatial practices and production methods.24 Greece remained a peripheral country and local societies did not embrace the opportunities offered by the modern railway: they rather ‘treated it as a substitute for the incomplete and inadequate rural road network’.25 At the same time, the length ratio of the national road network to the railways in 1912 was among the lowest in Europe.26 But the First World War also signalled the dawn of the automobile era in Greece: it was a turning point regarding the social appropriation of automotive technology and a catalyst in the transformation of spatial geographies.27 During the First World War, building (or destroying) road networks was assigned top priority in Europe; it proved to be of major importance in war operations and later in the reorganization of national territories.28 In the following years vast investments were channelled into building complex road networks in European countries and important questions were raised regarding their scale and character. It was in this context that the building of a national road network became, in Greece, a privileged field of capital investment and entrepreneurial activity. The social, economic and political upheavals of the period, the dynamic expansion of automobility throughout the world, and the gradual development of a relevant market in Greece had created the necessary conditions and demands.29 Unlike the railway network of the late nineteenth century, the ambitious road-building project

286

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

of the interwar period was promoted in the absence of public discussion and state planning, and primarily served private-sector interests. It had, though, unprecedented social and spatial impacts that were interrelated with the tensions and dynamics of the interwar period.

BREAKING THROUGH THE URBAN SCALE As mobility historians point out, the history of road planning in the first decades of the twentieth century reveals a remarkable variety of paradigms.30 In most cases, the discussion about building road networks was characterized by an attempt to overcome the urban scale. This discussion found multiple expressions in planning practices during the interwar years, from the design of idealized urban models based on automobility, to the promotion of antagonistic road construction programmes at European level, and the building of national mobility networks as part of broader modernization attempts.31 These proposals reflected different administrative structures, political regimes and planning traditions, and finally produced distinct mobility patterns.32 In Greece, the building of modern mobility networks in the first decades of the twentieth century was part of a long and intense process that was connected with the unification of the national territory, and the ideological integration of the population. This process was achieved during the interwar years by the lift, transfer or relocation of barriers set by geographical parameters, economic relations and social networks; it was also imprinted on public works, and the relevant legislative setting. We should note though that road building in Greece did not only reflect the implementation of top-down policies, but it also expressed bottom-up claims, since the less powerful social groups found it in their interests to transcend the local status quo and contribute to the building of the modern national state. The adjustment of roads to motorized mobility in Greece began in the centre of Athens where the need was most pressing. Since there was no local expertise, the English London Asphalte Company Limited and the Swiss Neuchatel Asphalte Company Limited undertook the first asphalt pavement project between 1905 and 1906.33 Greek engineers became acquainted with issues of motorized mobility in the following years with their participation in the first International Road Congress in Paris and the first Convention on International Motor Traffic.34 After the successful use of asphalt pavements in the centre of Athens, and with their involvement in the international discussion about road construction, Greek engineers began to experiment with new paving systems in suburban roads. Until the advent of the First World War, this experimentation took place in Syngrou Avenue, the emblematic road that connected Athens to the sea.35 The experimentation in Syngrou Avenue included the scorie-tarmacadam paving system that was invented by the Chief Engineer of Public Works Dimitrios Kallias, who secured a patent licence in 1912 from both the Greek and French governments.36 After the end of the First World War, the building of a modern national road network once again became a top state priority. The establishment of specific funds for road pavements in twenty-three regions of the country and the standardization of all technical parameters enabled this cause. In 1925, the Pangalos Dictatorship

HISTORY OF MOBILITY IN GREECE

287

financed a pilot project for road pavements in the broader area of Athens.37 During this project 415,000 square metres of roads were paved, 100,000 square metres of which took place in Syngrou Avenue under the supervision of the technical experts of Makris S.A., the official representative of SHELL in Greece.38 Unlike the asphalt pavement works at the beginning of the twentieth century, and with the mediation of Makris S.A., the asphalt pavement project of the 1920s was undertaken only by Greek construction companies. Having gained the necessary experience in this pilot project, most of these companies (Ergon, Ergoliptiki, Kadmos and Asphaltika erga) were later involved in the national road construction project of the interwar period.

BUILDING A MODERN NATIONAL ROAD NETWORK: MEDIATIONS, TENSIONS AND PLANS Pausanias Makris, a well-known Greek entrepreneur of the period, held the purse strings of the national road construction programme of the interwar period in Greece. Makris began his career by representing international firms in the Greek market. During the First World War, he made a fortune by trading products of great necessity (e.g. foodstuffs, medicine and paper).39 In the following decades he became connected with the ‘Zurich Circle’, a powerful group of Greek engineers – entrepreneurs who studied in Zurich at the end of the nineteenth century, worked abroad, and after their repatriation founded the first chemical, cement, electricity and telecommunication industries in the country.40 In 1922, Makris became the representative of SHELL in Greece and focused on importing fuel, asphalt and other petroleum derivatives. It was a period in Greece during which automobility was gaining ground and the fuel market was a profitable business.41 In an attempt to expand his business and maximize his profits, Makris also enrolled as the authorized dealer of two British automobile firms, namely Leyland and Morris.42 Even though Makris had no specific studies in engineering nor relevant work experience, during the interwar years, he was involved in public works and specifically in road construction, a field that combined his interest in promoting SHELL products with the organization of the automobile market in Greece. Makris, like other entrepreneurs of the period, recognized that road construction was entering an epoch-making period and that it could offer ‘enormous benefits, in terms of both money and prestige, to those skillful enough to make the right moves at the right time’.43 In 1925, Makris and his associates submitted a proposal for the building and maintenance of the national road network to the Greek government. They did so while Makris’ company was supervising the asphalt works in Athens.44 The proposal constituted an extensive spatial development project, which defined the economic and technical parameters, as well as the planning, financing and realization of the road network. Makris played an unusual role in the specific project; he acted as mediator between the state and a wide coalition of businesses (SHELL , English banking groups, the National Bank of Greece, Greek construction companies), whose interests lay in the threefold concept of ‘petrol-automobile-construction’.45 On this basis, Makris’ role is comparable to the role of other entrepreneurs that connected their name with road construction in European countries during the

288

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

interwar period. The most characteristic of these entrepreneurs was the Italian Piero Puricelli. Puricelli organized the interests connected with the construction sector in Italy, and built the first autostrada in 1925 with the backing of the new Fascist regime.46 Likewise, Makris aimed to garner the support of Greek construction companies and had his proposal approved by Pangalos’ dictatorship. We should note though, that Makris had good relations with all Greek governments of the period, be they authoritarian or democratically elected.47 However, as soon as Pangalos’ dictatorship was overthrown, the attempt to legitimize the road construction project took the form of a national debate. It precipitated a crisis within the ecumenical (allparty) government and eventually prompted its resignation.48 In 1927, the Greek government launched a public tender for the building and maintenance of the national road network.49 The terms attached to the relevant law indicated that only Greek firms could partake in the procedure, a decision that could be regarded as a precursor of the policy of autarky that prevailed in the following years, and that the contractor was responsible for covering the cost of the project: he was required to provide a £6 million loan in order to cover its cost.50 Moreover, they specified the technical parameters of the project, the details of the loan agreement as well as issues related to land expropriation, but did not define the total length of the constructed network. Once the total costs were calculated, the length was estimated at between 2,500 and 4,000 km, when the entirety of the Greek road network in 1927 was 10,000 km.51 Makris S.A. was the successful tenderer and signed the contract with the new Coalition government in May 1928. The main objectives of the contract were the construction of new roads, the maintenance of the national road network and the submission of the corresponding plans. As far as the financial terms of the contract and the contractor’s profit is concerned, they were regarded as scandalous and received severe criticism from the majority of the Press.52 Makris S.A. was responsible for securing the £6 million loan with Hambros Bank acting as guarantor. However, the entrepreneur had specific obligations only for a £400,000 deposit and not for the total amount of the loan. The Greek state on the other hand, had to accept the loan agreement if its terms were similar to other state loans of the period. If the state could not pay off the loan, it had to return the initial deposit with 8 per cent interest. This meant that the company would benefit from its intermediary role between foreign banking houses and the Greek state, whether the works continued or not. Furthermore, Makris S.A. would also gain considerable earnings, as the company’s profit for executing the works was set at 25 per cent. Owing to the lack of previous experience on road construction at national scale, and since the contract recommended that only Greek companies could partake in the contracting procedure, Makris S.A. enlisted the cooperation of nine well-known Greek construction companies and numerous local subcontractors. By assigning parts of the work to local subcontractors with smaller profits, Makris assured a new intermediary profit from the construction. Even though the interwar period in Greece was an era of technological optimism during which new technical organizations were established, innovative planning projects were implemented and experts acquired a central role in political debates, the national road construction programme of the period was not developed from a

HISTORY OF MOBILITY IN GREECE

289

technical institution and it was not a state initiative. It was promoted by a local entrepreneur, in the absence of public discussion or state planning. Contrary to the railway project of the late nineteenth century, which was built exclusively by foreign companies, using techniques, practices and materials imported from abroad, the road-building project of the interwar years managed to have a strong impact on local societies. It involved most of Greece’s construction companies and eventually created the conditions required to boost the national economy. Even if the financial agreement could be characterized as a typical case of corruption, it was materialized with ease, as the exclusion of foreign companies was a befitting process in the context of the impending global economic crisis and consequent Greek bankruptcy and managed to express the interests of the Greek construction sector. By signing cooperation agreements with competing Greek construction firms and numerous subcontractors, Makris S.A. managed to form a pyramid structure with a broad social base. In other words, Makris allocated the risks, the costs and the profits to a diffuse cluster of smaller players, thus achieving maximum consensus. Apart from those working on the construction sector, landowners were equally in favour of the project. And, since roads could increase the value of their properties, they even attempted, and in many cases managed, to influence the planning of the road network. The above, combined with the fact that landownership in Greece is small and fragmented, in both urban and rural areas, and land profits were distributed among social classes justifies the warm reception of this specific project, and road construction in general in Greece.

THE RHETORIC AND IMPLEMENTATION OF THE MAKRIS PROJECT The Greek road-building project of the interwar years was intended to be a project of national importance, able to create a modern mobility network comparable to the international standards of the period. The following examination of the rhetoric of the project and the way it was promoted is based on a Memorandum sent in November 1928 by Pausanias Makris to Prime Minister Eleftherios Venizelos.53 There were three organizational principles related to the planning of the road network. The first reflected the attempt to stimulate local economies through the connection of highly productive rural areas with national transit centres and ports. The second pertained to the definition of the national territory through the creation of an integrated land and sea mobility network, while the third focused on giving a boost to tourism by tracing new routes to historical and scenic destinations throughout the country. More specifically, the national network would be organized along the existing – but not well-maintained – major vertical road axis of the country and along two horizontal ones. The first horizontal road axis that would connect the main portcities of Northern Greece was promoted as a project of national significance, due to the recent annexation of specific provinces by the Greek state and the establishment of Asia Minor refugee settlements there. It also aimed at stimulating local markets by connecting the ports with the hinterland and the borders. The second horizontal axis in Central Greece was designed to be the backbone of the country; ‘a prominent

290

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

artery that would join the Adriatic with the Aegean Sea’. It would provide access to remote areas, help exploit natural resources and finally upgrade the local ports. In specific areas, like the Peloponnese and Chalkidiki, the road network would aim mainly at the development of tourism. The network of the islands would be confined to Crete, as land transport on the other islands was regarded as of ‘minor importance due to the existence of maritime transportation’. Based on the above, and in terms of rhetoric, the memorandum brought forward a project that favoured the rational development of road infrastructure and attempted to integrate all Greek regions. Furthermore, the way the Makris project was promoted reflects the international shift of interest from building urban networks to suburban and national ones. It follows the discussion of the period regarding the production of space and highlights the role of mobility infrastructure in this process. However, since the Makris project was not connected with the newly established technical institutions, it did not contribute to the formation of a planning tradition in Greece, or to the creation of a modern national mobility network, let alone a transnational one. This is likely why it was not included in the plans for the building of European road and motorway networks promoted by the League of Nations.54 Furthermore, despite the promising rhetoric, the actual implementation of the national road-building project of the interwar years differed significantly from the initial planning. During the implementation process, the envisioned modern road network had to face issues of unstable funding, political pressure and inadequate organization. Owing to the lack of specifications, the building of a hierarchical network was abandoned and a uniform construction model prevailed. At the same time, the 1929 financial crisis and the volatile political climate in Greece, that was expressed by successive government overthrows, resulted in constant revisions of the initial agreement. The contract was modified in 1931, paused in 1933, and was eventually revised in 1934, after a new modification and with funding that came exclusively from domestic assets. Its successive realization attempts and the enacted modifications resulted in a fragmentary implementation of the project. Four years after the contract had been signed, and with the expenses reaching 87 per cent of the budget, only 300 km had been constructed, 175 of which was in Crete, the homeland of Prime Minister Eleftherios Venizelos. The other 1,460 km remained incomplete.55

CONCLUSIONS During the interwar period, building road networks gained much attention throughout Europe, in both central and in peripheral countries, like Greece. It was a way to regulate space, it favoured modernistic principles of efficiency and standardization, expressed technocratic approaches and promoted extensive international contacts. With the study of a representative episode of the history of mobility in Greece, we have attempted to decentre the international discussion about building modern mobility infrastructure by placing a country of the European periphery at the centre of the analysis. By focusing on the Makris project we have shown how techniques and concepts that were developed in Western Europe were tailored to domestic relations and needs through processes that in many cases are distinctively modern, creating distinct – yet interlinked – modernities. Their study broadens and enriches

HISTORY OF MOBILITY IN GREECE

291

the perception of the European paradigm to include ‘not only a cleansed, abstract, and idealized version of power, but also one of dependency, subordination, and messy struggles’.56 The evaluation of the construction of the national road network of the interwar period allows many interpretations. For example, traditional approaches to mobility infrastructure, those influenced by modernization and dependency theories, either focus on the comparative, mainly quantitative, analysis of the project to similar projects that materialized in different milieus, or they correlate the divergences during the implementation process with the economic and political dependency of the country. Most of these theses tend to neglect the role of the elites as well as the role of the most deprived social groups (small landowners, the emerging working class) and conclude that in the interwar period in Greece, no modern ‘national’ road network ever materialized.57 Likewise, analyses that originate from the field of Planning History focus on the lack of planning tradition and technical organization in Greece during this period. The above observations seem to have a point when studying the constructed road network per se. After all, until the 1920s, the bad quality of the existing roads coupled with the numerous local customs that spread throughout the country made it difficult, and in some cases impossible to commute and trade products, and resulted in the economic and spatial isolation of local communities.58 Yet, if one looks at the broader picture and examines the roads in combination with the railway network, it becomes clear that their combination created, for the first time during the interwar period, an integrated network that was extending throughout the country. This combined network contributed to the activation of local economies and the integration of local societies. The Makris project was an important part of the constructed mobility network; it also managed to bring together often-contradictory social groups and coalitions, like engineers, constructors, workers and landowners. This was possible in part because the state had not developed a definite long-term policy regarding mobility infrastructure. The presented project initiated a controversial process of socio-technical and sociospatial reform that expressed local constraints and potentials, and represented a characteristic moment in the unique Greek modernization process. This process finally created a distinct paradigm of ‘modern space’.

