Acknowledgements – Βασίλης Καπετανγιάννης

SOCIO-POLITICAL CONFLICTS

AND

MILITARY INTERVENTION

The case of Greece: 1950-1967

BASIL KAPETANYANNIS

Thesis submitted for the Degree of Ph.D Birkbeck College, University of London

1986

ABSTRACT

The thesis attempts to account for the social and political conditions which precipitated the military coup d’etat in 1967 in Greece.

Part I focuses on the Hellenic Armed Forces as a power centre in the Greek political system erected on the ruins of the civil war (1946 – 1949 ). The roots of the Army’s political role are traced back to the circumstances which gave rise to the civil war and the country’s dependence on foreign powers. The nature of the Greek military’s dependence on foreign powers is also brought into perspective. A particular chapter is devoted to the discussion of the sources of the Army’s economic and social power as well as describing the socio-political and professional portrait of the Greek officer coprs and their politics.

Part ΊΙ deals with the complex relationships between the principal state institutions, the Monarchy, Parliament and the Armed Forces. Their individual strengths and weaknesses, and conflicts between them, are analysed in conjunction with the various pressures and influences exerted upon them from within and without.

Part III studies the impact of a certain model of capitalist development on the socio-political changes which occurred in Greece in the post civil-war era (1950-1967). The form of state and the resultant political divisions, and their relationship to the social and political movements of the period are also examined in some detail. The conditions of the regime’s stability and change are linked to the country’s ‘political institutions by applying, the concepts of political mobilisation, political participation, political integration and institutionalisation.

Part IV examines the crisis of the post civil-war state in Greece and attempts to cast light on the important political changes in the period 1963-1967 and on the relationship of a deepening and all embracing political crisis to the actual staging of the military coup d’etat of 1967. A necessary chronological account of events is combined with an examination of actual political practices, policies, conduct and tactics applied by the main protagonistic political forces.

Finally, a concluding chapter focuses specifically on various theoretical approaches and interpretations of the role of the Hellenic Armed Forces in Greek politics over the period concerned and their ultimate intervention.The substantive conclusions of the thesis are placed into the context of a theoretical discussion which attempts to account for the post-war rise of military and authoritatian regimes in peripheral and semiperipheral capitalist societies.

In memory of my father and the victims

of the Greek Civil War of both camps

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Preface

PART I – The Greek Armed Forces: Dependence and Power

CHAPTER ONE : The Hellenic Armed Forces: A Political Instrument for 1

Foreign Intervention.

A.- The British Legacy 1

B.- The American Succession 6

CHAPTER TWO : The Hellenic Armed Forces: The Structure of Dependence 11

A.- Mechanisms of Military Dependencies 11

1.- Financial Dependence 11

2.- Technological Dependence 16

3.- Training 21

4.- US Military Missions 22

5.- The NATO Entanglement 25

B.- The ‘Foreign Factor’ in Greek Politics: An Overview 31

C.- Uncontrolled Factors 35

CHAPTER THREE: The Hellenic Armed Forces: Domestic Sources of Power ^J 37

A.- Economic Sources 37

B.- Discussion 45

C.- Social Sources 56

1.- The ‘Elimination’ of Illiteracy 58

2.- Construction and other Facilities 59

3.- Conscription and Social Mobility 60

4.- Socialisation 61

CHAPTER FOUR The Greek Officer Corps : A Socio-political Portrait

1.- Professionalism

2.- Social Recruitment

3.- Military Ideologies

A.- Political Ideologies

B.- Social Ideologies

C.- Occupational Ideologies

D.- Operational Ideologies

E.- The Ideological Apparatuses

F.- Evaluating Military Ideologies

CHAPTER FIVE The Politics of the Greek Military

1.- The Electoral Process

2.- Political ‘Episodes’

3.- Control of Internal Security

4.- The Military Juntas

PART II – Monarchy and Parliament

CHAPTER SIX : The Monarchy

1.- The Foreign Connection

2.- Royal Populism

3.- The Military Arm

4.- The Parliamentary Arm

5.- Conclusions >

CHAPTER SEVEN: The Parliament

1.- The Party System

2.- Parliamentary Politics

3.- Socio-Political Considerations

4.- Conclusions

PART III – Socio-Economic Transformation and Politics 172

CHAPTER EIGHT: Socio-Political Implications of Capitalist Development 173

1.- Introduction 173

2.- Movements of People 174

A.- Internal Migration and Urbanisation 174

B.- Emigration 184

CHAPTER NINE: Politics in an Urban Setting: The Workers’ Movement 187

A.- Introductory Observations 187

B.- Loosening of Political Controls 187

C.- Mass Mobilisation 189

D.-Trade-Union Movement 190

1.- Strike Action 190

2.- The Shock Troops of Labour 192

3.- Physiognomy and Effectiveness of Strike Action 194

4.- The Role of the State 195

5.- The Role of the Political Parties 197

6.- Conclusions 198

CHAPTER TEN: The Agrarian Movement 200

CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Students’ Movement 212

A.- Historical Background 212

B.- The Peak Period 214

C.- An Evaluation 218

CHAPTER TWELVE: Youth and Peace Movements 223

A.- The Youth Movement 223

B.- The Peace Movement 226

VII

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

:Electoral Mobilisation and Political Camp’aigning 229

: The Urbanisation of Politics: An Overview 235

1.- Background Influences 235

2.- Political Implications 2Ί2

3.- Mass Media 245

4.- Conclusions oa«

PART IV – State and Power Crisis : The

: The

A.-

B.-

: The 1.- 2.-

3.-

4.-

5.-

: Theoretical Remarks and Conclusions 313

1.- Political Modernisation and Military Intervention 313

2.- Problems in Marxist Approaches 319

3.- A Brief Survey of the Literature on the 1967 325

Military Coup in Greece

4.- Methodological Considerations 331

5.- General Conclusions 340

Epilogue 346

‘Security State’ ·-‘

Challenge: 1963-65 258

A New Era

The Crux of the Matter 265

Political Crisis: 1965-67 272

The Setting 272

The Opposite Camps 282

Instability and Protest 290

Stalemate 296

Compromises 299

The Last Days

VIII

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

ASO = Antifascist Military Organisation

ASPIDA = SHIELD = Officers Save Fatherland, Ideals, Democracy, Independence

ATE = Agricultural Bank of Greece

CPER = Centre of Planning and Economic Research

DESPA = Governing Committee of Athens University Unions

EASDO = National Republican Military Liberation Organisation

EDA = United Democratic Left

EDIN = Hellenic Democratic Youth

EENA = National Union of Young Officers

EFEE = National Students’ Union of Greece

EID = National Ethnical Instruction

EK = Centre Union

EKOF = National Social Students’ Organisation

ELAS = National People’s Liberation Army

ENA = Union of Young Officers

ERE = National Radical Union

EREN = National Radical Union of Youth

FEA = Guardian of Liberty and Independence

EIDIK = Liberal Democratic Centre

EMS Foreign Military Sales

FO = Foreign Office

FY = Fiscal Year

GAR = Greater Athens Region

GDP = Gross Domestic Product

GNP = Gross National Product

GRSR = Greek Review of Social Research

GSEE = General Confederation of Greek Workers

HAF = Hellenic Armed Forces

IDEA = Sacred Bond of Greek Officers

IISS = International Institute for Strategic Studies

JHD = Journal of the Hellenic Diaspora

KKE = Communist Party of Greece

KYP = Central Intelligence Service

LDY = Lambrakis Democratic Youth

MAP = Military Assistance Programme

NLR = New Left Review

NLRB = New Left Review Books

NSSG = National Statistical Service of Greece

ONEK = Federation of Centre Union Youth Organisations

PASEGES = Panhellenic Confederation of Agricultural Cooperatives

R AND D = Research and Development

SAN = Bond of Young Officers

SIPRI = Stockholm International Peace Research Institute

SM = Students’ Movement

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This thesis has taken a long time to be completed due to circumstances beyond my control. The research began shortly after the fall of the Greek junta in 1974, with memories cf the tragic experiences many people and friends had witnessed during the seven years’ dictatorship (1967-74) still fresh.

I am grateful to Professor Bernard Crick for the trust and confidence he showed to me and for his constant encouragement to carry on over the years. His writing*which I followed very closely, have been for me a constant source of intellectual stimulus.

I would also like to express my gratitude and more general indebtedness to Nikos Mouzelis for the intellectual and friendly support he has given me over these years. Most of my theoretical ideas, developed in this thesis, were shaped -under his influence.

I also profited a great deal from the discussions and debates in the Society for the Study of Greek Problems in London (ELEMEP).

Many other people with whom I have had occasional discussions on various theoretical problems and political issues, have also helped me to formulate better my ideas on a number of important aspects of modern Greek society and polity.

Finally I must express my thanks to Tim Salmon for his invaluable editorial help and to Mrs Sylvana Laycock for typing the manuscript which I do not wish to remember what it was like.

LONDON, March 1986

LIST OF TABLES

TABLE 1 : US Military Grant Aid to Forward Defence Areas 12

TABLE 2 : US Military and Economic Aid to Greece jg

TABLE 3 : Greece: Military Aid and Military Expenditure ^4

TABLE 4 : US MAP and MAP deliveries/expenditures 15

TABLE 5 : Greece: Value of Arms Imports, 1961-1971 γγ

TABLE 6 : Major Arms Suppliers to Greece: 1961-1971 17

TABLE 7 : Military R and D expenditures 18

TABLE 8 : Greece: Military R and D Expenditure as a share of GNP, 18

Total Military Expenditure and Total Government R and D Expenditure 1962

TABLE 9 : Greek Military Personnel trained under MAP 22

TABLE IO : US Military Representation to Greece 23

TABLE 11 : US Military-related strength in Greece (1972) 24

TABLE 12 : Greece: Rate of Growth in Governmental Expenditures 38

TABLE 13 : Greece: Defence Expenditure gg

TABLE 14 : Defence Expenditure as a % of GNP and GDP 41

TABLE 15 : Greece: Military Manpower 44

TABLE 16 : Greece: Distribution of illiteracy according to age-groups 59

TABLE 17 : HAF: Ratios of Career Personnel gg

TABLE 18 : Greece: Urban Economically Active Population 178

TABLE 19 : Greece: Distribution of internal Migrants to Economic Sectors 179

1961

TABLE 20 : Greece: Number of Establishments, Employment, Value Added 379

A’

and Value Added per Capita in Manufacturing 1959 and 1969

/·,’

TABLE 21 : Greece: Number of Strikes, Strikes and Lost Working Hours 191

(1952-1967)

TABLE	22	: Greece: Economically Active	Population and Wage Earners	192
TABLE	23	: Greece : Building		382
TABLE	24	: Greece: Uses of Buildings		382
TABLE	25	: Greece: Comparative Housing	Censuses 1961-1971	383
TABLE	26	: Greece: Economically Active	Agricultural Population	202

Επεί δέ σκοποϋμεν έκ τίνων αι τε στάσεις γίγνονται καί αι μεταβολαί περί τάς πολιτείας, ληπτέον καθόλου πρώτον τάς άρχάς καί τάς αιτίας αύτών. Είσί δή σχεδόν ως είπείν τρείς τόν άριθμόν, ας διοριστέον καθ’αύτάς τύπφ πρώτον.

Δει γάρ λαβειν πως τε έχοντες στασιάζουσι καί τίνων ένεκεν καί τρίτον τίνες άρχαί γίνονται των πολιτικών ταραχών καί των πρός άλλήλους στάσεων”.

‘Αριστοτέλης, Πολιτικά, Βιβλίο V, κεφ. 2

“When we are considering whence arise revolutions (Staseis) and changes affecting the Constitution (Politeia), we must begin with the fundamental causes. These fall into three groups, and we must classify them accordingly: first, the conditions that lead to sta9eis, second, the objects aimed at, and thirdly all the various origins of political unrest and of violent cleavages among the citizens”

Aristotle,”Tne Politics,” Book V, Chapter 2

Preface

The role of the military in politics has attracted a great deal of scholarly attention in the past two decades or so. This is not surprising given the spread of militarism, not only in its traditional homeland,

Latin America, but also in the newly – emerging nations of the post-colonial era.

What strikes the reader most about these voluminous academic endeavours to come to grips with the phenomenon is an inherent ambivalence of attitude towards military intervention and military regimes. Given academics’ long-standing habit of portraying themselves as neutral observers, free of the taint of political bias, this is understandable enough. Yet, irrespective of their wishes and pretensions, their political attitudes and theories are used to justify or denounce political systems and forms of government.

Today, pressure for a negotiated reduction in the nuclear armouries of the two superpowers has shed some light on the influence of the military establishments of the two blocs. On the other hand, it has diverted attention from the plight of countries still under brutal military rule or chronically vulnerable to military intervention.

In the light of what has happened in Iran and Poland a few years ago we clearly need to inquire more closely into the^ causes of militaryintervention in politics by focusing on the crucial parameters. But this requires a more thorough theoretical approach and a more open-minded attitude towards the different political systems that exist in different countries. In the broader context of international relations this would mean trying to decipher the relationships between the two power blocs witn their respective client-satellite states and spheres of influence.

Such an undertaking however, lies beyond the scope of this thesis.

My subject will be one small state, Greece, in the period 1950-1967 in other words, after the end of the Greek civil war of 1946-1949. Historians have become obsessed with the question of the validity of writing and reading the history of the recent past because of what they see as the lack of written evidence and documentation. However, the aim of socio-political analysis and investigation is not to narrate past events or rediscover the past through painstaking archive research. It is rather to uncover the workings of the political systems of the societies concerned and try to give an account of the conditions which determine their stability or change.

The problem -and I have no desire to belittle the importance of historical research – is how to interpret political developments in as much a serious, principled and theoretically consistent and systematic way as possible. It is, of course, easier said than done. For one thing, the ‘state of the art’ in the social sciences does not encourage confidence in the nature of the knowledge produced nor indeed in the efficacy of the analytical tools available. In addition, there are the mental blocks of an established tradition to overcome.

I have in mind particularly the literary diet of the Greek public and its acquired habits of mind. a long intellectual tradition, no doubt deeply rooted in the historical experiences of the people, has made

Greek public opinion very susceptible to facile, oversimplified and frankly manipulative political explanations. These habits of mind persist and continue to be exploited at every possible opportunity.

That is why, even among the educated classes, narrative journalistic accounts of political events, conspiracy theories, and crudely simplistic explanations continue to enjoy great currency. Even the small Greek academic community, intent as it is on status, social recognition and especially political favour, tends to ignore serious attempts at reinterpreting the recent past.

Given this situation, it is not surprising that, despite an abundance of literature about the political developments of recent times in Greece, there is very little serious analysis to be found. A few notable exceptions, like to works of N. Mouzelis, K. Tsoukalas, G. Dertilis, Th. Veremis, to name just the most fruitful interpretative and systematic enterprises, do not alter a picture imbued by perceptions which have nothing to do with a consistent approach to the state of Greece’s society and polity in the post-war era.

So the Greek social and political landscape over that period remains largely uncharted. The aim of this study is to inquire into the nature and structure of the state and politics of Greece’s society focusing on the crucial role of the military in Greek politics during the post-civil war era and their eventual intervention in 1967. The military coup d’etat of 1967 and the irise of a military authoritarian regime has constituted a landmark in Greece’s post war history. It is important to understand how the military dictatorship came about and what conditions brought about the collapse of parliamentary institutions. That is why developments in both society and polity are studied in their interrelationships and why the military’s institutional and political position is given a prominent place in the analysis.

What made Greece – a country which in sharp contrast to other peripheral and semi-peripheral capitalist societies had witnessed long periods of parliamentary rule – so vulnerable to military intervention constitutes the major question this study is trying to answer. Since both political stability and change depend on certain fundamental conditions, structural and conjunctural analyses must be combined in order to explain long term trends and final outcomes. These must be sought primarily within the politico-military sphere.

The thesis attempts at seeking explanations in the structural setting of political institutions and the distinct political crisis in which converging socio-political conflicts culminate. It is necessary therefore, to focus on the Linkages between socio-economic developments and the politico-military spheres. Whether the analysis ultimately avoids the pitfalls of various crude economic and sociological reductionisms (Marxist or other alike), it is of course a matter of discussion.

However, it is intended to argue strongly that the crisis which led to the establishment of the military dictatorship in 1967 was primarily political.

In placing such an emphasis on the political level one can hardly ignore inquiring into the state of the conceptual’ tools available for its study. The problem is discussed in the concluding chapter.

In trying to account for the 1967 military intervention the focus is of course the military themselves, their sources of foreign and domestic power, their position vis-a-vis other political institutions and their role in the political process. If a holistic approach is adopted, that is an approach which gives serious consideration to the overall context in which ‘factors’ are operating, then it is possible to assess and weigh the main contributing variables to a specific political outcome. Otherwise the whole operation of correlating context-less variables becomes a futile exercise with no means of selecting from the shopping list of ‘factors’ those which really matter.

The relevance of examining the basic political contradictions and conflicts in their historical evolution lies exactly not only in the establishment of links between relevant factors but also in the assessment of their importance.

The thesis I am trying to develop here is that the establishment of a military authoritarian regime in Greece has a strong structural basis and is linked with certain long-term developments which refer to socio-economic changes but above all to the political contradictions and struggles over the period under consideration. I can hardly refrain from stressing once more the prime importance of the political level in explaining specific political outcomes in a non-reductionist way. Since political actors are involved here together with their strategies and tactics, it is perhaps legitimate to argue that there was nothing inevitable in this outcome.

Part I focuses on the Hellenic Armed Forces themselves as a power centre in the Greek political system. From this point of view the roots of their political role are briefly traced back to the circumstances which gave rise to the civil war and the country’s dependence on foreign powers. Then the nature of the Greek military’s dependence on foreign powers is brought into perspective·

Part II discusses the sources of the army’s economic and social power. The social political and professional portrait of the Greek officer corps then constitutes the next point of discussion. The politics of the Greek military is given particular attention in order to clarify and demonstrate the powerful position of the institution in the domestic political context.

Part III deals with the relationships between the principal and most powerful state institutions, the Monarchy, Parliament and the Armed Forces. Their individual strengths, Weaknesses and conflicts are analysed in conjunction with the various pressures and influences exerted upon them from within and without.

Part IV sets out to study the impacts of a certain model of capitalist development on the socio-political changes which occurred in Greece in the years following the civil war with particular attention paid to the wave of urbanisation that hit the country and its implications for the political changes that occurred. The form of state and political domination erected upon the ruins left behind by the civil war and the resultant political divisions are given a prominent place amongst the factors that made a change of government and political relations the burning issue of the day. With this in mind, the relationship between the state and the social and political movements of the period (the Workers’ movement, the Agrarian movement, the Students’ movement, etc.) as well as political mobilisation in general are closely examined and discussed. A concluding chapter recapitulates the arguments advanced in terms of the country’s political institutions and the regime’s stability and change.

In this respect an attempt is made throughout Part V to operationalise the concepts of political mobilisation, political participation, political integration and political institutionalisation on the Greek sociopolitical terrain under conditions of very rapid economic and social change.

Part V brings into attention the importance of styding the nature of post civil war state and the conditions which threw it into deep and unresolved crisis in the crucial few years before the military coup of 1967. Then the political significance of governmental change between 1963 and 1965 is briefly discussed as a prelude to the ensuing political crisis of 1965-1967 which is presented in all its main components and particularities. The long-term determinant factors at work within the matrix of political crisis and the relative positions of strength and weakness of the main opposing socio-political forces in a state of acute conflict are evaluated in order to extract the main indicators of outcomes. In this context the position and role of the military is considered, and related to the actual staging of the military coup

d’etat of 1967. A necessary chronological account of events is combined with an examination of actual political practices, policies, conduct and tactics applied by the main protagonistic political forces.

Finally, a concluding chapter recapitulates the arguments advanced in this thesis, reviews critically the literature relevant to the Greek case and tries to raise some issues in the context of the theoretical discussions pertaining to the nature of state and politics in societies similar to Greece and their susceptibility to military intervention and military authoritarian rule.

In the real world of politics we are often witnessing the recurrence of events we would never Ijave dreamt possible after past experience.

This is sufficient reason for making no apology or concession to public opinion and not giving in to ephemeral political expediencies.

LONDON 1986

PART I

THE GREEK ARMED FORCES

DEPENDENCE &POWER

CHAPTER ONE

The Hellenic Armed Forces: A Political Instrument for Foreign

Intervention

A.- The British Legacy

A despatch from Sir. R. Leeper, the British Ambassador in Athens, on February 21, 1946, reaffirmed the purpose of the British Military Mission in Greece as being to assist the creation of a Greek army which should be (a) efficient and (b) non-political.¹

It is not necessary to delve deeper into British intentions. What matters, in the last analysis, is that it has been proved absolu¬tely impossible to reorganise the Hellenic Armed Forces (HAF) along non-political lines. The need to fight and defeat a powerful Communist and Resistance movement dictated the policies adopted and pursued vis-a-vis the HAF. The idea of a ‘non-political’ army, even if something of a mirage, certainly provided splendid cover for a determined effort to smash the .Left.

As the political climate inside Greece deteriorated and the slide towards open civil war gathered momentum, the choices open to the British became even harder, particularly after the restoration of the Monarchy (1946). The demarcation line between the communist and anti-communist camps had already been clearly drawn. The signs of open confrontation were too obvious to be concealed by diplomatic rhetoric.

The British had put themselves in the awkward position not only of having to ensure fundamental economic conditions for the survival of the new social and political order they had managed to impose in the period 1944-45, but also of having to provide day-by-day support for a fragile and tottering government. Furthermore, they had to provide some teeth for a state totally lacking in coercive power. They were consequently faced with the task of helping the Greek State mobilise its limited repressive resources while at the same time trying to reinforce and enhance them by founding a new army, adequately equipped and motivated to fight Communism with the utmost determination. Under the circumstances the British had no choice but to act on the proverbial assumption that ‘whoever is not with me is against me’. Ideological loyalties and political commitments to ‘Western ideals’ counted for little and were quietly ignored. Simply, they could not deliver the goods.

The task of creating a new ‘reliable’ Greek army was given urgent and top priority. Since officers obviously cannot be formed overnight, numbers had to be made up from the material already available. It is no accident, therefore, that royalist, fascist, collaborationist and other officers of right-wing inclinations and obscure political back-ground were considered much more reliable than the traditionally anti- Communist republicans⁴

It is an indisputable fact that the purpose of the British presence in Greece was to safeguard what the British considered to be their strategic and political interests.”’ There had certainly been an ‘understanding’ about Greece with the Russians well before the spheres of influence were finally arranged in the notorious ’percentage agreement’ at Yalta.

But priorities were, at first, to maintain their military presence in Greece in order to deter aggression in view of Greece’s northern neighbours in pursuit of territorial claims and to maintain their bargaining position vis-a-vis, the Russians, although there was no real threat of direct Russian attack on Greece. This is not to say, however, that Bulgarian and Yugoslav designs on Greek Macedonia and Thrace were not a direct threat to the country’s territorial integrity 9 and sovereignty.

Secondly, the British worked to ensure internal political stability”*-0 in Greece – a goal that was unattainable without adequate financing and the restoration of a safe economic environment. Lastly, they aimed to build up an efficient military machine whose basic function would be to guarantee internal security and combat subversion.

In order to ensure the maintenance of la^r and order and the effective administration of jaid funds, the British themselves took control of certain essential ministerial function and tightened their grip of the 12 HAF. The government of the day took steps to institutionalize the informal powers of the British Military Mission.^ In consequence, a complex network of relationships developed between them and the HAF.

However, with its power on the wane in the aftermath of World War II, Great Britain could hardly afford the astronomical costs of its ambitious undertaking. Strategic and political interests collided with unsurmountable financial constraints. There was not only the prohibitive cost of maintaining the British troops stationed in Greece but also the need to provide for the reconstruction of an economy in ruins, and the maintenance and equipment of the existing HAF, not to mention the urgent need for new army, airforce and naval units with enhanced combat capabilities. A really Herculean task.

So, at that stage, the size and role of the HAF was conditioned by two interrelated factors:-

a.- the need to meet the challenge of a powerful and popular left-wing movement, which would have to be destroyed in order to eliminate the imminent threat of armed communist rebellion, and

b.- the financial resources required to maintain the desired level of military effectiveness without provoking economic collapse or taking prematurely adventurous ‘security risks’.

The British>however, overconscious of their broader ‘responsibilities’ and well aware of their strengths and weaknesses, could not fail to see how unrealistic it would be for them to stay on for a long time. The withdrawal of troops from Greece in the ver^ near future had to be envisaged, the sooner the better from their point of view. There was indeed a great deal of anxiety about how soon they should pull out, what conditions should be fulfilled before their departure and what sort of arrangements should be made in order to preserve their privileged positions. They started therefore, to prepare the ground for their inevitable departure by giving notice of their inability to foot the bill16 , arid making it plain that they were ready to hand over their ‘responsibilities’ to the USA.

On the eve of the promulgation of the Truman Doctrine the signs of coming civil war were too clear to be ignored, as were the total inability of the state institutions and the armed forces to stand on their own feet and meet this challenge. It is characteristic of this situation

that when the British Ambassador in Athens was instructed to inform the Greek government that British support would be discontinued after March 31, 1947, he decided not to carry out his instructions and suggested to the officials of the Foreign Office that the matter should be given further consideration. According to his assessment American aid could not be made available before June. Financial panic, economic collapse, the breakdown of security, governmental crisis and probably wholesale political disaster would follow if news leaked out about British withdrawal.

It is widely accepted that the chief aim of the then British Foreign Secretary was to bind the United States as closely as possible to the 18 defence of Europe and that his moves were forced upon him by the 19 worsening economic crisis in early 1947. However, despite the gravity of the situation the British government decided to pay the r 20 interim costs until the Americans had finally made up their minds.

Thus, the British domination of Greek politics, almost uninterrupted since the Greek War of Independence in the 1820’s, come closer to an end. A turning point in modern Greek history had been reached with results that were to profoundly affect political developments in Greece over the following decades.

B.- The American Succession

The Americans inherited from the British the rudiments of a repressive Greek state apparatus totally dependent on foreign resources. Compared with the British, American military, political and economic involvement was on such a large scale that it penetrated the Greek political system in depth. Their mission was of course facilitated by the corrupt domestic politicians and ruling elites to such a degree that many liberals abroad could hardly refrain from voicing their 22 contempt and disgust.

The Greek ruling classes were not in a position to win the civil war by relying on domestic resources. They were therefore quite willing to identify themselves with the new foreign protector and accept assigned 23 roles whatever the cost.

With the proclamation of the Truman Doctrine on March 12, 1947, the United States, which so far had remained aloof from Greek affairs, assumed full responsibility, pledging to maintain an1 independent Greece to Western Europe,’ Every major political^and military issue had to be decided or approved by US specialised agencies. Top priority was given to the elimination of the Left, the smashing of the communist armed rebellion without delay, vacillation or compromise. The two main traditional and antagonistic bourgeois political parties, the republican Liberals and the royalist Populists, who had dominated the pre-war political scene, were summoned to form a ‘big coalition’ in order to appease liberal opinion abroad and to present a united front of solidarity against the Communist menace. American missions and

agencies with numerous advisers and supervisors to administer aid programmes were attached to key government departments. The holding of elections, the conduct of foreign policy in its most crucial aspects, economic decisions and, above all, military affairs were placed firmly in US hands. Unlike the British, the Americans did not like working ‘behind the scenes’ Diplomatic courtesies were alien to them; they were blatant and brutally explicit in their demands, their orders and the pursuit of their objectives. Their influence soon became a recognised and accepted institution, a permanent feature of Greek politics in the decade to come. As one writer has put it, ‘the reduction or termination of aid and the refusal of loans to correct disequilibria provided leverage for pressure on the rar.e occasions of 2 Greek obstinacy.’ Declassified official State Department documents leave no grounds for doubting US determination to support the Greek government by any means available, if necessary by direct military 27 intervention. Naturally,the key to eliminating the communist guerillas was the rapid development of effective armed forces. By the end of 1948 government forces had been strengthened to a well equipped and trained army of 200,000 men. Military units were systematically purged at all levels of suspected Communists sympathisers or fellow travellers to use the political jargon of the times. A system of national conscription exempted from military service all those who were suspected of not having a nationalist attitude. Tens of thousands of conscripts and citizens who failed to satisfy the condition of 1national-mindness’ were herded into notorious concentration camps to undergo national ‘re-education’ courses enforced by the systematic use of torture and other ‘persuasive’ means.

This massive build-up of the state military machine inevitably changed the balance of forces in a very dramatic way. The ‘Democratic Army’ of Communist guerillas, heavily outnumbered and outgunned, fatally engaged in conventional warfare tactics and politically isolated, was in the end cornered in North-West Greece on the borders of Albania and Yugoslavia. The final blow was but a matter of time. By autumn 1949 the civil war was over. The power communist movement which had grown out of the Resistance against the German occupation had suffered a devastating military and political defeat from which it has never managed to recover. ‘Nationalism’ had triumphed over Communism.

As a matter of fact neither side could have possible won the civil war without outside help and support. A win of Communism would inevitably and mathematically lead to the establishment of a ‘people’s democracy’, a satellite regime of the Soviet Union. The actual win of Rationalism meant a severe curtailment of national interests and a heavy dependence on foreign powers.

It lies outside the scope of this thesis^ to discuss at any length28 the military history of the civil war or Apolitical developments in 29 that turbulent period . What however, can safely and clearly be concluded is that without massive US economic and military aid the Greek government would have collapsed. Greece was the first major battlefield in which the ‘containment’ of communism was successfully ^ tested.

The American choice in Greece was no less hard than the British one. It was dictated by US strategic objectives and their newly assumed role as the guardian of Western security interests. As a State Department official has put in an oddly colourful phrase ‘it was not a choice between black (the Communists) and white (the Nationalists) but between black and a rather dirty grey.,30

Nevertheless, both Britain and America, whatever good intentions they might have had, readily embraced the reactionary Right,and by so doing accomplished only what another American writer commenting on the above colour scheme has characterised as the ‘hardening of the31 real black and darkening of the long-promising grey.’