NOTES 1. Evangelia Chatzikonstantinou, Areti Sakellaridou and Paschalis Samarinis, ‘Road Construction in Greece during the Interbellum: The Makris Project’, in Robert Carvais, André Guillerme, Valérie Nègre and Joël Sakarovitch (eds), Nuts and Bolts of Construction History (Paris: Picard, 2012), Vol. 3, 637–645. 2. As Konstantinos Chatzis and Georgia Mavrogonatou point out, most of the historical and sociological literature of the 1970s and 1980s that focused on the ‘modernization issue’ concentrated on the macroscopic level of analysis and was influenced by an idealized picture of ‘the West’. They argue that ‘as a result of this idealization, the evolution of Greek society often takes on the form of a history of omissions and absences, distortions and deviations.’ Konstantinos Chatzis and Georgia

292

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

Mavrogonatou, ‘From Structure to Agency to Comparative and “Cross-national” History? Some Thoughts Regarding Post-1974 Greek Historiography ’, Contemporary European History, 2012, 19(2): 151–168, esp. 153. 3. The shift in economic studies questioned the prevailing ideas about ‘problematic’ modernization. The relevant studies placed Greece in the European periphery context and claimed that even though the construction of national mobility networks was constantly supported by the Greek state, it was a process that did not evolve smoothly; it met local resistance and it presumed international flows of capital and expertise. Μαρία Συναρέλλη, Δρόμοι και Λιμάνια στην Ελλάδα, 1830–1880 [Roads and ports in Greece, 1830–1880] (Αθήνα: Πολιτιστικό Τεχνολογικό Ίδρυμα ΕΤΒΑ , 1989); Λευτέρης Παπαγιαννάκης, Οι Ελληνικοί Σιδηρόδρομοι, 1882–1910. Γεωπολιτικές, Οικονομικές και Κοινωνικές Διαστάσεις [Greek railways, 1882–1910. Geopolitical, economic and social dimensions] (Αθήνα: Μορφωτικό Ίδρυμα Εθνικής Τραπέζης, 1990). 4. See inter alia, Vilma Hastaoglou Martinidis, ‘The Advent of Transport and Aspects of Urban Modernisation in the Levant during the Nineteeeth Century ’, in Ralf Roth and Marie-Noelle Polino (eds), The City and the Railway in Europe, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003), 61–78; Alexandra Yerolympos, ‘Urbanism as Social Engineering in the Balkans: Reform Prospects and Implementation Problems in Thessaloniki’, in Joe Nasr and Mercedes Volait (eds) Urbanism Imported or Exported? Native Aspirations and Foreign Plans, (Chichester: Wiley-Academy, 2003), 109–127; Lila Leontidou, The Mediterranean City in Transition: Social Change and Urban Development (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 5. Greek scholars have participated in transnational European projects that focus on the study of the history of technology in different contexts and discussed its role in European integration. See inter alia, the projects Inventing Europe, Tensions of Europe and the research group Science and Technology in the European PeripherySTEP . 6. Joe Nasr and Mercedes Volait, ‘Introduction: Transporting Planning’, in Nasr and Volait, Urbanism Imported or Exported?, xi–xxxvi, here xxviii. For more information on the modernizing visions of the Liberal Party in Greece during the interwar period see inter alia, Yiannis Antoniou and Vassilis Bogiatzis, ‘Technology and Totalitarian Ideas in Interwar Greece’, Journal of History of Science and Technology (HOST ), 2010, 4, http://johost.eu/?oid=99&act=&area=3&ri&=2&itid=4 [accessed 24 September 2012]. 7. A separate Ministry of Transport was established in several countries after the First World War. In Great Britain and Germany, the Ministry of Transport was founded in 1919; in Sweden in 1920. Gijs Mom, ‘Decentering Highways: European National Road Network Planning from a Transnational Perspective’, in Hans-Liudger Dienel and Hans-Ulrich Schiedt (eds), Die Moderne Strasse: Planung, Bau und Verkehr vom 18. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert (Frankfurt am Main: Campus, 2010), 77–100, here 82. For more information on the major reforms related to infrastructure planning and construction in the interwar period in Greece see inter alia, Γιάννης Αντωνίου, Οι Έλληνες Μηχανικοί. Θεσμοί και Ιδέες 1900–1940 [The Greek engineers. Institutions and ideas, 1900–1940] (Αθήνα: Βιβλιόραμα, 2006), 126; Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, ‘Οι Μηχανικοί και η Βιομηχανία, μια Αποτυχημένη Συνάντηση’ [Engineers and industry,

HISTORY OF MOBILITY IN GREECE

293

an unsuccessful meeting], in Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου αιώνα, ed. Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ (Αθήνα: Βιβλιόραμα, 2003), Vol. B1 1922–1940 Ο Μεσοπόλεμος, 269–290. 8. Antoniou and Bogiatzis, ‘Technology and Totalitarian Ideas.’ 9. Αρετή Σακελλαρίδου, Πασχάλης Σαμαρίνης και Ευαγγελία Χατζηκωνσταντίνου, ‘Προγράμματα οδοποιίας του Μεσοπολέμου και η Σύμβαση Μακρή. Ο ιδιαίτερος δρόμος του ελληνικού εκσυγχρονισμού’ [Road building programs of the Interbellum and Makris project: The Greek road to modernization], in do.co.mo.mo. 05. Η Ελληνική πόλη και η Πολεοδομία του Μοντέρνου, eds Αθηνά Βιτοπούλου, Αλεξάνδρα ΚαραδήμουΓερόλυμπου και Παναγιώτης Τουρνικιώτης (Αθήνα: Futura, 2015), 61–79. 10. Kostas Gavroglu, Manolis Patiniotis, Faidra Papanelopoulou, Ana Simões, Ana Carneiro, Maria Paula Diogo, José Ramón Bertomeu Sánchez, Antonio García Belmar and Agustí Nieto-Galan. ‘Science and Technology in the European Periphery: Some Historiographical Reflections’, History of Science, 2008, 46 (2): 153–175, esp. 155. 11. For more information on development and dependency theories see inter alia, Walt Whitman Rostow, The Stages of Economic Growth: A Non-Communist Manifesto (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1960); Immanuel Wallerstein, WorldSystems Analysis: An Introduction (Durham and London: Duke University Press Books, 2004). 12. See Fernand Braudel, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972). See also Angelika Epple, ‘The Global, the Transnational, and the Subaltern: The Limits of History beyond the National Paradigm’, in Anna Amelina, Devrimsel D. Nergiz, Thomas Faist and Nina Glick Schiller, (eds) Beyond Methodological Nationalism. Research Methodologies for Cross-Border Studies (New York: Routledge, 2012), 241–276, here 249. 13. Nasr and Volait, ‘Introduction: Transporting Planning,’ xii. 14. Vilma Hastaoglou Martinidis points out that in the Levant it was mainly British and German companies that fought for the concession of railroads, whereas harbour works were virtually monopolized by French contracting companies. Hastaoglou Martinidis, ‘The Advent of Transport’, 70. 15. In 1850, major railway nations such as Britain possessed 9,800 km of track, AustroHungary maintained 1,357 km and Italy 620 km. Martinidis, ‘The Advent of Transport’, 61. Investing capital surpluses in the European periphery and colonies was an attractive option at that time because of the recession in the Western economies. The channelling of foreign capital into the Greek market was usually achieved through investments in Greek government bonds (in the form of public loans) or through targeted investments in the private sector (mainly in infrastructure construction), the so-called ‘direct’ foreign capital investment. See Χριστίνα Αγριαντώνη, ‘Η Ελληνική Οικονομία. Η Συγκρότηση του Ελληνικού Καπιταλισμού, 1870–1909’ [The Greek economy. The constitution of the Greek capitalism, 1870– 1909], in Ιστορία του Νέου Ελληνισμού, 1770–2000, ed. Βασίλης Παναγιωτόπουλος (Αθήνα: Ελληνικά Γράμματα, 2003), Vol. 5, 55–70; Γιώργος Δερτιλής, Ιστορία του Eλληνικού Kράτους 1830–1920 [History of the Greek state 1830–1920] (Αθήνα: Εστία,

294

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

2004 [2009]), Vol. Α, 577; Λευτέρης Παπαγιαννάκης, ‘Οι Ελληνικοί Σιδηρόδρομοι: 1880–1910. Πολιτικές, Οικονομικές και Κοινωνικές Διαστάσεις’ [The Greek railways: 1880–1910. Political, economic and social dimensions], in Όψεις της Ελληνικής Κοινωνίας του 19ου αιώνα, ed. Δημήτρης Γ. Τσαούσης (Αθήνα: Εστία, 1984), 107–121, here 110. 16. Σπύρος Κορώνης, Ιστορικαί Σημειώσεις επί της Ελληνικής Σιδηροδρομικής Πολιτικής [Historical notes on the Greek railway policies] (Αθήνα: Γ. Π. Ξένου, 1934), 6, authors’ translation. 17. It was only during that period that the international market lifted its embargo on loans to Greece and new regions were annexed to the Greek State. Ioanna Pepelasis Minoglou, ‘Phantom Rails and Roads: Land Transport Public Works in Greece during the 1920s’, Journal of Transport History, 1998, 19 (1): 33–49, esp. 33. 18. Παπαγιαννάκης, Οι Ελληνικοί Σιδηρόδρομοι, 1882–1910, 75–93. 19. Νικόλαος Σ. Κτενιάδης, Οι Πρώτοι Ελληνικοί Σιδηρόρομοι [The first Greek railways] (Αθήνα: Καλέργης, 1936), 52–54. 20. During that period the Department of Public Works designated the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to mediate and invite foreign technical experts to assist in building these modern mobility networks. Service of Diplomatic and Historical Archives of the Hellenic Ministry of Foreign Affairs, hereafter YDIA , Folder Public Works, 1876, 79–2; YDIA Folder Public Works, 1880, 79–2; YDIA Folder Foreign Missions in Greece, 1882, 28–1. 21. Παπαγιαννάκης, ‘Οι Ελληνικοί Σιδηρόδρομοι: 1880–1910,’ 114–115. 22. Aristotle Tympas and Irene Anastasiadou, ‘Constructing Balkan Europe. The Modern Greek Pursuit of an Iron Egnatia’, in Erik van der Vleuten and Arne Kaijser (eds) Networking Europe: Infrastructures and the Shaping of Europe (Sagamore Beach: Science History Publications, 2006), 25–49, here 26–28; Irene Anastasiadou, Constructing Iron Europe. Transnationalism and Railways in the Interbellum (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2011). 23. Hastaoglou Martinidis, ‘The Advent of Transport’, 67. 24. Σπύρος Τζόκας, Ανάπτυξη και Εκσυγχρονισμός στην Ελλάδα στα τέλη του 19ου αιώνα. Υπανάπτυξη ή Εξαρτημένη Ανάπτυξη [Development and modernization in Greece in the late 19th century. Underdevelopment or depended development?] (Αθήνα: Θεμέλιο, 1998), 26. 25. Λευτέρης Παπαγιαννάκης, ‘Τεχνικές, Αγορά, Χώρος’ [Techniques, Market, Space], in Ιστορία της Νεοελληνικής Τεχνολογίας (Πάτρα: Πολιτιστικό Τεχνολογικό Ίδρυμα ETBA , 1991), 230–237, here 233. 26. The length ratio of the road network to the railways in 1912 was almost 4 to 1, compared to 14 to 1 in France, 8 to 1 in Italy, 10 to 1 in Serbia and 5 to 1 in Bulgaria. Παπαγιαννάκης, ‘Τεχνικές, Αγορά, Χώρος’, 747; Άγγελος Οικονόμου, ‘Εισαγωγή εις τας Συγκοινωνίας’ [Introduction to transportation], in Μεγάλη Ελληνική Εγκυκλοπαίδεια, (Αθήνα: Πυρσός, 1934), Vol. I, 163–165; Άγγελος Οικονόμου, ‘Συνοπτική Ιστορία των Δημοσίων Έργων της Ελλάδος’ [Short history of the public works in Greece], in Τεχνική

HISTORY OF MOBILITY IN GREECE

295

Επετηρίς της Ελλάδος, ed. Νικόλαος Κιτσίκης (Αθήνα: ΤΕΕ , 1935), Vol. A no. 1, 217–247; Σπύρος Κορώνης, Ελληνικοί Σιδηρόδρομοι και Σιδηροδρομική Πολιτική [Greek railways and railway policy], (Αθήνα: Μαντζεβελάκης, 1914), 8. 27. Areti Sakellaridou, ‘Automobility and Urban Visions. The Role of Auto-mobility in the Design of Idealized Urban Projects of the Early 20th Century Western World’, PhD diss., RWTH Aachen University, 2014. 28. Frank Schipper, Driving Europe: Building Europe on Roads in the Twentieth Century (Amsterdam: Aksant, 2008). 29. For more information on the social, economic and political upheavals of the period in Greece see inter alia, Mark Mazower, The Balkans: A Short History (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 2000); Mark Mazower, Greece and the Inter-war Economic Crisis (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991); Gunnar Hering, Τα Πολιτικά Κόμματα στην Ελλάδα 1821–1936 [Political parties in Greece 1821–1936] (Αθήνα: Μορφωτικό Ίδρυμα Εθνικής Τραπέζης, 2006). 30. See inter alia, Gijs Mom and Laurent Tissot, eds, Road History: Planning, Building and Use (Neuchâtel: Editions Alphil, 2007); Hans-Liudger Dienel and Helmuth Trischler (eds) Die Moderne Strasse: Planung, Bau und Verkehr vom 18. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert (Frankfurt am Main: Campus, 2010). 31. See Tony Garnier’s Cité Industrielle, Antonio Sant’ Elia’s Citta Nuova, Le Corbusier’s Ville Contemporaine, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Broadacre City, and the Futurama visionary project, designed by Norman Bel Geddes for the General Motors Pavilion at the New York World’s Fair in 1939. For more information on the role of automobility in the design of idealized urban projects see inter alia, Sakellaridou, ‘Automobility and Urban Visions’. On the building of national mobility networks as part of broader modernization attempts, see Schipper, Driving Europe. 32. For more information on national road building paradigms see inter alia, Greet De Block and Bruno De Meulder, ‘Iterative Modernism: The Design Mode of Interwar Engineering in Belgium’, Transfers, 2011, 1 (1): 97–126; Maria Luisa Sousa, ‘Constructing (Auto)mobility System in a Peripheral European Country in the 1930s: Visions and Realities of the Authoritarian Portugal’ (Tensions of Europe and Inventing Europe Working Paper series, working paper no. 2010/22), http://www. tensionsofeurope.eu/www/en/files/get/publications/WP _2010_22_Sousa.pdf [accessed 24 September 2012]; Massimo Moraglio, ‘European Models, Domestic Hesitance: The Renewal of the Italian Road Network in the 1920s’, Transfers, 2012, 2(1) 87–105; Richard Vahrenkamp, The German Autobahn 1920–1945: Hafraba Visions and Mega Projects (Lohmar: Josef Eul, 2010); Gijs Mom, Atlantic Automobilism (New York: Berghahn Books, 2014). 33. Γεώργιος Παρασκευόπουλος, Οι Δήμαρχοι των Αθηνών (1835–1907) [The Mayors of Athens (1835–1907)] (Αθήνα: Βασιλική τυπογραφία Ραφτάνη-Παπαγεωργίου, 1907), 465–473. 34. YDIA , Folder 1909N Convention on International Motor Traffic, letter from 22 September 1909 entitled ‘Διορισμός αντιπροσώπου στη Διεθνή Συνδιάσκεψη για το διακανονισμό κυκλοφορίας των αυτοκινήτων’ [Appointment of a representative at the Convention on International Motor Traffic].

296

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

35. Ευαγγελία Χατζηκωνσταντίνου, ‘Αστικός εκσυγχρονισμός, οδικό δίκτυο και πόλη. Το παράδειγμα της λεωφόρου Συγγρού στο πέρασμα από τον 19ο στον 20ο αιώνα’ [Modernization, road network and the city. The paradigm of Syngrou Avenue in Athens at the turn of the 19th century], PhD diss., NTUA , 2014. 36. The so-called ‘Kallias System’ was presented at the International Road Congress in Brussels and London in 1910 and 1913 respectively and was later used by the English engineer Lloyd Davies for the paving of roads in Alexandria, Egypt. Δημήτριος Καλλίας, Περί Σκωριούχων Οδοστωμάτων της Αλεξάνδρειας [On road pavements of Alexandria], (Αθήνα: Τυπογραφείο Πετράκου, 1915), 7; Δημήτριος Καλλίας, ‘Ανακοίνωσις του Επιθεωρητού των Δημοσίων Έργων κ. Δ. Καλλία εις το εν Βρυξέλλαις Διεθνές Συνέδριον των Οδών. Περί νέου οδοστρώματος μη παράγοντος κονιορτόν’ [Report of the Chief Engineer of Public Works D. Kallias regarding the International Road Congress in Brussels], Αρχιμήδης 5 (1910): 49–51; Δημήτριος Καλλίας, ‘Έκθεσις περί των εργασιών του εν Λονδίνω ΙΙΙ Διεθνούς Συνεδρίου περί Οδοποιίας’ [Report regarding his participation in the 3rd International Road Congress in London], National Research Foundation ‘Eleftherios K. Venizelos’ Digital Archive, Folder 118–29, 17–30 June 1913. 37. Σπύρος Βοβολίνης και Κωνσταντίνος Βοβολίνης, eds, Μέγα Ελληνικόν Βιογραφικόν Λεξικόν [Great Greek Biographical Dictionary] (Athens: Vovolini, 1962), 144–150. 38. Δημήτριος Τσούγκος, Οι Οικονομικοί μας Ηγέται [Our financial leaders] (Αθήνα: Αλευρόπουλου, 1932), 147–163. 39. Τσούγκος, Οι Οικονομικοί μας Ηγέται. 40. Αντωνίου, Οι Έλληνες Μηχανικοί, 177–181. 41. The number of imported cars in Greece in 1920 was no more than 2,400; whereas ten years later, in 1931, it was more than 30,000. Likewise, in 1924 Greece imported 7,000–8,000 tons of petrol while in 1932 this rose to more than 40,000 tons. Βοβολίνης και Βοβολίνης, Μέγα Ελληνικόν Βιογραφικόν Λεξικόν, 144. 42. Τσούγκος, Οι Οικονομικοί μας Ηγέται. 43. Massimo Moraglio, ‘A Rough Modernization. Landscapes and Highways in Twentieth Century Italy 2008’, in Christof Mauch and Thomas Zeller (eds), The World beyond the Windshield: Roads and Landscapes in the United States and Europe (Athens, OH : Ohio University Press, 2008), 108–124, here 112. 44. Οικονόμου, ‘Συνοπτική Ιστορία των Δημοσίων Έργων της’, 217–247. 45. Chatzikonstantinou, Sakellaridou and Samarinis, ‘Road Construction in Greece during the Interbellum,’ 640. 46. Massimo Moraglio, ‘The Highway Network in Italy and Germany between the Wars: A Preliminary Comparative Study’, in Mom and Tissot, Road History, 117–132; Moraglio, ‘A Rough Modernization’. 47. Except Pangalos’ dictatorship, the years between 1924 and 1928 saw nine parliamentary governments and six military coups d’état. Antoniou and Bogiatzis, ‘Technology and Totalitarian Ideas’. 48. Σπύρος Μαρκεζίνης, Σύγχρονη Πολιτική Ιστορία της Ελλάδος 1936–1975 [The political history of modern Greece 1936–1975] (Αθήνα: Πάπυρος, 1973–1978), Vol. 3, 66–73.

HISTORY OF MOBILITY IN GREECE

297

49. The terms of the public tender were based on Makris’ former proposals. Βοβολίνης και Βοβολίνης, Μέγα ελληνικόν Βιογραφικόν Λεξικόν, 144–150. 50. For the economic policy of autarky in interwar Greece see Mark Mazower, Greece and the Interwar Economic Crisis and Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ, Η Γηραιά Σελήνη. Η βιομηχανία στην Ελληνική Οικονομία 1830-1940 [The Old Moon. Greek Economy 1830–1940] (Αθήνα: Θεμέλιο, 1993). 51. Pepelasis Minoglou, ‘Phantom Rails and Roads’, 43; Δερτιλής, Ιστορία του Eλληνικού Kράτους, 747. 52. National Library of Greece, Digital Newspaper Archives. The research focused on two newspapers of the interwar period, namely Εμπρός and Σκριπ, http://efimeris.nlg. gr/ns/main.html [accessed 26 May 2015]. 53. Παυσανίας Γ. Μακρής, Υπόμνημα επί των κατά προτίμησιν εκτελεστέων έργων οδοποιίας διά της Συμβάσεως Μακρή 26 Νοεμβρίου 1928 [Memorandum on the road construction works preferably carried out under the Makris contract, 26 November 1928], in the National Research Foundation ‘Eleftherios K. Venizelos’ Digital Archive, http://85.72.35.68/rec.asp?id=51728 [accessed 25 May 2011]. 54. YDIA , Folder Public Works financed by the Central Bank of Greece 1934–1936, ‘Σημείωμα επί της εξελίξεως του ζητήματος των δημοσίων έργων ενώπιον της Κοινωνίας των Εθνών’ [Report regarding public works within the framework of the League of Nations]. 55. Pepelasis Minoglou, ‘Phantom Rails and Roads’, 43. 56. Maria Todorova, Imagining the Balkans (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 202. 57. Pepelasis Minoglou, ‘Phantom Rails and Roads’. 58. In 1920 there were 455 local municipal customs in Greece. The first attempt to abolish them was made in 1914, but was partially implemented in 1920. Local customs were finally abolished in 1948. Παπαγιαννάκης, ‘‘Τεχνικές, Αγορά, Χώρος’, 236–237. Χρήστος Χατζηιωσήφ, ed., Ιστορία της Ελλάδας του 20ου αιώνα (Αθήνα: Βιβλιόραμα, 2003), Vol. A1 1900–1922 Οι απαρχές, 9–39.

298

Technology for Travelling Pleasures and Experiences: Transportation and the Construction of Post-war Greece as a Tourist Destination ALEXIA SOFIA PAPAZAFEIROPOULOU, KONSTANTINOS VATTES AND KATERINA ZACHAROPOULOU

INTRODUCTION Tourism has been described as one of the most important and radically developed industries of the post-war era.1 It epitomizes the reorganization of the capitalist economy according to massive consumption standards along with the reconstruction of the postmodern landscape as a tourist site. These processes have been obvious in Europe since the period of its post-war reconstruction. In Greece, tourism has been an economic sector of central importance since the 1950s, being characterized as Greece’s ‘heavy industry’.2 The main object of this article is the study of the coconstructed relationship of technology and the tourism industry from the 1950s to the 1970s, a period when mass tourism played a crucial role in the expansion of the technical infrastructure in Greece. The choice of a certain country does not presuppose its treatment as an essentialist entity. On the contrary, we show how technology relates to the spatial and symbolic reconstruction of certain places, according to the ideologies and visions of the policymakers and implicated stakeholders. Our article is divided into three key sections. The first section presents a brief history of the development of tourism. It explores its close interaction with infrastructure construction and technology diffusion, and examines the co-production of central policies concerning tourism with the technical choices on infrastructure 299

300

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

development. The second section presents the development of the road network as a tourist infrastructure in Greece. Here, we argue that the diffusion of the automobile infrastructure in Greece is a prime example of the reconstruction of the landscape as a tourist destination according to the mass tourism standards of the early post-war years. Moreover, we show that the diffusion of the automobile has been connected with the emergence of leisure activities in Europe and its reconstruction as a single territory by the policymakers of that period. In this article we also explore other forms of transportation infrastructure, including air and sea transportation and their role on the tourism industry. As far as ports are concerned for example, these are mostly related with trade and transportation, rather than the rise of tourism in Greece, with the exception of Rhodes and Athens.3 Furthermore, airports are of major importance for the growth of tourism in Greece as they made travel to isolated islands possible. Therefore, they are examined in relation with case studies of certain mainland and insular areas like Delphi and Rhodes. These cases are presented in the third section concerning their promotion among the most popular destinations in Greece, in relation with the appropriation of technology. The model for analysis of mass tourism has developed over the last two centuries. Tourism has been studied through many different perspectives. Zuelow, for example, has shown the importance of transnational tourism for the reconstruction of both national identities, and the European continent as a unified space in the public discourse.4 Other researchers, like Baranowski, study tourism within the context of consumer culture, either from the cultural or the semiotic aspect of their relationship.5 Similarly the term ‘tourist gaze’, as introduced by Urry, affiliates tourism with the consumption of experience.6 A different approach to consumer culture is employed by researchers of the Frankfurt School, who argue that the so-called social ‘democratization’ of tourism was a standardized product linked with the emergence of massive consumption in post-war Europe.7 Moreover, researchers such as Furlough have studied tourism in coherence with political ideologies in Europe, and its multiple involvement in the orientations of different regimes such as Fascism or Nazism.8 As far as the relationship of tourism with technology is concerned, Borocz argues that they do not have a directly causal relationship, and should both be examined within the broader social context.9 With the exception of Borocz’s approach, the relationship of tourism and technology has mainly focused on the transportation aspect.10 A part of this literature has evolved into the so-called mobility paradigm. Within this context, some representatives of the mobility paradigm – such as Urry or Cresswell – argue that the mobility networks have redefined social taxonomies such as nationality, class or gender, and that they have reconstructed the modern notions of space and time. Characteristic of this view is the argument sustained by Schivelbusch, that tourism mobilities have transformed the planet into a global mall of monuments.11 The Greek historiography on mass tourism is predominantly focused on economics. The tourist industry is viewed as the result of the productive rejuvenation of the country, rather than the result of the development of transportation. Alifragkis and Athanassiou sustain the idea that in the 1950s and 1960s the state was the major contributor to the country’s rehabilitation through funding as well as the establishment of tourism infrastructure.12 They also consider America’s intention to

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

301

promote tourism as decisive for the application of the model of production.13 Other researchers focus on the economic aspect – including Logothetis, Stavrou and Buhalis – and evaluate its importance for the competitiveness of the tourism industry.14 A few researchers have studied tourism in Greece from a broader perspective. Vlachos, for example, studies tourism as an array of economic, political and cultural parameters, while Nikolakakis emphasizes both the role of state policies, as well as the sociological, and partly the anthropological, aspect of tourism.15 Our article contributes to the historiographic discussion described above, by presenting the co-constructed relationship of the tourism industry and technology in post-war Greece. Our main argument is that tourism is co-produced with both the technical infrastructure development and the social diffusion of technology. We take into consideration the arguments developed in the above-mentioned literature, concerning the relation of tourism with mass consumption. We employ the approach of mobility studies, and emphasize the connection between tourism and transportation technology: we argue that transportation networks have a crucial role in the spatial and temporal reconstruction related with tourism. We also contribute to the historiographic discussion by further developing these approaches. Additionally, though we partly agree with Borocz’s argument, that tourism and technology should be examined within the broader social context, we approach context as a notion from a different aspect. What is more, in the following sections we show how certain tourist policies through the construction of technical infrastructure result in certain tourist industry models. Hence, we argue the coconstructed relationship of tourism and technology itself produces the socio-technical context in which they should be examined.