Examined in the light of the circumstances prevailing at the time the political control of the Greek armed forces and their employment as a predominantly political instrument by foreign powers and their domestic allies seems to acquire a certain inevitability. The particularities of the British connection in the early 1940s, the issues at stake, the uncompromising nature of Greece’s domestic political conflicts made British involvement easier and predictable. Developments in the international field, the carving up of spheres of influence and the emerging divisions of the cold war aggravated the conditions under which domestic issues were to be fought out.

The Greek Left failed to anticipate the coming storm or to opt for compromise and committed fatal mistakes. The price paid was heavy indeed. The Greek Right, on the other hand, managed to emerge powerful but too subservient to foreign interests – to which after all, it owed its survival and ascendancy. The hopes and aspirations of the overwhelming majority of the Greek people, raised during the period of the Resistance to Nazi occupation, were totally dashed.

Above all, the Greek armed forces emerged from the political ruins of the civil war victorious and powerful, a supreme state institution supported by foreign powers. The ground had been prepared for them to assume a political role unprecedented in the long but troubled history of Greece’s parliamentary government.

CHAPTER TWO

The Hellenic Armed Forces : The Structure of Dependence

A.- Mechanisms of Military Dependencies

It was during the civil war period that strong and exceptional ties were forged between Greek military forces and various US military agencies. Military operations were directed and co-ordinated by a joint Greek-American general staff; there were numerous American agencies whose personnel was deployed down to the divisional level to supervise, co-ordinate and cater for the needs of the Greek military. Even promotional policies were made by the US military mission.

It is impossible to unravel the complexity of relationships between Greece and her new protector power without first identifying the concrete mechanisms through which the Greek military was made so dependent on US tutelage. In so doing it is necessary to provide the main aspects of this dependent relationship.

I.- Financial dependence

Greece figures ambng the five recipient countries for which US military grant aid was valued at more than half the military expenditure from indigenous resources. Between 1950-67 grant aid represented around 57% of the national military expenditure (Table I).

TABLE I

US Military grant aid to forward defence areas’

Country	Military expenditure 1950-67		Military grant aid 1950-67		Grant aid as per cent of military expenditure
South Korea		3,319.8	2,699.6	80.4
Taiwan		2,787.1	2,932.4	105.2
Thailand		1,147.6	654.2	57.0
Turkey		4,585.0	2,847.0	62.1
GREECE		2,961.0	1,689.5	57.0

Source: SIPRI 1969-70, p.282

a= The supplying countries include USA, UK and the German Federal Republic

US military assistance to Greece had been continuous from 1945 to 1967. Estimates as to the total amount of US military and economic aid vary considerably in some instances, although the general pattern is quite visible, (Tables 2, 3 and 4).

TABLE 2

US Military and Economic Aid to Greece (in million $ )

Year	Economic	Military
1946-48	–	198.4
1949-52	706.7	323.5
1953-57	188.0	433.7
1958	27.7	143.7
1959	20.7	89.2
1960	56.6	116.7
1961	20.4	42.8
1962	46.4	34.9
1963	48.7	92. 7
1964	24.8	83.1
1965	27.1	104.0
1966	7	78. 7
1967	1.7	44.0
TOTAL	1,169.5	1,785.4

Source: Th. Couloumbis, Greece: A political review, in Hearings before the

Sub Committee on EurOpa of the Committee on Foreign Affairs, House of Representatives, Washington 1971, p.481.

Note: Another source estimates that US Aid to Greece in the period 1947-1966 ‘

amounted to US$ 3,749m. (economic US$ 1,895.1 and military US$ 1,854.3) of which grants represented US$ 3,410.9m and loans US$ 338.4m

*(J.P.C.Carey and A.G.Carey -The Web of Modern Greek Politics, Columbia

Prfiss. N.Y. 1968).

TABLE 3

Greece: Military Aid and Military Expenditurea

Year	MA	ME
1950	104.1	115
1951	104.1	137
1952	100.3	132
1953	96.3	126
1954	96.6	135
1955	96.6	138
1956	96.6	178
1957	124.9	157
1958	125.1	155
1959	113.0	161
1960	93.2	170
1961	54.9	165
1962	71.1	168
1963	85.9	172
1964	103.6	179
1965	101.4	193
1966	69.6	210
1967	51.9	270

Source: SIPRI, 1969-70 Handbook, pp 286-287

Note; a= in US$ million, at 1960 prices and I960 exchange rates.

TABLE 4

US MAP and MAP deliveries/expenditures (in thousands $)

Year	MAP (programmed)	MAP deliveries/expenditures
1950-64	1,322,700	1,228,132
1965	–	–
1966	75,388	78,735
1967	67,532	43,978
TOTAL	1,465,620	1,350,845

Needless to say these figures are incomplete and presented in such gross terms that they may well hide enormous disparities and essential side effects. I have tried to present them in such a way as to make them as comparable as possible without enquiring into their raw conditions, the method of their extraction or their initial compilation.

It is not at all clear however, how US economic aid was spent by successive Greek governments. Taking into consideration a variety of sources , it seems that many funds allocated to Greece under the Marshall Plan were2 used for military purposes. In addition, military criteria were prevalent in planning and carrying out infrastrjuctural works (roads, railways, bridges, etc.), at least in the early 1950s^.

This is not to say that economic assistance was negligible. On the contrary, economic assistance programmes played a central role during the reconstruction period of the 195o’s. 4

US military assistance was constantly diminishing and over the years dwindled to insignificant proportions in relation to defence expenditures financed by domestic resources (see Table 3). The US State Department had made clear to the Greek government as early as 1964 their intention to reduce military aid. Aid would be replaced by direct arms sales and loans for purchasing hardware under various financial schemes’*. Massive US military aid helps to explain the maintenance of a huge Greek military apparatus that otherwise could not have been supported by domestic resources. An artificial edifice was erected on foreign financial legs. The nature of the post civil- war political order made it impossible for any government to curb the military’s appetite for more resources.

The subsequently acquired degree of autonomy in financing the Greek military forces by domestic resources also partly explains why the US embargo^ on heavy arms imposed by the Congress for a short period of time after the military coup in 1967 could not have the same effects as that imposed on Turkey after the invasion of Cyprus in 1974.

Decreasing US military aid, however, did not correspond to a lessening of military dependence as might otherwise have been the case, because of other related factors. That is another way of saying that US military assistance cannot be taken out of the^ broader political context.

2.- Technological dependence It is quite obvious that in the Greek case technological dependence was closely related to US military aid. The US has been the major supplier of arms to the HAF (see Tables 5 and 6 below).

TABLE 5

Greece: Value of Arms Imports, 1961-71 (in thousands $)

Year	Value
1961	35
1962	51
1963	37
1964	66
1965	67
1966	51
1967	67
1968	57
1969	139
1970	155
1971	269
TOTAL	994

TABLE 6

Major Arms Suppliers to Greece : 1961 – 1971

USA	FRANCE (value in	CANADA millions $)	FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF GERMANY	OTHERS	TOTAL
905	17	13	51	8	994

Source: International Defence Business, vol 6, issue 511, Oct.14/1974,pp24

The state of the Greek economy left no possibility either for rapid modernisation of the HAF based on domestic resources or diversi¬fication of arms procurement sources. Besides, no serious effort was made to develop a skeleton defence industry even for the most sjodest accomplishments, or allocating some resources to military R and D (Tables 7 and 8 below). But this is hardly surprising given the dependent character and the specific pattern of Greece’s capitalist development.

TABLE 7

Average annual

Current

expenditure

Average annual expenditure at R and D exchange rates

1967-70

1962

–

0.5

1.2

	TABLE 8
Greece: Military R and D expenditure as a share of GNP, total military expenditure and total government R and D expenditure 1962
Military R.^and D expenditure as a share of
Military R and D expenditure	Total military GNP expenditure %	Total Total military government expenditure R and D expenditure
0.5	170.1 0.01	0.3 6.9

^ US$ m., at current prices and official exchange rates.

Source: SIPRI, 1972

Technological dependence on imported weapon systems from a single major supplier is not necessarily harmful to the recipient country at least in peacetime conditions, in spite of the restricted terms that are usually attached to their use and disposal. But in terms of acute external crises, armed conflicts or unrestrained and protracted hostile activities involving the use of arms, the recipient country is always exposed to the good will of her supplier for replacements, 7 thus extremely vulnerable to its patron’s pressures .

Its room for manoeuvre is limited and its leverage, if any, or any other sort of retaliation can only be exercised post festum.

It is a truism that military technology reflects the economic organisation of a society and its industrial structure. Transfers of military technology under various forms (e.g. licensed production of arms, etc.) raises many complicated questions, not least those related to new forms of dependency. In the absence of any such organic relationship between the US and Greece during the period under review there is no need to go into these problems.

It is much more instructive to emphasise that technological factors do not operate in a political vacuum. Weapon systems are made operational only within a set of common strategic and tactical concepts; in other words, supplied types of arms and accompanied by ‘ideas’ shaped by their designed operational use.

The procurement of weapon systems provided a back-up to a whole range of political and military activities; it is connected with concepts of military power and identification of the enemy.

Furthermore, military technologies affect military organisational structures turning armies into more specialised and bureaucratised organisations, thereby making them more dependent on managerial skills.

But it serves no useful purpose to overstretch the concept of technological dependence, as some Greek American writers have done in respect of the Greek military in order to account for the letter’s interventionist propensity. On this premise it has been argued that US military aid patterns reinforced the phenomenon of ‘professionalism’ through which ‘managerialism’ invaded the minds of the Greek officer corps. But in order to pursue the argument still further, it must be made clear that the claim falls flat even on pure empirical grounds in the Greek case.

The US ‘modernising influence’ on the Greek military and the letter’s ‘multifactional and expanded role’ can hardly be sustained. It is rather a mirage. For example, the first armoured divisions consisting of M-47 battle tanks were formed in the early 1960s, whereas the first

squadrons of F-104 G Starfighters of the Greek Air Force were put into9 service in 1964-65. Certainly, no one could call this equipment modem! American officials had repeatedly deplored and lamented the fact that the HAF were several generations of weapons behind and suffering from obsole¬scence in their hardware.^0 It is difficult to believe that the Greek officers had turned managers overnight.

It must be restated here that there is n©1 firm ground for arguing that new technologies generate, automatically so to speak, new attitudes and practices towards politics. Neither can it be argued in the Greek case that the military enjoyed any comparative technological advantage vis-a-vis the civilian sector. Nor is there any evidence to suggest that conditions of procurement of defence equipment could possibly open the way to civilian technological advance or spearhead industrialism.

What, however, can arguably be considered is the case of ‘new professionalism’ as an ideology. In this case, what really matters is not so much managerial skills connected with sophisticated equipment as a ‘corporate spirit’ of destiny pursued by the military in order to correct the wrongs of the country by assuming the reins of power.

In this sense perception and ideology overule any technical considerations from the point of view of military interventionism.

3.- Training

Training of national military personnel by the supplier of armaments was an indispensable comcomitant of technological dependence. Through Military Aid Programme the US was able to train thousands of Greek officers and NCO’s in various fields of specialisation ranging from handling radars to psychological warfare. Considering that the total number of Greek officer corps approximated 11,000 to 12,000 men training figures are really very impressive, (see Table 9)..

TABLE 9

Greek military personnel trained under MAP

FY	Numbers
1950-66	11,805
1967	525
Total	12,330

Source: Foreign Military Sales and Military Assistance, Congressional Presentation, Dec. 1976 and FY 1977

Note : The above total figure comprises both students trained in USA and in overseas US installations. For example, for FY 1950-1975 of the total 14,144 trainees, 11,980 were classified as belonging to the first category and 2,164 to the second.

Source: FNS and Military Assistance, Nov. 1975

Training was seen by US officials as a good low-cost investment.^

Training is never limited to acquisition of technical skills; it is always placed in the wider context of a process by means of which ‘professional capabilities’ are fully shaped. From this point of view the shaping of attitudes towards ‘National security’, broad political issues, the conceptualisation and perception of the ‘enemy’ and the type of war to be fought should be considered as being of paramount importance.

4.- US Military Missions

US military missions in Greece, having got their foot in the door during the civil war, have played an important and decisive role in actualising and forging the special relationship between the military establishment of the two countries.

With Greece’s accession to NATO the US Military Mission’s role was reinforced under the new commonly accepted military and security plans.

The Mission’s basic functions can be described as administering US military assistance to Greece, promoting the military competence of HAF, assisting the government in developing the military strength and posture needed to resist ‘communist aggression’ and contributing to area ‘collective security’ – to use the phrasing of US officials. Additional major responsibilities concerned the monitoring of bilateral military agreements, contacts with major headquarters elements working together to ‘define and solve’ their problems, and logistic support. It is not therefore, surprising that the US military ‘representation’ in Greece has been stustantial throughout the whole period under consideration (Tables 10 and 11).

TABLE 10

US Military representation in Greece

Year

Number of men

1965

1966

1967

4,200

3.500

Source: SIPRI 1972

TABLE 11

US Mil-related strength in Greece (1972)

Major units	Mil	Civilian	Dependants	Total
JUSMAGG	60	9	171	240
USATTU	11	0	27	38
7206 Spt.Gp.	485	16	885	1,386
558thUSA Arty.Gp.	340	0	198	538
2140 thComm.Sqdn.	495	10	531	1,036
USNAVCOMMSTA	339	22	368	729
6931st Sec.Gp.	698	2	943	1,643
Other units	624	53	749	1,426
Total	3,052	112	3,872	7,036

Source: Statement of Colonel Austin AYOTTE in Hearings 1972. Other sources estimate that the total number of US military personnel in Greece is much higher, around 6,000 for 1976. (P.Bakoyannis, TO VIMA, 14-3-76).

Nearly 108 technical agreements, protocols and secret appendices regulated the status of US military installations and personnel in Greece, (e.g.- the agreement of 5-3-1952, the concession of military bases 12-10-53, the agreement about the legal status of US military forces in Greece 7-9-56) under which the American Embassy or US military authorities in Greece could make requests to the Greek authorities for waivers and relinquishments of jurisdiction in cases of offences committed by US military personnel.

Military bases and other ‘facilities’ were granted to the USA within the framework of NATO agreements but, in fact, except for NATO’s missile firing installation on the island of Crete, no other US military installation was directly related with NATO defence posture. Harbour, naval and airport facilities and amphibious training areas for the US 6th Fleet were some of the most pronounced aspects of the US military grip It is undoubtedly true that the terms of all these labyrinthine agreements protocols, etc., severely circumscribed the country’s national sovereignty if not reduced it to semi-colonial status in many respects . It is not

not at all accidental that it took nearly 30 years for a Greek government to feel strong enough to ask for a re-negotiation of the bases agreements.^

US Military Missions in Greece supported by a vast network of communication and military installations, Intelligence Agencies and other covert and over units have been major institutionalised channels of American military and political influence. Statements by US officials like ‘Greece assists us in meeting our strategic objectives’ or ‘our influence with the Greeks in military matters is great and they respect our judgement’, or even ‘the force goals that they (the Greeks) have now are mutually developed between them and US, to quote some kindly worded appreciative expressions, were simply stating the obvious-

5.- The NATO entanglement

Greece’s rationale for joining NATO can easily be inferred from what has been already said about her external dependence. It was wrongly assumed, however, that alliances are based exclusively on mutuality of interests. As evidenced from subsequent developments, Greece had to compromise its national aspirations and interests in order to comply with NATO’s perception of ‘allied common interest’.

The HAF were wholly integrated into NATO’s military structure and Greek military policy and defence posture became part of the overall NATO planning. The composition of the HAF was based on concepts established by NATO commands. Nearly all army divisions were NATO assigned and earmarked.14

The first priority of the Hellenic Navy, for instance, was to resupply and defend troops near the Greek Northern frontier in order to repel any ‘attack from the north’. The only combat command of the Hellenic Air Force, the 28th Tactical Air Force, the backbone of the Force, was directly under the operational control of the 6th Allied Tactical Air Force in the NATO organisation with headquarters in Izmir (Turkey).

It is not an exaggeration to say that Greece’s accession to NATO marked the emergence of a set of interconnected relationships which accentuated rather than attenuated or dimished the dependent features of the HAF.

(1) Technological dependence became potentially even more acute due not

only to new weapon technologies developed abroad but also to inevitable pressures for ‘standardisation’1^. Any available room for manoeuvre in this field was further restricted. The HAF were deprived of their potential ability to choose weapons more suitable to a nationally defined, determined and oriented defence posture.

(2) The HAF were trained to wage a type of warfare and to meet a threat on definitions provided and developed by NATO headquarters. Consequently, strategic and tactical concepts were formulated around NATO definitions and objectives. Military theory had also to be imported. Given the lack of any coherent national strategic doctrine and indigenous theoretical production, the absence of any original contribution to the country’s defence problem is hardly surprising.

(3) Submission of HAF to NATO’s command structures and requirements inevitably imposed immense limitations on the ability of any national leadership to deploy and control the national armed forces without severely disrupting NATO’s plans on a multiple of levels.

(4) Ideologically, the Greek military were already well prepared to accept and internalise NATO’s ‘ideals’ and to broaden their loyalties to embrace wider political considerations. After all, they were in the frontline of an anti-communist campaign, champions of that relent¬less crusading era of cold war. NATOism and Atlantism became their ideological raison d’etre. Nationalism was equated with uncompromi¬sing anti-communism leading to an absurd identification of ‘external’

and ‘internal’ enemies and thus helped the formation of an obsessional17 alarmism about national security.

This blindness led both to a total misreading of US foreign policies and to an obvious failure to anticipate and assess correctly Greece’s friends and enemies. In terms of domestic politics it made the Greek army, ipso jure, a guardian agency vigilant against any suspected political move away from established loyalties to the Western world.

and ‘internal’ enemies and thus helped the formation of an obsessional 17 alarmism about national security.

(5) Greece together with Turkey acceded to the Treaty on 18th February 1952. It was the logical consequence of the Truman Doctrine. The great strategic significance of the area had made it imperative for NATO to keep both countries as close as possible. Joint military

manoeuvres with NATO participation were regularly held in order to reinforce and consolidate the links between the two countries and to demonstrate the spirit of cooperation prevailing over their traditional rivalries and disputes. They were also designed to display the

political readiness of NATO to assist and defend the area in times of crisis and aggression and at the same time to alleviate any fear 18 that might possibly have been aroused by the Treaty’s vagueness about NATO’s commitment resolutely to assist its members.

The defence of Eastern Macedonia, Western Thrace and the two classic gateways from the North were considered to be the danger spots for Greece sanctioning the stationing of the bulk of HAF, while the Aegean Sea was vital for warding off promptly any attempt to outflank the South-eastern region and endanger the security of the whole Mediterra¬nean basin. On the other hand, neither secret defence plans nor joint military manoeuvres can provide a safe guide as to what extent NATO had been prepared to commit itself to the defence of the area since everything in these matters depends on political decisions. Thus the question of NATO’s military assistance to Greece in regard to any materialised threat ‘from the North’ cannot be answered satisfactorily despite the evidently prevailing belief of the Greek military and political leadership alike, that the West could never let Greece down. Also it is not known whether the change of US military strategy from ‘massive retaliation’ to the so-called ‘flexible response’ which was finalised and adopted by NATO in the early 1960s implicated any consideration to trade Greek territory for time and leave the ‘periphery’ exposed to acceptable dangers.

There is also no evidence of any demonstrable anxiety within the ranks of the Greek military about changes in US and NATO strategic assumptions about the defence of NATO’s most sensitive flank. On the contrary it seems that the Greek military had unequivocably assumed that national interests would always have to be identical with those of the US and NATO, by definition. Even worse, there is no ground for assuming that they had ever indicated a willingness to put what they conceived of as national interests above NATO considerations. Greece was not asked by NATO to send any of its forces beyond its own frontiers on the account of the greater need for ‘internal security’- another indication of the importance attached to the Greek armed forces as the guardians of the established post civil-war political and social order. The primary responsibility19 of the HAF has remained the maintenance^of ‘internal security ; operational assignment for defence against outside enemies has been a secondary aspect of HAF’s role in the Alliance.

In addition, NATO’s mechanism of political consultation and non- military cooperation set up in 1956 has made Greece even more vulnerable to external pressures, since the very nature of these obligations implied the submission of inter-state disputes to NATO’s arbitration and solida¬rity. As things turned out Greece has never managed to protect either her national interests effectively by relying exclusively on NATO nor her domestic parliamentary institutions. In relation to the former she found that Turkey was more important to US and NATO interests. In relation to the latter good intentions declared in the Preamble of the Treaty about the determination of member-states to safeguard its freedom and democracy, not only did not prevent Greece from falling under military rule but also proved a dead letter. Regardless of the realities of international politics in the post-war era which made Greece look for security and protection to the West, membership of NATO has been strained by the stance of the Alliance towards the legitimate national aspirations over Cyprus. Greece being in a weaker position than Turkey, has been forced to compromise these aspirations trapped on the horns of a dilemma between swallowing her pride or going to war with Turkey.

In this sense the national question of Cyprus has always been a time- bomb in relations between Greece and NATO. Irrespective of the availability of credible alternatives for national defence and security, membership of NATO has been detrimental tto a certain degree to the

country’s national interests and to the safeguarding of domestic 21 political institutions.

Finally, the dominance of military considerations over others pursued by foreign powers and the overriding importance of safeguarding their strategic interests in the area required supporting policies for a type of political stability and order in which the Greek military constituted the most crucial component.

Speculations about an alleged US and NATO tendency to put short-term military and strategic considerations ahead of long-term political interests in the form of a stable democratic and reformist regime in Greece are taken too far and are at best a posteriori rationalisations. For their fail to account for the complex interrelatonships and inter-connections between domestic and foreign interests, despite their contradictions and occasionally open conflicts. There is an obvious underestimation of how these interests are intertwined as well as of the real capabilities of both strong and weak governments to enlist the support of their patrons and protectors.

B.- The 1 Foreign Factors’ in Greek politics: An Overview

Given the predominance of the military components in the overall structure of dependence , it is not difficult to understand the powerful position of HAF in the institutional the political domestic setting. It was due to the military’s reliance on foreign resources and its capacity to solicit the support of foreign powers. Consequently, the military’s capabilities to formulate political claims, was enhanced by basing them on a broader cluster of internationally linked interests. There is nothing contradictory in the mutually reinforced symbiotic relationship between the relatively dominant and autonomous power position of the HAF ^in the domestic political system and their external dependence. On the contrary, it is exactly the political function of this primary dependence that made the Greek state relatively autonomous from domestic interests 22 organised on a more or less class lines.

The dominant position of the army in domestic political institutions combined with its power derived from the foreign connection, made it an all-powerful instrument for intervention in politics. This new autonomous role of the Greek military marked a new era in domestic politics compared either with the situation prevailing in the inter-war period, which were dramatised by successive military putsches, or with preceding historical 23 periods. For these reasons the military component of dependence has been the most stable and persistent in the overall structure and the least susceptible to pressures for change.

It is ironic, of course, that the recognised dominant political role of the Greek military indispensable in securing the safe and stable political conditions of a rapid expansion of capitalist economic development in the 50’s and 60’s, was to be undermined and challenged by the social and political forces which emerged out of that very process. However, as we shall see in due course, the Greek military, even deprived of domestic political allies in the pursuit of their own political goals, have been successful in meeting the challenge. Being quite incapable of responding constructively to a peaceful evolution of the Greek political system, the Greek military has sought to capitalise on theii- foreign resources in order to maintain their dominant position.

Military dependencies have been instrumental to the persistance of outlets and gateways of foreign intervention in Greek domestic affairs. However, the activation and mobilisation of specific channels and agencies for influencing particular situations depends on the requirements of the moment dictated by the fluctuations of the domestic political scene. Assymetries in the exercise of foreign influences can be found and correlated to specific conjunctures. Some coneepts like penetration, intervention, involvement, interference and influence are but descriptive tools of analysis distinguishing between degrees of foreign leverage, since the ‘target1 is always ‘the political authority structure’ of the country concerned. They point to the usefulness of differentiating between the politically important foreign activities aimed at the target country.

Along these lines, certain students of Greek affairs have tried to periodise the pattern of foreign interference in Greek politics since the country’s independent statehood. ^ For the period under consideration they have noted that Greece ‘fell solely into the British sphere of influence and – with the Truman doctrine – into the United States’ orbit. It follows therefore, that the period 1944-1958 represents the time of the greatest and most sustained penetration and interference since Greek independence .25 They are, of course, right in depicting the above period as one in which Greece experienced the highest level of foreign dependence in her modern political history. But they also argue that 195>8 marked a new era in Greece’s opportunities to ‘balance off’ external influences. However, their criterion is exclusively external to Greece’s domestic political developments since it is solely based on transformations in the structure and functions of the international system: the development of détente and of polycentric trends in the two politico-military blocks dominating the international system. The conclusion to be drawn from their analysis is that the greater number of powers competing for influence over Greece, the better, thanks to the diminishing chances of over interference in a balance of power system.

There are several reasons for arguing that this periodisation based on a single external criterion is one-sided and of limited importance, if not misleading. Dependencies inevitably do set limits to foreign policy options and orientations which can be widened only by long-term planning and systematic building up of domestic resources and politico-military strengths. The ability to group and exploit given opportunities created by external environments is a property of careful planning, available resources, active will and skilful diplomacy. Lacking these conditions daring moves quickly degenerate into dangerous adventurism which costs dearly. The limi¬tations of national sovereignty and independence in real, not legalistic terms, are quite often not realised. Small countries can hardly influence decise- vely the international scene no matter how invaluable their contribution might be. Dependence on foreign powers place issues of foreign policy at the centre of domestic political debates and choices. They produce a cluster of reactions which tend to overemphasise and overestimate the power small countries can generate. Hence, the erroneous belief that dependencies constitute always the exclusive crucial parameter of domestic political developments.

Despite the availability of channels and power centres of foreign influence, it is always necessary to weigh and measure the ‘foreign factor’ against specific political conjunctures in the context of the overall deployment of domestic antagonistic political forces. That is why the ‘foreign factor’ cannot be treated as an independent variable but must be 4 incorporated in the existing, at any political crucial moment, correlation of domestic political alignment. Short of direct foreign intervention (e.g. by military invasion and/or occupation, etc), concrete instances of direct or indirect foreign interference are usually difficult to document.

However, given the availability of systematic outlets and opportunities such instances can be assumed or logically deduced despite the scanty real evidence. In short, regardless of the difficulties in conceptualising the role of the ‘foreign factor’ in domestic politics and the perceptions and/or 26 reactions at the receiving end , it is important to identify and distinguish the sourcesof power of domestic political forces that can decisively affect the course of political processes. To dispel conspiratorial interpretations of politics and discredit deterministic accounts of outcomes, we need to demarcate as clearly as possible the boundaries between the constraining factors and the realm of possible choices.

C.- uncontrolled Factors

But there are also external incident or deliberate actions by other states which do not seem to bear any obvious and direct relation to mechanisms of military dependencies as described above or to any other organic links between states. They do however have a direct or indirect impact on domestic political issues and antagonisms,since occurences of this kind are specificall designed to influence a concrete political situation in a certain area or country; they are responses to situations in which vital interests of the power using the instruments of its international leverage are directly or indirectly involved or deemed in any possible conceivable way to be at stake. Such occurrences are made possible by the very weakness of the country or

countries concerned to prevent, control or even effectively confront them, and constitute quite eloquent manifestations of the indirect effects of dependencies, above all of their politico-military aspect, in the field of international conflicts. The military and strategic character of these manifestations is indisputable and can be attributed, albeit not exclusively, to the very existence of military dependencies.

A study conducted by the Brooking Institution , for instance, and dealing with the political use of military power by the two superpowers in the Mediterranean, registers an impressive number of incidents in the Aegean area (Greece-Turkey-Cyprus) which attracted US attention and led to the use of armed forces as a political instrument. What is most interesting in this

study is that ‘political use’ of armed forces is defined in terms of ‘deliberate attempts by the national authorities to influence, or to be prepared to influence, specific behaviour of individuals in another nation without engaging in a continuing contest of violence’. ^8 Incidents of this kind in the Aegean area represented 23.5% of the total number of instances in the Mediterranean basin. It is significant that the US was a primary actor in the pertinent events or relationships leading up to the mobilisation and introduction of US armed forces. ^9 It is not at all accidental that incidents involving the ‘political use of the US armed forces’

in the area and listed caref’Ully by the forementioned study corresponded 30 to and coincided with the crucial moments in Greek politics .

CHAPTER THREE

The Hellenic Armed Forces: Domestic Sources of Power

The military’s tight grip on domestic resources was nowhere more apparent than in the fact that state budgets over that period had to deal with increasing defence spending at the expense of badly needed social expenditure.

A.- Economic Sources

Disregarding the difficulties in defining clearly the boundaries of military spending the following points can be made:

1.- The growth of military expenditure in real terms has been steady throughout:the average per cent growth in the period 1950-70 has been 6.2% in constant prices while for the period 1960-70 it stood at a level of 10.8% and 8.5% in current and constant prices respectively.^ This rate of growth must be contrasted with the annual average rate of inflation which stood

2 at 2.1% for the period 1961-70 , and, to the total rate of growth of governmental expenditure (see Table 12) , which was significantly lower.

TABLE 12

Greece: Rate of growth in governmental expenditures (in yearly per cent increments).


	Political ministries	Defence	Police/ other	Total
1961	7.9	3.9	2.6	4.8
1962	26.2	11.2	.1	21.0
1963	39.7	11.1	29.9	29 . 3
1964	17.1	24.3	7.3	17.4
1965
1966	18.3	35.9	7.9	20.1
1967	21.2	38.3	22.1	23.9

Source: “Post War II – Greece – A political review” by Theodore Couloumbis, in Hearings -1971, p. 481.

2.- Defence spending was around 36 to 40% of the total national

expenditure up to I960 (see Table 13). However, according to some estimates ^ the picture is very deceptive; taking into account the overall budget allocation for the various ‘security branches’ of the state, defence spending could possibly amount to approxi- mately 50% of the total ordinary expenditure of the budget for the fiscal year I960 (or between 41-44% of the total budget allocations if war pensions are excluded). According to the same estimates defence spending absorbed 43% of public revenue from domestic sources.

TABLE 13

Greece: Defence expenditure (in local currency – mn. dramchae)

Year	A	B	C National • expenditure-	D Defence expenditure as a percent of national expenditure
1949	1_T630	–	–	–
1950	1,971	–	–	–
1951	2,515	–	–	–
1952	2,655	–	–	–
1953	2,767	–	–	–
1954	3,428	3,391	–	–
1955	3,688	3,370	–	36.70 ) _a ) 40.50 ) ) 38.00 ) ) 36.10 ) )
1956	4,939	4,671	–
1957	4,477	4,705	–
1958	4,469	5,147	–
1959	4,735	5,290	–
1960	5,110	6,229	–	–
1961	5,034	–	21,760	23.13
1962	5,102	–	24,133	21.14
1963	5,385	–	25,386	21.21
1964	5,647	–	29,825	18.93
1965	6,290	.. –	33,923	18.54
1966	7,168	–	39,039	18.36
1967	9,390	–	45,630	20.57

B = Data from Bank of Greece: “The Greek Economy in 1958”.

C = International Defence Business, Defence Survey, NATO Defence Expenditures FY 1949-73, no. 419, Jan, 1974 . a = as in B

‘Note : Data were taken from 3 sources:A)NATO,Facts and Figures,Brussels, .January 1976, b)SIPRI and c) Military Balance, IISS

Compared to the overall pattern of public expenditure the aforementioned rates of spending assume a more stunning significance: for instance, public spending for Education amounted to no more than 7 to 8%, whereas Health and Welfare sectors received around 7% and 9% respectively, rates amongst the lowest in Europe.

The compound military expenditure for the period 1953-60 equalled the total programmed public investments for the period 1960-65.

It must be noted that from 1953 onwards public investments fluctuated between 3.9% and 4.3% of GNP.

Military expenditure as a per cent of GNP (See Table 14) has been among the highest in NATO. Any comparison with other member- countries is overwhelmingly unfavourable to Greece, given the latter’s very low per capita income, especially in the 1950s, its highly unequal distribution of national income and the exceptionally high level of indirect taxation constantly at around 8o % of tax revenue.

If the usages to which US economic and military aid was put in

the period 1944-64 are taken into consideration , it is not difficult to discern the degree to which military spending was eating into the country’s mean resources. As a matter of fact, total US aid during the above period equalled Greece’s GNP for 1963. However, despite the diminishing importance of US military assistance (from 40% of total military^expenditure in the period 1954-55 down to around 19% in I960), or because of it, military expenditure as a percentage of GNP remained at extremely high level

TABLE 14

Greece : Defence Expenditure as a % of GNP and GDP

	Gb	ΓΡ	GE	)P
	A	B	C	D
1949	6.4	–	–	–
1950	6.6	–	6.9	–
1951	6.9	–	–	–
1952	7.o	. –	–	6.5
1953	5.6	6.1	–	5.2
1954	6.0	–		5.5
1955	5.6	–	5.2	5.2
1956	6.4	–	–	6.0
1957	5.4	–	–	5.1
1958	5.3	5.8	–	4.8
1959	5.3	^: –	–	4.9
1960	5.4	–	4.3	4.9
1961	4.7	–	–	4.3
1962	4.5	5.0	–	4.1
1963	4.3	5.8	–	3.9
1964	4.0	4.3	–	3.7
1965	4.0	4.3	3.6	3.6
1966	4.1	4.4	–	3.7
1967	5.0	4.5	–	4.5

Note: A Column- Source: NATO, Facts and Figures, Brussels, Jan 1976

B.Column- Source: The Military Balance, IISS. Estimations

based on local currency. Defence expenditure based on NATO definition.

Latest figures are assumed to be more accurate. However, it is not clear to me why in some cases there is a considerable gap between column A and column B.

C Column- Source: House of Commons, Library Research Division, Background Paper no.62, Table 8, p.16

D Column- Source: SIPRI, 1975-76

We should perhaps mention a secondary but all important aspect of the military’s relation to the economy, namely its relation to the labour market.

Given the high rates of unemployment and underemployment in the 1950s it is reasonable to assume that the system of compulsory military service eased the situation by absorbing a substantial part of the age-groups entering the labour market, defusing at the same time a potentially explosive situation. For instance, an annual call-up of around 55,000 conscripts was more than enough to absorb an average of 37,700 youngsters annually entering the labour market in the 1957-61 period, though the full exteht of youth unemployment is not known. This function of military service could but have been a short term and temporary solution to a mounting problem in the 1950s. It is also reasonable to assume that the reconstructed professional structures of the new army in their lower and higher technical grades offered some opportunities of careers not available at that time in the civil sectors thanks to the fact that the ‘ceiling¹· of the forces was kept high.

Nonetheless, developments in the labour market during the late 1950s and early 1960s, have altered the stiuation: the great emigration wave during that period, the departure of skilled labour and the 5 ” brain drain must have contributed to putting the military machine in a comparatively disadvantageous position in its assumed competition with the civilian sectors for skilled personnel. Changes in the labour market especially under conditions of rising expectations enlarged opportunities of employment in the cities and abroad, and enhanced social mobility should have made the military service a burdensome obligation rather than a voluntary contribution to national defence .

On the other hand, the repressive political role of the HAP, the maltreatment of left-wingers during active military service, the ‘special camps’- set up to deal with the ‘re-education and

reform of unrepentant communists’, in general the image of the military as a bastion of anti-communism combined with the absolute prevalence of political criteria in selecting conscript NCO’s and junior officers made military career a less than attractive profession for the ambitious and politically awake youth., if not totally unacceptable. Political reasons are perhaps more relative than other conditions (e.g. low pay, harsh living conditions, etc), in explaining the serious shortages of NCOs and technicians that US military advisers often listed amongst the critical weaknesses of HAF.^ Perhaps the most striking feature of the HAF in regard to the country’s human resources has been the enormous control exercised over the available manpower (See Table 15). No other state institution could match the military in this respect and no such high proportion of a country’s population under direct or indirect military control is encountered in any other member-state7 of NATO whose average was less than half of Greece’s own. Given the absolute subordination of para-military forces to the command of regular army officers, the percentage of men of military age rises to the,, astounding figure of 12%, excluding the Police and other security forces.

TABLE 15

Greece: Military Manpower (in thousands)

Year	Armed Forces				Estimated trained reservist	Paramilitary forces a	Estimated total men of military age (18-45)	Percentage of regular armed forces to men of military age	Population
	Army	Navy	Air Force	Total	Estimated trained reservist	Paramilitary forces a	Estimated total men of military age (18-45)	Percentage of regular armed forces to men of military age	d
1960	120.0	16.4	21.5	157.9	–	–	–		8,327
1962	120.0	17 0	22.0	161.0	–	–	–	6.24^b	8,448
1964	120.0	19.0	23.0	162.0	–	. –	–	5.8 ^b	8,510
1965	119.0	17.5	23.5	160.0			–	6.0 ^C	8,550
1967	118.0	17.0	23.0	158.0	175.0	73.0			8,716
1968	118.0	20.0	23.0	161.0	200.0	73.0	1,850.0	8.7	8,741

Source : Military Balance I960 – 1968, IISS

a = Gendarmerie and National Guard

b = As percentage of male labour force ^v ’

c = As percentage of male population between 15 and 64

d = United Nations and OECD statistics

B.- Discussion

The importance of discussing military spending in the context of post civil-war Greek society is both economic and political.

The economic aspect is related to the enormous consumption!st element of the defence budget. In the absence of any defence industrial basis – a necessary concomitant of the country’s weak industrial structure – military spending has had a negligible impact, if any, on the country’s drive to industrialisation. Neither foreign aid nor domestic defence spending indicate any pattern of orientation towards R and D projects or capital investments.

More than a decade after the civil-war military spending still determined the character of public expenditures.

The HAF have not played any significant role in the sphere of production. No organic or substantially important linkages can be found between military spending and the industrial sectors. The nearly absolute consumptionist character of the defence budget, therefore, renders irrelevant any portrayal of the military as the provider of stimulus or ‘modernising avenue’ to the civilian sectors.

The political aspect of military spending is perhaps more crucial in the context of our analysis.

a.- the high levels of defence spending can be explained only by political parameters. A victorious and solidly anti-communist army could ‘convincingly’ argue its ca§e by pointing to the persistence of the ‘red peril¹ and to its role as the guardian of national integrity and interest in the contest for the allocation of national resources. An additional claim could be made in the name of NATOist commitments in the fact of the perceived common enemy. Needless to say, these claims were bound to fall on the receptive ears of right-wing administrations whose ideological perception and political interests did not greatly differ from the military’s own postulates.

b.- Given the decreasing contribution of foreign military aid the stabilisation of defence spending in terms of GNP could only be realised with the tacit consent of the military since further claims on the few public resources could have seriously jeopardised the social balance and stricter political controls could have proved counter-productive.

c.- Defence spending was rarely debated in Parliament. Given the international and national political climate of those times, it is not at all surprising that the issue was one of the best protected ‘sacred cows’. Only the Left voiced some objections from time to time but its inclination to think in terms of financing every conceivable social expenditure out of cuts in defence spending was not only ill founded but also made it vulnerable to the oversensitive reactions of the military, pushing for its further political isolation. With the coming of G. Papandreou’s Centre Union Party to power in 1963-64 the issue became both a bone of open contention and a right-wing political weapon. There is sufficient evidence about the military’s infuriation in view of the proposals tabled by the new reformist government to effect defence cuts of a minimal scale. Speeches in Parliament by well-known mouthpieces and spokesmen of the military establishment made it absolutely clear that the government’s motives were considered nationally suspect and therefore any cuts voted by the confortable majority enjoyed at that time by G. Papandreou could not be tolerated.

Attacks by the military establishment and their civilian counterparts against the government on this issue were of course part and parcel of a wider campaign to portray a basically Centrist government as anti-military, therefore, pro-communist. However, there is no evidence to suggest that any readjustment of military priorities or even the actually applied minimal cuts either in terms of GNP or as a percentage of national expenditure, affected in any serious way the effectiveness of the HAF. Despite the general pattern of military spending there is not reason to assume that the relationship between the military and right-wing governments of the day was one of mere unconditional surrender or outright subordination to the wishes of the top brass. On the contrary, there is every reason to assume that the authoritative leadership of P.M. Karamanlis never conceded to excessive military budget requests and was never uncritical of the scale of Greece’s support for NATO, as conventional and oversimplified critics have often implied. There were , of course, limits beyond which these governments could not and did not wish to go.

If we were to widen the discussion on the issue we should probably pose a series of broader political questions:

a.- To what extent did the field of defence spending and processes of defence budgeting constitute a preferential locus for the organisation of the professional military element as ^an interest group and consequently as a pressure group within the existing institutional setting?

b.- What is the contribution of conflicts on defence spending to the formation and development of a professional-corporate consciousness and what are the implications for the military as an interest- articulating group, and

c.- What is the relationship between these conflicts, practices and interactions and the military’s capabilities to intervene in the political process in general and in our case to stage the 1967 coup?

These questions refer to the assumptions about the organisation of the military as a ‘distinct interest group’ or institutional ‘pressure group’.

The obvious linkages with military professionalism and the debate on its intrinsic propensities towards political interventionism or neutralism put the whole question in a broader theoretical perspective which I have tried to discuss in previous chapters. Here, the most significant areas of discussion are defence budgeting and military pay claims.

That defence budgeting does not occur in a political vacuum needs no special mention. Separate but overlapping processes of budgeting are often portrayed.as a ‘bureaucratic battlefield’ suitable for political lobbying and intra-governmental interest groups. However, it is wrong to assume that budgetary decisions are solely the resultant of bureaucratic in-fighting as if nothing else outside their sphere was influential. Especially in countries like Greece with a lower degree of institutionalised political and bureaucratic processes and less sophisticated mechanism of budgeting the structure of the budgeting process itself determines to a lesser extent what consideration weigh heaviestin defence decision-making.^ It is characteristic that Greece’s swollen and incompetent state bureaucracy possessed little political autonomy. Its political impotence and chaotic organisation make it more difficult for any thorough institutional analysis. There are no accounts of Greek defence budgetary machinery and the usual network of joint military and civilian offices located at the top of the defence hierarchy to enable us to pass accurate judgement on the formal institutional influence of the Greek Pentagon. However, the pattern of defence spending strongly indicates that the security aspect, ‘the external and internal red peril’ figures at the core of the factors determining priorities setting.

On the institutional level, therefore, it would be necessary to locate any permanent existence of a military nucleus interest-group generating a flow of pressures with some degree of regularity. On the other hand, the military should not be seen as a highly homogenous body in relation to budgetary claims. Intra-service factionalism was not an unknown phenomenon but its wider implications should be doubted. For this sort of conflict is usually related to the mechanisms by which strategic o.r defence dogma is decided congruent to a country’s defence problems. We have seen that Greece was not in a position to have her own defence dogma as she was totally integrated into NATO’s military structure. There is no evidence to believe that this kind of wrangling between various branches and services has ever assumed anything more than a decorative character, having mainly to do with matters of prestige rather than real issues. It should be added that the Greek Parliament’s review of the budget was limited by both structure and procedure. No white papers or estimates about defence expenditure had been ever produced and the practice of dispersing defence funds among several categories had made the task of thorough scrutiny rather hopeless. Neither did the political climate, as I have already noted, facilitate any serious debate on defence matters conducive to a better use of available resources without running the danger of being charged for ¹ treachery’.

Thus, the existence and identification of an objective institutional basis of common interests is one thing, the actual organisation and active promotion of these interests by political means is quite another. For the latter to be realised the existence of some form of cohesion, solidarity, formulation and pursuance of objectives, leadership and some form of organisation must be present.

It is inconceivable that a highly homogenous, uni-ideological and politically powerful military like the Greek one would or actually did refrain from exerting collective pressures on the budget, although this kind of political lobbying, open or disguised threats or even unconcealed blackmail usually goes unrecorded. It is reasonable to assume that these pressures were intensified in direct proportion to the diminished yields of the foreign military aid cow. It is again unthinkable that the highly influential Chiefs of Staff and higher military echelons, officered on the basis of royal favouritism and political loyalties to anti-communist and right-wing policies, could not flex their muscles whenever the axe of defence cuts threatened their necks. It may be argued that there is nothing wrong with the armed forces trying to convert civilian rulers to their standpoint or acting in the same ways as any departments of the civil administration. In that case collusion or competition with civil power holders is totally legitimate and sanctioned by the existence of normal constitutional channels of influence and bureaucratic pressure. It would indeed be very hard to draw the line between legitimate influence and political pressure since the boundaries are well camouflaged and blurred.

This is, however, a purely constitutional and legalistic standpoint and it helps rather to divert attention from the most important question of investigating the political causes of any institutional arrangements of this kind. Institutional crystallisations are but the results and outcomes of political antagonisms, not abstract and legalistic setups.

Ostensibly, overt or latent conflicts arising in the arena of budgetary processes cannot be excluded as a contributing factor to the formation of the military as an interest-group. But whereas it is preposterous to think that the Greek military refrained from using traditional methods or exploiting normal and constitutional channels, what is

peculiarly characteristic and rather unique in the Greek case, as N.Stavrou 9

has notedj are the autonomous organisational structures, namely the ‘secret’ officers’ associations, by means of which the Greek military sought to influence leaders of political parties, the Palace, the Church and foreign powers.

On the other hand, the officers’ corps, according to all accounts, was keen to gain as much as possible in salary increases and other material rewards. It would be impossible to sort out comparative income levels between the military and the civil branches of the Civil Service, let alone the private sectors. And it would not be feasible to list the full range of fringe benefits and perks enjoyed by each sector. Nor would it be any easier to discard claims about the military’s working week with no fixed hours, etc. Unfortunately we do not have a solid basis for assessing the degree to which wage claims, complaints or other privileges were justified or not. Despite these difficulties there is no evidence to suggest that the military were systematically ignored or deliberately left to lag behind their civilian counterparts in the Civil Service.’¹‘⁰ In view of the labyrinthine Civil Service pay structure as a whole, it is not at all unreasonable to think of striking anomalies and disparities, at least as far as the Army’s NCOs were concerned.

But whatever the real situation, it seems that there was genuine dissatisfaction and resentment amongst the military about the fact that under G. Papandreou’s government (1963-1965) they were left out of the big pay increases given to the Police, the Judiciary, and the huge constituency of teachers.^ What is extremely important is that pay grievances and other claims for material betterment were basically channelled through the officers’ secret associations rather than through normal administrative channels. And in the absence of any formal negotiating machinery or any independent body to recommend pay structures and increases in comparison to the other public or private sectors, these matters were pretty easily politicised and exploited by the well established secret army organisation, IDEA (Sacred Bond of Greek Officers). Again, in the absence of any mechanism of arbitration, negotiating procedures or other ad hoc devices (as, for instance, comparability studies and commitments) to defuse explosive situations it was left to the impatient officers to blame the government and the ‘malicious decadent and corrupt’ politicians for neglecting to pepper the nation? s salt.

It should be added however, that in regard to their pay army officers were gripped by an insuperable contradiction: that between keeping a high ‘ceiling’ of military manpower and the mean domestic economic resources to satisfy their requirements in pay and equipment. The Greek army was run very cheaply compared with other NATO member armies, since draftees and NCOs received symbolic wages; but from a national point of view the costs were too high, and although exact data are not available it seems that the bulk of domestic budgetary resources were allocated to meet personnel costs.

The Greek officer corps was numerous and the ratio of career personnel of all ranks in the HAF high enough to discourage any thought of generous pay offers by the state.

Parenthetically we must note that the officers’ desire for material betterment was coupled with a justified eagerness for promotion.

However, the anomalous years of the civil war produced a serious situation in the promotion list amounting to real and chronic ‘bottlenecks’, if not a virtual ‘promotional freeze’ (see next chapter). One should not underestimate the seriousness of discontent and frustration amongst the ranks of Army officers in regard to their promotion chances, with the lower and middle layers of the hierarchical pyramid being as usual in the most disadvantageous position, hence more exposed to political exploitation.

But to turn this situation into a principal and sometimes the most vital cause of the 1967 military coup is a highly misplaced and erroneous argument it rests entirely on a dubious speculative motivational assumption of ‘self- interest’ and corporatism regardless of other conditions for military intervention in politics. For all these relatively dispersed, derivative and varied-in their sources-undercurrents of discontent and dissatisfaction, atomised or grouped motivations or even strong emotions must be shaped, centralised to a certain extent, organised and politically directed against the existing political order. They must be given wider causes and interests to serve and to that extent corporate claims and demands must be politisea. Even when the military intervenes autonomously, without being allied to any other narrow or broad social interests they do serve ‘broader’ interests, at least when in power. They do often serve these interests in their own name and/or despite their consent or approval, if necessary.

For one of the sine qua non conditions for the military to act in such a politically autonomous way is the existence either of a politically unified command, which by being hierarchically the natural leadership of the armed forces assumes the political responsibility of rallying the troops behind the banners or another militiry organisation which assumes the role of political organiser and unifier of the officer corps with or without the consent of the high-rankers or with their tacit approval and support or both, as happened in the Greek case.

Greek military syndicalism mainly assumed the form of illegal and ‘secret’ associations within the military, organising politically the lower and middle officer ranks. ‘Secret’ in the Greek case is surely a euphemism since the existence and multifaceted activities of IDEA were known to political leaders and other prominent figures in public life from its very conception. Some commentators too prone to conspiratorial theories or politics overstress the alleged ‘secret’ character of IDEA and tend to assume that the strong anti-communist and chauvinist ideologies of this organisation – an article of faith as well as a prerequisite for membership – were but a cover for its corporatist orientation. This view ignores the specificity and political effectivity of ideologies other than corporatism tout court and the overriding importance of IDEA as the political and ideological agency of a substantial segment of the Greek officer corps_f What should be emphasised here is the very limitations of military corporatism; it cannot be elevated to a political legel by means other than political ones.

That corporate ideology is an inseparable and irreducible layer of the military’s ideological stratification needs no further elaboration. It is an immediate, tangible, transparent and visible reality in officers’ everyday life. More importantly it helps to bind the officers together and to provide precious ingredients of corporate identity, solidarity and autonomy reinforced by the military’s partial social isolation and self- governing autonomy inside its own sphere. It certainly provides the ground f(?r overcoming compartmentalisation.

That corporate military interests played an important role in the 1967 coup d’etat cannot be seriously disputed. However, it is a role that cannot be quantified as a percentage column in a multi-factor diagram.

On the contrary, corporate interests should be placed in the framework of the political conditions of their realisation and should be linked to the means of their organisation and mobilisation for achieving concrete political objectives. After all, pay claims are submitted every year, whereas military coups do not take place at regular intervals. So, the most important aspect of corporatism and military syndicalism is not their existence, for they exist everywhere under different forms, but above all their political context, the political parameters of their organised expression and their agencies of representation. It is the latter that enhance military capabilities for intervention by providing both a stable and recognised framework of interest articulation, ideological coheciveness and political direction. That is why Military or Police trade unionism does not necessarily threaten political systems and therefore cannot be correlated in isolation to military coups.

Concluding the discussion on the economic sources of power of the HAF we should perhaps stress once more the importance of the US factor at least for the early 50’s , the period of reconstruction. It seems that the initial zeal of American economic planners to reconstruct the Greek economy in a New Deal style had evaporated as early as 1952 in the rapidly changing international political climate: the Korean War, and the Cold War”^.

On the other hand, the underlying reasons for the inflated defence spending and size of the HAF during the same period are sufficiently explained by 14 W. McNeil.

– Social Sources

While economic sources of military power are often used in a reductionist way to explain military coups, social sources are equally portrayed as depositories of derivative political influence. In an abstract schema of Swords and Ploughshares, the army by virtue of its ‘given’ role as a contributive factor to economic and social ‘development’ is conceived as being a sharp instrument of ‘progress and modernisation’. Hence, it is held, the formation of a. self-perception which may lead the Sword to an assymetrical estimation of its Ploughing capacity, and a public image which can be turned into a valuable asset.

It is not possible to review here the vast literature on the military as modernising forces in the so-called ‘developing societies’. L. Pye, for instance, had initiated the argument about the relationship between the military and modernisation, which can be taken as a highly representative of 16 this approach. According to Pye technological specialisation of the armed forces provides the spur to modernisation. Far superior compared to’their civilian or administrative-bureaucratic counterparts in terms of skill differentials, technological orientation and organisational capabilities, and relying on their institutional power basis and organisation, the military are well placed to be the most effective promoters of modernisation. They can provide both effective government and distinctive modern traits. Armies as ‘rival’ institutions are looking ‘abroad’ for models of organisation and 17 value orientation, hence their unique position as ‘modernisers’. Other factors, like political antagonisms, social structures, etc., are not included in Pye’s analysis. The implication of his thesis is that ‘the military should govern, or at least, control’, as S. Finer has justifiably 18 noted. Many ardent advocates of modernization have often entrusted their aspirations for political development in emerging nation-states to the hands of the military. Thus, military intervention, in the context of modernisation analyses, results from general processes of ‘social change’ which upset the social, economic and political balance of a stable and highly integrated traditional society. Modern technology and the supposed accompanying values penetrate deeply into the ‘host’society, modify its socio-political conditions and the pace of ‘change’ and set in motion the motor of modernisation. The socio-political carriers of this process are the military, the ideal incarnation of order and progress. Traditional forms are corroded and the most salient parameters of modernisation – economic growth, literacy, urbanism and mass communication – mark the irreversible passage to modernity.^ Or take for instance M. Janowitz^⁰ who also instituted numerous studies focusing on the bureaucratic, occupational, technological and ideological modifications of military structures in the ‘new nations’. The military’s’self-image’ changes accordingly; from a traditional heroic to a managerial one, and although the former, as an innate and indispensable component of every military establishment, never vanishes completely, the latter acquires a determinant role in forming the amalgamated ‘self-image’. Self-images, therefore, with their dominating westernized technocratic and managerial component are introduced as a crucial factor in accounting for military intervention.

The modernisation thesis as far as military intervention in politics is concerned has been subjected to various criticisms which it is not necessary to repeat here. What however, must be emphasised in this case, is that this alleged ‘popularity’ of the military as modernisers is by necessity conditional on and confined within the existing political order.

In other words, it cannot pre-empt legitimation of any military takeover nor can it be considered a priori or by definition as a building up process t. to accumulate political capital for future consumption. The validity of such ‘popularity’ is not supposed to remain intact under a military regime, nor can it be viewed as a carte blanche for staging coups. On the other hand, there are obvious limits to the political use that this ‘public image’ can be put because it may well be cancelled out or overshadowed by countervailing ‘images’. Social roles are not the sole ingredients of the military’s ‘public image’, which in the absence of any sophisticated public opinion polls becomes an extremely dubious and ambiguous concept.

But let us examine in some detail the scope of the Greek military’s social role and their claims to that effect, since some writers take it at face value.

1.- The ¹ elimination’of illiteracy

Armed forces can play a very significant role as educators, the argument goes. Obviously everything depends not only on the overall effectiveness of the educational system and educational institutions, but also on the specific role assigned to the military. It is true that the Greek army provided courses for its illiterate recruits, the so-called ‘illiterates’ schools’, teaching the elementary skills of reading and writing. It is an exaggeration however, to call it a vital contribution to the ‘elimination’ of illiteracy among males of certain age-groups, not only because ‘teaching and learning’ under conditions of harsh military training are rather a euphemism and the total class time of an illiterate doing two-year military service could on average, hardly equal three months of civilian primary school attendance, but also because the overall impact seems to have been rather negligible as can be deduced from Table 16 below.

TABLE 16

Greece: Distribution	of illiteracy according		to age groups
Age-groups	Census	1961	Census	1971
Total (in thousands)	Males 251.5	Female 971.0	Male 222.7	Female 817.3
10-19	6.2	2.4	4.9	1.4
20-29	13.2	10.1	5.1	2.5
30-34	15.7	15.9	21.3	17.8

Source: Greek Statistical Year books- Population Censuses.

It seems that the schooling system and the work of other voluntary organisations contributed proportionately rather more to the reduction of female illiteracy than the army achieved for its male conscripts.

2.- Construction and other facilities

It is in the field of construction that the army was allocated large funds in order to display its appetite for public service. A special unit, the Military Reconstruction Projects Service, was created in 1957, attached to the Ministry of Defence with special responsibilities for road construction and maintenance in the provinces. Participation in other public works and public housing projects is also listed among the regular activities of special army construction uiiits. Some estimates indicate that the above Military Service was allocated nearly $400 m. between 1957 and 1969, an amount of money by no means insignificant.

On the other hand, it was revealed in Parliament that the costs of road construction assigned to this Service had been 30% higher than those works executed by private construction companies and, of much lower quality despite the fact that this Military Service employed unpaid labour.

This may have not affected the military’s ‘public image’, but it does help to destroy the myth of the army’s efficiency and its alleged inexpensive contributions to public services. With due respect to the military’s sensitivity about corruption, the handling of such large funds cannot exclude a degree of ‘obscure dealings’, particularly in the sector of procurement of construction materials. Established practices and habits in this area, basically in the forms of donations or bribery by private firms,in order to win contracts, do not bow easily to any individual purism. I cannot conceive of the Greek military being immune from practices so current in normal economic transactions. Corruption is not the exclusive property of politicians, not to speak of the practices of many officers holding governmental positions under the military regime, not least those which have already been made public and documented.

Extensive use of the army’s facilities units was made in cases of natural disasters (floods, earthquakes, etc.) and other emergencies with the provision of tents, medical supplies and other relief services. I can find nothing peculiar in this. It is probably true that in the early 1950s part of the rural population relied more heavily on the army for the provision of some basic social services, so that the army’s social role might have been more pronounced in that phase. But to project this role in the late 1960s with a dash of political colouring is not really tenable.

3.- Conscription and social mobility

The hypothesis that conscription has acted as a vehicle of social mobility is also difficult to sustain. There is no doubt that the HAF reflected in the social origins of the young draftees the general pattern

of the country’s social structure. Compulsory and universal military service has left no loopholes for dodging and evading the duty, though every rule has its own exceptions and is subject to many manipulations and abuses.

The technological backwardness of the army could offer little scope for technical education to the young draftees of unprivileged urban or rural background. There were few skills that an uneducated recruit could take up during his service that could also be used to his benefit or in any vocational career upon his return to civilian life. Of course, we cannot totally discount the army as a general training ground for various technical skills but as a rule selection and distribution to subsequent posts of young conscripts was made according to their civilian expertise.

It seems that the only ones who have had some opportunity to acquire certain administrative or managerial skills coupled with reasonably monthly salaries, have been those selected to serve as junior officers, provided, that is, they passed the various security cleearing and political screening procedures.

Conscription, therefore, could not act as an avenue even for modest upward social mobility and professional careers. It had the effect rather of retarding people for civilian success. This is the most one can say in the absence of data or studies dealing with these aspects of transferability of skills between military and civilian spheres and between military and civilian occupational structures.

4.- Socialisation

While much attention has been concentrated on the so-called ‘professional socialisation’ of officers in the various stages of their training, processes

of socialisation of the young draftees in a system of compulsory military service are rather neglected. It is very unfortunate that public discussion has not been able to focus on this issue, where the field is still dominated by the military psychiatrist or the behaviourist sociologist.

The variety of problems involved here cannot be tackled with in the context of my thesis. In the first place I can only suggest the paramount importance of examining popular and mostly parental perceptions and beliefs about the army being a great ‘school¹ teaching social discipline, crushing disobedience, levelling differences, punishing deviance, exterminating rebelliousness, equalising rights, instilling manly values, accustoming people to hardship, nurturing courage, promoting responsibility, preparing the young to become ‘good citizens’, etc. The list of these beliefs could be endless and its themes so varied as to be linked in a multitude of ways to any aspects of ‘military life’. This is a subtle way to be reminded about the authoritarian aspects of key Greek social institutions, above all the family and the school.

The relationship between military institutions and social values is an important index to political practices and ideas, even more so since the young Greek recruit was subjected to the most authoritarian and brutal ideological and political indoctrination, brain-washing and propaganda, not to mention the physical and psychological violence often exercised against those of deviant political persuasions unwilling to be reformed, conscien- tious objectors to military service on religious grounds or to those committing offences stipulated by the Military Penal Code. The problems of discipline and punishment as ‘mechanism of power’ was given little attention at that time.

It is the non-accidental occurences of mental disorder amongst the young draftees, which seems to have reached alarming proportions.