THE EMERGENCE OF THE NEW INDUSTRY: RECONSTRUCTING PLACES IN EUROPE AND IN GREECE AS TOURIST DESTINATIONS FROM THE 1950s TO THE 1970s The development of tourism in Europe has been strongly connected with the perception and reconstruction of this continent as a single space, through the building of large-scale technical infrastructure. During the Interbellum, this process was coherent with the bureaucratic and technical enabling of the free interstate movement of upper-class motorists: during the early twentieth century, they travelled as independent tourists and were represented by automobilists’ clubs. After the Second World War, the Marshall planners encouraged the growth of tourism as a sector that would contribute to the rehabilitation of Western Europe, according to mass consumption standards, and which would serve to differentiate it from the Communist paradigm.16 Consequently, while tourism has developed in Eastern European socialist countries, in the Western European context, it has been organized within a capitalist model, and is connected with the cultural standards of freedom, independence or escape from the urban environment. According to the OECE 17 Commission of Tourism Report statistics, tourism in Europe rose between 60 per cent and 100 per cent, with an average annual increase of 6–10 per cent from

302

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

1950 to 1959.18 Italy, due to the promotion of its historical heritage, was the most popular tourist destination, with 8.6 million tourists and 8.2 million day-travellers in 1959, followed by France, Switzerland and Austria. Tourism has gradually grown into a mass industry in all Mediterranean countries. The Catalan coast, Mallorca and Greece, followed by the North African and Adriatic shores were the areas initially developed as popular destinations. In the final quarter of the twentieth century, tourist arrivals doubled in both the Mediterranean Basin and the Balkan Peninsula. The state and private economic activities in these countries, along with their technical reconstruction so as to be equipped with tourist infrastructure, have been reorganized around the newly emerging industry of tourism. Such initiatives have been the result of state interventionism in countries such as Spain, Portugal and Greece whereas in others, such as Italy, the tourism industry has been dominated by family companies.19 Some of these countries invested in the promotion of the 3S model, namely sun, sand and sea, as happened in the case of Spain, Tunisia and Turkey, whereas others highlighted their cultural heritage as a main tourist attractor.20 As far as Greece is concerned, tourism has been included in the political agenda since the pre-war period, through the establishment of tourism institutions, as well as the development of a technocratic discourse that connected tourism with technical modernization. For instance, the establishment of the Foreign and Exhibition Office took place in 1914. There were also attempts to attract foreign investments in sparesorts. During the Interbellum the aspirations for the development of tourism were connected with a technocratic discourse which underlined the requirement for technical modernization and the attraction of European elites. More specifically, there were engineers and entrepreneurs who suggested that the construction of technical infrastructure was necessary for the development of tourism.21 Yet such efforts were mainly suspended by the deficient infrastructure networks, along with the private sector’s lack of interest in tourism investments.22 Tourism emerged as a central developmental target in the post-war years, as is indicated by the use of ‘tourism industry’ as a term in 1947. At the same time, the Marshall planners suggested that the restoration of Greece’s industry was unnecessary, since tourism could serve as the key factor for the rehabilitation of the national economy. Consequently, even if tourism was of secondary importance for the Greek governments, in comparison with sectors such as industry or agriculture, the state policies on tourism development became more systematic and included the establishment of institutions such as the Greek National Tourism Organization (GNTO ) in 1948, as well as large-scale investments and infrastructure construction works, such as the public hotel chain Xenia.23 In any case, the tourism industry in Greece has been strongly affected by the fact that, despite its geographic position in Southeastern Europe, its economy has been organized according to the capitalist model. The thirty-year period of Greek tourism history studied in this article, from 1950 to 1980, can be separated into three different phases, according to the tourism policies which were co-produced with respective technical choices. From the 1950s to the early 1960s the conservative government under Konstantinos Karamanlis included tourism in the state agenda for the first time. The vision of the tourism

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

303

policymakers emphasized large-scale private investments. At the same time, they addressed European and American upper-class tourists, so as to encourage the flow of foreign currency with the aim of improving the internal economy.24 The devaluation of the drachma in 1952 contributed to the promotion of Greece as a popular destination: it is one of the first Mediterranean countries in which both the coastal landscape and its archaeological heritage have attracted a flow of tourists. Unlike other Mediterranean countries which invested in the so-called the 3S model, Greece, in the 1950s, promoted its archaeological heritage as its main asset. This policy contributed to technical construction works in places of mainly archaeological interest such as Delphi and Epidaurus, or places that were already developed as tourist destinations such as Rhodes and Corfu. Moreover the building of public Xenia hotels, alongside private luxurious facilities, such as the Hilton hotel in Athens, and the Rhodes and Corfu casinos are exemplary of the 1950s tourism development. The development of Greece’s technical infrastructure resulted in a tourism increase of 813 per cent between 1950 and 1960, although the absolute numbers of tourists were limited in comparison with Central and Southwestern Europe, or neighbouring countries such as Italy and Yugoslavia. Part of the reason for this limitation in visitor numbers was the geographic position of Greece which made motor access from Central and Western Europe difficult. In that period the automobile was the main means of interstate tourism. It was only the development of sea and air connections from the late 1960s onwards that led to the advent of international tourism in Greece, and also tourist access to the numerous Greek islands.25 The 1960s marked a gradual change in Greek governmental policies on tourism. The mainly centrist governments that ruled from 1963 to 1967 attempted to apply a tourism model that would contribute to the development of regional Greece, which suffered from unemployment and a lack of technical facilities. These governments aimed at funding small tourism enterprises along with the diffusion of infrastructure in areas which were at that time underdeveloped: Crete being a prime example of this sort of area. Still, such policies were not applied due to the political instability of that period. During the next phase examined here, the period 1967 to 1974, a degenerated model of the centralist government policy was employed. The dictatorial regime that was imposed on Greece promoted tourism within the context of a populist discourse, as a tool for the diffusion of technical infrastructure and economic development of regional Greece, so as to be symbolically legalized. The diffusion of technical facilities such as electricity, road networks and accommodation that resulted from this policy has been crucial for the development and reconstruction of many areas of Greece into prime tourist destinations. A number of such construction works were performed by military teams, the so-called MOMA .26 At the same time, tourism gradually replaced other sectors such as industry. Unlike the previous governments who gave priority to cultural tourism, the dictatorial regime emphasized the 3S model for the exploitation of new areas as tourist destinations. Tourism remained the dominant industry in the political agenda for the remainder of the decade, and is partially connected with the de-industrialization of the country from the 1980s onwards. The connection of tourism with the Greek state’s reconstruction

304

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

in terms of technical and technological modernization, gradually signified tourism as the vehicle for the diffusion of technology and technical infrastructure in regional Greece.27

DRIVING AND LEISURE: THE RECONSTRUCTION OF THE GREEK LANDSCAPE AS A TOURIST DESTINATION THROUGH AUTOMOBILE INFRASTRUCTURE The relationship between tourism and infrastructure development is more vital in the case of transportation networks than in any other tourism-related infrastructure. Mobility changed the meaning of space and time. Automobility in particular has contributed to the employment of leisure activities by the European middle class. The construction of an automobile infrastructure has been connected with the development of tourism by stakeholders ranging from various Greek governments, to prominent engineers of the Greek Technical Chamber. The growth of mass tourism in Greece has been mainly the result of the development of sea and air transportation (see Table 1); the spatial and technical reconstruction of the Greek landscape as a tourist destination has taken place in relation to the development of an automobile infrastructure. Road transportation has been connected with the tourist promotion of Greece since the Interbellum.28 During the post-war period this connection became yet more obvious. The extended destruction of the Greek road network during the Second World War meant that its reconstruction was at the forefront of discussions during implementation of the Marshall Plan. This process was conceived as a part of the broader scope of the Greek economic rehabilitation programme. The Greek government’s request for aid in its bid to restore Greece’s railway network was confronted with the Marshall planners’ suggestion that such scope was unnecessary. The Marshall planners argued that tourism could contribute to Greece’s post-war economic development. They further argued that because the automobile was becoming an emblematic product of post-war leisure culture, the road network would supersede the railways as the main land transport infrastructure connected with tourism.29 In this developmental plan, the reconstruction of the road network as an infrastructure that would reconfigure the landscape and promote Greece’s antiquities and beaches as both symbolic and profitable products would be more than adequate.30 Such suggestions stemmed from the popularity of automobile tourism among the Western European middle class in the early post-war decades, since at that time air transportation was not yet affordable for the average tourist. The Marshall planners believed that a good road network would attract tourists’ automobiles. In the 1970s the Greek tourism industry was mainly aimed at upperclass tourists, who could afford automobiles, and a number of prominent Greek engineers argued that a tourist who drove an automobile could contribute far more to the Greek economy than one hundred tourists who travelled by bus.31 Although many state policies of the early post-war decades prioritized industrial development, they also emphasized tourism. In the 1950s the five-year tourism development projects planned by the Greek governments placed road construction

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

305

at their centre, and often combined this with other construction works such as the reconstruction of archaeological and coastal sites, and the building of hotels constructed by important Greek architects, funded by the Greek Tourism Organization. In this decade the Greek conservative government placed a special emphasis on the technical reconstruction of places that already attracted tourists, such as Athens, Corfu, Rhodes and Olympia.32 A prime example of this is the reconstruction of Delphi, a place of international archaeological interest which became a tourist destination through the construction of the tourism and transportation infrastructure. This case will be further described below. The conservative government also gave priority to the construction of national road arteries that would connect the major cities. The most prominent case is the construction of the national highway from Athens to Lamia that was gradually extended to Thessaloniki and then to the northern Greek borders with Yugoslavia, known as the Athens–Thessaloniki national road. This motorway was the central axis that connected the Greek capital city, Athens, with the second major city of the country and its neighbouring Balkan countries. The construction of this motorway was promoted as a project that would contribute in the tourism development of the surrounding rural areas in the public discourse.33 The centrist governments that succeeded Karamanlis from 1963 onwards expressed a different vision about the role of the road network. The preceding Greek Civil War (1946–1949) had caused the decline of many peripheral areas since the late 1940s; therefore these centrist governments attempted to use the building of small-scale infrastructure, such as local roads, as a tool for the economic revival of these isolated areas through tourism. That policy was further applied by the dictatorial regime imposed on Greece during 1967–1974, which used the construction of roads in rural areas for practical purposes, not least as part of a cliental exchange between the government and local populations, in a bid to symbolically legalize the violation of democracy. Accordingly, the original plan in the post-war period for large road construction projects was shelved, and construction was shifted to the regional roads. These were built by the military teams of MOMA . In the 1950s to 1970s, Greece was the only capitalist country in Eastern Europe. This meant Greece was ‘isolated’ from its neighbouring countries in Western Europe both on a geopolitical and a geographical level. As a peninsula surrounded by Communist countries with a poor road network, Greece, until at least the 1960s, was one of the least networked countries in Europe, in terms of interstate land transportation.34 The interstate road connection that would change the political, economic and cultural correlation of Greece with the Balkans and Europe in general has been co-constructed with the development of tourism. Tourism mobility has been a central motivation for the development of a pan-European road network, renowned as the E roads network. Such policies were undertaken by institutions, such as the International Road Federation, which aimed at connecting European countries by road through interstate coordination of national road construction projects. The participation of the Greek state in such institutions was connected with the promotion of economic development through tourism in cooperation with Italy, Yugoslavia and Turkey. Though these attempts did not reach fruition, they reinforced the idea that road transportation was of primary

306

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

importance for European integration through the encouragement of interstate mobility flows.35 Transnational discussion about the construction of a road network for the development of tourism in the Southeastern region, required the cooperation of both Communist and liberal countries. The transnational discussion underlines the importance of this new industry for interstate political collaboration on technology. During discussions between Greek engineers and politicians a number of initiatives related to the construction of a European road network were raised. One matter in particular was repeatedly discussed, that is the question of whether transportation ‘gates’ should be used at each interstate road connection. The primary purpose of the road network was to encourage tourism mobility; understandably when planning the network it was necessary for the government and engineers to take into consideration the direction from which a flow of tourists was expected, in order to establish routes that would channel these tourists to places of natural or archaeological interest. For instance, one possibility was that the ‘Northern Gate’ at Greece’s border with Yugoslavia could be exploited by creating an extension of the E5 London–Belgrade motorway to Constantinople by connecting it with the aforementioned Athens–Thessaloniki national road.36 A dramatic increase in tourist arrivals to Yugoslavia during the 1960s due to the extension of this motorway to Belgrade justified the argument that the tourism flows of Yugoslavia could also lead to a rise in tourism in Greece, especially if the two countries cooperated to encourage tourism.37 However, the results of the road connection were less than spectacular, partly because apart from the E5 motorway, the Balkan road network was not significantly developed. The poor road networks of the Balkan Peninsula discouraged the increase of European tourism flows by car to Greece. Moreover, the political orientation for the promotion of the ‘Western’ geopolitical role of Greece gave ground for the cultivation of the idea of a motorway that would connect Athens with Greece’s western coast, known as the ‘Western Gate’. The intention was that this motorway should be combined with the construction of ferry harbours at Patra and Igoumenitsa, in order to connect Greece with Italy by boat. The argument for this connection again focused on the potential to attract the flow of tourists from Italy.38 The construction of this intermodal route had been sustained since the Interbellum. It formed a primary idea of ‘thematic tourism’ which was targeted mainly at English tourists, because it proposed to replicate ‘Lord Byron’s trip’. The trip followed a circular route that began and ended at the western port of Igoumenitsa, and included destinations of natural and archaeological interest which Byron had travelled through, including Delphi or Messologgi (where Byron had died during the town’s siege by the Ottoman Empire).39 Of course, the automobile tourism was gradually superseded by air transportation; consequently, the road network in Western Greece remained relatively poor, whereas other tourist destinations in Greece such as the islands became more popular due to charter flights. Still, the construction of a road connection between the capital of Greece and the Greek harbours of Patra and Igoumenitsa, which were connected with Italy by boat, was celebrated in both the Greek and the European Press because it improved the national road network dramatically, making mainland Greece much

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

307

more easily accessible for tourists.40 Today, this ‘Western Gate’ remains the most common interstate land connection between Greece and Western Europe. In conclusion, even though the automobile infrastructure did not serve the interstate tourism mobility to Greece to the extent that the air and sea transportation infrastructure did (see Tables 2 and 3), tourism has been a central parameter for the planning and construction of road networks in Greece. The number of tourists who visited Greece by car increased dramatically from the 1960s onwards (see Table 4). At least 30 per cent of the automobiles circulating in the Greek streets in the 1960s belonged to tourists, which meant that tourism was an important motive for the development of the road network.41 Road construction routes were chosen according to the potential of certain areas as tourist destinations; the automobile infrastructure was also conceived as a factor that would contribute both to further regional development through the exploitation of tourism and the growth of interstate connections that would reinforce Greece’s geopolitical role. Moreover, the co-production of automobility and tourism has played a crucial role in the growth of internal tourism in Greece. The automobile has been a symbol of the democratization of leisure practices: practices that used to be an elite privilege during the Interbellum, but were now promoted as the average consumer’s right. This fact is indicated by a quite remarkable increase in car ownership figures among civilians, especially for those on medium incomes.42 Between 1955 and 1970 the number of Greeks travelling by car from Athens to rural areas each weekend increased significantly.43 Within the process of a capitalist model of consumption, leisure practices have been a reference point for the reconstruction of Greek middle-class identity in connection with mobility and technology, as epitomized in the example of automobility. They have been an important factor in the spatial and technical reconstruction of the Greek landscape as a tourist destination for car-drivers. Thus far we have presented the co-construction of the road network and the development of tourism in Greece in terms of both its spatial reconstruction and its interstate connection. But how exactly were certain places in Greece reconstructed as tourist destinations? We will discuss this question in the following section.

MAINLAND AND INSULAR TOURISM: MONUMENTS, SEA AND SUN AS TOURIST PRODUCTS FROM THE 1950s TO THE 1970s During the early post-war decades, two tourism models developed in Greece. The first of these concerned destinations of mainly archaeological interest, such as Athens, Olympia and Delphi. It was a model that had prevailed since the Interbellum. The second model predominantly concerned coastal and insular destinations. In this model the landscape and beaches in particular gradually became a tourist product, according to the standards of the post-war tourism industry. In this section we examine cases representing both these models of tourism. First, we examine the case of Delphi, one of the most prominent mainland destinations of archaeological interest. We then go on to examine the insular cases of Rhodes and Crete. These

308

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

particular destinations are characteristic of the co-construction of tourism and technology. As far as the mainland cases are concerned, despite the fact that there are other destinations of archaeological interest, such as Athens, their examination does not always illustrate the close interaction of tourism policies and technical development choices. Athens, for example, the most popular cultural destination, had been equipped with technological and technical infrastructure since the Interbellum, as it was the capital city which attracted the vast majority of population and economic activities. Hence, we have chosen Delphi as a prime example of a mainland tourist destination that has been reconstructed as such since the late nineteenth century, and equipped with roads and other such infrastructure. Rhodes and Crete have been chosen for similar reasons. They are two of the major Greek islands, but more importantly their popularity as tourist destinations is inextricably connected with the construction during the post-war years of an infrastructure that made access to the islands possible. However, as we shall see, the development of tourism in Rhodes and Crete followed completely different paths that are indicative of the coconstructed relationship between tourism policies and technical infrastructure.

The technical reconstruction of mainland tourist destinations: the case of Delphi The reconstruction of certain locations in Greece as tourist destinations is elucidative of the co-construction of tourism and technology. The reconstruction required the appropriation of certain technologies, while – as we will show below – other technologies not compatible with tourism have been discouraged. This section focuses on the case of Delphi. From the beginning of the nineteenth century Delphi has been reconstructed as a mainland tourist destination, and since that period has continually attracted a small percentage of tourists with archaeological and cultural interests, as also happened in the Italian case.44 Delphi had been famous for its archaeological site, which was considered to be the centre of the ancient world, and also for the beauty of its landscape.45 When the archaeological monuments of Delphi were discovered in 1893, the medieval village of Kastri that had been built upon the archaeological monuments was moved to a new location, so that the site of the monuments could be reconstructed. In the period 1950–1980, governmental vision combined with tourist policy shaped the construction of technological and technical infrastructure in Greece. The post-war period witnessed extensive works concerning the reconstruction of technology and tourism.46 In this period central government policies, combined with assistance from the Marshall Project, helped tourist destinations in mainland Greece to upgrade their accommodation and infrastructure.47 Successive conservative governments under Konstantinos Karamanlis between 1954 and 1962 promoted Delphi as one of the most important tourist destinations of mainland Greece. These governments undertook the construction of infrastructure, such as luxurious hotels, road networks, bus stations, as well as the reconstruction of the Itea port, together with the inauguration of a new ferry line from Itea to Aigion that connected Delphi with the Peloponnese.48

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

309

Special emphasis was given to construction works and infrastructure at local archaeological sites, especially at the site of the Delphi monuments.49 The construction works included the building of houses and hotels. What is more, in the post-war period Delphi was developed as an important cultural and tourist centre in Central Greece.50 The European Cultural Centre of Delphi (ECCD ), equipped with a conference centre and a hotel, was constructed under the auspices of the European Council and the Greek government in 1962 with the aim of accommodating congress tourism.51 The development of hotel and accommodation infrastructure (see Table 5) in the area has been constant since this date.52 Within the context of the conservative governments’ policies from the 1950s to the early 1960s, it was believed that currency flows would contribute to the economic development.53 A number of luxury hotels were constructed as a result of this policy, including the private ‘Vouzas’ hotel which was built close to the archaeological museum, and the hotels administrated by GNTO, such as the Xenia Hotel, which were mainly aimed at attracting upper-class foreign tourists to the area.54 Also important to Delphi’s growth as a tourist destination has been the power supplied by a local electric power plant which was constructed before the Second World War (see Table 6) and was connected to the national electricity network in 1958.55 During the period 1963–1967, the centrist governments included tourist development in their agenda as a matter of national importance. They encouraged the involvement of smaller-scale enterprise initiatives in the construction of infrastructure, and gave permission for the building of motels and smaller hotels.56 In Delphi, they provided local businessmen with low-interest funding for the construction of hotels, with the aim of employing the local populace in their construction. The importance of Delphi as a tourist destination contributed to its transportation connection. Delphi and its surrounding areas were given priority in the construction of transportation networks, in comparison to other places in the same district. The national road network connecting Athens to Delphi and Western Central Greece was reconstructed in 1962 so as to provide access to the newly constructed ECCD .57 Additionally the foundation of a public bus company in Phokida in the 1950s made accessibility to the region easier for those tourists travelling from Athens.58 Delphi was also accessible by sea from the nearby port of Itea, a port that was connected with Italy.59 Cruise liners filled with tourists wanting to visit Delphi docked at the port of Itea.60 The port of Itea was not solely concerned with tourism: it had also been reconstructed as an important infrastructure for the transportation of bauxite.61 Given the fact that the use of the port by both commercial trade ships and cruise ships was in many ways incompatible, a number of disagreements arose about whether priority should be given to the development of tourism, or to the local industrial economy.62 These discussions indicate the co-constructed relationship between local economic activity and the appropriation of technology. Although the existence of the archaeological site of Delphi meant that technical reconstruction of the area to promote Delphi as a tourist site was primarily concerned with the promotion of cultural tourism, from the 1970s onwards, construction works promote the mass tourism model. During the period of the dictatorial regime, the touristic development of regional Greece was considered to be of major

310

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

importance. Roughly 20 per cent of the total number of foreign tourists visiting Greece in this period visited Delphi: the annual number of visitors to Delphi was 180,000 Greek nationals and 420,000 foreign tourists. The Ministry of Coordination conducted a land planning study in 1972 in order to identify tourist destinations in Greece. The study took into account archaeological monuments, and the beauty of the natural environment, such as the mountainous landscape and the Corinthian bay coasts.63 These criteria prevented an attempt by the Parnassos Bauxites S.A. aluminium extraction company to build a factory in the area, since the protection of what was called the ‘Delphic landscape’ was characterized as synonymous with the public interest.64 In the 1970s MOMA completed the road construction works that would provide more comfortable tourist access to Delphi. The exploitation of tourism went beyond Delphi itself and included its broader regions. For instance, Parnassos was one of the first places to be developed under the 1976 governmental programme aimed at encouraging mountain tourism. The construction of a ski centre on Parnassos began in 1975 and ended in 1976.65 The construction of this ski centre was a determining factor in the further technical development of Delphi, as it encouraged the intensive construction of hotels and facilities in nearby towns, such as Arachova. The technical reconstruction of Delphi as a destination for both cultural and sports tourism has meant this area is still one of the most popular resorts in Greece.66 Even in the 1970s the number of weekend visitors to Delphi was estimated at 46,000 annually. Skiers accounted for 10,000 annual visitors to the area, and campers accounted only for 1,500 annual visitors.67 Thus the dictatorial regime policies aimed at promoting natural environments as tourist destinations, as occurred in the case of the ‘Delphic landscape’, led to the construction of a local road network that encouraged the exploitation of a broader area of Parnassos. In any case, the tourism exploitation of Delphi proved to be of greater profit than the conduction of other economic activities such as the extraction of the local bauxite deposits (see Table 7), which were therefore gradually abandoned. The environmental protection ensuring the ‘Delphic landscape’ would be promoted and standardized as a tourist product, has set limits especially on industry. Hence, the prevalence of certain economic activities along with the social groups that represent them in certain spaces defines the model of the technical reconstruction of these spaces. Such a situation also concerns the cases discussed in the next section.

Technical infrastructure, travel and tourism on the Greek islands: the cases of Rhodes and Crete Delphi exemplified mainland tourist destinations in Greece, and in turn, Rhodes and Crete are two of the most representative island tourist destinations. Hence this section, through a study of these two destinations, examines island tourism and its co-constructed relationship with technology in post-war Greece. The case of Rhodes is partly an exception to the rule of insular infrastructure condition, considering since the early 1950s it has been an important tourist destination that has fulfilled the required facilities standards for tourism development. Crete, on the other hand, maintained an underdeveloped infrastructure until the late 1950s, and did not

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

311

experience any intensive tourism development until the late 1960s. So too, does Rhodes represent a monoculture model of tourism, whereas Crete represents a more balanced model between the growth of tourism and those of other economic sectors such as agriculture. As we shall see, these two cases perfectly illustrate the interaction of infrastructure and tourism policies in Greece. In the 1950s the majority of Greece’s mainland and insular areas were underequipped in terms of technical facilities. Improvement was slow, largely because governmental policies of the 1950s aimed at the promotion of areas that already attracted tourists: Rhodes or Corfu for example. The 1960s marked an upward trend in the number of islands that developed as tourist destinations. The implementation of policies that allowed the bank to loan to small- and medium-size tourism businesses, combined with the inclusion of tourism as a sector that would contribute to the reduction of unemployment in regional areas in the agenda of centrist governments, meant that islands like Crete began to attract tourists. In Greece – unlike other Mediterranean islands like Majorca and the Canaries, where the rapid growth of tourism was based on a 3S model – until at least the late 1960s, Rhodes and Crete were promoted as both leisure and cultural tourism products. This situation gradually changed from the 1970s onwards, at which time the Junta regime adopted the 3S model so as to enable the diffusion of tourism in the Aegean and Ionian islands. Rhodes has been at the centre of Greece’s national tourist industry since the 1950s. The Italian occupation of the island (1912–1939) has been decisive in the rise of this phenomenon. The Mussolini government, in an attempt to reinforce its domination over the Greek colony, and in an attempt to serve its geopolitical strategy, tried to encourage tourism to the island during the Interbellum.68 In that period, the construction of a decent road network, a port and an airport as well as basic tourist infrastructures such as the construction of large (750 bedroom) hotels, along with the preservation of local monuments, served as the necessary premises for the attraction of tourists.69 In the early 1950s, the Greek conservative government grasped the opportunity to utilize the tourist infrastructure in Rhodes. Its main aim was to increase the flow of currency to the region: in the 1950s currency was considered to be the key factor for the emergence of the tourist industry, as it would mean the area attracted upper-class European and American tourists. Logothetis, a contemporary researcher, stressed the importance of tourist activity on Rhodes as a source of foreign currency, explaining that currency flows into the island had increased by 163 per cent in a five-year period. During the same period, the national currency flows rose by only 64 per cent.70 To increase the flow of currency, and visitors to the region, the government attempted to privatize aspects of the Rhodian tourist infrastructure, including A-class hotels and thermal baths, through two international competitions. The failure of both attempts made clear that state investment would be necessary to the emergence of tourism in Rhodes. To resolve the issue, the GNTO sold much of Rhodes’ infrastructure to Astir, a company in which the National Bank of Greece was the main shareholder: it did so with relatively few obligations. Hence, state interventionism, through national economic programmes, as well as through the investments of the GNTO, contributed to the new policy direction of increasing the flow of currency to the region.71