Suicide notes amongst them are not available for that period but the issue only came to public attention after the fall of the junta in 1974, and particularly in the late 70’s and early 80’s. It is no wonder, therefore, that the only way to dodge military service has been to play the fool or the homosexual – anathema to the military’s virile sexual morals.

Thus the most important aspect of political socialisation can hardly be ignored despite the obvious caveats concerning both the origins of the concept and its use. Indeed, neither the system maintaining function of political socialisation nor its relevance to politics are free from

infernal fallacies.

The problems and shortcomings involved in dealing with agencies of socialisation should not blur the boundaries between normal processes of learning and teaching or even political instruction in the civilian sector and the extremely restricted and authoritarian practices in the Greek army, where there was no escape route, no choice, no legal basis of protest, no respect for human rights, and no tolerance in those prepared to take the risk of defending established legal rights. The only available choice, that between unconditional submission and faint passive resistance could only be made at a very high moral, psychological, political and, very frequently, physical cost.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Greek Officer Corps: A Socio-political Portrait

1.- Professionalism

The internal authority structure of military organisations, as well as the ever increasing tendency towards bureaucratisation and managerialism under the impact of modern technology has attracted a great many sociologically orientated studies.

From the point of view of military intervention, analyses dealing with the growing managerial preoccupations of armies are more relevant, since they claim a radical ideological re-orientation of the officer corps and changing view of authority. That is to say, new types of military leadership are emerging in striking contrast to the old ones with important bearings on political attitudes.

The claim that the officer corps has undergone a radical ideological transformation rests solely on the impact of technological innovation upon the organisational structures of the military and the new skills required to meet the new technical and operational needs. In short, the military imbued with the new outlook become more interventionist, especially in cases where they enjoy comparative advantages in relation to civilian sectors. That the claim is endowed with a strong flavour of technological determination is not difficult t® see. What, however, is more important to emphasise is the fact that bureaucratic, technocratic or managerial attitudes and ideologies can co-exist with a variety of value, and cultural as well as political systems. The question, therefore, it not whether such attitudes and ideologies exist or not; it is rather in which kind of value system they make their appearance, what the conditions of their articulation to existing ideologies are and what conditions lead to consolidation or eventual domination of other values.

There is no necessary causal relationship between the emergence of new attitudes within the military and their intervention in politics.

There are of course, side effects: belief in technological panaceas leads to the treatment of political problems as technical ones; divisions are created within the military along the new ideological lines and so one and so forth.

As to the second claim about a move towards more consensual forms of military leadership – as functional prerequisites of the new technological structures – it is difficult to see any positive :or negative connection with military intervention. Military technology and technocratic-managerial attitudes do not generate interventionist politics by themselves. Thus the proponents of military professionalism and managerial/ bureaucratic efficiency are fighting a losing battle. Even taken on their terms, they have yet to show convincingly what the sufficient levels of these properties required to generate actual intervention are.

I have pointed out that the model of a technologically advanced Greek army along the lines of its Western counterparts is but a convenient fiction. Further support for my arguments advanced so far can be drawn from the self evident facts.

A- The nature of military service in Greece: Contrary to what generally applies with volunteer armies, conscript armies rely heavily upon unpaid or low-paid, short-service conscripts. Technologically advanced and sophisticated modern weapon systems and communications require a substantial increase in the professional career element among military personnel.

Since huge quantities of modem weaponry were purchased in the 70’s the following Table 17 should be interpreted as indicating a more or less distorted projection of past trends.

TABLE 17

Hellenic Armed Forces : Rations of Career Personnel

PERSONNEL	ARMY	%	NAVy	%	AIRFORCE	%	TOTAL	%
REGULARS	37,000	24	6 ,500	36	8,000	27	51,500	25
CONSCRIPTS	123,000	76	11,000	64	14,000	63	148,000	75
TOTAL	160,000	100	17,500	lOO	22,000	lOO	199,000	100

Source: Compiled from the Military Balance, 1976-77, IISS

What the above Table 17 can retrospectively suggest is the low percentage of career personnel in relation to the conscripted element of the HAF. The ratio, 25:100 on average for the three branches indicates a low degree of military expertise and technological development which make professionalism based on technical skill a very doubtful and elusive concept.

It must be added that training conscripts in new technological skills cannot substantially ease the shortage of technically qualified manpower . As details of ‘technical and scientific’ military personnel are not available, it is not possible to detect any significant shifts 4. in their preponderance. On the contrary, the slow rate of technological development in the HAF over the period concerned reflected in the weapon systems and equipment suggest a low degree of diversification and specialisation of occupational structures. Moreover, even a modest upgrading of military skills and the gradual introduction of advanced technology with its ensuing shift in occupational structures, if it is not a product of improved indigenous industrial advance, cannot loose the bonds of dependence on foreign sources and may not reflect any indigenous strategic doctrine, as it may well be the case with the self-sufficient and self- reliant armies of Great Powers. ^ And last but not least, it must be noted that the view that 1die increasing technological sophistication of weapon systems necessitates the professionalisation of armed forces is true only to a certain extent. The much quoted example of Egyptian infantry men in the 1973 Middle East war carrying anti-tank missiles not requiring highly qualified or professional operators is simply another reminder of the very complex and specific implications of new technologies.

In conclusion, the HAF for the period up to 1967 do not satisfy the established criteria of ‘modernity’ when compared with their Western NATO allies.

B.- A second indicator contradicting the celebrated professionalism of the Greek officer corps was the chronic and unacceptable mess in the it Promotions List. The situation was particularly critical in the army, where congestion in the middle ranks was not due to some pattern of organisational growth stimulated by the development of managerial and technical expertise, but to circumstances specific to Greece.

During the anomalous years of the civil war (1946-49) the basis of recruitment was broadened to meet the needs of the war. The number of admissions to the Greek Military Cadet Academy increased. Over this period the School produced more than 1,200 lieutenants, whereas retirements during the same period were kept at a minimum – at a level of 1/15 in

4 regard to the newly commissioned officers. As a result in the following years, the pyramid of military hierarchy was to become too swollen in its middle and lower levels. An army officer of the rank of Captain or Lieutenant-Colonel would have to wait ten or twelve years to be promoted.

The class of 1937, for instance, had to wait for eleven years to be promoted from the rank of Major to that of Lieutenant-Colonel. The crucial ‘bottleneck’ zone has always been located in the ranks of Captains and Majors.

The need to retain experienced officers at the top made the situation even worse. Various devices to ease the situation among the lower ranks had proved ineffective. Around 1960, for instance, voluntary retirement was encouraged and nearly 700 officers asked to leave the service.

However, it soon became clear that the great majority of the applicants happened to be the best qualified professionally. Thus, the military leadership of the day was forced to retire less than one half of the applicants without significantly improving the promotion chances of those who stayed. These examples suffice to make cleajc the gravity of a situation which was wide open to political manipulation.

A fierce competition developed among army officers to win political favours and thus enhance promotion chances or secure favourable assignments and transfers. These practices must be seen in the context of clientilistic and patronage politics with many quarters and agencies competing to win over the loyalties of the officer: the political leadership of the day,

the Military House of the Royal Court, the Secret Services, foreign patrons and NATO.

It is no accident therefore that the main ‘secret’ association of officers, IDEA, and its successor – according to all indications so far – EENA (National Union of Young Officers) founded by the future dictator, Colonel G. Papadopoulos, found a fertile ground to cultivate and exploit politically after 1958. The policies of the military regime in this area provide additional evidence of its crucial importance. According to some 7 statistics a total of 2,577 to 3,000 career officers were cashiered from the ranks of the army between April 1967 and February 1972, depriving the Army of experienced and professional personnel. This rate was 2 to 3 times greater than the normal average retirement rate, whereas the Military Academy could only have produced fewer than half that number as replacements during the same period.

On the other hand, approximately 6,000 officers were promoted, half the total numbers of the officer corps; rapid promotion rates under the junta regime turned a Lieutenant Colonel into a General in seven years. Needless to say, promotions, assignments and transfers were made on political criteria the basis of unquestionable loyalty to the new regime. Although the army and the officer corps in particular had been the crucial constituency of the military dictatorship, these aspects of promotion policies help to highlight the disenchantment and dissatisfaction felt in the middle and lower officer ranks, which could easily turn into a profound political distrust and resentment against civilian authorities. The bureaucratic ideal of a meritocratic career and professional criteria for assessing performances and efficiency mattered little in an army factionalised and politicised from top to bottom.

The highly competitive promotion situation threatened to force out many well-qualified officers. This too was not due to rapid and drastic technological changes creating a cummulative process of professional disqualification, but rather to the specific conditions we mentioned before. The same situation led inevitably to politicisation and fierce competition to diplay unwavering loyalty to those who controlled the career structure, not because these things are by definition political but because of the age- old clientilistic political practices and the predominant position of the army within the state institutional setting. The career progression of officers was institutionalised, but the margins of arbitrariness and abuse of established criteria were large. Anachronistic and antiquated regulations made ethical standards predominant in the valuation of an officer’s career, like, for instance, ‘lack of sociability’ or ‘mismanagement of his family affairs’, and numerous other vaguely defined mental, psychological and ‘national’ qualities. In this respeqt also, the HAF were quite different from their western counterparts.

Professionalism implies θ^χ definitione the exclusion of ‘politics’ and the prevalence of impersonal bureaucratic yardsticks of performance.

On these grounds the range of arguments trying to portray the Greek officer corps as a thoroughly professionalised body, are certainly ill-founded.

4.By the same token, the application of S. Huntington’s criteria of professionalism (expertise, responsibility and corporateness) is equally problematic in the Greek case. On the contrary, the notion of ‘new professionalism’ fits harmoniously to the Greek case, because politics constitute an inherent part of the new military leadership’s formative properties. The ‘new professionals’ are ardent advocates of the doctrine of National Security formulated and taught in US Military Schools and Academies. The doctrine had enjoyed great currency during the 60’s and contributed decisively in shaping the ideas of whole generations of new military leaders from Latin America.and other countries, like Greece, trained in US Military Schools and Academies.

The doctrine of National Security contains not only an explicit ideology for military intervention in domestic politics but also a claim to political power by the national military forces. It is so extended as to encompass any consideration affecting all aspects of a nation’s life. Combined with developmental!sm and the urge to promote modernisation, the doctrine provides a perfect alibi for any sort of military takeover.

If this applied to the Latin American case in the ’60’s it has had no less impact on the Greek military who used to invoke it at any crucial junction of the country’s political development. In this sense, it is the political ideology of the military rather than their professed ‘professionalism’ , old or new alike, that really matters. When it is part of a professionally organised officer corps^ it is simply much more a dangerous doctrine.

Concluding the discussion on the conventional notion of military professionalism it is worth noting also that lack of modem professional and career structures in the HAF facilitated politicisation, factionalism and fragmentation within their ranks, but this did not imply an amorphous disarticulated or totally unprofessional military organisation. Nor does it imply an a contrario argument, namely that the existente of strict professional structures, would perhaps make the Greek military less interventionist. What the discussion of professionalism helps to highlight above all is simply the inadequacy of the concept of the study of the Greek military and its ineptness as an analytical tool for explaining the 1967 military coup.

2.- Social Recruitment

National emergencies and wars are historically the forces which change the social composition of the officers’ corps. This process was accomplished in Greece during the Balkan Wars (1912-1913) and the First World War.^ The size of the army increased as did the size of the officers corps, which lost its aristocratic character and started drawing heavily from the middle and lower middle classes. During the civil-war the process was completed.”^ IJb is not therefore surprising that the percentage of non-graduates from the Military Academy was as high as 40% in the wake of the civil war and well into the late 60’s. The sheer it size of the standing army made it necessary for greater recruitment among the lower classes.

Some statistics suggest that the officer corps tended to come more from rural than urban or semi-urban areas , the majority coming from the poorer southern regions – a traditional recruiting pool for the Civil

Service – and to a considerable degree from the lower classes.

Indeed, before 1967 around 47% of officers came from rural areas, a figure roughly proportional to the country’s rural population. On the other hand, urban areas were under-represented to a considerable degree, a further indication of the little interest attached to the profession by fairly urbanised social strata. This trend continued well into the 70s with 39% of officers coming from a rural social background despite the diminishing importance of the peasantry in the Greek social and political structure. Self recruitment was kept to 10% (1975), whereas civil servants’ sons contributed 11.3% of the total. A substantial proportion,

18.4%, was by then provided by the commercial class, whereas other professions figure less prominently with the clergy contributing only 13 1.4% of the total.

(Unfortunately scanty evidence and lack of reliable statistical data make any comparative study impossible. However, even the above mentioned aggregation of statistical evidence points strongly to the military profession as an avenue of social mobility for the lower classes, especially the rural ones. Further advances in social status came through marriage.

Indeed, officers’ wives came overwhelmingly from semi-urban and urban backgrounds and around 1/3 of them from families economically active in 14 the Service sector.

Military organisation was unable to keep paq^ with social developments, whereas the political disrepute into which the army had fallen because of its behaviour led to a permanent recruitment crisis in the 70s.^

It is characteristic that towards the end of the last decade young candidates for the Military Academy not only came from overwhelmingly

4» rural backgrounds but also their average academic qualifications were far lower than those of university candidates and their families’ incomes 16 below the national average. However the problem of social origins of the military personnel raises wider issues which need to be discussed.

2a.- Theoretical remarks

The class origins of military personnel are often used to explain political behaviour and the propensity of the officer corps to stage coups.

That this sociological approach to the problem of military intervention is a necessary corollary of the modernisation problematic comes as no surprise. The officer class is identified with the ‘rising new middle classes’ which are deemed by definition to be the most suitable social forces of change. According to this problematic, the opening of the military profession to the lower classes alters the class membership of the officer corps, which then comes to reflect middle-class values as a whole.

Consequently, military intervention is discussed and explained on the premise that the armed forces have really become the principal actors and instruments of the new middle classes, the vanguard of social change 17 and reform. Helpem argues this case in regard to Middle East armies and military coups, a case which is generally accepted as fundamentally valid and historically correct. Middle Eastern military coups and the resultant military regime have usually been seen as radical and ‘progressive’. However, no such consensus exists in the case of Latin America, where the military coups of the 50s and 60s have been considered as representing both conservative’ and ‘progressive’ tendencies in different countries.

–

Nun’s ‘middle class coup inaugurated an extensive debate on the ‘progressive’ or ‘conservative’ character of Latin American military intervention, which swept the hemisphere during that period. What, for instance, has been seen by many as a hopeful emergence of middle-class politics (albeit militaristic), for other was no more than a reactionary,20 right-wing ‘reformism.

Since sociological considerations are concentrated on the changing social composition of the armed forces, attention is focused on the patterns of recruitment and transference of values and ideological orientations from a social class milieu to the ranks of the officer corps.

This thesis can, in the first place, be challenged on its own conceptual terrain; the notion of the ‘middle classes’ is too general and unspecified to provide for a coherent social force. Lumping together groups as diverse as entrepreneurs and members of the liberal professions, state bureaucrats and white collar workers renders the concept analytically useless because not only it overlooks differences between the upper and lower levels of social stratification, but also because it ignores the political properties of its component parts. The theoretical status of the concept is so weak that any generalisations distort the sociological map beyond recognition. Secondly, the size of the ‘middle classes’ varies so greatly from country to country that is rather impossible to correlate military intervention to a given degree of ‘middle class’ expansion. The possibility that military intervention and military regimes can really be the creators of new social strata and especially ‘middle strata’ is not envisaged, neither is the fact that, despite the presence of middle classes, the military may opt for other social alliances or may ‘represent’ a more diverse and wider spectrum of social interests and ideologic

So what remains of the sociological thesis is the bare ‘representation’ function by means of which the military is engaged to perform assigned middle-class duties. What is actually represented are values or ideological orientations of modernisation. It is a liner and one way traffic implying a clear conception of ideology and its political function. According to this conception ideologies are derivatives of social positions; social position is the origin of its occupier’s ‘outlook’, so that once the social place of a subject is known the nature and some of its ideologies can be automatically determined. The sociologism ^ _Qf this conception is evident. The class derivative character of the military’s ideologies cast them in a passive and recipient role. No other qualifications or conditions are employed to explain the representative processes and their specific effectiveness other than the mere physical presence of children of the middle classes in the ranks of the officer corps. Later processes of professional socialisation and the internal mechanism of the military by means of which homogenous ideologies are forged as indispensable components of every military organisational structure are completely ignored.

Thus the argument that the middle classes are the sole and unitary source of the military’s ideological and political orientation cannot be sustained. However, it is worth discussing further the relationship between social class and the officer corps because of the importance it assumed in the political and ideological debate relevant to military intervention.

It is evident that the sociologistic conception of ideologies assumes in this debate a dual faculty; that military personnel carry with them the ideological skin and sins of their original social class places and that the structure of military places which have experience-effects modify in turn their original ideological orientations.

It is rather easy to establish that to this duality of effects correspond two distinct processes by means of which the inter-locking and overlapping ideologies drawn from many quarters are given shape and speficity , namely, the social recruitment process and the socialisation process.

2b.- Social recruitment

Social recruitment refers to the process of selection of officer cadets. Selection is exercised by setting standards of entry, but the very mechanism of selection is never free from class and political considerations. The degree to which such criteria of recruitment are

applied and/or are subject to modification depends on general political processes on the nature of political rule rather than the military themselves. It is interesting to note in this context how G. Mosca within the framework of his elite theory, has explained the absence of

military intervention in Western European states during the 19th century by means of the homogeneous and identical social recruitment basis of the 25 officer corps and the ruling elites of the day. Prussia’s deviation 26 was but an exception to a general rule. It is interesting to note also that the current ultra-leftist view,(by no means confined to sectarian groups alone), of the relationship between the officer corps, government and the ruling class, follows the same stereotyped and oversimplified model. The officer corps is seen ag a solid reactionary bloc siding with the ruling classes under all circumstances, in effect, the ruling class in uniform.

Historically speaking, the fact remains that stable political societies, have managed to keep the armed forces not only loyal to political authority,27 but also out of politics. It is by no means true that armies have intervened only to overthrow socialist-oriented governments or to avert the threat of working class power. However, the homogeneity of social origin of officer corps is not an absolute guarantee nor a unique historical pattern. The decisive influence of this factor depends on the general configuration of class and political power in a given society and the general conditions of political antagonisms.

In the first place, the locus of armed power of a ruling class may lie outside the standing army, either as a counterveiling force or as a specific instrument of political rule, while the political role of these units varies according to more general shifts in social and political 28 alliances. In fact, there is nothing to ensure that an army which draws its officers from a restricted social basis will stand loyal to its own class in times of crisis, although the tendency is positive rather than negative. The political loyalties of the troops may prove more decisive, but again a more diverse social basis of recruitment and/ or reliance on troops drawn from social classes other than those in economic and political positions of power may prove equally effective for 29 the incumbents.

This is not to deny that the smashing of the feudal order in Western Europe and the dissolution of the aristocratic character of the officer corps did not mark a new era in the social composition of the armed forces in new nation states. In addition, the demands of conducting war on a large scale abolished this cjass barrier for the single reason that the haute bourgeoisie was numerically small. How dependent the social recruitment patterns of the officer corps really are on the nature of political rule and system of government is further illuminated by the different development of Middle Eastern military institutions,^⁰ to take a more pronounced example. In many Middle East countries, the bureaucratic military traditions of the Ottoman Empire, the system of material rewards for military service, the new patterns of recruitment since World War I tell us a different story about social 31 and political alliances. Thus the problem of social recruitment is seen merely as a constituent part of the problem of political control. The implications for the so-called civil-military relations in this sense are cast in terms of ideological identification between civil and military elites, hence the diminishing probability of military intervention.

The more homogeneous the social basis of political and military elites, the more regime stability can be expected. This pattern, it is argued, 32 especially in the case of England , facilitates the suppression of the caste mentality of the military and makes class loyalties override particularistic and corporate loyalties. Homogeneity of social origin may also reduce the impact of other divisive factors within the military 33 organisation derived from many diverse cultural sources.

On the other side, however, it can be argued that increased internal social homogeneity of the officer corps constitutes one of the conditions likely to encourage a coup, either because a military solution to problems of a social and political order becomes more pressing or attractive, under certain circumstances, to the ruling classes , or because the military can act as a united social force with a minimum of risk of dividing the organisation and giving their adversaries the opportunity of winning over a substantial part of the army and/or undermining it to the point of disintegration. In addition, patterns of social recruitment vary according not only to specific social and political configurations, but also to the general pattern of social and technological transformation. To a great extent these factors explain the differences in recruitment patterns between developed and underveloped countries. In real life, after all, governments may be totally unconcerned about all the above sociological considerations. What they are interested in is how to keep the armed forces as close to their own political orientation and goals as possible. There are times, however, when they cannot do anything to prevent the influx into the officer corps of large numbers of undesirable officers, as, for instance, in time of general mobilisation or war. There are other times when steps are taken to assume the absolute loyalty and allegiance of the armed forces by means, for instance, of continuous or periodical purges of politically unreliable elements. Besides, social selectivity assumed different dimensions according to the system of military service in use. In all volunteer systems, it tends to be reinforced under the form of ¹ occupational inheritance’, whereas in systems of more or less generalised conscription it tends to be weakened. The opening of the military organisation to all social strata in modern capitalist countries followed the general pattern of ‘democratisation’ of state and other public institutions.

The ‘openness’ of the system and so-called ‘equality of opportunity’ now figures prominently in sociological studies of the military within a social stratification problematic, in common with equivalent studies in education, managerial grades or even the Civil Service. Despite the enormous differences between developed and underdeveloped countries or between the developed countries themselves, as far as their educational or military systems are concerned, the trend towards ‘openness’ is 34 clearly visible. The influx of people from the lower classes into the military establishment is used as an argument to establish the ‘democratic’ character of the system. It is a commonplace argument in both Western 35 and Eastern countries. However, not only is political screening of candidate officers widely employed but also a variety of psychiatric methods, in order to ensure the selection of the desired ‘social and political type¹ of prospective officer and to make easier the task of ‘socialisation’.

We may dispute the effectiveness of these ‘precautions’: they are nevertheless widely used in the belief that political risks should be limited to the minimum possible margin of error.

It would however, be absurd to deny the social and political implications of this massive entry of the lower social classes into the military establishment: new avenues of social mobility are opened up, new sources of political friction between branches of the state emerge, the social basis of the state is enlarged, new social alliances with the lower social strata are forged, political antagonisms are more frequently reflected within the state’s institutions and the military itself becomes a more controversial locus of political divisions^to mention just the most commonly recognised. It cannot be denied, for instance, that participation in a bureaucratic organisation and career structure rouses and nourishes high ambitions of social and status advancement, stimulates expectations or frustrates justified or unjustified hopes of material and/or ethical rewards. The ideological ‘themes’ that the lower strata carry with them into the military organisation acquire new contents and dynamics and can be exploited politically.

By entering the military organisation the members of the lower classes are thrown into a set of relationships determined not only by the operational requirements of the military itself but principally by the functions of the state. They automatically become, like it or not, functionaries of and participants in, certain given configurations of social relations and political power clusters. Their roles are determined primarily by their sanctioning of political and ideological relations of domination and4 subordination, reinforced by virtue of their monopoly of the material means of coercion. Despite the diversity of social recruitment, external and internal mechanisms enforce unification and centralisation of ideologicial and political functions. But, if political and ideological conditions play a principal role in the ¹ structural class determination’ of the officer corps, it is by means of their relationship to state functions that this determination is made possible as well as operational. And if these conditions are not reducible to the officer’s social origins, it follows that they must simply lie outside class membership. Deprived of a visible and functional economic class determination, the officer corps participate, shape and sanction class relations through the state.

That is why, perhaps, the main aspect of the phenomenon is the physical presence of the lower classes within the military apparatus, which makes it easier for political antagonisms emanating from outside to penetrate a presumably sealed off organisation. In fact, various mediative agencies intervene, which modify and transform these antagonisms along ideological and political lines determined by the internal workings of the military’s own processes and institutional settings. It is through these ‘filters’ that ideological and political divisions within the armed forces actually assume their wider significance and meaning, and by means of which their particular weight is felt upon the broader political scene.

For all the above-mentioned reasons the hypothesis that recruitment from lower social strata reinforces the tendency*towards military intervention in politics seems at first sight to be less ambiguous and more plausible than that claiming a nil effect. Nevertheless, no matter how plausible the hypothesis might seem to be, there is neither conclusive evidence nor any reliable means of verification based on its premises, simply because its very formulation does not make any signficant departure from the reductionist sociological thesis. It is, therefore, rather unhelpful to treat the military as a loose multiclass organisation, for the same applies for numerous other state or non-state civilian institutions (political parties, civil administration, religious orders, citizens’ associations, etc.). It is better to treat the officer corps a distinct social category^, not reducible to the class origin of its members or condemned to a subservient neutral state role. It is neither above nor beyond class and class conflicts. Its distinctiveness, while not solving the problem of the complex and indirect relations between the military and social classes, makes it perhaps more tractable. And, finally, we should mention a by-product of social recruitment, namely the so-called military hereditarianism.

The principle of occupational inheritance is a widespread phenomenon not confined only to the military. It is based on the belief that father to son succession promotes the transmission of basic values and postulates loyalties, thus securing the continuation of the core ideological commitments.

In this sense, the officer corps becomes partly self-perpetuating its exmembers acting as a ¹ life-support machine’ to the military apparatus. It is a sui generis method of social selectivity and reliance on a special social group, which often promotes a caste mentality, corporatism and the perpetuation of established privileges. It seems to be more pronounced37 in all volunteer than conscript armies, for obvxoils reasons. Shifts in self recruitment may reflect important changes in the domain of military values, the profession’s social status, etc. However, it is difficult to see how this principle can be sustained in an era of mass conscript armies and under conditions of rapid socio-economic change. Besides, it is necessary to show in each particular case whether this group is capable of a separate political orientation and action on the basis of its own self-recruitment pattern In any case, we have seen that in the Greek case self recruitment was kept at a low level (10%). There is no indication to suggest that this class of recruits have ever constituted any focus of political, ideological or professional loyalties among the ranks of the cadets or among those of the career military personnel.

2c.- Military socialization

Let us turn now to the internal processes of the military apparatus which are conducive to its cohesiveness. The concept of military socialisation occupies the central position. It refers generally to all those processes by means of which the new recruits to the officer corps become members of the military organisation . Becoming is here the crucial constituency, because it designates complex and multifaceted processes of ethical, ideological and professional transformation.

The concept of socialisation originates from psychological studies in 38 childhood, , namely the process through which an individual ‘learns’ to be a member of society. The imposition of certain social patterns of behaviour is effected by various mechanisms involving a constant process of internationalising, interacting and identifying with others. The39 concept of identify is central to this problematic.

An identity is assigned or achieved, appropriated so to speak, by the individual or groups of individuals through spefic mechanims of interaction, induction, indoctrination and education (the learning process).

Social roles corresponding to distinct identities (the Policeman or the General) are open to subscription. It is axiomatic that the process of socialisation inevitably involves processes of identification and legitimation. The conditions of identification are very complex, always involving a certain interpretation of the origins of subjectivity and the development of human personality 41 The notion of legitimation, on the other hand, in its functionalistic usage implies the actualisation of means of 42 ideological domination . Functionalist accounts of socialization stress both internalisation and integration on the normative level within social sub-systems (the military is obviously one of them) and the social system as a whole. In this sense, socialisation occupies the position of a normative regulatory mechanism directly linked to the problem of43 order. Moreover, as A. Giddens has noted , the functionalist ‘role theory¹ (social systems are comprised of roles) leads into socialisation, since it seeks to provide the link between personality development and institutionalised structures of society. In this context, we can see, for instance, the importance attached by many students of the military to studies dealing with role strains derived from disjunctions and tensions between an individual’s psychological traits (wishes, wants, drives, etc), and role prescriptions and demands. Military socialisation processes are even more important not only because they belong to ‘later’ socialisation but also because agreement over the ‘ value-standards’j the functionalist normative consensus, is sanctioned by authoritarian and hierarchical relations and is not actualised as guaranteed rights and obligations, as in other state or civilian institutions. The very process of military socialisation actually implies too much standardisation, conformity, uniformity and disciplined interaction. It is obvious that one of the effects of socialisation is to cancel out the assumed ideological properties of class origins, so that drastic modifications can be made to serve the needs of the system better. The limits inherent in the premises that inspired the drive towards socialisation studies are too clear to be missed.

It is an operation of ‘charting changes in attitudes’ and locating ‘attitude patterns’ within the military treated as a profession. Indeed, the process of socialisation becomes one of professional socialisation. Professional socialisation (Profesionalism) is ‘the process by which military/personnel incorporates those values 44 and perspectives essential for a particular skill group. (emphasis added).

Conclusions

The social origins of the officer corps cannot in themselves explain the politics of the military. This is not an abstract theoretical 45 point, but also a valuable fact if one wants to keep in touch with political realities. To give two obvious examples: a) painstaking research has shown that in the inter-war period the class origins of the Greek officer corps were quite irrelevant in explaining political divisions and factionalism within its ranks, the sense that no necessary correlaticr. has been found between Republicanism and Royalism on the one hand and 46 class origins on the other; b) the agrarian and lower middle-class origins of the colonels who established the seven-year military dictatorship in Greece certainly do not explain their policies which run contrary to the interests of the classes which they originated from and whom they were supposed to represent. More relevant to these cases is the overall socio-political context in which the military operate and their position vis-a-vis the state which mediates their complex relationship to social classes and groups. However this is not to deny the strong links of representation the military establish in relation to the lower classes by virtue of their social recruitment and the physical presence of these classes within the apparatus. It is a classical case of social87 strata which lack any autonomous political organisation finding their organiser from within state apparatuses. This is not identical to historically known tendencies of popular militarism related usually to political despotism. Here we have a role performed by the military because social classes or specific social strata are unable to acquire any autonomous political existence and have to colonise state branches for employment, social status and political muscle, but not on their own terms.

The Greek military fulfilled this role not only because of its special bonds with the peasantry, but also as a result of clientelistic patronage system of politics and the predominance of personalistic parties47 unable to develop institutionalised organisational structures.

Conscription has given the army additional leverage in its political and organisational social class functions.