312

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

The standards of tourist infrastructure in Rhodes were far higher than the average facilities provided by those Greek hotels that usually served the interests of upperclass European tourists.72 Even third-category hotels were luxuriously furnished and equipped with internal telephones as well as bathrooms in every room: this came at a time when the telecommunication network in the rest of Greece was insufficient in many rural areas.73 The level of accommodation in Rhodes undoubtedly contributed to an increase of foreign tourism in Greece (see Table 8). The foreign tourism sector in Rhodes rose by a staggering 670 per cent between 1952 and 1959, in a period when the total increase in national tourism amounted to 196 per cent.74 In 1961 alone some 159,000 tourists arrived on the island. Tourist investment in Rhodes continued in the early 1960s under both the conservative government and the successive centrist governments. Moreover, the facilitation of new loan contracts of small- and medium-tourist businesses by both governments allowed the augmentation of new investments. Still, policymakers continued to prioritize large-scale projects. The growth of mass tourism in Rhodes began in the mid-1960s. At this time vacation spots and high-capacity hotels were constructed on a mass basis.75 Moreover, the dictatorial regime (1967–1974), in attempting to elicit public consent for its being, increased the number of private loans licences available in the tourism sector, and hence contributed to the establishment in the number of small apartments and rooms available to let.76 As a result of these factors, tourist activity in Rhodes reached yet higher levels of growth. In 1971 there were 13,376 hotel beds, while tourist arrivals rose to 300,000 per annum.77 A golf course was also constructed in Rhodes in 1973. Even after the fall of the Junta and the re-establishment of democracy, the leisure industry still kept growing. A decade later Rhodes had more than 31,000 hotel beds, a figure which represented 11 per cent of the national total and was visited by approximately 800,000 tourists per annum. The Cretan case, on the other hand, followed a different path. Successive wars meant that by the early post-war years Crete had been almost entirely destroyed. Crete suffered with high ratios of unemployment and a deficient infrastructure. Limited island facilities, combined with tourism policies that prioritized those destinations that already attracted tourists, caused a delay of fifteen years to the island’s emergence as a mass tourist destination. In 1962 only 23,000 tourists visited Crete, and in that same year only one third-category hotel existed on the island in the prefecture of Rethimno.78 It was 1962 before the construction of the first large leisure hotspot in Heraklion began. In that same year the tourism programme decreed that sea transportation to the island needed to be improved.79 The year 1964 marked the turning point in Crete’s fortunes. In that year the rehabilitation and tourism development of Crete became a high priority for the new centrist government.80 The Xenia Hotel that was built by GNTO during 1965 at Heraklion was part of this rehabilitation, and the organization went on to fund the establishment of a number of other resorts.81 The growth of tourism in Crete, on the other hand, caused social changes and inequalities between areas regarding the economic and social distribution of residents.82 It also contributed to internal migration and urbanization. As the tourist industry began to grow, so did the number of arrivals to the islands and the capacity of its hotels. In 1966, there were 1,600 hotel beds in Crete, just six years later this number had increased to 8,400, a five-

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

313

fold increase.83 The extensive flow of travellers onto the island continued during the 1980s. International travellers on the island numbered 52,693 in 1973 and this number had risen to 518,275 annual visitors by 1982.84 Increased transportation links significantly contributed to the development of tourism in Greek insular areas. In the case of Rhodes, the scheduling of steamship and cruise-ship routes was the decisive factor in the growth of tourism. In the 1960s, fifteen scheduled ship routes connected Rhodes with other Greek, as well as foreign, ports on a regular basis, including those of Italy, Alexandria in Egypt, the Middle East and Cyprus.85 Rhodes’ port was among the largest in Greece. As a consequence of the island’s tourist development its traffic doubled in the 1950s. This increase in traffic led the conservative government to include the harbour’s expansion and reconstruction in the five-year programme of economic development between 1960 and 1964.86 From 1952 to 1959, steamships were the main means of transportation for anyone travelling on a cruise (see Table 9). The number of steamships docking in Rhodes increased by 223 per cent between 1952 and 1959; that means they transferred 75 per cent of the total number of visitors arriving in Rhodes (see Table 10).87 However, the construction of an airport on Rhodes, since the Italian occupation and travel habit changes, considerably changed the means by which visitors arrived on the island (see Table 11). In 1960 the airport, one of only four international airports in Greece, was the second busiest in the country. It was equipped with a modern technological infrastructure, and following its extension at the beginning of the 1960s was suitable for jet aircraft. As early as 1960 a third of visitors to Rhodes arrived by plane, while 4,000 of these visitors arrived on charter flights.88 In 1982 the number of direct charter flights exceeded 3,700 and heralded the arrival of more than 500,000 tourists. Aviation had a positive impact on the tourism of many Mediterranean islands beyond Greece. The island of Majorca, which became a chartered flight destination in the early 1950s, is just one such example.89 In Greece, Crete likewise benefited from aviation, if some two decades later than Rhodes. Although Heraklion airport has been the third-most popular airport for internal arrivals since the late 1950s, its poor infrastructure, combined with the inadequate length of its runway, meant it was not upgraded to an international airport until 1971. The centrist government of 1964 initiated a reconstruction project in Crete. The project included the construction of new airports in other prefectures of Crete. Until the early 1960s, the island’s popularity was mostly restricted to anyone travelling by ship or cruiser, such as the GNTO -funded cruises of the ship Seramis. Charter flights became important only after the diffusion of tourism during the dictatorial regime and more particularly since 1971. In this period Heraklion airport was upgraded to an international airport, an event that accelerated the arrival of international tourists. By 1972, 95 per cent of visitors to the island arrived by air; 90 per cent of these visitors arrived on one of the 287 charter flights that arrived on the island.90 A decade later, the number of charter flights per annum exceeded 3,600, carrying 465,000 visitors (see Table 12). In conclusion, Greece’s island tourism industry has evolved from the visions and policies of the policymakers, and as a result of its technical and technological

314

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

facilities. Rhodes and Crete represent these advances. Rhodes – with the aim of attracting upper-class tourists – was considered a priority destination in the 1950s, a view that was encouraged by successive Greek governments. The promotion of large-scale, luxurious investments such as casinos, golf courses and first-category hotels are indicative of their policy, which was encouraged by the high-level infrastructure with which the island was already equipped. On the contrary, Crete’s poor infrastructure and lack of investment meant it was the late 1960s before the island developed into a tourist destination. It only developed as a result of the centrist governments’ vision for regional development and promotion of the island as a primary tourist destination. Governmental policies from the early 1950s to the mid-1960s emphasized large-scale investments and the promotion of elitist tourism. From the late 1960s onwards, the Junta regime attempted to diffuse tourism through the construction of small rental apartments and the letting of individual rooms, uninhibited by environmental or legal restrictions. The military junta attempted to achieve political legitimization through this strategy. Ultimately though, the necessary precondition for the development of insular tourism in the Mediterranean was the growth of transportation, particularly aviation. In Greece, charter flights were of vital importance to the establishment of Rhodes and Crete as the tourist destinations for travellers seeking a leisure holiday.

CONCLUSIONS This article has illustrated how tourism and technology were interlinked in Greece in the 1950s through to the 1970s. We began by discussing current trends in international and Greek historiography. We challenged the prevailing notion in the historiography that the tourist industry has been connected solely with consumer culture, and discussed how thus far the relationship between tourism and technology has primarily been studied from the standpoint of mobility and transportation. In the first section we briefly covered the history of tourism in Greece, as well as the development of travel in Europe and the Mediterranean. We have shown that tourism developed in Greece as a means of economic rehabilitation following the Second World War: a phenomenon that was repeated across post-war Europe. The advent of tourism in Greece through state interventionism, or the promotion of cultural tourism in the 1950s and 1960s, was repeated in many Mediterranean destinations. Yet Greece differs from many other Mediterranean examples purely because the 3S model (sun, sand and sea) was not exploited until the late 1960s. The main body of the paper discussed four case studies that exemplify the coconstructed relationship between technology and tourism in the post-war era. The first case study considered the reconstruction of the Greek landscape and its promotion as a tourist destination through the development of automobile infrastructure. This case showed that initially the re-building of Greece’s road network in the early 1950s to the mid-1960s concentrated on large-scale construction works which aimed to facilitate interstate motor access to Greece and thus interstate tourism. By comparison, under Greece’s dictatorial regime the road networks became a tool by which the government could diffuse tourism to regional areas under the pretext of populist policy.

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

315

We then discussed popular tourist destinations in Greece, taking three case studies as the basis of our discussion: Delphi (representative of mainland Greece), and Rhodes and Crete (representative of the Greek islands). In the case of mainland tourism in Delphi, we examined the way that tourism in the 1950s and the 1970s was shaped in Delphi and the surrounding area. During the 1950s construction works in Delphi were aimed at the promotion of the area as a cultural destination for upper-class tourists. Successive tourism policies, especially during the 1970s, emphasized the reconstruction of Delphi as a mass sport resort; reconstruction was equally aimed at increasing employment among the local populace. A similar policy was applied to insular tourism. Rhodes, one of the few technically equipped destinations of the 1950s was initially promoted as a luxurious resort for Europe’s elite. This policy changed in the late 1960s: both Rhodes and Crete gradually become products of mass tourism, as a result of the growth of charter flights and the diffusion of the credit system to small and medium tourism-related businesses. In conclusion, this paper has examined cases that illustrate the mutual relationship between the growth of the mass tourism industry and technology. We argue that this relationship was based on the implementation of the policies and the visions of the individual stakeholders in each period. These visions and policies prioritized the road network in comparison to the railways and tourism rather than other productive activities. Finally, these visions and policies prioritized large tourism infrastructures rather than more mild forms of tourist activity.

APPENDIX: TABLES TABLE 1: Percentages of transportation means used by tourists in various European countries Transportation means (percentages) Country

Year

Austria

1963 1964 1965 1963 1964 1965 1963 1964 1965 1963 1964 1965 1963 1964 1965

France

Germany

Greece

Italy

Ship

4.8 4.1 4.1 1.5 2.7 2.9 25.2 22.2 21.4 1.7 1.7 1.7

Airplane 0.4 0.4 0.5 5.4 5.6 5.7 1.4 1.3 1.4 48.4 51.7 52.4 4.8 5.7 6.2

Railway 15.5 15.1 15.0 89.8 90.3 90.2 97.1 96.0 96.6 10.7 9.2 9.2 23.0 20.5 20.1

Automobile 84.1 84.5 84.5

15.7 16.9 17.9 72.5 70.1 72.0

316

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

TABLE 1: Continued Transportation means (percentages) Country

Year

Ship

Spain

1963 1964 1965 1963 1964 1965 1963 1964 1965 1963 1964 1965

– 9.9 9.6 40.0 38.0 36.0 5.4 27.9 24.8 33.5 26.6 21.9

England

Portugal

Turkey

Airplane

Railway

– 10.1 12.7 60.0 62.0 64.0 36.2 22.3 18.3 49.9 35.6 28.7

– 9.7 9.4 – – – 58.4 49.8 56.9 6.4 10.9 14.9

Automobile – 70.3 68.3 – – –

10.2 26.9 34.5

Source: Greek Tourist Club – Tourist Research Centre.

TABLE 2: Percentages of tourist arrivals by various transportation means to Greece Tourist arrivals per year (percentages) Transportation means

1962

1963

1964

Airplane Railway Ship Automobile

46.5 12.3 28.6 12.6

48.3 10.7 25.3 15.7

51.7 9.2 22.2 16.5

Source: Greek Tourist Club – Tourist Research Centre.

TABLE 3: Tourist arrivals to Greece Year

Total numbers of tourist arrivals

Tourists travelling by car

Percentage

1959 1960 1961 1962 1963 1964 1965 1966

301,830 343,913 440,243 541,970 672,920 673,602 846,947 997,628

27,924 39,446 65,618 105,599 140,693 148,527 194,847 234,356

9.2 11.46 14.91 19.5 20.91 22.05 23.00 23.38

Source: Greek Tourist Club – Tourist Research Centre.

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

TABLE 4: Number of tourists’ automobiles travelling to Greece Year

Automobiles

1955 1956 1957 1958 1959 1960 1961 1962 1963 1964 1965 1966

6,126 7,124 8,493 10,093 11,095 13,358 27,379 39,973 52,694 55,628 74,941 87,118

Source: Greek Tourist Club – Tourist Research Centre.

TABLE 5: Hotels in Delphi in the post-war period Years/Decades

Number of hotels

1930–1939 1940–1944 1945–1955 1955–1965 1965–1975 1975–1985

6 3 15 20 25 30

Source: Municipality of Delphi.

TABLE 6: Electricity consumption from 1930 to 1955 and number of customers Years / Decades

Electricity consumption (kWh) Number of customers

1930–1939 1940–1944 1945–1955

88,529 17,061 90,529

286 120 300

Source: Servis’ archives.

TABLE 7: Income per capita in Delphi compared to national Year / Decades 1971–1981 1981–1991

Income per capita compared to national (%) 106.8 102

Source: Institute of Tourism Studies and Forecasts.