Ih the context of post-civil-war politics in Greece, where the peasant classes had to be detached from their allegiance to the Resistance and brought into new class and political alliances, the army played an important mediating role in providing stability in the new social and political order. Moreover, the pace of Greece’s social and economic changes in the 50’s and 60’s, the pattern of urbanisation, the reconstruction of the middle and lower middle classes under the economic policies of the new social and political order, their n§w structuration and numerical power made it difficult for the state and the dominant classes to conclude durable, stable and long-term alliances with these strata.

Besides, the political loyalties of these classes have always been contested by the liberal wings of bourgeois parties and by other democratic and progressive party coalitions. The army could at least provide these88 volatile» floating, shifting and extremely differentiated intermediate

48 masses with some security for their uncertainties and anxieties.

3.- Military Ideologies

The study and reading of ideologies is an extremely difficult area of investigation. The concept of ideology has raised so many problems and so many controversies that it would be impossible to explore the various theories and definitions here. The shopping list currently on

49 offer is quite long . However, we cannot do without some principles of investigation which inevitably involve a certain conception of ideologies.

1.- It is necessary to confine the investigation within certain historical limits. Regression into prior historical periods becomes a legitimate operation in order to trace origination and context and to detect the old themes and meanings in new articulations and discourses.

2.- It is important to recognise that political antagonisms are perceived within the ideological forms and contents available to political actors. Structures cannot change anything. Political practices generate specific political ideologies which in turn interact upon the former.

3.- Ideologies are systematised and concretised specific practices within definite institutional frameworks. In this way their operational

4t‘

validity, reproduction, maintenance and means of circulation and communication is ensured. But institutionalisation implies also a certain degree of organisational fixation and inflexibility.

4.- Reductionism must be avoided, both economic reductionism which assumes that ideologies originate only from economic social relations and class

– 89

reductionism which assumes that ideologies only result from social classes and class contexts, although we must always locate the articulating and organisational core of ideological ensembles, which may or may not refer directly or indirectly to class ideological discourses.

Establishing these principles as guidelines in the attempt to map out the ideologies of the Greek military implies in fact the preponderence of two interlinked considerations:

a.- that military ideologies shall be considered from the angle of their actual political bearing upon a concrete power structure and upon the military organisation as such, and

b.- that ideologies in a complex organisation like the military are diverse, stratified and sustained by a network of specific apparatuses.

A.- Political Ideologies Military nationalism

1.- Background

Historically, the Greek officer corps grew out of the country’s effort to assert its nationhood and to liberate the occupied territories fron the crumbling and disintegrating Ottoman Empire. The Balkan Wars (1912-1913) fought against Turkey and Bulgaria partly achieved these goals. World War I placed Greece in a precarious position. Venizelos, the great leader of the Liberal Party, advocated an alliance with the Entente whereas King Constantine took a pro-German stance. The Armed Forces were deeply divided and subsequently Venizelos formed his own government assigning90 loyal troops to the Allied campaign in the Balkans. Entente detachments landed in Greece and forced the King to quit. These divisions marked the whole period of inter-war Greek politics and underlined the fundamental political schism within the officer corps which underwent successive purges from both the republican and royalist sides. With the restoration of the Monarchy in 1920, the King attempted to revive the military campaign in Asia Minor, which had been started by Venizelos with the tacit, support of Greece’s foreign protectors. The tragic defeat of this campaign in 1922 marked the end of the road for the Great Idea, the Greek nationalist project to recover all territories under the Ottoman Empire and to restore old boundaries. The army disintegrated and rebelled against the royalist politicians, blaming them for bringing about a national disaster. It is from this period that a latent anti-political undercurrent appears in the. nationalist attitudes of the military. Internal political anta gonisms were bound to be seen as divisive and detrimental to the national effort. The domestic front should be united in order to pursue national goals; the armed forces evidently provided the purest incarnation of that unity. The national effort should not be undermined from within, the ‘internal enemy’ must be exterminated. This anti-political under-current was reinforced during General Metaxas’s dictatorial regime (1936-40).

In World War II Greece was again allied to the Western democracies despite its pro-fascist and pro-German political regime.’’⁰ The small and ill- equipped Greek army fought bravely, and defeated the superior troops of Mussolini, who invaded the country from Albania.· But it was finally crushed by German armoured columrP which later invaded Greece from Bulgaria. In all these historical battles in defence of the Greek nation, the officer corps fought bravely but its record was marked by numerous episodes which have been erased from military history books. Greek commanders surrendered their troops to the Germans without authorisation. Upon the occupation of Greece by German , Italian and Bulgarian troops, it was

Greek officers who formed the puppet governments in the service of the occupying forces and who later manned the Security Battalion armed detachments organised under German auspices to terrorise the population and fight the Resistance movement. On the other side of the coin, other officers formed small resistance groups or joined the military units newly formed by the British in the Middle East and took an active part in the Allied military effort against the Axis forces. A quite substantial part, probably 1,550 men of all ranks, joined ELAS (the National People’s * 52 Liberation Army)

During that crucial period, the officers corps was dispersed, disorientated and deeply divided in its political loyalties. The unbroken line of Greek nationalism was tom apart and its contents articulated to rival political contexts – claimed by political forces pursuing opposing and conflicting social and political programmes. EAM (National Liberation Front) succeeded in articulating the struggle for national liberation and independence and represented hopes for the establishment of a new republican progressive social and political order in post-war liberated Greece.

The peasantry was drawn into the movement en masse. Little attention has been paid so far to the fact that EAM had never attempted to change property relations in the countryside. The peasantry, in a predominantly agricultural country, had always provided the mass of the national armies.

The resistance movement was not confined, of course, only to rural areas; it was particularly strong in the cities, a phenomenon unique in the European context. But the rank and file of ELAS, the armed forces of EAM, and many of its officers were of peasant background and nationalist orientation. After all guerilla warfare could only be waged in the mountains and ELAS had to recruit mostly from the villages and rural areas.5 The Resistance drew from indigenous ideological resources, resurrecting past folk heroes and myths from the War of Independence against Turkey.

The social composition of the new nationalism was very complex^^, but it is my contention that the peasantry constituted its backbone. On the other hand, it was evident that those officers abroad who remained loyal to the ideals of ‘old Greece’ (Royal, anti-democratic, conservative and pro-British), could only hope to realise their own ideal perception of nationhood with foreign backing, as in fact turned to be the case.

In short, what was most threatening to the social and political establishment of ‘old Greece’ was the process by which the new nationalism, supported both by popular forces and by the army, defined nationhood not only in the traditional terms of territorial, ethnic, cultural, religious or linguistic community, but also in terms of a new social and political order. This shows explicitly the intrinsic ambiguity and ambivalence of nationalist ideologies. Now, the broken historical continuity was reconstructed under the leadership of new social and political forces, which imposed their own definition and set new objectives for the nation. The themes and assumptions of the traditional nationalism were thus given new formulations and were absorbed in an ideological and political discourse determined by the ideologies and political practices of the leading left-wing forces.

These specific conditions highlight also what a mistake it is in this context to apply theories of nationalism which proceed from the assumption that nationalism springs only from modernisation, industrialisation, and the like.

2.- Civil War

The next major turning point in Greek nationalist ideologies was the civil war. The situation now changed drastically. Liberal, conservative and ultra-right ideologies were subsumed under a renovated militaristic and right-wing nationalism, the main vehicle of which was the officer corps. The army saw the Civil War as an act of external Communist aggression by proxy domestic Communist Guerillas. The dividing line was between nationalism and communism, the latter conceived as a non-indigenous political force, an agent of foreign interests. It took more than twenty years for some conservative politicians to call this armed conflict by its proper name :civil war. The peasantry was cut off from left-wing influences and its nationalistic themes were articulated to a new discourse dominated by militarism and messianic anti-communism. The Communist rebellion constituted a negation to nationhood and a threat to territorial and national integrity. No effort therefore was spared by the new social and political order to impose its own interpretation and definition of Greek nationalism both by physical violence, indoctrination, propaganda, and ideological persuasion. The Communist Left had only itself to blame for it fanned the flames by its own deeds. During the Civil War the Communist Party returned to the old slogan of a ‘united and independent Macedonia¹ « and ‘respect for the rights of the Slav-Macedonian minority’, thus further discrediting itself as a nationalist and patriotic force. The claims of neighbouring Yugoslavia and Bulgaria on Greece’s territories at the Paris Peace Conference (1946) and on subsequent occasions made the internal political schism even more pronounced. After the civil-war the resurrection of the Left under the umbrella-party of EDA (United Democratic Left) helped little to bringing the two sides closer to 4 reconciliation. EDA’s foreign policy was characterised by total identification with Soviet foreign policy objectives under the guide of a thinly veiled pacifism and neutralism. The army and the Left remained in two irreconcilable political camps.

As a result of the civil-war the officer corps, insulated from party politics, became the most prominent centre for the production, formulation and dissemination of the new regime’s official ideology: militant and uncompromising anti-communism. Greek nationalism was dominated by themes derived from internal social and political order: identification and integration of the ‘external’ and ‘internal’ enemy was complete.

The post- civil war security state was erected on this assumption.

This demarcation line between communism and nationalism could not be crossed easily and without severe consequences, for it also demarcated

two political cultures, two different and conflicting conceptions of the world. There was no middle ground, no buffer zone; any middle position was politically and ideologically unacceptable. They were two worlds apart. Thus the anti-political undercurrent took the form of a rigid political demarcation, coloured by explicit anti-parliamentarism. The practice of politics tends instinctively towards reconciliation, compromise and inclusion. The military could not stomach any dealings with yesterday’s enemies. They could trust the politicians as fas as the latter toed the line and made no attempt to cross the demarcation line. They were suspicious of deeds which aid not bear the mark of accepted standards of political conduct. Their contemptuous view of politics as a corrupt and socially divisive activity detrimental to national objectives, contributed to a basically anti-political and anti-democratic stance which reduced Parliament and representative institutions to a mere talking club incapable of solving the country’s problem. Hence it’s useleness as an instrument of policy and decision ^making, an ornamental luxury. Unfortunately Greek conservative political philosophy was not able to put up a real defence against these anti- parliamentary trends. As a result the military’s nationalism was the greenhouse for the growth of a variety of anti-political plants.

3.- Irredentism

irredentism, has always been a constitutive part of Greek nationalism and national identi ty from the very foundation of the Greek independent state in the last Century. Historically the officer corps has been the training ground for Greek irredentist nationalism, galvanising legitimate national aspirations and contributing immensely to the creation and defence of the modern Greek state. This drive has not always been in accord with realistic assessment of Greece’s limited power and options no matter how just the cause might be. The need to keep the flame alight has often created a smokescreen, blurring, national decisions and bordering adventurism.

With the accession to NATO and the impact of the Cold War this ideology was given a missionary, irrational and dangerous anti-communist twist. Contrary to the official policies of Greek government’s,the army did not confine its claims to the legitimate case of Cyprus, its

ambitions included Southern Albania (Northern Epirus), a typical case of minority rights for the large persecuted Greek community, and extended as far away as Moscow! This was a deliberate and calculated policy of indoctrination, designed to deceive and to boost artificially national pride and daydream of Greece’s greatness. It is hard to believe that the military leadership was so blindly stupid and unaware of the highly unrealistic character of collective chauvinistic military neurosis.

It was not a conviction, but merely an ideological commodity for54 domestic consumption.

The ‘international’ impact of belonging to a collective system of defence and security instead of moderating wild dreams had added a schizophrenic dimension to the military’s ideology. The feeling of security and combined might, instead of reinforcing responsibility, was translated into self-justified aggressiveness against the ‘enemy’ and all sense of proportion was lost.

Although it is useless to juxtapose ideology and reality, the highly and self-evidently improbable nature of the military’s irredentist claims made that particular component of militaristic chauvinism rather decorative in practice. The relics of the Great Idea (the irredentist ideal which was buried with the Asia Minor disaster in 1922), were now wrapped ιιρ in ceremonial clothing in order to conceal their miserable appearance. The fundamental fact that any realisation of the most just and justified national claim, Cyprus, had inevitably to lead to a confrontation with a statutory ‘friend and ally¹, was unable to cure or modify the conditions of the military’s schizophrenic ideological existence. No wonder, it later led to tragedy.

4.- Ethnocentrism

Another constant feature of the military’s nationalism has been what 55 may be called ethnocentric racialism , the exaltation of the martial virtues of the Greek race, the glorification of the past, the superiority of ethnic cultural achievements (Greece as the cradle of Western civilisation) , the idolisation of conquerors and warriors, the conflicting aspects4 of xenophobia on the one hand and blind admiration and imitation of foreign prototypes on the other. Historical reconstructions played a primary role in the formulation of these military ideological themes.

It was not only an ideological use of history but also a real decontext- ualisation of historical events from which eternal ‘values’ were extracted to suit present ideological conveniences. The ideology of national salvation was defined in terms of cultural heritage, defence of given national characteristics and it is based on a negative and rejectionist image of other cultures and the outside world in general.

The Army as the national symbol of ‘external Greece’, the purifier of the ‘Greek spirit’ from all negative and decadent influences, the selected agency for the divine mission to preserve national traditions and bear the national ethos through time was but a conglomerate of simplistic ideas and precepts, traumatic feelings, irrational expectations and half-baked concepts welded together by a powerful institutional mechanism. The metaphysical ingredients of those ideological themes borrowed heavily from crypto-fascist dogmas of obscure origins.

5.- National Security

Military nationalism was also built on the key function of the military organisation – national defence, against actual, potential or imaginary enemies. The officer corps undertakes the duty assigned by the laws of the land to shoulder the responsibility for national security against external enemies. Armed Forces accordingly ‘belong to the Nation’.

But we can see the ideological ramifications and implications of an over- expanded concept of defence and security of the state. The identification of external and internal enemies makes possible an enlarged area of responsiblity which penetrates deeply into the boundaries of domestic politics. Doctrines about defence and security, actual experiences, the international power structure, dependencies on foreign powers, participation in alliances and indoctrination influence the ideological definitions of defence, national interest and security of the State.

I classified these ideological clusters under the heading of national security and not under that of occupation or profession because the Greek military were unable to elaborate their own defence doctrines or security policies against external enemies and because this inward extension of these ideologies was due to an ideological space created by the institutional arrangement in the power structure of the post civil.war state. Due to their position in the power structure the HAF could claim a major role in defining the boundaries of internal security and national sovereignty. The unrealistic prospects of materialising any outward ambition had made this inward role even more pronounced.

To the identification between nation of external and internal enemy corresponded an analogous identification between nation and state, the latter conceived as an entity endowed by a unitary volition and unitary interests.

B.- Social Ideologies

1.- Perception of social conflict

The military’s perception of social conflict is centred around the notion of order, which is not based on political processes like bargaining, reconciliation and other means of resolution of conflicts but on psychological and anthropological ones. It is rather a kind of social Darwinism which speculates about human nature in a way reminiscent

of Hobbes’s suggestion about the unlimited desire of man to run after Power. However, it is not based on a competitive model, but on one that emphasises the need for discipline, subordination, obedience and orderly conduct. Incessant struggle is a fundamentally harmful thing and must be resolved not by regulation but by subjugation, total submission and imposed unity. Man is devilish and aggressive by nature.

This perception of man and society, devoid of any conception of the sources of social and economic antagonisms, is essential authoritarian, elitist and anti-political. The military are as unable to approach social and political problems otherwise than in terms of pure force and naked violence as those who perceive politics as a process of natural selection.

The Greek officer corps was not an exception to this general rule.

After all, they were part of that order and its ultimate guarantors.

They were inclined to see social conflict as disruptive politics, trouble making and anarchism, from strik-e to elementary civil activity; as a product of instigators and propagandists, never the activity of free men and women.

2.- Authoritarianism

Authoritarianism derives from the specific forms of organisation characteristic of the military as well as from extra-military sources (e.g. the family or the school). Authoritarianism is embodied in all these rules and sets of practices which sanctify and legitimise (by ideological inculcation, psychological induction and physical repression)- loo -a system of relationships that must be internalised as the natural order of things. The rituals, and symbols, the distinctions of rank, selection and indoctrination all play their part in erasing civilian ‘bad habits’.

Military authoritarianism is a by-product of the army’s disciplinary system and methods of training. Military discipline lies ultimately not in motivation but in hierarchy and relies not on persuasion or conviction but on command and fear of punishment. The stress on duty

tilts the balance between rewards and punishments, the two faces of any disciplinary system, in favour of the latter; the pressures to conform are vested with legal power of enforcement in the form of Military Regulations, and Military Penal Codes. On the informal, extra-legal level punishments take the form of collective physical exercises to correct misbehaviour, isolate deviance and emphasise collective responsibility. The collective fear of a group under extreme conditions of hardship and a real threat of extermination that individual deviation or resistance imperils and harms its interests and has therefore to be suppressed and sanctioned constitutes in the military case a typical specimen. All these characteristics of military organisation were in abundance in the Greek case, especially since officers from rural and small community backgrounds had no built-in mechanism of resistance to authoritarianism.

A strong religious component may be lacking in the Greek case. However, selective recruitment, training and education (Spartan values, etc.), bureaucracy and centralism supported authoritarian practices and helped to erase ‘residuals’ of civilianism. The Greek military system of education operated autonomously, isolated from civilian educational

institutions and elaborating upon the darkest value aspects of Greek56 society; sexism , hypocritical puritanism, lack of tolerance, pseudo- cultural chauvinism and self-deceiving rhetoric. The cult of violence instrumental to the functions and goals of military organisation, reinforces authoritarianism and is closely related to the functions of the state. The military provides not only crucial ‘coercion facilities’ but also operationalises them in concrete ways. Thus the military develops a particular adoration for a strong state, the final refuge for the containment of all social and political conflicts that threaten the status quo. This phenomenon of statolatry, as Gramsci called it, and power fetishism according to Poulantzas was particularly widespread amongst the lower ranks of the officers and was related both to their rural and petty-bourgeois social origins and their extreme dependence on the state for employment, maintenance of their standard of living and mediocre careers. They looked at the state for protection and quite naturally identified themselves with the protector. So, the springs of military authoritarianism are multiple:societal, statist and organisational. Changes cannot be expected in the absence of social pressures, inside resistance and governmental resolve. The organisational component seems to be the dominant one since societal influences and personality traits are reinforced by training, aiming at fostering duty. obedience, conformity, authority, leadership and natural hierarchy (e.g. the ingredients of the·’conservative syndrome).

In short, the encounter between the military and the ruling civilian elites takes place on the terrain of social and political order. The military’s adoration of authority and its profound inclination to stand by the status quo explain why rightist ideas have a greater appeal to them. Thus, political order is the military’s overriding concern.

That order is not seen as a condition of politics but rather as an oppressive function of the state.

C.- Occupational Ideologies.

State apparatuses function according to particular systems of organisation. Bureaucratism is the modern system of modern states.

Military organisations are by definition bureaucratic and deeply imbued by bureaucratism, since nowhere else do hierarchy and rigidity of rules and routine processes reach such a peak or acquire such a compulsory character. It is useful to distinguish between technical and political problems related to bureaucratism. The technical problem is related to the efficacity of the machine and depends on administrative and managerial skills, on the quality of personnel and on cost-effectiveness in the use of available resources. There is no way perhaps for an outsider to measure the bureaucratic performance of the HAF (e..g. logistics, state of readiness, capabilities of mobilisation in times of crisis, performances in military manoeuvres, disparities between branches, etc.)

After all secrecy is a predominant characterstic of bureaucratic organisations. Military secrets are well kept and their unauthorised revelation constitutes always a serious criminal offence.

The political problem is related to the formation of a particular bureaucratic caste crystallised into the army and playing a distinct political role in relation both to the functioning of parliamentary representation and to the state administration. This is certainly not the Greek case, but it applies perhaps to Turkey and some countries in Latin America. Bureaucratisation,· on the other hand, designates the the processes by means of which organisations fuRCtien according to criteria103 and standards more or less compatible with the requirements of the abstract model (e.g. rationality, efficiency, or indices of office productivity, etc.), under the impact of technological and organisational changes. Some degree of bureaucratisation can be assumed in the Greek case under the influence of a slow technological change and training in managerial and technical skills, but again it is difficult to quantify or to establish qualitative criteria, unless we know the marking system scaling the performances of national armies in comparative terms within NATO.

The ideological implication of bureaucratism and bureaucratisation are certainly of greater importance. In terms of human relations the phenomena of minute regulations and rules, depersonalise authority relations and create additional sources of enstrangement and alienation which can be the subject of political mobilisation. In respect to political ideologies, shifts in the legitimacy of the relations of political domination may fce towards the military opganisation itself (e.g. forms of bureaucratic legitimacy). Discrepancies and conflicts with civilian sources of legitimacy can be sharp and can lead to serious political crises. The relevance of this point to the Greek case can be demonstrated by the fact that in Greece, Parliament was struggling to curtail some of the most dangerous aspects of the ‘militarisation’ of the political sphere and to cure the military sources of ideological radiation and legitimacy.

The bureaucratic phenomena pose another serious threat to politics. However minimal the bureaucratic changes and slow the pace of organisational, managerial and technocratic innovations may be, in the Greek case, they do create a certain ideological disposition towards politics. They do underestimate the political nature of the problems and their104 complexities, conceive of them as technical and administrative and reinforce both anti-politicism and the political claims of the ‘expert’, the administrator, the bureaucrat or the engineer. The military officer is vulnerable to these tendencies and is encouraged to think that political problems can be reduced to mere logistics. Technocratism and Managerialism are the attributes of the modem military officer whose57 old, heroic self-image has given way to the specialist or expert of the means of violence under the impact of technological change which has transformed the military profession out of all recognition. These changes enable the military to narrow the skills differentials with the civilian sector and to establish the predominance of a new military technocracy.

The very process entails the need to adjust training, educational 58 and organisational procedures. Consequently, the type of authority is changed from domination to manipulation and persuasion with the 59 result that it becomes less authoritarian. Some students do not hesitate to call this new brand of military officers technocrats or even60 intellectuals in uniform.

The conclusion is that the general direction of modern social change and technological innovation has reached a point where military establishments are more itnertwmed with civilian defence institutions.

We have more than an ‘industrial-military complex’, something amounting to a ‘military-civilian complex’. Hence, the conclusion that we are confronted with major and growing difficulties in separating the military from the political sphere, and hence the inadequacy or vagueness of civil- military relations theories. Consequently, the problematic of civil military relations and the ensuing principle of civil supremacy are here at bay. If professionalisation, as a concomitant of technological change, 62 leads to a blurring of the boundaries between the military and civilian areas or to a garrison state _r a clear-cut notion of civil-military relations can no longer be sustained since military and political roles are increasingly interwoven and officer posts bordering on politics 64 are also increasing in numbers and significance.

Of course, any discussion of these changes outside their concrete economic, political and cultural milieu is meaningless. Scientific and technological expertise cannot be legitimised outside the goals, the value systems and the ideologies to which they are linked. The Iranian case highlights this point brilliantly, The Shah kept his army lavishly supplied with the most expensive and sophisticated equipment in the world. Yet these ‘modernising’ influences could not withstand the onslaught of traditional ideologies and values. The alleged modern, technocratic military value system collapsed. The model may be apt to advanced western societies characterised by rapid technological innovation and high «degrees of social and economic differentiation. This is not so with underdeveloped or less developed societies. Any attempt to transplant this theory to other soils in order to extract the corresponding ¹ self-images’ of the military officers in the ‘developing areas’ leads to caricatures.

Kourvetaris’s attempt*^ for instance, to arrive at a ‘composite self- image’ of the Greek military officer along the same lines of investigation by means of a survey conducted during the junta period, is not only confusing, but highly misleading. The investigation found, quite naturally, that all of lOO officers interviewed favoured intervention.

Both the younger ones (more managerial) and the older who had fought in C^lthe civil war (the heroic type ) were found strongly interventionist, the chief reason being the ‘communist threat’. On the other hand, the 10 6 – officer’s conservative orientation is attributed more to cultural factors than to political ones, but ‘in no way did they indicate that they approved of military intervention into politics except for given certain conditions’ (sic). Of course ‘anti-communism was the common denominator that united the military, the government and the King’.

We do not have sufficient indices to assess the Greek officer corps in terms of mobilising power as a status group with specific status interests, or if that were the case, of their politics and alliances inside and outside the military in order to gauge their significance. We step on a safer ground however, if we look at the ideologies of that inner group of officers who led the 1967 military coup and assumed the prime governmental responsibilities, far from being ‘modern’, were not 57 only hardly articulate, but also traditional to the core.

Themes, delivery and presentation bore no relationship whatsoever to any military or civilian technocratic and managerial ideological discourse.

It is futile to search for a totalitarian or interventionist ideology with the Greek army based on claims of scientism or on a ‘techno-scientific culture’. In none of the stated political objectives of the various military groups, in their ideological pronouncements or in their political claims, cfo we find the pseudo-scientific formulations of the technological thinking (e.g. efficiency versus politics, etc), technocratic doctrines.

On the contrary, political ideologies’ reigned ‘supreme.

Finally, a by-product of the military profession is careerism, which nourishes hopes and ambitions of climbing up the hierarchical ladder according to a system of established rules and criteria. It is assumed that bureaucratic and individual wranglings for resources, prestige,

social status, rewards and the like make ethical standards withdraw into dark corners. It is an atomisation and personalisation process which constitutes an essential component of corporatism . It raises expectations by cultivating the prospect, real or unreal, of a rapid mobility upwards according to merit and achievement. It brings material rewards as well as psychological compensations and power. Meritocracy and elitism as ideologies are deeply rooted in the structure and functional requirements of the military organisation.

As we have seen, conditions in the HAF were such as to frustrate rather than enhance career expectations. Careerism which entails opportunism, was strong within the ranks of the middle and lower officers. It reinforced elitism, as an ideological and political disposition, not as a material condition , and helped to weld a strong corporatist spirit. Meritocracy was destroyed by an absolute and rigid application of ‘suspect’ethical standards and political criteria.

D.- Operational Ideologies

1.- The Type of War

The integration of HAF into NATO’s military structure meant that the only type of war envisaged was no other than that anticipated by the strategic, tactical and political planning of the Alliance. To that extent the HAF could only contribute in the likelihood of a conventional warfare within the division of operational responsibilities in a certain area (war theatre). All scenarios and contingency plans were written accordingly. Greek Military Academies and War Colleges were modelled after US military schools. A glance at the curriculum, manuals and periodicals of the HAF, confirms the view that it is not possible to detect any genuine Greek contribution in this field. There was no Greek ‘strategic dogma¹* as such, and no theoretical works on national defence worth any attention. On the contrary, participation in one of the two politico-military blocks reinforced the belief that there was no third way, not even room for more independent policies within the existing system of alliances. The world is divided in two,’, you have to take sides, to be faithful and loyal to your side irrespective of the consequences; anything else only helps your enemy. The most intransigent and rigid views about the righteousness of this ideological, moral, and political division worldwide were to be found in the military. Differentiation in the attitudes of some western liberal demoracies on the easing of the cold war tensions was taken as indication of communist ‘infiltration’ and a proof of the decadence and decline of the West.

2.- Counter-Insurgency

Greek military thinking was deeply saturated by counter-insurgency pseudo-dogmas. Political change was considered to be a mere extension of the Cold War and part of a world communist conspiracy. Forms of quite normal political conflict (e.g. strikes, demonstrations, etc), were viewed as ‘subversive’ and a constant watch was urged against the ‘internal enemy’. Conspiracy theories of politics, history as a serial of plots and counter-plots, flourished. Psychological warfare was taught in military schools; the military establishment set up special offices of information and propaganda to disseminate counter-insurgency ideologies throughout the country. Alarmist propaganda by governments was heavily overshadowed and surpassed by the military’s zealous efforts. Officers were trained in US military Academies in the techniques and methods of conduct of ‘Psy War’. The military establishment as a whole was alert about the maintainance of law and order and very critical of any opponents who were always referred to as ‘subversive elements’ or ‘extremists of the Left.

American counter-insurgency doctrines of the 60’s taught and applied69 basically in relation to Latxn-American military politics , had fallen into the very receptive ears of the Greek military. The doctrines were given due credibility by virtue of the military’s own experiences in fighting the civil war.

The enlargement of the concept of defence, geo-political doctrines, the concept of national security, played a crucial role in defining the new type of non-conventional warfare, la guerre revolutionaire° of the French military school, to which the Greek military happily subscribed.

War against the ‘internal enemy’ requires new techniques which are essentially political and focus on the physical and ideological control of the target population. Hence, military intelligence becomes central to any institutionalisation of the military’s capabilities and responsibilities in the field of ‘law and order’.

The ground for the expansion of military activities in Greek domestic politics and the practical application and reproduction of these ideologies was set by a body of unconstitutional legislation which went as far as to empower military authorities to prosecute civilians for ‘espionage’ thus, putting the whole machinery of surveillance into the hands and effective control of the military. The basic conflation of the military and right-wing ideologies in this field made it easier for the military to expand its intelligence activities in a vast area of domestic politics and to have a major say in the assessment of internal ‘security71 threats’. Setting the military against the people crises of legitimacy were to follow suit. Given the international context of the HAF’s operation it becomes clearer why all other ideological themes were absorbed and subsumed by counter-insurgency doctrines. The potential of the Greek military for ideological warfare along these lines and in terms of domestic politics was immense. A ‘programme for immediate action’ planned in 1966 by military authorities amidst an unfolding political crisis, in order to confront the ‘imminent’ communist threat, constitutes a panorama of the planning capabilities, methods (white, grey and black propaganda) and institutional means (military and civilian72 alike) of waging Psy War.

E.- The Ideological Apparatuses

If ideologies are politically significant only through practices, we must therefore identify these practices. If ideologies are not confined to themselves and are seeking persuasive functions, we must identify the agencies of production, reproduction, elaboration and consumption. And, finally, if ideologies must be circulated, communicated, distributed, disseminated and inculcated we must identify the methods and the media.

1.- Political education

Educational practices are central to the political education of the career officer. They aim at achieving the maximum possible homogenisation of attitudes of the young officer cadet according to a prescribed system. The institutional setting and the contents of this political education are much more important the the syllabus of the curriculum.

The claim that the Greek Military Academy provided adequate theoretical knowledge (economics, politics, sociology) compared to civilian higher education institutions is certainly a joke. The selection of teaching staff, the quality of the manuals, total isolation from civilian educational institutions, the vulgar and re-actionary contents of the subjects, all contributed to an approach which had little to do with the notion of political education. In fact, it is quite ridiculous to talk about any attempt to teach politics on a73 conceptual basis and quite impossible to separate processes of teaching from processes of socialisation and indoctrination. The Greek military were concerned of course not to give the cadet officer as wide a spectrum of political ideas as possible, but to preserve the waterproof character of the institution by keeping out the sins of politics (especially in the ‘dirty’ and ‘corrupt’ forms of party politics) and having a free hand in educating the young officer to ‘national anti-communist ideals’. In other words, to maintain the ideological autonomy, self-sufficiency and self-reliance of the military institution by submerging the social and political issues into the ‘nationaland hence ‘above politics’ predicament. The aim was to tighten control over the army and integrate the young officer not into society but into the military organisation making sure that political ideologies were adjusted to the requirement of the state. In other words, it was all about ideological and political indoctrination and I* totalitarian propaganda.

It is nonsense to talk about any attempt to develop consciously capacities for critical and original thought in this domain. We have rather to deal with a well-guarded guild producing both anti-political radiation and anti-intellectualism, manufacturing political nomadism.112

This ideological intoxication and fostering of particularistic values has had no parallel in any civilian institution. There is no need to stress that this situation made no significant demands on the intellect. The young Greek officer had to be prepared to become an ideological crusader and missionary, a leader of men on the basis of his petty-glittering stripes and insignia, not of cooperation, persuasion car intellectual and moral influence. In broader terms, the degree of civilian control over the military is somehow immaterial because political education in the armed forces is influenced and limited both by the particular requirements of the military organisation and by the political context of the educational programmes, which must be conducive to the maintenance of a certain political order and its ideological tenets. This helps to explain the failure of ‘civics instruction’ programmes based on the concept of the ‘citizen in uniform’, which assumes that career soldiers serve as citizens and not as a special social group. The failure of the ‘civics education’ programme in the Federal Republic of Germany is Bundeswehr is particularly impressive.

The ‘citizens in uniform’ aware of his duties and political rights very74 quickly turned into the reality of a citizen ‘filled with anti-communism’. Why is this so? It seems that there is a fundamental contradiction between the liberal-democratic assumptions of ‘citizenship’ and the military homogeneous organisation syndrome. Civil rights are severely restricted and the sacrifice is justified in terms of functional imperatives and national mission. Dissent or criticism are not tolerated because the organisational and institutional structure is unable to accommodate ideological conflicts. The institutional structure and organisation of the military facilitates the systematic regimentation of internal life, suppression of individuality, uniformity of behaviour, and induced solidarity. These conditions encourage the formation of relatively homogeneous and stable ideological clusters rather than properties conducive to the exercise of ‘free citizenship’. The individual conception of the citizen as a legal and political subject cannot flourish within the military. The predominance and unswerving dedication to duty legitimises the residual character of the right. One has to acknowledge the limitation of reforms, however desirable and politically feasible they may be, which can be applied to military institutions along the lines of democratic accountability, representative functions, free associations, trade union activities and the like. Certainly the scope for reform is large in the Greek case, where, given past experiences everything must be thought and done anew. Nevertheless, it can only be stressed once again that the institutional environment of the military organisation holds the key for understanding the limitations of military pedagogy and of any programme of political instruction. Teaching and learning processes are overdetermined by a prescribed system of training and disciplined activities. The roles of the educator and the commander are overlapped and confused. Diffusion and transmission of meanings and contents are identified with authority and order. The educator orinstructor is but a commander in his particular field. Instruction takes the form of a command and is crystallised by internalisation and repetition. Intellectual discipline is associated with emotional and body discipline. A strong intellect cannot rfthabit a weak and unhealthy body. Intellectual training is equated with physical training and repetitive exercise. The conjunction between discipline and ideological 7₅indoctrination is common to all armies old and new. The HAF case did not deviate from this general pattern. But what is more pronounced was their complete autonomy in deciding these matters.

2.- The Media

The ideological apparatus of the Greek military was not organised around educational institutions, but around its independent system of internal communications. If we abandon the notion of ‘value-free’ information and adopt the more reasonable and plausible view that value standpoints and judgements are embedded in information, that facts and values are not and cannot be separated and consequently political premises and politics are behind the ‘news’, we can appreciate the power of the military system of communication in shaping military ‘public opinion’. Ideas, ideologies, culture, information and news cannot be communicated and reach mass audiences except through channels controlled by media. Those who are in control of them command a powerful ideological and political position. In this respect we can easily identify the fundamental differences between the civilian and military system of mass media, even in countries like Greece, where the domination and control of the media by the State is almost absolute and based on constitutional provisions. Even the more modernised and liberal Constitution of 1975 stipulates (Article 15 paragraph 2) that ‘Radio and Television’ shall be placed under the immediate supervision of the State…’. In the first place, the military communication media system is absolutely centralised. Secondly, the military ‘public’, is a passive, public, docile flock. There is no interaction, no feed-back, no dialectic between the messenger and the receiver. Accounts of social and political reality spread from top to bottom. Thirdly, there is a perfect monopoly no rivals competing for ‘audiences’, no sphere of accountability, no choice of sources of information or different interpretation and, fourthly, censorship is absolute, erecting a barrier between the inside and the outside world. Censorship works side by side with the techniques of decontextualisation, defocalisation of issues, lacunae, selection and processing of information. Everything is sanctioned officially.

The military system of communication premises what is euphemistically called public, unable to generate interpretations of their own.

In the era of mass communications and information armed forces throughout the world are making extensive use of new techniques and new technological set ups. ‘Socio-metrical¹ studies have shown that subjects of political discussion within the military are taken increasingly from mass media* Armies were quick to realise the immense potential of the mass media for ideological and political indoctrination 77 and integration.

Turning to the Greek case, it is not difficult to realise that the primary aim of the military’s media operations has been to facilitate political cohesiveness and integration at the expense of everything else. Military mass media policies reflected the ideological and political needs of the institution as an autonomous centre of power.

In the Greek case, we can distinguish between external and internal use of the military’s communications system. To the external use belong all those projects of propaganda and public relations aiming at conveying a positive image of the military to the outside world, as well as all those nationwide operations based on independent institutional means. From this point of view the operation of a national78 radio network entirely under military administration and control , an experimental TV station towards the late 60’s along the lines of the same institutional autonomy, wall papers, posters and pictorial representation of national events and facts targeted to local audiences and rural populations, publications like the notorious Sovietology for wider readership, speakers provided to other civilian institutions on national occasions or even, indirectly, access to national right-wing newspapers acting as mouthpieces of the military establishment, all these means were used to penetrate and influence the civilian population. Certainly these functions were parallel to the efforts made by the civil authorities to serve not entirely dissimilar ideological and political goals. However, the institutional autonomy of the military in this area has never been challenged or disputed.

The internal structure was more complex. Special military colleges for Psy War preparing selected officers for propaganda and other ideological duties; broadcasting centres in every major military unit, special time allotted in training schedules for National Ethical’ Instruction (EID) of the troops, lectures in politics and the ideology of international communism; service newspapers and journals like Military News (Stratiotika Nea) and Military Review (Stratiotiki Epithe- orisi), manuals of propaganda, in short all forms of the written and spoken word, sponsored literature and visual images, to provide for the diverse needs of officers of all ranks and the troops.

It would be useless to embark on any content analysis. What is more topical here is to stress the complete domination of the military Second Bureau and the Intelligence Services ov£r this field: A parallel organisation, alongside the existing chain of command, which was in charge of political thinking for the Armed Forces, gathered analysed and processed information, about the state of the armed forces, planned and divided ideological and political work in the army, controlled surveillance, bugged and tapped communications as it pleased, in short,117 constituted a special community within the HAF. It combined political and ideological skills, had links with foreign intelligence services, formulated military ideological indoctrination, developed a vast network of personal loyalties, plotted and machinated provocations. It is no wonder that the leadership of the secret officers’ associations were trained in these posts. The fusion between security and ideological functions was total.

Evaluating military ideologies

Functionalist accounts of military ideologies stress professional values on products of intra-occupational socialisation resulting in such a degree of ideological homogeneity that the inclination to speak about a military Weltanschauung or professional mind can hardly 79 be resisted. Value homogenisation and the creation of military culture have two basic procedural requisites, selection and indoctrination, which we have dealt with. The unique organisational and institutional features of the army (e.g. centralised command, hierarchical chain of authority, and discipline) process the ideological materials in order to make out of an amorphous human mass a motivated fighting force. In this sense it can be said that armies could hardly fulfil their mission without being motivated or inspired by a sense of corporate spirit and solidarity. Most sociological accounts 80 employ Durkheim’s notions of organic· and mechanical solidarity.

L*esprit de corps is a derivative of mechanical solidarity characteristic, not of modem ‘organised’ societies but of traditional segmental social structures with an undifferentiated unity of uniform activities, beliefs and sentiments and rigid social controls. Along these lines 1’esprit de corps is but an induced ‘conscience collective.’ For Durkheim, mechanical solidarity corresponds to a system of homogeneous segments that are similar to one another, comprising in their turn only homogeneous elements, developed in a way suggesting that solidarity can only grow Bl in inverse proportion to personality. This problematic then, in its attempt to provide a comprehensive theory of the relations between action and the essential properties of social groups in their search for purposive conduct does not go beyond the familiar theme of norms and the normalitive regulating aspects of social collectivities. In this sense ‘conscience collective’ is equivalent to the ‘common value system’ responsible both for the motivational components of action and cultural consensus. Parson’s Social system in the formulation of the system’s properties of integration of motivational and cultural or symbolic elements is here highly indebted to Durkheim. For the functionalist, ‘cultural consensus’ as the basis of social order and stability parallels Durkheim’s advocacy of internalised moral obligations.

If soldiers’ living conditions (uniform, barracks, systematised nomadism, separate code of morals and manners) are also taken into consideration, one can see why armies are seen as much more organised and cohesive bodies than any other civilian ones. However, it can be plainly said that the approach perpetuates the fiction of an impenetrable, united and watertight military apparatus. But armies, like other civilian and state institutions, despite their elaborate precautionary measures and systematic regimentation, cannot be totally immunised from external influences. They are subject to political antagonisms, the play of organised interests, and conflicting ideological and political goals.

Thus, the thesis about a watertight organisation is not only a fiction but also an excuse, because it helps these self-proclaimed guardians of its monolithic nature to justify purges and other forms of oppression.

These observations apply particularly to the Greek case, where the foci of loyalties were too many and their perceived interests not always identical. Lack of coherent ideologies with positive contents complicated the problem further. Given this ideological fragmentation, despite the drive for homogeneity and conformity, and other cleavages along the lines of age, seniority, promotion, ethical and material rewards etc., examined so far, how is it possible to account for the political significance and effectiveness of these ideologies? A first method would be a classification by.grouping together some ideological core clusters and then to start counting the individual subscribers, assuming it is possible, in order to arrive at a percentage scale. In this way the ideological groupings would be perhaps cleaner, but still the political linkage could not be established. A second method would be to subtract explanatory accounts from the officers’ own ‘self-image’, that is, on the basis of their perception of themselves.

For one no such study had been published before the 1967 military coup and no prudent political analyst would take its findings and their reliability too seriously. . But even if it existed it would not be able to depict anything more than perhaps latent tendencies whose political significance and meaning would be at best, very uncertain and dubious. A third method would be to categorise along the lines of allegiances and loyalties to political institutions (e.g. royalists- republicans, pro-govermnemt – pro-opposition, parliamentary – anti- parliamentary). Underlying these clusters ate obviously more coherent political ideologies like conservative and liberalism, or Right and Left divisions, according to specific historico-political contexts.

The distinctions are valid though much dependent on conjuctural pressures and conditions. The method should be applied in combination with the alignment of political forces according to the contested issues, particularly when the military is a participant, and, even more so when control of the military machine becomes the issue of the day, as in the Greek case. A fourth method would be to draw a dichotomous schema between interventionist and non-interventionist military ideologies and to distribute their followers accordingly. It would appear that by this distinction, the Gordian Knot would be cut at a stroke.

However, as we have seen , the distinction lacks precision, not only because other important shades are left out, but most crucially because it does not asnwer the questions, how, when and under what conditions these ideologies flex their political muscles. Besides, the problems of fluctuations, shifts and changes remain unanswered.

It is my contention that none of the above methods and criteria of classification can provide satisfactory guidelines for a political assessment of military ideologies in relation to their interventionist actualisation, although all of them can shed some light in a given situation. Ideologies may be effective instruments of camouflage and covering up of political goals or may instigate and influence plans of political action, but they cannot provide the means of political calculability. That is why we need to take into account their organisational shell. This role was played both by the parallel organisation embedded in the ideological and political branches of the military apparatus as well as by officers’ organisations like IDEA and its successors. In this sense, as we shall see, it is quite possible to talk about political organisations within the Armed Forces resembling political parties in their major functional aspects, rather than military cabals. The connection between ideologies and organisation would be the same; the latter gives coherence, elaborates, articulates, mobilises, unites and directs ideologies to specific political goals drawing on a variety of ideological sources. Only political functions and organisations can perform these duties. Thus ideologies, despite their fragmentation, are in fact channelled into organisation formats acquire some degree of fixation and are crystallised into systems of political loyalties. This process is very complex and not without contradictions, reshuffles, shifts, disarticulations and new syntheses. But it is the organisational structures that give ideologies material power and make them politically effective. Deployment and re-arrangement of political ideologies within the Greek military were not taking place regardless of what was going on in the political arena and the political issues at stake. Loyalties were affected by the ebb and flow of political antagonism outside. At some point it happened that personal ‘frustrations’, psychological dispositions, motives, mood, interests and the like, coincided and fused with the main lines of political conflict and thus, given the organisational structure and leadership, were channelled effectively into intervention. Therefore, it is useless, to quantify ideologies according to their followers, because what really matters is the political superiority of certain ideological groupings resulting from organisation, concentration of power and leadership.

In the light of my analyses of the Greek flfilitary apparatus, it is not an exaggeration to say that the politically significant ideological divisions within it were quite predictable. We may now ask why this role of the armed forces in formulating and disseminating ideologies over domestic politics was so pronounced and so central to the state.

I can only suggest here an explanatory outline.

1.- The political role of the armed forces and the institutionally predominant position with the state; a sort of latent militarisation of politics.

2.- The political and ideological weakness of the ruling class. The fragmentation and heterogeneity of the bourgeois factions, their different cultural background and economic power basis (from industrialists originating from Asia Minor to black-marketeers who accumulated their capital during the German occupation) did not allow unified ideological discourse nor any sustained ideological and cultural efforts.

3.- There were no ‘organic-intellectuals’ of any calibre attached to the ruling classes and independent from their political dicta to help formulate coherent philosophical views or more or less sophisticated political and government doctrines based on indigenous historical experiences and intellectual traditions.

It was not,therefore, accidental that under such conditions the Greek military were unconstrained in developing their own autonomous ideology which was not confined solely to the field of operational doctrines. The latter had also to be imported from abroad. The Greek military did have their own ‘intellectuals’, not in the persons who formulate strategic doctrines and operational dogmas, but in those who explicitly and openly perform ideological and political functions related to the production and reproduction of ‘internal ideologies’; propagandists, instructors, trainers, educators, etc., – the ‘organic’ intellectuals of the military, the engineers of military consent and legitimacy. That is why civilian control of the military cannot rest on the expansion of military autonomy. The principle’ of °f civilian supremacy is in reality a matter of ideological hegemony.

4.- The Greek educational system particularly the Universities, were not geared to stimulate intellectual life, train and produce intellectuals, but rather administrators and civil servants.

5.- Rudiments of ruling political ideologies were parochial, antiquated, opaque and barely suitable to legitimise the existing political formula or to mobilise consent.

6.- Religious ideology was not a substitute. The Church was subject to state authority and control and its influence confined merely to social ideologies.

From a historical perspective, the bourgeois ideologies of the interwar period were shattered and had therefore to be reconstructed anew and given new contents. The bourgeois political parties, due to their personalistic character and lack of institutionalised structures for elaborating and diffusing ideologies could not constitute the focal point. It remained for the state apparatuses to carry out these functions to the best of their ability. In the wake of the civil war, the armed forces were better placed to assume this role.

Military ideologies, therefore did not emanate from a class centre radiating ‘ruling’ ideologies; they were basically formed and formulated through the political practices of state apparatuses, above all the repressive one (e.g. Armed Forces and Intelligence Agencies). These apparatuses controlled the processes of legitimation and constituted the focus of legitimacy.

Anti-communism , of course, is hardly a coherent political doctrine nor do these apparatuses possess any ‘organic’ intellectuals of their own capable of bridging the gap. However, it commands the minds of both military and political elites, it is absolute and all-embracing and suits both in their political endeavours. Historically the political parameters of the post civil-war state, the fragile nature of the political institu – tions in so far as they can be explained by the underdeveloped nature of Greece* s capitalism, did not succeed in making juridico-political ideology a dominant feature of the legitimacy of political power. Political domination was never the offset of bourgeois law, parliamentarism or other sophisticated ideological mechanisms which characterise Western societies. ‘Civil society’ and the ‘public sphere’ was subjected to numerous social and political controls and restrictions discouraging and repressing cultural and ideological autonomy. Thus, the ideological unity of the ruling classes was not organised by civilian institutions, but by the repressive institutions of the state.

The Greek post civil-war state was characterised by a basic contradiction. Formally it established equal rights sanctionned by a written Constitution. But parallel to these legal structures guaranteeing basic political freedoms and human rights there existed another legal structure sanctioning concepts of political and social discrimination. The ‘paradox’ was that citizenship was defined in a way virtually excluding from public life, access to Civil Administration, Public Corporations, even to driving licences all those who were classified as having and practising left-wing political persuasions or leanings or anybody else who was unlucky enough to fall below the demarcation line of the ‘nationally minded’ citizens.

So the principle of equal political rights was undermined by the state itself negating its own legality by applying even at the formal level double standards. Isonomy is demolished. The door was wide open for any kind of discrimination and arbitrariness. The Armed Forces held a particularly crucial share among the agencies set up to police this domain and enforce the ‘law’ on these grey areas. The state was in a perpetual state of emergency and alert, anxious for its own survival.

Military alarmism , embodied in both the military’s theories of risks and their political ideas, could not have found a more fertile ground to grow and prosper on.

The tremendous popular appeal of the ‘equal rights’ and the ‘just Legal State’ political campaigns of the_ early 60’s, which acquired unparalleled militant and mass dimensions in modern Greek political history, have to be contrasted with that state of affairs; to the repressive state practices and the politics of ideological negation which were to be shaken to their foundations. The hostility and reaction of the military towards more openess, ideological and political dialogue and reformist policies becomes understandable because its ideological and political predominance, its raison d’etre in domestic politics and above all its institutional autonomy were seriously84 threatened. Thus, in evaluating military ideologies it is of paramount importance to single out what specific ideological or political trends, tendencies, shifts, dislocations, disarticulations, etc., are politically significant and, therefore, relevant to military intervention. We must inquire deeply into what is it that makes some ideologies more ‘interventionist’ than others and what are the conditions under which military ideologies acquire these interventionist characteristics;

For the ideological relations between the military and civilian elites are neither static nor stable; they must be forged and reconstructed at every level according to circumstances and long-term changes.

Hegemony requires constant effort, that is, political effort. It cannot be taken for granted. If a rigid and unchanging relationship is implied, then military intervention is inevitable when the boundaries of this ideological consensus are broken or threatened by ‘outside’ forces. A similar inevitability is also implied when these boundaries are broken from within the military itself. But these are phenomena which are not derived from strictly ideological processes; that is why any problematic stressing the identity of ‘outlooks’ and ideological convergence on fundamental matters between military and civilian elites is always a highly eliptical explanation of military intervention and quite often very misleading.

The military are not and cannot be neutral or obedient servants of the state. Political stability and order is ensured by common ideological 85 associations in the context of the status quo. When the links are broken the army tends to impose its own will.

CHAPTER FIVE

The politics of the Greek Military

The patterns of military intervention in the political process over the period under review were complex and cannot be dealt with here in detail. In all these instances, the HAF intervened directly or indirectly, either autonomously or in conjunction with right-wing governments. The distinction however, is not as clear-cut as at first might appear.

1.- The Electoral Process

The direct or indirect interventions of the military in the electoral process always benefited right-wing governments to the detriment of the opposition parties,

a.- There was a quite extensive ‘zone of militarised surveillance’

stretching along Greece’s 1,170 kilometers of northern land borders from Albania to East Thrace (European Turkey). It was established immediately after the civil war for security reasons. Entrance to and exit from this zone was controlled by the military authorities in the area. Permits were granted at the ctiscretion of the military commanders and on many occasions they were denied to politicians of the opposition parties and to the Press. The area was under a permanent state of mobilisation; para-milirary units were not disarmed as a rule during electoral campaigns. Military authorities virtually controlled the lives of nearly one million people, approximately l/8th

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of the country’s population and influenced electoral results in the area to a substantial degree. In the 1958 elections, for instance, whereas the national percentage vote of the right-wing party ERE was 41%, in the ‘zone’ constituencies it averaged between 71-86%. Even at the peak of the electoral triumphs of the main opposition party EK (Centre Union) in 1963 and 1964, ERE (National Radical Union) scored in these constituencies as high as between 62-76%, whereas its national total did not exceed 40 and 35 percent respectively. It was only in the 1963 and 1964 elections that the left-wing party EDA could manage to campaign relatively freely in this ‘zone’.

b.- The military vote has always been a controversial issue in party electoral politics. An ad hoc movement of military units to marginal constituencies before polling day could change the political geography and the system of voting (e.g. separate polling stations, etc.) , and distribution of the vote was loaded with obvious political dangers and wide margins for manipulation. Provisions concerning the military and civil service vote were always included in the electoral laws enacted before every election, so that it becomes difficult to draw a clear-

cut picture. For some elections the military and civil-service vote cannot be separated from the national totals, whereas in others party electoral coalitions can only point to gross estimates. The military and civil service vote represented as high a proportion of the total 2 vote as 10.8% and 9.5% in the 1950 and 1951 elections respectively.

This percentage was dropped considerably to around 4.7% (1956) and 1.8% (1963) due to female enfranchisement (1952) and demographic changes. In close electoral races like that of 1956, the military vote was sufficient to tilt the balance towards the ruling party ERE, which came under heavy fire from the opposition parties for having abused its power and manipulated the military vote in an ‘electoral orgy.’ Indeed, the military vote showed an irregular bias in favour of the Right incongruent with the pattern of the civilian vote nationwide. In any case, the right-wing parties usually got the lion’s share of the military and civil service vote, while the Left received four to five times less compared with its national averages.

c.- The apogee of the military’s intervention in the electoral process came of course in 1961 under the notorious ‘Pericles Plan’ devised in collaboration with the incumbent political party, ERE, to nullify the electoral risks entailed in the rapidly rising fortunes of the opposition party EK and curb the ambitions of the Left. The involvement of the Army and other security forces has been established beyond any reasonable doubt by official investigations, prosecutions 3 and trials, Press reports, documented evidence and Parliamentary debates. The prospective dictator, Colonel G. Papadopoulos, figured as the executive ‘secretary’ of the Committee which was set up to coordinate the operation. The opposition parties denounced the electoral results as a product of ‘fraud and coercion’ and G. Papan- drou, the leader of the Centre Union, never recognised the legitimacy of the new government of ERE. The elections of 1961 will remain one of the darkest pages in the long historical electoral contests irrespective of the substance of allegations about the involvement of the leadership of ERE.

2.- Political ‘episodes’

a.- Military units stationed around Athens staged a ‘protest coup’ on May 30-31, 1951, after the resignation of Marshal Papagos from his position as chief of the Armed Forces, suspecting a Palace hand behind the move. The objectives of that military ‘promenade’ are still obscure and there is no point in adding here to the volume of speculative.accounts. What is clear is that the authority of the then coalition government of Centre parties was ridiculed. It was

neither the government nor the Palace which finally persuaded the ‘rebels’ to calm down and return to the barracks; it was in fact, Papagos who called them to order. All accounts so far suggest quite clearly that it was IDEA which engineered the military coup of 1951. The government ordered administrative and judicial inquiries 4 into the ‘episode¹. The reporting authorities recommended the public prosecution of the mutinous officers involved in the coup, but later, with the ascent of General Papagos to power in 1952, an amnesty was granted for ‘national¹ reasons. To this, opposition parties not excluding the Left^agreed, taking perhaps a realistic view of the situation. Under Papagos’s government the participant officers, who had initially been expelled, were reinstated and appointed to key positions However, the damage to the Centre government had been irreparable and its authority was daily undermined by leaks to the Press of ‘military secrets’ and the management of military and security affairs.”*

b.- The ‘Air Force Affair’ is another dark page in Greece’s post civil war political history. Air Force officers were arrested in 1951 for alleged participation in a ‘communist plot’. The affair was made public in 1952, but during the trial which followed, it was revealed that confessions had been made under torture. It took some twenty- four years for people to realise that the ‘Air Force affair’ far from being a communist plot, had in fact been stage-managed by the Intelligence Services and those military circles which wanted to purge the Air Force from any officers considered unreliable and unsympathetic to their policies and give proof of the ‘Reds under the bed’ motto. Needless to say that at that time it was not too hard to persuade or to scare the politicians. The deception was absolutely impeccable. The victims of this tragedy were reinstated in 1983.

c.- In August 1955 opposition parties warned the right-wing government that’ polico-military elements’ were preparing a dictaroship, deeply ‘concerned’ (upon PM Papagos’s serious illness), of the government’s inability to handle a dangerous crisis in Greek-Turkish relations over the Cyprus problem.

d.- On the eve of the 1956 general elections, reports indicated that the

army, infuriated by the electoral coalition between bourgeois parties and the Communist Left (for the first time since the civil war), was not prepared to tolerate any victory of the latter at the polls. The possibility of a military coup under the nose of a right-wing government was eventually averted by victory of the newly formed right-wing party ERE, under Karamanlis’s leadership.

I have picked some well-known and well-documented ‘episodes’ in order to show not only instances of intervention in the political process, but also the degree of the army’s real capability for autonomous political action. Of course, the list of plots and counter-plots, purges, expulsions, reinstatements, cover-ups, machinations, provocations, etc., is endless. It is extremely difficult to unravel the threads of the military’s Byzantine intrigues. A real state within the state. It was not at all accidental that every year changes in the High Command, promotions, transfers and appointments to key positions were watched by all with great anxiety. The stormy parliamentary debates and the Press rows over these issues reveal only the tip of the iceberg about the crux of the problem in post civil war Greek politics.

3.- Control of internal security

To penetrate the wall of secrecy surrounding the Security Services is well nigh impossible. However, their role in Greek politics was so pronounced and the factional feuds to control them so fierce that they have constituted an irreducible factor in every crucial moment of the country’s political life.

a.- The Greek army had its own security and information network (A2)

dealing with matters concerning the military. In addition, Military Intelligence Services were deeply involved in internal security functions, policing the political activities of the population through its A2 bureaus and the Military Police (EAT/ESA), but mainly through the control of ‘civilian’ Intelligence Services, which in fact were greatly militarised. The strengthening of internal security followed the termination of civil-war hostilities. The Greek Central Intelligence Service (KYP) was founded in 1953, after Greece joined NATO at the height of the cold war, though it existed in an embryonic form from 1949. It was moulded in the image of the CIA, which gave technical and financial asistance and guidance . The KYP was manned and directed mainly by army officers and, although its activities were supposed to be directed to espionage and counter-espionage, its main purpose was to combat communism inside and outside the country and to assist other security services to the same end. Likewise, with a noted number of nominally independent security services in charge of chasing communists in an endless witch-hunt and track down sympathisers., fellow travellers and virtually every political opponent to the regime: for instance, the General Security Service of the Police,the General Directorate of National Security, founded in 1958 and responsible to the Ministry of Public Order, the Security Branch of the Gendarmerie, etc. The functions of all these services overlapped considerably. According to some estimates the combined personnel of these services exceeded 60,000. Files were kept on the majority of the population (between 80 to 90%) in addition to a nationwide system of police identity cards. The total number of 7 files could be anybody’s guess . These files were continuously expanded by intensive monitoring of the political activities of Greek citizens and with the encouragement of foreign intelligence services. No wonder those services became the centre of plots, counter-plots and military conspiracies.

Governments were dependent on the security reports of these services and were often deceived and misled. The political psychoses of that era were conducive to the blurring of cool judgements and reasonable behaviour. Various branches of foreign intelligence services, especially the British and American, which were frequently at loggerheads, were closely connected with the Greek services and were in fact in a position to be well informed on everything important.

According to some accounts the CIA even paid the rent for the building housing KYP and participated in the interrogation of communist detainees.¹⁰

Of course, any account of these obscure world leaves many gaps and the temptation to fill them by recourse to imagination, creative or otherwise, has encountered little resistance amongst the highly imaginative community of Greek journalists, commentators and political fiction writers. However, on the evidence accumulated so far, fiction and reality in some cases do seem to be coming closer.

b.- The army was also in control of the Battalions of National Defence (TEA), which succeeded the units of Local Defence (MAY) formed during the civil war. TEA units were officered, commanded and trained by army officers and were clearly used as a political instrument to control local and rural populations. Figures about the strength of these units are not available, but it is not unreasonable to assume that they nuntiered tends of thousands.‘*‘’^L As a matter of fact, TEA were fully incorporated into the military structure and were responsible directly to the military commands of the region. The involvement of these units is electoral scandals, political intimidation and persecution of anti-government supporters caused the opposition parties to demand their dissolution, or at least their disarmament, at election campaign times, an indispensable condition for the fair and free conduct of the elections.

c.- The threads connecting the Security Services with the ‘parastate’ organisations were also numerous. It seems that parastate organisations had started to appear and proliferate under legal or illegal covers around 1957-1958 with the first signs of popular discontent, rising mass mobilisation .and the electoral victory of the Left, which became the major opposition party in Parliament by winning 24.43% of the vote and scared the ruling anti-communist community to death.