317

318

TABLE 8: Categories of arrivals in Rhodes from 1952 to 1961 Domestic Arrivals Year 1952 1953 1954 1955 1956 1957 1958 1959 1960 1961 Total

Arrivals 12,258 11,404 15,307 14,511 13,583 16,118 15,415 19,712 20,719 21,028 160,055

Index 100 93 125 118 111 132 126 162 169 171

Foreign Arrivals Arrivals 2,890 4,267 5,746 7,355 7,929 11,281 15,929 22,267 26,739 40,120 144,523

Cruise Ships Arrivals

Index

Arrivals

Index

100 148 198 254 274 390 549 770 925 1,388

9,459 10,237 14,918 17,471 15,412 10,146 17,858 30,430 46,293 61,574 233,798

100 108 158 185 163 107 189 323 489 651

Crew of the Ships Arrivals

Index

6,600 16,000 5,060 14,420 74,423 44,685 52,513 17,730 22,564 36,775 290,770

100 242 77 218 1,127 677 810 268 341 557

Source: Touristic Police of Rhodes; Μ. Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου (Αθήνα: Εθνική Τράπεζα της Ελλάδας, 1961): 28.

Total 31,207 41,908 41,031 53,757 111,347 82,230 101,715 90,139 116,315 159,497 829,146

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

319

TABLE 9: Ships and tourists flows in Rhodes Year

1950 1951 1952 1953 1954 1955 1956 1957 1958 1959

Steamships

Passengers–Tourists

Departures

Arrivals

Index Disembarkation

Embarkation

268 257 307 324 350 404 436 459 531 781

266 256 308 325 350 404 436 460 531 781

100 96 115 122 131 151 163 172 199 293

53.343 31,077 39,386 31,604 39,416 39,625 45,080 40,868 52,705 51,720

36,019 32,244 42,978 33,096 40,894 42,395 47,315 46,543 56,361 57,873

Index 100 71 92 77 90 92 103 98 122 123

Source: Central Port Authority of Rhodes; Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου: 49.

TABLE 10: Tourist arrivals in Rhodes by cruise ships 1952–1959 Year

1938

1952

1953

1954

1955

1956

1957

1958

1959

Arrivals 18,195 9,459 10,237 14,918 17,471 15,412 10,146 17,858 30,430 Source: Tourist Police of Rhodes; Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου: 39.

TABLE 11: Arrivals in Rhodes by steamship and plane during the period 1957–1961 Arrivals Year

1957 1958 1959 1960 1961

Steamships

Index

(1)

(2)

46,543 56,361 57,873 71,042 85,000

100 121 126 152 184

Aeroplanes

Index

(2)/(1)+(2) (%)

10,891 16,308 19,852 22,211 29,642

100 151 183 205 274

19 22 25 23 26

Source: Central Port Authority of Rhodes and Office of Civil Aviation; Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου: 28.

320

TABLE 12: Tourist arrivals by transportation means in Rhodes and Crete (1970–1982) Percentages Transportation Means and Station of Entrance 1970 By Plane

1971

1972

1973

1974

1975

1976

1977

1978

1979

1980

1981

1976/ 1977/

1978/ 1979/ 1980/ 1981/ 1982/

75

77

1982

76

78

79

80

81

80,108 187,406 282,188 337,964 198,531 317,001 499,879 478,330 593,411 762,195 838,416 920,336

993,475

57.7

−4.3

24.1 28.4

10.0

9.8

7.9

– 14,902 30,618 50,399 44,863 81,271 146,410 177,996 237,084 327,865 392,273 447,628

489,793

80.2

21.6

33.2 38.3

19.6

14.1

9.4

Rhodes

80,108 172,504 251,570 287,565 153,668 235,730 353,469 300,334 356,327 434,330 446,143 472,708

503,682

49.9 −15.0

18.6 21.9

2.7

6.0

6.6

By Ship

30,378 38,762 30,363 28,682 17,203 17,677 38,188 35,981 37,429 43,394

Crete (Heraklion, Chania)

Crete (Heraklion) Rhodes Total

47,771

50,353

56,896 116.0

−5.8

4.0 15.9

10.1

5.4 13.0

7,538

16,082

20,558

28,482

27.9

1.7 25.7 113.3

28 38.3

30,378 38,023 28,801 26,388 14,433 14,496 33,519 30,087 31,432 35,856

31,689

29,795

28,414 131.2

–

739

1,562

2,294

2,770

3,181

4,669

5,894

5,997

110,486 225,429 310,989 364,352 212,964 331,497 533,398 508,417 624,843 798,051 870,105 950,131 1,021,889

Source: Σπ. Σταύρου, Η ανάπτυξη του τουρισμού στην Ελλάδα την περίοδο 1969–82 (Αθήνα: Ε.Ο.Τ, 1984): 24, table 7.

46.8

60.9

−9.8 −4.7

4.5 14.1 −11.6 −6.0 −4.6 22.9 27.7

9.0

9.2

7.6

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

321

NOTES 1. John Urry, Consuming Places (London, New York: Routledge, 1995); John Urry, The Tourist Gaze (California, London: Sage, 2002); Tim Cresswell, On the Move (London, New York: Routledge, 2006). 2.

The argument that tourism is considered to be Greece’s heavy industry is based on the fact that there were 8 million tourist arrivals (about 80 per cent of the size of the Greek population) in 1991, whereas the number of arrivals increased to 23 million in 2014 (AGTE , 2011, 2015). Moreover, tourism has contributed to the development of the Greek periphery. The arrival of international tourists to insular areas accounts for more than 69 per cent of the total number of tourists arriving in Greece, while half of the tourists travelling to the insular areas arrive in Rhodes or Crete (RIT, 2014).

3. The Athens and Rhodes harbours were constructed for tourism as well as for trade. 4. Eric Zuelow, Touring Beyond the Nation: A Transnational Approach to European Tourism History (Surrey, Burlington: Ashgate, 2011); Eric Zuelow, ‘National Identity and Tourism in Twentieth-Century Ireland: The Role of Collective Re-imagining’, in M. Young, E. Zuelow and A. Sturm (eds), Nationalism in a Global Era: The Persistence of Nations (London, New York: Routledge, 2007), 141–157. 5. Baranowski claims that the link between tourism and technology history became clearer, when historians recognized that tourism blends consumption and production. S. Baranowski, ‘Common Ground: Linking Transport and Tourism History ’, The Journal of Transport History, 2007, 28 (1), 121–122. See also Urry, The Tourist Gaze; S. Baranowski, ‘Radical Nationalism in an International Context: Strength through Joy and the Paradoxes of Nazi Tourism’, in J. Walton (ed.), Histories of Tourism: Representation, Identity and Conflict (Clevedon: Cromwell Press, 2005), 125–143; E. Furlough, Making Mass Vacations: Tourism and Consumer Culture in France, 1930s to 1970s (Cambridge: CUP, 1998); K. Taylor, From Trips to Modernity to Holidays in Nostalgia – Tourism History in Eastern and Southeastern Europe (Tension of Europe, 2011). 6. Urry, The Tourist Gaze, 1–3. 7. J. Borosz, ‘Travel-Capitalism: The Structure of Europe and the Advent of the Tourist’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 1992, 34: 4, 714. 8. Furlough, Making Mass Vacations, 252–253. 9. Furlough, Making Mass Vacations, 708–741. 10. Furlough, Making Mass Vacations, 263; S. Cassamagnaghi, G. Moretto and M. Wagner, ‘The Establishment of a Car-Based Leisure Regime in Twentieth-Century Europe: Appropriating the Automobile for Mass Consumption in Denmark, Italy and the Soviet Union’. Conference proceedings at Fourth Tensions of Europe Plenary Conference: Technology & East-West relations: Transfers, Parallel Histories, and the European Laboratory (Sofia, Bulgaria, 2010), 6. 11. W. Schivelbusch, The Railway Journey (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986); T. Cresswell and P. Merriman, Geographies of Mobilities (Surrey, Burlington: Ashgate, 2011); John Urry, Mobilities (Polity, 2007).

322

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

12. S. Alifragkis and E. Athanassiou, ‘Educating Greece in Modernity ’, The Journal of Architecture, 2013, 18 (5), 699–720. 13. Alifragkis and Athanassiou, ‘Educating Greece in Modernity’, 671, 674. 14. Μ. Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου (Αθήνα: Εθνική Τράπεζα της Ελλάδας, 1961); Σπ. Σταύρου, Η ανάπτυξη του τουρισμού στην Ελλάδα την περίοδο 1969–82 (Αθήνα: Ε.Ο.Τ, 1984); D. Buhalis, ‘Tourism in Greece: Strategic Analysis and Challenges’, Current Issues in Tourism, 2001, 4 (5), 440–480. 15. Α Βλάχος, Τουριστική ανάπτυξη και δημόσιες πολιτικές στη σύγχρονη Ελλάδα (1914–1950) (Αθήνα: Κέρκυρα – Εκδόσεις Οικονομία, 2015). Nikolakakis argues that the majority of post-war Greek governments aimed to support large foreign private investments in the tourism sector. Regardless of the state efforts, the situation regarding tourism changes from 1967 onwards, during the dictatorship period. This change concerned the fact that tourism had been massively developed and geographically expanded. Moreover, private investments rose, while the public share in tourism funding decreased. Μ. Νικολακάκης, Τουρισμός και ελληνική κοινωνία την περίοδο 1945–1974, Διδακτορική Διατριβή (Ρέθυμνο: Πανεπιστήμιο Κρήτης, 2013). 16. F. Schipper, Driving Europe. Building Europe on Roads in the Twentieth Century (Eindhoven: Foundation for the History of Technology and Aksant Academic Publishers, 2008). 17. Organization for European Economic Cooperation. 18. Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου, 12. 19. Lucian Segreto, Carles Manera and Manfred Pohl (eds), The Economic History of Mass Tourism in the Mediterranean (United States: Berghahn Books, 2009), 90–124. 20. Segreto, Manera and Pohl, Economic History of Mass Tourism in the Mediterranean, 5–8. 21. See for example: Α. Μάνος, ‘Ο τουρισμός εν Ελλάδι’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1935, 78, 347–355; Α. Μάνος, ‘Η οδός Αθηνών – συνόρων: Κατασκευή νέου καταστρώματος εκ σιμεντοσκυροδέματος’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 41, (September 1933), 871–877; Π. Μακρής, Η κατασκευή δρόμων: Θέματα, ιστορία και προτάσεις της εταιρείας Μακρής (Αθήνα: Πυρσός, 1928), 3. 22. Ν. Λέκκας, Ο τουρισμός εν Ελλάδι, ed. Γ. Ζαχαράτος, (Αθήνα: Ξενοδοχειακό Επιμελητήριο Ελλάδος, 1925). 23. The Hotel Xenia construction programme had been undertaken by GNTO from the 1950s to the 1970s and aimed at the improvement of tourism infrastructure. 24. Many rules and regulations were amended to support these interests. For instance, this is the case of the foundation of the Organization of Tourism Trust which was concerned with loans and investment in the tourism sector and replaced the Organization of Hotel Trust. 25. Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου, 11. 26. During the dictatorial regime, the model of tourism based on historical heritage was substituted by the 3S model. Additionally, in this period, Greece had the highest

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

323

arrival rates in the Mediterranean for the first time. Nowadays international tourist arrivals to insular areas account for more than 69 per cent of the national arrivals, while 50 per cent of them concern Rhodes and Crete (RIT, 2014). 27. The first references to this requirement date back to 1957: ‘Ελληνικά Τεχνικά και Οικονομικά Νέα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1957, 1 (5), 35–37; Μαλτέζος Μακρυγιάννης ‘Το 1967, ως έτος διεθνούς τουρισμου’, Ξενία, December 1967, 5–7. 28. See for example, Υπουργείο Τύπου και Τουρισμού, Τέσσερα χρόνια Διακυβερνήσεως Ι. Μεταξά (Αθήνα: εκδόσεις 4ης Αυγούστου, 1940). 29. Γ. Οικονόμου, ‘Η ανασυγκρότησις της χώρας εις τον τομέα των δημοσίων έργων’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, December 1948, 421–425. 30. Alifragkis and Athanassiou, ‘Educating Greece in Modernity’, 700. 31. Ν. Ι. Απέργης, ‘‘Η οδός Βύρωνος προς την Ελλάδα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, June 1938, 563. 32. Πενταετές Πρόγραμμα Τουριστικής Αναπτύξεως της Ελλάδος εκ κεφαλαίων δημοσίων επενδύσεων 1959–1963. Αρχείο Ιδρύματος Κ. Καραμανλή 3.35–3.44. 33. ‘Τεχνικά και Οικονομικά Νέα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, September 1964, 51–54. 34. Schipper, Driving Europe, 205–209. 35. Schipper, Driving Europe, 192, 197, 209, 211. 36. This road was part of the motorway system that lasted from 1950 to 1983. Its E2 branch linked Central London to Dover. Then, it continued from Calais and branched to several countries including Germany, Austria, Italy and Hungary. The Hungarian branch continued to Belgrade in Yugoslavia. Then, the E5N route continued to Constantinople through Sofia in Bulgaria, while the E5S route also continued to Constantinople through Thessaloniki and Alexandroupoli in Greece. The Turkish route was later extended to Syria. For more information, see: http://www.sabre-roads. org.uk/wiki/index.php?title=E5_(Old_System) [accessed 11 June 2016]. 37. Ελληνική Περιηγητική Λέσχη – Κέντρο Τουριστικών Ερευνών, Το συγκοινωνιακό πρόβλημα και η τουριστική ανάπτυξις (Ελληνική Περιηγητική Λέσχη – Κέντρο Τουριστικών Ερευνών, V. II – Χερσαίαι μεταφοραί, Αθήνα 1967), 9–15. 38. Such arguments had been expressed since the beginning of the twentieth century. See for example, Ν. Λέκκας, Ο Τουρισμός στην Ελλάδα, 48; ‘Η Δυτική πύλη και η Δυτική οδός μεταφοράς’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 256, (September 1965), 16–19; ‘Τεχνικά και Οικονομικά Νέα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1960, 193 (4), 49. 39. ‘Η Δυτική Πύλη και η Δυτική οδός μεταφοράς’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1938, 256, 16–19. 40. Ελληνική Περιηγητική Λέσχη – Κέντρο Τουριστικών Ερευνών, Το συγκοινωνιακό πρόβλημα και η τουριστική ανάπτυξις, 13–16, ‘Η χώρα μας υπό το πρίσμα των ξένων. Η ανάπτυξις της Ελλάδος ως τρίτου ευρωπαϊκού τουριστικού προορισμού’, Το ιδιωτικό αυτοκίνητο Ι.Χ, 1960, 49, 17; ‘Μια πλουτοφόρος πηγή. Ο ελληνικός τουρισμός υπό το πρίσμα των ξένων’, Το ιδιωτικό αυτοκίνητο Ι.Χ, 1961, 59–60, 12; ‘Ο ελληνικός τουρισμός υπό το πρίσμα των ξένων’, Το ιδιωτικό αυτοκίνητο Ι.Χ, 1961, 61, 15; Π. Καρόπουλος, ‘Ο ελληνικός τουρισμός υπό το πρίσμα των ξένων’, Το ιδιωτικό αυτοκίνητο Ι.Χ, 1961, 63, 9. 41. Ελληνική Περιηγητική Λέσχη – Κέντρο Τουριστικών Ερευνών, Το συγκοινωνιακό πρόβλημα και η τουριστική ανάπτυξις, 13–16.