What however, distinguishes these parastate organisations from their European counterparts,(e.g. Germany and Italy in the pre-fascist period) is that they were not mass organisations expressing or leading mass movements of a fascist type, but rubber stamp associations with few members recruited mainly amongst the criminal and political underworld. They did not have the characteristics of a ‘black shirts’ movement of any importance. On the contrary, they were under the firm control of security services and were used as an instrument for doing the ‘dirty work’ and thus make it possible for the official organs of the State to keep their hands clean publicly. As a rule, they were used to harass the public meetings of political opponents providing the pretext for the riot police to intervene violently; they were used in other provocative actions and more 12 openly in student politics. Their obscure existence came into 13 broad daylight with the assassination of the left-wing deputy Lambrakis in Thessaloniki in May 1963. It was only thanks to the fearless efforts of Public Prosecutors that what appeared at first sight to be a more innocent ‘traffic accident’ turned out to be a well-organised 4·’political crime involving the high ranks of the Security Services and their pawns in the parastate underworld.

Prompted by these ramifications of the power structure a variety of definitions were coined: parallel state, parallel government, invisible government, parastate, state in the state, state above the state, illegal legality or legal illegality, to mention just those which acquired frequent currency in the Greek political vocabulary. They all contain some grains of truth; but they are flawed in so far as they imply that the right-wing and conservative governments of the day were just puppet-like administrators. This is certainly not true. Obviously these networks within the state could misdirect, misinform or set traps and pitfalls for the governments, which often found themselves in the awkward position of covering up the activities of their subordinate executive and law- enforcing organs. On the other hand, they constituted the ‘dynamic underpillars’ of a political regime which, lacking adequate legitimacy was found to use a strong hand in order to cope with popular discontent and mass political mobilisation. The Security services were, indispensable for the policies of ‘containment ‘, but at the same time they constituted a potential destabilising factor for the government and posed a real threat. However, despite their considerably autonomy, they were not powerful enough to topple governments at will. They were often antagonistic between themselves, divided and factionalised. Only the army could provide effective leadership backed by real power. This is why the Papandreou Centre Government (1963-1965) though it it managed to control the upper echelons of the KYP, the Police and other security branches of the state without major risks, could not hope to suceed in assuming real power without a major political confrontation with the army..

4.- The Military Juntas

There exist few published sources dealing with the secret organisations of Greek officers during the 40’s and after. They usually offer very personal reminiscences without serious documentation. However, the sketchy evidence available so far is more than sufficient for the purpose of this study.

a.- The most prominent and clandestinely active organisation of officers in the post civil war period was IDEA (Sacred Bond of Greek Officers) .

It originated in the Middle East where new military units were formed out of the remnants of the Greek army defeated by the Germans and the local Greek community under the aegis of the British command. The story of the Greek armed forces in the Middle East is too long and

14 complex to be narrated here. The fact is that both officers and troops were deeply factionalised and politicised and grouped together, for various reasons, ranging from the left-wing ASO (Anti-fascist Military Organisation)^, which rapidly became the most powerful one,

to the pro-fascist ‘National Nemesis ‘ of the notorious Colonel Vagenas, from the extreme royalist ENA (Union of Junior Officers) and the equally right-wing SAN (Association of Young Officers) to the personal following of the Socialist, anti-communist and controversial Major Kladakis EASDO (National Republican Military Liberation 16 Organisation.) It seems that IDEA sprang from both ENA and SAN.

It was formed sometime between 1943 and 1944 on the eve of the first major act of the civil -war (December 1944).- The bond appears to have remained unbroken. At the peak of its organisational strength IDEA probably had a membership of between 2,000 and 2,500 officers of all ranks. It is equally probable that the initial vitality of IDEA subsided with the retirement of its founder officers and perhaps due to its inability to satisfy the demands of junior and ambitious officers. It is also reasonable to assume that the majority of its members commanding higher posts were closer to the Palace than junior officers. It is highly unlikely that the Palace,was either unaware or did not attempt to control the organisation by various means available to royal patronage and tutelage. On the contrary, according to some accounts, royal interests enjoyed a good representation in the organisation, which, however was in decline towards the late 50’s·

No satisfactory reasons were given for this eclipse, but it seems that they were not unrelated to the emergence of a new rival organisation within the army as an alternative pole of attraction for officers’ loyalties. Nevertheless, IDEA continued to exist and operate without encountering any obstacles from right-wing politicians.

b.- It now seems certain that a new organisation was ^et up around 1957-1958 called EENA (Union of Young Greek Officers). ^he re-appearance of the ‘Young’ in the organisation’s label has prompted many commentators to read in it significant ideological and political connotations, namely a resentment towards senior officers seen as having been integrated into the social and political establishment and corrupted by its status rewards and thus no more interested in promoting the ambitions of the younger generations of officers. In ,any case,it was claimed that G. Papadopoulos (the prospective leader of the 1967 military coup) and the inner circle of his associates were the founders of EENA and its effective leaders. The organisation probably had a rudimentary existence for some years, but it is very likely that shortly after 1961 it gained considerable support and crystallised its organisational format. It is quite natural to assume that membership between IDEA and EENA was overlapping and both collaboration and antagonism marked their mutual relationships. G. Papadopoulos and his inner circle were also known for their training in Intelligence and ?sy War by US agencies and their close connections with them.

Eventually important members of the organisation colonised all military and militarised civilian security services. It is difficult to estimate the membership of EENA, but judging from the inner circle of 30 to 40 officers who staged the 1967 coup and the hard core of 200 to 300 officers who provided the ‘cordon sanitaire’, it is not at all unreasonable to assume that the outer circle comprised officers counted in many more hundreds.

I have tried to show why the political inpact of these organisations has been significantly greater than their membership would warrant.

The convenient myth that it was all about a ‘handful of conspirators’ who caught the political leadership napping is often advanced in order to discharge political responsibilities and avoid awkward questions.

However,in order to cast the picture in a more realistic way, the following points should be made: First, there is now documentary evidence that from their initial conception in the Middle East, these organisations17 were known even to US Intelligence Services , well before any active American involvement in Greek affairs. Second, the existence and activities of IDEA was an open secret not only because of the 1951 ‘incident’, but also through the contacts of its members with politicians political leadership had formal legal power over everything concerning the professional careers of the army officers. It is unthinkable to suggest that it did not know what forces were intervening to supportand leaders of political parties the military lobby^17.

Thirdly, the their ‘proteg£s’ officers for promotions and appointments to key positions, transfers, etc. Fourth, the activities of Papadopoulos’s junta in the earliest stages of its formation were detected in 1957 19 by the then Head of KYP, General Nikolopoulos. The latter

reported his findings to the High Command and proposed the prosecution of the officers involved. In vain. The ‘conspirators’ not only survived but thrived. Fifth , Papadopoulos was involved in the 1961 electoral coup. No timely action was taken against these officers involved

by the Centre government (1963-1965). Later, (1965) , Papadopoulos again framed an incident of ‘sabotage’ in the tank regiment he commanded, 20 the well known ‘Evros’ incident. Once more, no action was taken and Papadopoulos escaped unpunished. Sixth, the official Parliamentary minutes of this period are full of references to ‘secret’ organisations within the army and especially IDEA. Once more politicians preferred to turn a blind eye and underestimate their potential threat to the political institutions of the country. So the theory of a ‘handful of officers’ guided by foreign agents and conspiring behind the scenes can hardly be taken seriously. Organisations with such large member ships and so well established in every major military command and state security service can neither remain inactive nor pass unnoticed for long.

In many important respects these organisations displayed some major features characteristic of political parties. They were in fact, the political parties of the armed forces. They had membership, rules, 40′ organisational structures, leadership, policies, power bases, resources, capabilities for political action and ultimately the means of coercion at their exclusive disposal. In this sense, given the feebleness of the ruling-parties,the fragility of political institutions, the lack of any autonomy of the civil administration and the ambivalent position of the Palace, the political organisations of the officer corps could play a broader role in organising, to a certain degree, the ideological and political representation of some important sections of the state apparatuses and their corporate interests. This is not a question of numerical size or legal spheres of competence between state organs.

The law played a minor role in organising the rules of the political game. This is a question of real capabilities to penetrate the institutional framework and to mobilise support for political action. Legality mattered little . Legalistic interpretations fall equally wide. It was by these political means that the Greek officer corps was organised and capable of intervening in politics at various levels and ultimately of staging the 1967 coup. That the ‘great’ majority of Greek officers remained neutral, indifferent or loyal to the government or to the King does not and did not in fact, make much difference. This is not a legal or moral question; it is a political one. Organisation is a prerequisite of political strength. The advantages’ lay with those officers who could provide the means of organisation and political direction and could translate the ideological and political divisions into a unitary anti-political current which could be exploited for political purposes and which could be channelled to action. And so it was.

PART II

MONARCHY AND PARLIAMENT

CHAPTER SIX

The Monarchy

Monarchy has always been a contested and divisive issue in Greek politics. The great schism between republicanism and royalism was somewhat healed after the war when the threat posed by communist rebellion united the bourgois parties under the Crown. The new political divide between nationalism and communism gave the King a new spell of legitimacy and acceptance by the main political parties and a new aura of national symbolic power.

With the restoration of the Monarchy in 1946 ^ and the end of the Civil War it seemed that the issue was settled and buried without undue ceremonials. To understand however, why the honeymoon lasted only for a decade or so it is necessary to sketch the Throne’s main pillars of power and its relations with the armed forces and Parliament the other two major constituent parts of the state’s institutional triarchy.

1.- The foreign connection

Historically, the Monarchy in Greece was an imported political institution imposed upon the country by the Great Powers in the 19^th Century in order to balance off their interests in the area. This is one reason why foreign policy issues have always been major points of 2 conflicts between parliamentary governments and the Throne.

When the Americans took over the role of Greece’s new patron (from the British) after World War II, they found an institution willing to cooperate. The exact nature of the US—Palace connection evades documentation and one has to rely basically on the authoritative and influential journalistic accounts of K. Sulsberger, a close friend of the Royal Family, in the New York Times, to get some picture of the Palace’s thinkings and doings behind the scenes.

The relationship was a recognised institution in Greek politics.

The Monarchy, being in a strong constitutional position , was ideally placed as a guarantor of the foreign connection. The foreign orientation of the country and its allied committments were not in dispute and no disagreements occurred between the Throne and the political parties on these issues. No major effort was required for channelling foreign influences through the Palace, for there was a convergence and identity of views and interests. As long as the domestic political issues remained untroubled, there could be no problem at all and the Monarchy would continue to enjoy an unchallenged position vis-a-vis the other pillars of the political order.

2.- Royal Populism

Constitutional monarchies are populist institutions by definition. They appeal directly above the heads of political parties to ‘their people’ and they portray themselves as non-parfey neutral institutions symbolising the unity of state and nation. How well the medieval role of protector and benefactor of the weak and the poor against the encroachments of the powerful and the rich can be played, depends on the economic resources and political position of each monarchy and the kind of society and people it has to appeal to.

The Monarchy in Greece aspired to such a role in order to enhance its popularity and legitimacy. Nevertheless the constraints on both these aspirations were severe. Economically, the limited resources of the Monarchy could not of course match the state’s social welfare services. The Queen’s Fund, a charity personally supervised by the Queen, was financed by indirect taxation^. Strong criticisms were voiced in Parliament about the allocation and management of the funds which escaped the control of government. This royal institution, acceptable to right-wing governments, was in fact a big PR operation, creating a specific type of royal network of political clientelism, comprising paid and unpaid employees and the recipients of the royal charitable favours. But whatever the impact of these social activities might have been, the economic content of this royal populism was vulnerable to countervailing forces. The conspicuous consumption of the royal court, the costly ceremonials, the huge annual allowances, the dowry granted to Princess Sofia out of public funds, the Byzantine style of royal glamour and the royal entourage of the nouveaux riches, to list just a few self-evident examples, all served to portray the Monarchy as a provocative and luxiourious institution in striking contrast to the country’s low standard of living. Yet the Monarchy enjoyed genuine and fanatical support especially amongst the backward peasant masses and right-wing political followers. There is perhaps no way to measure this popularity except in cases of fairly conducted plebiscites. But it is worth noting the strong ideological and symbolic appeal of the Monarchy to a substantial part of the population, as a carrier of past Greek nationalist glories and irredentism.

As far as royal influence amongst the upper classes was concerned, the nouveaux riches were flattered to attend the royal social occasions.

There is no tradition of feudal aristocracy in Greece and the big industrialists, shipowners and other representatives of the rising bourgeoisie were keen to polish up their provincialism with a touch of royal aristocratic savoir vivre and cosmopolitan courtoisie.

Politically, the limitations of royal populism were stricter. The Monarchy not only took an active role in politics but also openly identified itself with right-wing policies in foreign and domestic matters. The royal couple toured the country delivering anti-communist speeches and had never recognised the Left as a legitimate political force. The Throne could hardly be an ‘impartial arbiter’ even in respect to the inter-bourgeois party political conflicts. As a consequence even moderate republican Liberals and pro-royalist conservatives had a lot to complain about.

It would be a truism to state that the political functions of the Monarchy were not confined within the limits of ‘the right to be consulted, the right to encourage and the right to warn’ . This model of constitutional Monarchy does not fit the Greek case. Thus, popular support for the Monarchy was a precious political asset but at the same time the most uncertain and volatile source of political strength since it was conditioned by the very policies of the Crown.

These common sense remarks can help to explain the limitations of royal populism and the fluctuations of the Monarchy’s popular appeal.

3.- The Military Arm

The relations between the Monarchy and the armed forces went far beyond the decorative role of the King as head of all three armed services. Beneath symbolic regalia and rituals of state ceremonials lay a well constructed network of royal power.

A remarkably large segment of the higher military echelons were blindly loyal to the Monarchy. The ties that bound them, were not only due to common ideological and political outlook, but also to be real power of the Throne. The latter controlled to a considerable extent the professional careers of the officers by being able to scrutinise their suitability for higher command and staff posts or for other important positions related to crucial political decision-making centres. The royal Military House (e.g. the King’s Office for Military Affairs) was by and large a powerful centre of influence and decision-making side by side with the Minister of Defence whose occupants have always been of the King’s liking . Through the Military House the Palace exercised control over promotions, retirements, assignments and transfers. It was therefore, well placed to build up a vast network of supporters who virtually owed their professional careers to royal favouritism. This is not to be confused with the real professional capabilities of the officers selected or those who were left out. It simply means that appointments to higher positions had to have the approval of the Palace and the officers concerned had to satisfy the criteria set by its selective mechanism.

So beneath constitutional and legal formalities the reality was that the Palace exercised an effective professional and political control over the HAF. In this respect the armed forces were the main clientelistic constituency of the Throne and its real power basis. In effect the King regarded the army as his fief which should be sealed off from party political influences and left to his responsibility and care as supreme symbol of unity and neutrality. However, these royal practices had their drawbacks. In the first place, those officers of democratic political leanings who managed to survive successive purges deeply resented the Throne’s interference with the armed forces. Secondly, there were all those who disapproved of the practices on the grounds of professional integrity and meritocracy or because they had been passed over or had fallen from royal favour. Thirdly, there were all those officers who served a variety of masters and used royal cover to promote their own plans.

Royal intereference,therefore, instead of uniting the officer corps was deeply divisive and resulted in acute competition for royal favours. ’ Factionalism ensued especially in the lower ranks of the officer corps, since the system of royal clientelism was geared to control the upper echelons and by this means to secure the allegiance of all. On the other hand, the Throne was aware of the officers’ ‘secret’ associations operating within the army, but there is no evidence that efforts were ever made to make them redundant for a variety of reasons: either because they could be used as a counterva

iling force, against the power of the higher officers or because they were seen as reserve forces, or both. The interests of the Throne as perceived by its incumbents lay in the preservation of the water proof character of the armed forces under royal tutelage and outside governmental control. By the same token, the position of the Throne

vis-a-vis Parliament and governments was politically strengthened.

At the same time, the same interests were not compatible with a strong and unified officer corps, for it could pose a threat to the Throne’s power position. To illustrate the Throne’s anxious pre-occupation with preserving the loyalties of the army and its determination to head off any intrusion in its fief it is worth mentioning some examples:

a.- King Paul was not at all happy when Marshal Papagos decided to resign his commission and lead a new political party, the Greek Rally (1951). He was obviously afraid of such a prominent right- wing figure who unquestionably commanded the loyalties of the army and could eventually combine a governmental power with military5 support. He strongly objected to his moves, but at the end of the day Papagos got his way and eventually became Prime Minister (1952) to the great annoyance and fear of the Palace.

b.- The 1961 elections whose results were strongly denounced by the then leader of the main opposition Centre Union Party, George Papandreou, as being products of ‘violence and fraud’ were conducted by a caretaker government appointed by the King and headed by retired General Dovas, in charge of his Military House.’ Everything happened under his aegis. When G. Papandreou became Prime Minister, he ordered an inquiry into the conduct of those elections, which was carried out by a commission of five senior officers. Papandreou made public the findings of the commission in Parliament in March 1965. The report established beyond any shadow of doubt the involvement of the Armed Forces, the Police and the Gendarmerie and the Security Services in rigging the elections. The disclosure infuriated the right-wing party of the opposition ERE, the right-wing Press and the right-wing officers and their reaction was understandable and expected.

But Constantine, who had meanwhile succeeded his father upon the latter’s death in 1964, could hardly conceal his disapproval and refrain from showing his anger. He demanded the immediate dismissal of the five officers, arguing that they ought not to obey the elected P.M. and conduct the investigation, for they were in serious breach of the military hierarchical principle of discipline. The King’s claim could hardly be more revealing. To deny the right to a legally elected government to exercise control of the military was in fact to invite the latter to open disobedience and to sanction the insulated and autonomous political power of the armed forces.

c.~ After the overwhelming electoral victory of the Centre Union in 1964, PM G. Papandreou appointed to the Ministry of National Defence his friend P. Garoufalias, an industrialist and well-known royalist, in order to appease the Palace and allay its fears about his intentions vis-a-vis the armed forces. It very soon turned out that Garoufalias was informing the King about everything without the PM’s permission and was plotting and intriguing against the Papandreou government. In June 1965 the PM, being informed about the activities of his Minister, conveyed to him his decision to transfer him to another ministerial post. Garoufalias with the King’s backing refused to submit his resignation. A compromise gesture by the PM to assume the portfolio of National Defence himself, was again turned down by the King. Confrontation and full-scale political crisis was inevitable. The PM was denied the right to appoint and dismiss his ministers or even himself to take ministerial responsibilities of his own choice I The exchange of letters’^ between the King and the PM during the first fortnight of July 1965 are documents unique in the political and constitutional history of modern Greece. The issues were stated brutally clear. The Pelace would not allow trespassing in its fief, whereas the PM could not tolerate airtight compartments in the government and the administration which emasculated his constitutional powers.

Papandreou was forced to submit his resignation not only for reasons of personal dignity, but also to preserve the integrity and prestige of his post.

What seemed to be a conflict over constitutional rights and obligations between King and PM was but the legal clothing of the central political issue: the control of the armed forces, the principle of civil supremacy which had to be won first against the Throne and then against the army itself.

4.- The Parliamentary arm

The position of the Throne vis-a-vis Parliament was stronger for a variety of reasons:

a.- The Royal Prerogative to appoint and dismiss the PM, to prorogue and dissolve Parliament are well known function of the Sovereign as head of State. In parliamentary systems the all-important function of appointing the PM can easily be applied without involving political choice, provided that elections produce clear party majorities in Parliament and political parties their own leaders – designated PMs.

This is not so where political parties are weak and badly organised and particularly personalistic, with no established and generally accepted procedures for electing leaders, and are full of ambitious politicians, staunch supporters of the King rather than their party. The Greek bourgeois parties, personalistic and clietelistic as they were, merely electoral machines, made it easier for the Monarch to divide them, to meddle with party politics by means of his loyal supporters and distribution of favours and thus to further weaken both political parties and Parliament.

Two instances of royal intervention which shaped future politieal developments decisively illustrate the point: Upon the death in 1955 of Marshal Papagos, leader of the Right-wing ruling Greek Rally and Prime Minister, King Paul passing over more likely candidates, entrusted the premiership to C. Karamanlis, then a relatively unknown though rather successful Minister for Public Works. Many prominent figures of the Rally left the party deeply disappointed by the choice. Subsequently Karamanlis formed his own party, ERE and won the next elections in 1956. In this way the King at a stroke chose both the Prime Minister of the country and the party leader.

In the second instance, in 1965, King Constantine forced Papandreou to resign and embarked on successive attempts to split his party by giving the’ mandate to form a government to prominent figures of the Centre Union, who were anxiously waiting in the royal antechamber to be sworn in. He finally succeeded, at his third attempt, by wooing away 40 deputies who later formed their own party.

b.- The power to dissolve Parliament was abused and exercised at the discretion of the Monarchy. The pattern of dissolutions in the Greek case deviates considerably from that in Europe in the 20th 9 century. This powerful weapon was used as a means of imposing the King’s own policy upon the parties by granting or denying his consent to the recommendations of the PMs, as clearly happened in 1956,

1963, and 1967.

c.- By custom the right to appoint caretaker government to conduct elections was widely used. The choice of interim PM and cabinet

was wide among the plethora of loyal businessmen, bankers, retired officers, politicians, etc. The political complexion of these “governments could well tilt the balance on the side of the Monarchy’s preferences. This practice was used six times out of a total of eight elections during the period 1950-1967. It was an arrangement outside constitutional provisions designed to satisfy the conditions of fair electoral play by ‘neutralising’ the influence of the state machinery, above all the security and police forces.

The political complexion of caretaker governments was an important indication of which side royal preferences really were on, whether elections would be free and fair and what the chances were for the opposition parties to form the next government.

5.- Conclusions

There was no tradition of peaceful and orderly change in Greece’s constitutional history. Not a single written Constitution (1864, 1911, 1927 and 1952) came into force in accordance with the legal order.

They were all the result of fierce political antagonisms and mostly established after military revolts and coups. The issue of the Monarchy figures prominently in these antagonisms.

In the post civil war period the Throne was caught on the horns of a dilemma whose solution would inevitably restrict the powers of the Monarchy. The interests of the Throne as perceived by the Royal Family lay equally strongly in weak Parliaments, governments and political parties on the one hand and strong unified military leadership loyal to the King on the other. However, the system of royal favouritism could

154 –

only result in ambivalent loyalties, alienation and increasing factionalism working towards autonomisation of some sectors of the officers corps. Protection of potential putschists within the army amounted to tacit encouragement of the most dynamic, dangerous and adventurist elements. Playing off the army against governments and Parliaments and applying the same system of favouritism could only weaken further the Throne’s popular legitimacy. However, under the social and political transformations of the late 50s and early 60s the voice of government became stronger and sought to strike a better balance between itself, the Monarchy and the Armed Forces.

It is indicative that the first major challenge came from Karamanlis who by staying eight consecutive years in power (1956-1963) , managed to acquire strong bases of power in state apparatuses. In the words of Andreas Papandreou himself ^ ‘with the passing of time Karamanlis was becoming overtly independent of the King and the Palace circles.

He had had many a clash with Queen Frederika. He had been increasingly unwilling to accept orders from the Court. He had grown restless over the royal couple’s intervention in the life of the country, and he had become sensitive to Queen Frederica’s arbitrary financial management of the Queen’s fund… But there were problems also in the relations between King PAul and Karamanlis. They arose from Karamanlis’s efforts to control the armed forces,which was a sore point for King Paul. By late spring 1963 serious differences had developed between the King and Karamanlis over some key appointments in the Army….Karamanlis had begun flirting with De Gaulle

Under the impact of G. Papandreou’s protracted political campaign (Anendotos 19G2-63) , the King, having broken with Karamanlis, switched to Papandreou in tune with popular feelings. But after a short honeymoon the King unwisely resisted the right of the government to control the armed forces and led the assault on Papandreou to topple him, unleashing a major political crisis. Once more popular legitimacy was draining away and his reliance on the army increased accordingly. The traditional dilemma, reform or perish, could not be solved by insisting on old practices and political methods. To reform meant in fact to comply with popular feelings and reinforce the power of Parliament and Government by withdrawing to a less active and more symbolic political role.

Giving in to the military’s pressures or actually working for the suspension of parliamentary institutions would mean the total elimination of any claim to popular legitimacy. Allowing the civil government to acquire a greater degree of control over the armed forces would mean to distance himself from his most valuable constituency. The King was fatally trapped. By trying to ride two horses, he fell in between and eventually lost his Throne for good.

Explanatory note: The terms Monarch, Crown, Palace, Throne and King are used in this chapter interchangeably, though in constitutional theory and practice they are quite distinct.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Parliament

While the institution of Monarchy was imposed upon Greece by the Great Protector Powers in the 19th century, parliamentary institutions and the establishment of a parliamentary system in the true sense of the word, (e.g. the constitutional obligation of the monarch to form a government enjoying the expressed confidence of the House) in 1875 trace their origins from a double source; the Western orientations of the oligarchic political elites in 19th century, who imported the system as more suitable to the political needs of the new state, and· popular struggles aimed at limiting the prerogative powers of the King.

This transplantation of foreign political institutions in a country economically backward and in the process of building both nation and state, raises many problems. The mainstream functionist/ evolutionist approach, for instance, points to the immense difficulties taking roots into the indigenous soil. Hence their misfunctional, dysfunctional of a functional character and the set of incongruities

between them and indigenous institutions. Clientelism/patronage politics, institutionalised corruption, the drawbacks in law-making and other well-known features of the political systems in underdeveloped societies are basically explained in terms of these contradictions and incongruities in the context of the dichotomous tradition/modernity conceptualisation .

This a-historical approach ignores the underlying factors influenced by socio-economic change and political struggles. The co-existence of ‘horizontal’ political organisations along ‘vertical’/clientelistic modes of political organisation and their interrelations and/or changing characteristics and their linkages to social classes and the state are all left out of the analysis.’*’

The incongruity between imported and indigenous political institutions or the superimposition of a ‘modern’ state structure (for instance, a Napoleonic centralised administrative system over an alleged tradition of self-governed communities in the Qreek case) over a backward, traditional society , or the omnipotent and ever-lasting elientelism, as if nothing had happened over the time , are familiar ways of viewing the Greek case. In the first place, the ‘anomaly¹ created by the ‘early importation’ of. parliamentary institutions cannot be considered as a deviation from ‘pure’ models or from a potentially unbroken evolutionist chain of indigenous institutions. It is simply that the establishment of these institutions has to deal with and express different socio-economic and political realities , so that it must be explained in these terms. The paradox in the Greek case lies in the fact that the boundaries of democratisation of the polity were drawn from above, not from below. The ruling elites effected changes in the system of representation and the vote quite early, sp that both rural and urban strata were drawn into the system, not on their own terms, but within the parameters of political conflicts and issues dictated by the bourgeois parties. This is clearly demonstrated by the fact that universal male suffrage was established in Greece as early as 1844^ with very few exceptions and without those property, literacy and other qualifications and distortions (e.g. tax-payment, income, plural voting, etc), familiar to western patterns of parliamentary evolution. There were no mass suffrage movements and mass campaigns in Greek history. Women were enfranchised in 1952 without pressures from below^. These characteristics contrast sharply with the ‘pure’ English model of parliamentary democracy, if we are to take into account that even under the 1867 Representation of the People Act, which further extended the franchise, the right to vote still depended on property qualifications, that the secret ballot was introduced by the Ballot Act 1872, that female enfranchisement for those aged 21 and over was given in 192 8, and that most importantly all these achievements were accomplished after protracted mass movements campaigning ibr voting rights and immense pressures from below. Historically, therefore, universal suffrage and parliamentary institutions constituted the most permanent and basic mechanism of political integration of the rural masses into the bourgeois political system without major challenges from below, at least until the inter-war period. The above institutions were established in a pre-capitalist

social formation prior to any real political constitution of the 7 working classes.

These remarks may help to clarify the different political trajectory Greece has followed since her independence in 1830 and to suggest some important aspects of the conditions of politital democracy in countries with different degrees of capitalist development. For whereas in Western European capitalist societies the process of democratisation came about as a result of mass pressures from below extending the boundaries of the polity , in Greece popular pressures were to be chanelled through the already established boundaries by the bourgeois forces in a different socio-economic context, with a different type of articulation to state power and different mode of inclusion into the political process. If liberalism is not to be confused with liberty and democracy, it must be plain that the functionalist/neo – evolutionist conception of a normal, necessary, persistent and everlasting relationship of correspondence between capitalism and bourgeois democracy cannot stand the test of historical and contemporary evidence.

The above statement does not imply a total independence of political institutions from socio-economic factors. It is rather a warning against reading too much in analyses based on the ‘mode of production’ approach. The latter can only indirectly point to some conditions which may account for some corresponding changes in the functionning of established relations of political domination . The latter must be defined and explained in a way which is not dependent on any definition of the economic, which is another way of saying that they do have their own determinants and dynamic. Secondly, those views pointing to the discrepancy between ‘traditional’ society and ‘modern’ imported political institutions are inherently deontological. Because they imply that other institutions ‘should be’ or ‘ought to be’ more suitable and more attuned to Greek society. This ‘ought to be¹ formula has never been spelt out in any coherent way by social and political groups in Greece. It has remained vague and undefined; it has never been an alternative political project put forward for realisation. It was rather a convenient alibi for xenophobic populism of right or left complexion which sought to discredit the ‘imported’ institution of parliamentary democracy. It was ironic of course that both ultra-Right and Communist political philosophies and practices were far more alien and imported than parliamentarism. After all, the 160 latter, regardless of its fragile and precarious historical existence interrupted by coups and counter-coups, had established a certain tradition and was valued a lot by the people.

Let us now briefly examine Greece’s parliamentary system of political representation in the post-civil war era.

1.- The Party System

The personalistic character of the main bourgeois parties, penetration of the state administration by the governing party, favouritism, clientelistic networks particularly in rural and poor areas, extreme dependence of the peasant masses on the state, all these are well-known and amply documented characteristics. That all these factors also favoured the incumbent party is also not in doubt.’*’⁰

Moving beyond the socio-economic determinants and the historical tradition of the party system, it cannot seriously be disputed that electoral systems affected its structure in a crucial way. What characterised the Greek case in this respect was the frequent changes in the electoral system usually introduced by the ruling party of the day just before each electoral contest. Proportional and majority systems were alternatively used to secure re-election of the incumbent party. From this point of view, not a single one of the eight elections held over the period between 1950 and 1964 (1950,1951,1952, 1956, 1958, 1961, 1963, and 1964) was conducted under the same system, although in the last two there were few changes. The inventiveness of the Greek electoral cook has been limitless and without parallel in the European context.