324

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

42. According to the Greek Statistical Service’s data, the percentage of the circulating vehicles in Greece increased by 1,270 per cent during 1954–1974. As far as civilian cars are concerned for the same period, the percentage increase was 2,396 per cent. The ratio of civilian cars to the total number of vehicles increased from 32.19 per cent in 1954, to 58.81 per cent in 1974. National Statistic Service of Greece, Statistics of Transportation and Communication 1974 (Athens, 1976). 43. Γ. Καιροφύλας, Η Αθήνα στη δεκαετία του ‘70 (Αθήνα: Φιλιππότης, 2006). The role of the automobile as an emblematic technological product of the middle class is also illustrated by the constantly increasing number of car magazines in the period. See for example: Το νέο αυτοκίνητο, 1955–1970, To Βολάν, 1955–1968. 44. Segreto, Manera and Pohl, Economic History of Mass Tourism in the Mediterranean, 105–109. The case of Rimini is close to the Delphi case in terms of the tourist growth in the post-war period. 45. ‘History of European Cultural Center of Delphi’, Ministry of Culture and Sports, http://www.eccd.gr/en [accessed 15 April 2015]. The archaeological site of Delphi became renowned after its archaeological discovery in 1887 through the excavations conducted by the French Archaeological School of Athens. The revival of Delphic Festivals served as a motive for the local tourism development and the construction of tourism infrastructure such as accommodation and transportation. 46. ‘Αι πρώται μεταπολεμικαί προσπάθειαι’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, July–August 1947, 95–101; Βάσος Κωνσταντινόπουλος, ‘Ο εσωτερικός τουρισμός’, Ξενία, December 1957, 7–9. 47. ‘Υπόμνημα της Ελληνικής Κυβερνήσεως προς την προσωρινή επιτροπή επί της οικονομικής ανασυγκροτήσεως των κατεστραμμένων περιοχών’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, October–December 1947, 76–109. 48. ‘Νέα ξενοδοχεία’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1–15 June 1957, 32; ‘Νέο Φέρρυ – μποτ Ελλάδα –Ιταλία’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1 September 1957, 37. 49. ‘Το τουριστικό πρόγραμμα του 1961’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, September–December 1961, 122. 50. After the Second World War, Giannis Koutsocheras, a Greek politician and poet suggested to PEN International the establishment of an International Cultural Centre in Delphi. The construction of this centre (ECCD ) began in 1962 under the auspices of the European Council. It was finally established in 1977 according to the law 645/1977 of the Greek Parliament. 51. Μαρία Τουρή, Η ανάπτυξη και η προβολή του συνεδριακού τουρισμού: η περίπτωση των Δελφών (Αθήνα: Χαροκόπειο Πανεπιστήμιο, 2007). 52. ‘Ελληνικά Τεχνικά και οικονομικά νέα: Τα νέα τουριστικά έργα του 1960’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, January–February 1960, 46. 53. Α. Βλάμη (Διδακτορική διατριβή), Η Χρηματοδότηση και γεωγραφική ανάπτυξη του ελληικού τουρισμού: η περίπτωση της ελληνικής ξενοδοχίας 1950–2005 (Πάτρα: Πανεπιστήμιο Πατρών, 2008). 290. 54. Δήμος Δελφών, Οδηγός πόλης: Ιστορικά ξενοδοχεία (Δελφοί: Δήμος Δελφών, 2008). 55. The Servis Family had a small factory that produced electricity near to Delphi. The production increased from 40 KW h to 80 KW h in the period 1945–1958.

TECHNOLOGY FOR TRAVELLING PLEASURES AND EXPERIENCES

325

56. ‘Τουριστικά έργα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, April 1964, 47. 57. ‘Τουριστικά έργα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, July 1962, 81–82. 58. The public buses were founded by national laws 2119/1952 and 102/1973. 59. ‘Ελληνικά Τεχνικά και οικονομικά Νέα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, January–June 1946, 7–8. 60. ‘The Romantic Mediterranean, Sail on a Dream’, Cruise Travel Magazine, October 1987, 49. 61. ‘Η δημόσια συζήτηση για την Ιτέα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1976, 50–52. 62. ‘Σχετικά με το εργοστάσιο αλουμινίου’, Φωκίς, 1976, 1. In this article were published reports from the local community, collective of taxis and exporters that supported the construction of factories, but also reports from architects, scientists and artists who were against it. 63. Κ. Γκάρτζος, ‘Η πολιτιστική κληρονομιά της Φωκίδας σαν παράγοντας ανάπτυξης της περιοχής’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, August–September 1976, 62–66. 64. Επιτροπή περιβάλλοντος ΣΑΔΑΣ, ‘Οι βωξίτες Παρνασσού και η ανάγκη προστασίας του περιβάλλοντος’, Τεχνικά Χρονικάs, August 1975, 48–52. 65. ‘Ο Παρνασσός και η τουριστική ανάπτυξη’, Δασικά Χρονικά, 1976, 23–26. 66. Α. Γουργιώτης, ‘Ο ρόλος του τουρισμού στην ανάπτυξη του ορεινού χώρου. Το παράδειγμα της Αράχωβας’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, January–February 2008, 1–22. 67. ‘Ο Παρνασσός και η τουριστική ανάπτυξη’, Δασικά Χρονικά, 1976, 26–28. 68. Ζίδης, Πρακτικά των συνεδριάσεων της Βουλής των Ελλήνων, 70η Συνεδρίαση, 4 March 1955, 642–643, in Μ. Νικολακάκης, Ο τουρισμός και η ελληνική κοινωνία, 184. 69. Ι. Παπαχριστοδούλου, Ρόδος: Η σημερινή κατάσταση – Επιπτώσεις και προβλήματα εξαιτίας του τουρισμού, in ‘Τουρισμός και περιφερειακή ανάπτυξη’ ημερίδα του Τεχνικού Επιμελητηρίου Ελλάδας – Τμήμα Ανατολικής Κρήτης, Κρήτη: Conference 11–12 April 1981, 1. 70. Logothetis, apart from being a researcher, has also been the mayor of the Economic Chamber of Rhodes. Furthermore, his research has been published by the National Bank of Greece, an institution that had many hotels and tourist infrastructures as a property in Rhodes and other places. Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός στη Ρόδο, 24. 71. ‘Ελληνικά Τεχνικά και Οικονομικά Νέα’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1963, 50 and August 1962, 39. This article refers to an expansion of Rhodes airport which made it the second longest national airport. 72. Λογοθέτης, Τουριστικές Σπουδές, 43. 73. Even in the early 1960s many Greek households did not have a telephone connection. ‘Ελληνικά τεχνικά και οικονομικά νέα: Η κοινοτική τηλεφωνία’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, July 1964, 41. 74. ‘Ελληνικά τεχνικά και οικονομικά νέα: Η κοινοτική τηλεφωνία’, 17. 75. ‘Πενταετές πρόγραμμα ανάπτυξης Δωδεκανήσων’, Ξενία, April 1965. 76. Νικολακάκης, Τουρισμός και ελληνική κοινωνία, 518–519. 77. Σταύρου, Η ανάπτυξη του τουρισμού στην Ελλάδα την περίοδο 1969–82, 80.

326

HISTORY OF TECHNOLOGY

78. Νικολακάκης., Τουρισμός και ελληνική κοινωνία, 201; K. Andriotis, ‘Tourism in Crete: A Form of Modernization’, Current Issues in Tourism, 2003, 6 (1), 23–53: http://dx.doi. org/10.1080/1368350030866794 [accessed 3 January 2015]. 79. ‘Το τουριστικό πρόγραμμα του 1963’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1963, 222, 50. 80. ‘The Rehabilitation of Crete’, Τεχνικά Χρονικά, 1964, 243, 97. 81. ‘Το πρόγραμμα επενδύσεων του Ε.Ο.Τ δια το 1965’, Ξενία, February 1965, 11; Ξενία, February 1965 and April 1965, 21–23. 82. H. Briassoulis, ‘Crete: Endowed by Nature, Privileged by Geography, Threatened by Tourism?’, Journal of Sustainable Tourism, 2003, 11: 2–3, 97–115: http://dx.doi. org/10.1080/09669580308667198 [accessed 3 January 2015]. 83. Μ. Παπαγιαννάκη, Α. Μπαμιεδάκης και Στ. Καναβάκης, ‘Η εξέλιξη του τουρισμού στην Ανατολική Κρήτη’, in ‘Τουρισμός και περιφερειακή ανάπτυξη’ ημερίδα του Τεχνικού Επιμελητηρίου Ελλάδας – Τμήμα Ανατολικής Κρήτης, Κρήτη: Conference 11–12 April 1981, 3. 84. Σταύρου, Η ανάπτυξη του τουρισμού στην Ελλάδα την περίοδο 1969–82, 24. 85. Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου, 46. 86. Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου, 48. 87. Λογοθέτης, Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου, 49 88. Λογοθέτης. Ο τουρισμός της Ρόδου, 30. 89. O. Lofgren, On Holiday: A History of Vacation (California: University of California Press, 1999), 173. 90. Σταύρου, Η ανάπτυξη του τουρισμού στην Ελλάδα την περίοδο 1969–82, 24.

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Stathis Arapostathis Department of Philosophy and History of Science National and Kapodistrian University of Athens University Campus, Ilissia Athens 15771 Greece Email: [email protected]

Aspasia Kandaraki Department of Philosophy and History of Science National and Kapodistrian University of Athens University Campus, Ilissia Athens 15771 Greece Email: [email protected]

Evangelia Chatzikonstantinou Independent Scholar Chatzikonstanti 33 Str 11524 Athens Greece Email: [email protected]

Christos Karampatsos Department of Philosophy and History of Science National and Kapodistrian University of Athens University Campus, Ilissia Athens 15771 Greece Email: [email protected]

Apostolos Delis Institute for Mediterranean Studies/ Foundation for Research and Technology – Hellas Melissinou & Nikiforou Foka 130 P.O. Box 119 Rethymno 74100, Crete Greece Email: [email protected] Yannis Garyfallos Department of Philosophy and History of Science National and Kapodistrian University of Athens University Campus, Ilissia Athens 15771 Greece Email: [email protected]

Serkan Karas Department of Philosophy and History of Science National and Kapodistrian University of Athens University Campus, Ilissia Athens 15771 Greece Email: [email protected] Theodore Lekkas Independent Scholar Lampaki 40 11145 Athens Greece Email: [email protected]

327

328

Eirini Mergoupi-Savaidou Hellenic Open University Greece Email: [email protected] Alexia Sofia Papazafeiropoulou Department of Humanities, Social Sciences and Law National Technical University of Athens Athens 15780 Greece Email: [email protected] Dionysis Paraskevopoulos Department of Philosophy and History of Science National and Kapodistrian University of Athens University Campus, Ilissia Athens 15771 Greece Email: [email protected] Antonia Pavli The Swedish Institute for Disability Research School of Health Sciences Örebro University 70182, Örebro Sweden Email: [email protected] Areti Sakellaridou Research Center Indian Ocean-RIO German University of Technology in Oman-GU tech P.O. Box 1816, Athaibah, PC 130 Muscat Sultanate of Oman Email: [email protected]

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Aristotle Tympas Department of Philosophy and History of Science National and Kapodistrian University of Athens University Campus, Ilissia Athens 15771 Greece Email: [email protected] Spyros Tzokas Institute for Mediterranean Studies/ Foundation for Research and Technology – Hellas P.O. Box 119 Rethymno 74100, Crete Greece Email: [email protected] Konstantinos Vattes Department of Philosophy and History of Science National and Kapodistrian University of Athens University Campus, Ilissia Athens 15771 Greece Email: [email protected] Katerina Vlantoni Department of Philosophy and History of Science National and Kapodistrian University of Athens University Campus, Ilissia Athens 15771 Greece Email: [email protected]

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Katerina Zacharopoulou Department of Philosophy and History of Science National and Kapodistrian University of Athens University Campus, Ilissia Athens 15771 Greece Email: [email protected]

329

Dimitrios Ziakkas Independent Scholar Ithakis 22 Pallini 15351 Greece Email: [email protected]

330