The ’mixed’ electoral system applied in the 1956 elections, for instance, was a monstruous masterpiece o’f a well-cooked combination of majority, proportional and gerrymandering recipes. Yet on one occasion, the electoral system was changed after the open suggestion of the American Ambassador J. Peuri-fovand on another the results of the elections 12 were strongly disputed.

Electoral systems affected the Greek parties in many ways and constituted a major source of political instability. First, they did not provide a stable institutionalised and generally accepted institutional framework which would allow the party structures and groupings to settle, and to have some duration and be tested by time. The political implications were serious. Majority systems, for instance, had helped the Right to close ranks, silence dissidents and united the camp until-the next elections, when the system was again tailored to fit new situations. Majority electoral systems served political polarisation between Right and Left well, working of course to the benefit of the Right as the only possible government, without credible alternatives.

At some time, they tended to push the fragmented forces of the Centre into an artificial electoral alliance and/or temporary cooperation with the Left in order to avoid annihilation at the polls. G.Papandreou, for instance, a consistent liberal anti-communist did not hesitate to cooperate with the Left in 1956 in order to challenge the Right at a time when the ice of the cold war had not even started to melt and when flirting with the Left was equivalent to treason.

Basically proportional systems were the rule after 1956, not the pure system of Hagenbach-Bischoff but sui generis ‘reinforced’ (weighted) systems, penalising electoral coalitions, discriminating against small parties and having an in-built mechanism biased towards a two-party system. There were of course, some ‘accidents’. The system backfired in 1958 when, given the framented state of political groups occupying the Centre of the political spectrum, the Communist-led party of EDA (United Democratic Left) won around 25% of the vote to everybody’s surprise and became the main opposition party in Parliament. ‘Reinforced’ (e.g. weighted) proportional electoral systems distorted the principle of fair represenation in Parliament at the expense of the third major party, whereas other mechanisms—like the use of antiquated population censuses which did not take into account the most recent demographic changes and shifts and resulted in unequal distribution of seats between rural and urban constituencies at the expense of the latter, and/or the manipulation of the Military and Civil Service vote made its own contribution to the main distoriting mechanism. However, their main thrust was to influence the creation of a two-party system, thus moving the political centre of gravity away from the Right-Left polarisation ,, IE and towards a strong, legitimate, non-leftist opposition, in between.

To that effect the electoral system was instrumental in bringing about the formation of the Centre Union party in 1961, so that party configuration eventually coincided with the main political currents of of the country: Right – Centre and Left. The picture of a plethora of political parties entering the electoral arena over the period is deceptive. ^ The great majority of them were parties existing only on paper or temporary small gatherings around ambitious personalities.

Sooner or later the political demarcation lines#were drawn along the dominant political currents of Greek society,

2.- Parliamentary politics

Despite the premiums awarded to the two major parties by ‘reinforced’ proportional electoral systems and the personalistic character of the bourgeois parties, Parliament managed to produce one-party governments with some duration and stability. Crossing the floor and defection was not uncommon – thought their effect dependend on particular circumstances. Defections, for instance, from Karamanlis’s ERE party did not cost him much and he was able to win both the 1956 and 1958 elections, while defection from the ruling Centre Union party in 1965 drastically altered the balance of party forces in Parliament. What was, however, more regrettable was that apart from the lukewarm commitment of the Left to parliamentarism there were several deputies in the conservative camp not really bothering about the institution itself. Their loyalties lay with extra-parliamentary centres of power, either the Palace or the Armed Froces. That is why it is wrong to present the Greek Parliament of that time as a unified force determined to defend its existence or to enhance its powers and prestige.

Not all the political forces represented in Parliament were determined to resist the encroachments of the Monarchy and the Armed Forces (1965- 1967). That is also why the Greek Parliament never achieved the kind of popular deference, prestige and legitimacy enjoyed in western countries. We have, therefore, to keep the issue in proportion. Nevertheless, Parliament was getting stronger over the period concerned and popular struggles were increasingly echoed in the determination of many parliamentarians to challenge the real power centres. Irrespective of the it real chances of winning the battle those deputies who undermined Parliament’s fighting capabilities have only themselves to blame. In the end, Parliament did not manage to rise to the political challenges of the times, to articulate mounting popular demands and lead the battle to restrict the powers of the Monarchy and the Armed Forces. It was crippled by internal dissent and contradictions. It was no accident that dictatorial solutions of one kind or another became more attractive to those political forces, which were used to regarding Parliament as a mere forum of discussion and a device for maintaining a facade of democratic rule. Parliament could no longer be used for the ‘containment’ of the masses nor was it able to cope with the explosion of political mobilisation. From the point of view of some conservatives it could only be saved by weakening its role and strengthening the powers of the executive. This was the real meaning of the Constitutional Reform Bill tabled by Karamanlis in 14 1963.

3.- Socio-political considerations

The sociological profile of the Greek Parliament and the ruling political elites may constitute a useful rough index to the social aspects of political representation but it is very doubtful whether if social changes can be directly deduced from the social background of elected MPs. It would be interesting of course, to know the social, educational, occupational, regional and political background of Greek MPs, but again it is doubtful if these statistical data convey anything more than impressionistic political information. It is however, very problematic what political inferences can be drawn from indexes pointing to the high ratio of ministerial offices to total population, the openness of the top political roles, or the structure of political opportunity in general.^ Lack of detailed studies makes it impossible to correlate socio-economic indices, let alone ideological and cultural ones, to party loyalties and electoral shifts. Only working hypothesis can be suggested in an attempt to trace the factors correlated with changing voting patterns. Still a great deal of unaccounted and unguantifiable material would be left out, such as the fragmentation of the Centre in 1958, the electoral anomalies of 1961, the role of electoral coalitions, etc. So diachronic comparisons become an extremely unreliable operation, even though the basic division of the political spectrum between Right, Centre and Left seems to dominate the electoral scene throughout the period.

a.- Political tradition

Constituencies with strong traditional attachment to political leaders (e.g. Crete, the home island of E. Venizelos, the founder father of the Liberal Party) or to political ideologies for historical reasons: e.g. the Peloponnese right-wing vote, originating from the fact that the area was both a traditional pool of recruitment for the Civil Service and the theatre of exceptionally bloody clashes between the left wing Resistance forces and collaborationist elements during the Nazi occupation of Greecesome southern suburbs of Athens, the ‘red belt’ , with strong attachment to the Left due to their participe – tion in the Resistance. In all these constituencies the vote for each party was well over the national average and the most resistant to high fluctuations and shifts.

b.- Urban – rural demarcation

if The Right wing parties relied heavily on the rural population and provincial towns. The Centre parties scored well in provincial towns and the main urban centres. At its peak (1963-1964) the Centre Union (EK) attracted a very substantial part of the rural vote and tilted the balance. EDA on the contrary, was very weak in rural areas, winning on average between 8 and 15 percent of the rural vote, but it was particularly strong in certain cities (Kavala, Volos, Patras, etc.) and the southern and eastern suburbs of Athens, where it scored as high as 60-65% at its peak (1958), around 30-40% in 1963-1964 and an average 21-22% of the urban (e.g. communes with 10,000 inhabitants or over) vote nationwide.

c.- Clientelism/patronage

It concerned mainly the Right-wing and Centrist parties and worked through local political bosses. Clientelistic ties were stronger in rural areas and weaker in urban centres. The phenomenon was undermined by socio-economic factors, but also receeded in times of major political shifts and increasing politicisation of issues. The patron/ client relationship characterised the ‘traditional’ aspects of Greek politics. Clientelistic networks depended on a deputy’s personal finances and his access to governmental resources- They constituted a substantial basis for ensuring election, but in times of change part of the clientele jumped on the opponent’s bandwagon to reap the benefits of being on the winning side in the aftermath of a crucial electoral contest. Clientelism/patronage overlapped with localism, since it was in the nature of the system to localise and personalise political issues. On the other hand the Left was hardly affected by this system of dominant political relations. After all, it -tyas excluded from the ‘national body politic’, did not have access to the spoils of power and could not therefore deliver any goods. However a sui generis patronage system was in operation: eastern bloc countries allocated to the Party a certain number of hospital beds, provided free medical treatment, travel, visits and holidays for a certain number of its cadres and free education for their children, etc.,etc.

d.- Social Class

The social basis of both Right-Wing and Centrist parties was diverse. The Right was particularly strong in rural areas, amongst the big bourgeoisie , a substantial part of the ‘middle classes’ and a variety of middlemen and other petty-bourgeois strata whose economic activities and prosperity depended upon the economic boom of the late 50′ s and 60’s. The Centrist parties drew from the same social pool, but their liberal-democratic and republican tradition, allowed them to penetrate the petty-bourgeois and working classes more effectively than the Right. The electoral tide of the Centre in the late 1950s and early 1960s was related both to a dissociation of rural voters from the Right-wing parties and to the political impact of the new social strata (what is conventionally called the ‘new middle classes’, e.g. professionals, technocrats, scientists, intellectuals, artists, managers, etc.). The Left on the other hand, had a more stable electoral basis.

EDA drew its electoral support mainly from, urbanised and industrialised areas. Some trade unions (e.g. building workers, sailors, tobacco workers, etc.), contributed en bloc to EDA’s electoral strength. EDA’s rural weakness, with some few notable exceptions, was insurmountable, but, generally speaking, despite the constant harassment of its members and followers, support for the party came from a wider segment of the population than simply the working classes. These cautious approximations indicate that the Left was more class and**trade union entrenched in electoral terms, whereas the Right’s electoral fortunes were more closely tied to the peasantry, the big and medium bourgeois. The social basis of both Right-wing and Centrist parties was more fluid, overlapping and electorally extremely volatile.^ e.- Political parameters

The Royalist supporters were to be found in their overwhelming majority amongst the voters and followers of the Right-wing parties. This was not only due to the pro-royalist tradition of the Populist Party during the inter-war period being carried over to the new party formations of the Right after the war, but also to the actual support given by the latter to the institution of the Monarchy. On the other hand, the Republic tradition of the Liberal Party carried over to the fragmented parties of the Centre, kept anti-royalist feelings alive. The Left’s objection to the institution was of course an article of faith. However, no election was fought by any official party on an anti-monarchical ticket. G. Papandreou’s fierce attacks on the Monarchy after the 1961 ‘electoral coup’ and the renewal of the anti-royalist campaign in 1965-1967 were basically aimed at restricting the Monarchy to its constitutional role, not at its overthrow. Of secondary importance has been the Left’s considerable attraction to the 17 refugee vote, for historical reasons. However, the major cause of shift in voting patterns has been the demand for a strong opposition to counter the abuses of Right-wing governments and the prospect of forming a credible alternative government. This was the case in 1958 when EDA became the main opposition party in Parliament to the detriment of the Centre, which paid the price of its continuing factionalism and fragmentation. It was the first and only abrupt shift from the centre to the Left over the whole period (1950-1967). The balance was restored in the 1963 elections. EDA was deserted by 10% of the left-of-the-centre voters, which repatriated to the Centre. On the other hand, the landslide victory of the Centre Union in the 1964 elections would nothave been possible without a massive desertion of Right-wing voters to G. Papandreou’s party. ERE and the Progressive party of S. Marke- zinis were reduced (from a 43.10% of the vote in 1963) to a mere 35.26%.

‘Waste vote’ propagation, that is, tactical voting to achieve a second best electoral result, has been very powerful in every Greek election. It has always worked at the expense of the Left and been shaped both by the electoral system and the state of health of Centrist parties, the only realistic alternatives. Given the rigidity of political divisions, recurring shifts in voting habits from Right to Left and vice-versa were of course extremely unlikely, if not unthinkable. In any case, the Centre would be a necessary half-way house for any Right-wing voter venturing to travel towards the Left over a long time. Volatility was confined between the boundaries of the two main bourgeois party formations.

4.- Conclusions

If my appropriation and analysis of the evidence presented is basically correct, there should not be any major objection to the fundamental conclusion that the armed forces were the dominant institution in the triarch Army-Monarchy-Parliament. Parliament was the weakest of the three, but potentially their most dangerous rival. For it is in the nature of the institution to be more sensitive to shifts of public opinion and better able to reflect and represent socio-political change. In theory, a Parliament conscious of its role in a democratic system of government should close its ranks and try to translate popular support for the institution into political muscle. Regrettably, nothing of the sort happened in the Greek case, when the subordinate role of the Institution could have been reversed (1963-1965) by forging solidarity between its members and consent between political parties as to the value of a corporate spirit especially under conditions threatening (1965-67) the institution with complete disintegration and humiliation. But we must not reason in terms of a pure inter-institutional confrontation, ignoring both the political issues and the dividing lines within the institutions themselves.

Inter- and intra-institutional rivalry reflected political shifts; each camp could count on a certain constellation of social and political forces; Parliament could only stand up to the pressures and inroads of the Monarchy and the Army by being united in its determination to fight as an institution, representing not only the ‘people’, but the very notion of a democratic system. But there was no agreement about the rules of the game between the political parties, nor on the issues at stake. So the political forces inside Parliament were not aligned according to institutional ‘interests’, but according to political issues, reflecting fundamental divisions between socio-political blocs. This weakness was aggravated by the plain fact that some parliamentary factions were only too willing to solicit the support of the Monarchy and the Army in order to stay in government or to improve their chances in the next elections, which, alas never took place. Such were the divisions inside Parliament that no viable government could be formed, enjoying a more or less substantial degree of popular legitimacy during the period of acute political crisis and conflict (1965-67). Parliament had two options: to submit to the will of the Monarchy and the army, or to renew its mandate through the ballot box. The second option could only be forced upon the King by common agreement of the main parties.

This was not impossible, but opportunities were missed and dangers realised too late. On the other hand, by playing with the first option, Parliament lost authority, prestige and popular legitimacy and in fact prepared the way for extra-parliamentary and unconstitutional solutions. When the military stepped in, there was enough ammunition to be used against Parliament – capitalising on its weaknesses and lack of self-respect.

Parliaments cannot survive on Royal or Military crutches. Their fate depends on the readiness of their members to unite against the danger and to command popular support and respect.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Socio-Political Implications of Capitalist Development

1.- Introduction

The case for Greece’s underdevelopment during the period under review (1950-1967) has been sufficiently argued by others’*”. The spectacular and sustained average rate of economic growth between 6-7% per annum over the period, the qualitative advance in the industrialisation reflected in the changing structure of export trade, (agricultural products constituting 80% of tne country’s exports in I960 fell to 54% in 1966), the quite striking growth and concentration of finance capital, the capital-starving agricultural sector in slow move, the persistence of small artisan production and a feeble manufacturing sector and the impact of foreign capital (in the form of direct 2 investments) which came into the country on a large scale in the early 60s, are some of the most prominent features of Greece’s type of capitalist accumulation. Yet this type of capitalist growth failed to eliminate some crucial aspects of Greece’s underdevelopment. The industrial basis remained weak; the low rates of labour absorption of the manufacturing sector inflated the ranks of the tertiary sector and has driven people to emigrate; lack of positive complementarity between the advanced sector of the economy and the sectors of simple commodity production (agriculture^ artisanal establishments) resulted in great inequalities, between capital and labour, city and country and within the industrial wage earners and other lower middle classes3

However, gross per capita income at a mere $550 at the beginning4 of the sixties almost doubled by the end of the decade . Living standards in the countryside and especially in the cities, witnessed an unprecedented rate of increase.

All these rapid changes had taken place in a country which had just emerged ruined after a decade of foreign occupation, resistance, liberation and a bloody civil war. Economically but most importantly politically and culturally it proved extremely difficult for the Greek society and polity, to absorb these tidal waves or ride the storm unscathed.

Selection of the crucial socio-economic parameters impinging on political change is certainly conditioned by explicit or implicit political premises and I know of no exceptions to the rule. This is perhaps another way of saying that other factors might not be less important seen within a different theoretical framework.

2.- Movements of People

Among the most salient consequences of the uneven character of capitalist development is the dislocation of people and the gradual disarticulation and disruption of existing patterns of socio-economic relationships. In this context, the process of urbanisation, its pace and specific characteristics are of crucial importance.

A.- Internal migration and urbanisation

The first big waves of internal migration in Greece derived from political rather than economic reasons. Political conditions in the countryside during the savage and bloody years of the civil war (1946-1949) drove a substantial part of the rural population mainly into the neighbouring – 17.5 towns, either of their own volition or by enforced evacuation by the government forces, to deprive the communist guerillas of their natural bases of human and logistical support. Cnee the civil war was over, relatively few returned to their deserted villages and lands^. (Given 300 drs. compensation or some such paltry sum tool).

During the 50s and 60s, rural exodus and urbanisation took on striking proportions related to the changing socio-economic structure of the country as a whole. In the space of nearly two decades, the socioeconomic landscape of Greece was changed beyond recognition.^ According to the 1961 census, there were 55 urban centres with 3,628,105 inhabitants out of a total population of 8,388,5 33 , that is 43.3% of the total population, compared with a mere 37.7% in 1951. Between 1951-1961 for the first time, urban communities overtook rural ones, which decreased 9 as a percentage of the population to 44% over the same decade . Likewise,

the main destinations of internal migrants were along the same axis. The overriding importance of Greater Athens in this process of urbanization is striking and rather unique in the South-Eastern European context. The Greater Athens Region absorbed 30% of the rural and 40% of the semi-urban migration or 50% of the rural and 60% of the semi-urban and urban migration to greater urban areas.Urbanisation in Metropolitan Athens increased by 34.4% between 1951-1961 compared with a natural increase of 12 the population by only 9.9% over the same period. These trends were 13 intensified during the next decade . As a result by 1960, 56% of the population of the Greater Athens Region consisted of migrants. Its

inhabitants represented 22% of Greece’s total population and 51% of the 14 total urban -population. Some data , suggest that, among the motives of disposing these numbers of people to leave their traditional environment lack of employment and land, better opportunities and higher income expectations in the cities especially in the capital – rated high.

Education has provided strong motivation for the peasants and farmers determined to provide their children with University level educational qualifications for reasons of social status, intellectual prestige and secured jobs in the Civil Service^. The socio-economic value of 16 educational achievements ranked high among peasant communities . It is important to stress that the links between villages and rural areas, on the one hand, and internal migrants, on the other,were never totally broken. On the contrary, support either in money or in kind was sent regularly to the migrants to help them settle and establish themselves in the cities. An element of family planning was also evident. The new-comer prepares the ground for other family members and close relatives.

It was found, for instance, that nearly 55% of those migrants settled in the Greater Athens Region were helped by their relatives in finding accommodation and jobs. Whether this pattern of migration can be77 attributed to socio-psychological or socio-anthropological causes (e.g. the well-known ‘mistrust ‘of outsiders by the villagers, the role of the family, etc., ) is unimportant for our analysis. For the problem is not the measurement of respondents’ attitudes and the establishment of correlations,but to see the city as an emerging centre of power with 18 its corresponding forms of economic and political organization The Greek pattern of urbanisation displays significant individualities in relation both to advanced and to third world countries in the if’capitalist periphery. The ‘urban explosion’ was not a consequence either of indigenously generated and self-sustained industrialisation or of a demographic eruption. For example, between 1951 and 1961 employment in the secondary sector of the economy increased from 450,000 to 484,400 that is, only by a mere 34,400. The rate of annual growth of employment in industry over the same period covered only 7.1% of the average annual19 rate of growth of the country’s population . The latter’s natural increase was very modest, at an average annual rate of 1.5%. Furthermore the degree of economic concentration in the area around the capital is quite revealing. While the Attica prefecture shared no more than 25% of Greece’s total population, its share of manufacturing added value was 56.8%, of services 73.9%, of public works 42.1%, of transport and communications 47.2%, of commerce 58.2%, of insurance 77.3%, of construction 46.2%, of civil service 51%, of health services 52.9%, and of education 29.8%. In addition, 57.8% of public revenue and of public receipts were realised in the same region as well as 50-70% of investments in industry, tourism and construction. By 1963 50.4% of the industrial establishments employing more than 10 persons and 54.8% of the total numbers of employees in this sector were concentrated in the Greater 21 Athens Region

The structure of employment in urban centres is indicative of the importance of the polarised urbanisation structure, as can be seen in the following Table 18.

TABLE 18

Greece: Urban Economically Active Population in percentage

Total	Athens’*”	2 Thessaloniki	3 Rest
Agriculture	1.5	3.0	22.1
Mines	0.5	0.2	0.5
Manuf acturing	29.8	31.3	23.0
Energy	1.6	1.5	1.3
Construction	8.2	9.7	7.5
Comme rce	17.4	19.4	13.9
Transport	9.5	10.7	8.3
Rest of Services	29.8	23.2	22.5
Unclassified	1.7	1.0	0.9
Total	100.0	100.0	100,0

1 = 1959

2 = 1961

3 = 1961

The imbalances indicated by the above figures were striking and were further reinforced by the distribution of internal migrants to economic sectors in the country as a whole (see Table 19).

TABLE 19

Greece: Distribution of internal migrants to economic sectors in percentage – 1961

Sector	Greater Natives	Athens Migrants		Rest of Natives	Urban Centres Migrants		Semi Natives	-Urban Migrants	Agricultural Areas Natives Migrants
			M	A L _E	S
Manufacturing	28.4	29.3		24.3		20.6	9.4	13.1	3.0	8.0
Rest of Services’*”	21.1	21. 7		14.5		27.4	7.3	24.7	3.3	18.5
Total	49.5	51.0		38.8		48.0	16.7	37.8	6.9	26.5
* –		F	E	M A L	E	S
Manufacturing	30.2	30.2		35.4		23.8	10.4	12.4	4.0	4,4
Rest of Services’*”	37.4	48.6		22.7		46.6	6.3	37.0	1.2	19.0
Total	67.6	78.8		58.1		70.4	16. 7	49.4	5.2	23.4

1.- Excluding Construction, commerce and transport

Source : National Statistical Service of Greece, Internal Migration, Athens 1963

Besides, the rural exodus claimed tfcte most productive age groups: 48.9% of the net loss of population in the agricultural

’22 areas was in the 15-34 age bracket.

The trends as far as employment of internal migrants was concerned continued well into the 60’s along the same lines. In the Athens Region, for instance, between 1965-71, 47.66% of the new migrants were channelled into the secondary sector, compared with a rate of 40.13% for the native population. At the same time employment rates were 3.08% and 2.75% for the categories respectively.

By 1971 the capital employed 46.75% of the country’s industrial force and 49.39% of those employed in the energy industries, two key sectors of the Greek economy. By contrast it employed around 42.23% of the retail trade employment and 44.19% of the services – the latter inflated by the enormous administrative machinery of the central government residing in the capital: civil service employment represented 7.56% of the capital’s

total economically active population. It is clear that, unlike what happened in the case of advanced capitalist countries of the West, Greek urban structures have not been formed through a substantial increase in industrial employment. Moreover in relation to third-world countries, and especially to Latin American ones, to which Greece is often compared, the individuality of the Greek case is equally striking. It does not appear that urbanisation erected any unsurmountable obstacles to economic growth. The rush to the cities did not result in appalling conditions of housing, shanty towns and widespread pauperism to be found in the Latin American case.

Despite the high level of unemployment in the Greater Athens Region during the 50’s, estimated at 20%, or the Considerable concealed underemplo; ment, massive emigration was soon to provide a safety valve for potentially explosive economic and political pressure. The internal migrants did not fall into the poverty trap. They were absorbed into various economic activities, which gradually contributed to a considerable improvement in their standards of living. It is characteristic that the rate of employment in the G.A.R. was greater than the national average. Both Athens and Thessaloniki developed into nationally dominant productive centres and formed a group quite distinct from other groups of cities with respect to 24 their urban functions and their administrative preponderance.

On a more general level, the political implications of the absence of an organic linkage between industrial employment and urbanisation were not so self-evident as in many other typical cases. Although the model of capital accumulation was not conducive to the formation of a strong and increasingly homogenous industrial working class, the latter, despite its fragmentation in numerous craft industries or its extreme internal heterogeneity, was not so spatially dispersed and so socially segregated as to remain in ghettos, politically impotent and isolated or plunged into apathy and desperation. For instance, the disparity between urbanisation and industrialisation and the concommitant pattern of urban employment does

not mean that the Athens Region could be classified according to the Hozelitz’s distinction between ‘generating’ or ‘parasitical’ cities.

Firstly, because industrialisation can proceed by raising productivity through capital intensive investments as happened in the Greek case, and secondly, because contrary to the conventional wisdom, employment in the tertiary sector cannot be labelled ‘parasitic’ without due qualifications.

Certainly,_r the tertiary sector in the^context of an underdeveloped economy bears no resemblance to that of an/· advanced country. Nevertheless its importance as a source of employment and income and its role in sustaining and reproducing a variety of social strata should not be underrated. Given the numerical weakness of the working class, the political weight of these social strata is crucial to any change.

The lack of organic complementarities between the technologically advanced sector and the rest of the economy did not mean stagnation for the other sectors. It simply meant different rates in productivity 27 and value added differentials in wages and salaries, conditions of employment and trade union organisation, in short, a variety of conditions which had further diminished the political strengths of the working class.

The Greek model of capital accumulation not only reproduced the old middle and petty bourgeois classes, but gave a new impetus to the proliferation of many white collar occupations, professionals, craftsmen, middlemen, etc., thus creating new sources of divisions in the occupational composition of the working population and between them and the manual 28 working class. Far from being remnants of an allegedly pre-capitalist mode of production, these strata constituted an integral part of Greek 29 capitalism. Their reproduction and proliferation, by and large, bore no relationship to the widespread phenomenon of ‘parasitism’ in poor third- world countries usually acconpanied by pauperism and marginalisation.

The politically ambiguous position of these strata, on the other hand, made them a target of both conservative stability and left-wing radicalism.

The hyperconcentrationof economic activities in GAR and Attica and the capital’s preponderance in an hierarchically structured urban system”^ was mainly a historical product of the forces that socio-economic developments set in motion during the period. It owed nothing to the geo- 32 graphical position of Athens or other obscure and accidental reasons.

Foreign-capital-induced economic growth, the Marshall plan, and subsequent US loans and foreign investments were concentrated in a few urban areas and limited the options for a more balanced regional growth. Apart from GAR, Thessaloniki provides a good example of the spatial and social 33 structuration produced by a foreign-induced capital accumulation. The

capital city had served well all these economic activities mentioned above. ^ The euphoria”^ of the 50s and early 60s emerged by unlimited prospects of economic growth and rising living standards were such that discordant voices are extremely hard to be found. Similarly, scarcely

any consideration was given to the environmental and social problems looming on the horizon. In short, in the space of very few years, Athens became an unparalleled centre of concentrated economic power and the major pole of social and political contradictions in the country.

The split between town and country acquired new contexts which accentuated disparities and inequalities. Despite regional variations, the periphery fared badly in any comparison with the capital in key socialindicators and public amenities.^ On the economic side, the situation was no better. According to National Accounts figures the sources of GNP were (in current 1962 prices): agriculture 25.5%, manufacturing 25.7%, and services 48.8%, to which the GAR’s share was 0.5%, 47% and 52% respectively. Income statistics suggest that the Attica Region’s per capita gross income was two and a half times bigger than the average rate for the rest of Greece. Other indices (e.g. family income , purchasing power^°, and wages^l) simply restate the obvious: that disparities in terms of production, consumption, income, living standards and social welfare were considerable.

Given the highly anarchic pattern of capitalist development, governmental lethargy and bureaucratic inertia, it,is no wonder that realisation of the need for a more balanced growth was very slow to come. Indeed, the first move towards a systematic regional development programme took the form of a survey of the Epirus region in 1958-59 with technical assistance provided by the OECD. The earliest real attempt at spatial planning was made in the framework of the first ever Five-year Plan of 1960-1964, but had little effect. Some machinery for planning was established, some regional plans were drawn, some objectives were set, but to no avail, since governmental instability over that period, the very indicative character of the Plan, and an inefficient state bureaucracy, could help little to set and pursue well defined goals with some duration and foresight.

This is the economic and social background against which the great political mobilisation of the early 60’s must be seen and evaluated.

B.- Emigration

To say that Greece has always been a country of emigration is rather a truism. But it would be a grave mistake to attribute the large waves of emigration that had hit Greece in the past to any mystical tradition of adventurism and thirsty fortune-seeking Greeks. On the contrary,

these waves have always been closely linked both with the country’s particular stage of economic development and the economic situation in the receiver countries of capitalist metropoles. Between 1955 and 1967 43 no less than 781,862 Greek citizens emigrated abroad. Post-war emigration can be subdivided in two distinct periods. In the first period, ending roughly in 1960, transoceanic emigration absorbed over half of the total emigration. Only a quarter were destined for European countries. The second period covers the years between 1960-1966, during which the main bulk of emigration was destined for Central European countries particularly for the booming capitalist expansion of West Germany’s economy.

Only a quarter moved to former popular countries, such as US, Canada and 44 Australia.

From 3 to 4 emigrants per 1,000 inhabitants in the period between 1955 and I960, we move to a staggering 6 to 14 emigrants per 1,000 inhabitants in the following period between I960 – 1966, with the 45 average number of emigrants rising to 87,766 per year. Despite 46 the messy state of Greek statistics on emigration – immigration, it is not difficult to pin-point the existence of considerable distortions ,in the country’s demographic structure as a result of emigration. It is not only that at the peak period between 1963 – 1966 , emigration ,rates exceeded that of the natural increase of Greece’s population, which in fact amounted to a demographic stagnation but also that the 47 age pyramid of the rural population was hideously distorted. It has been estimated that 85% of emigrants derived from the most productive 15-44 age group, draining the domestic pool of productive hands. The departure of skilled and semi-skilled workers, on the other hand, dealt 48 a considerable blow to the country’s scarce skilled labour.

To recapitulate the points relevant to our analysis:-

1.- Imbalances between town and country and between the main urban 49 centres and the rest of the country were further exacerbated50

2.- Emigration gave a new impetus to rural exodus.

3.- Emigration eased the unemployment problem, improved the bargaining power of labour in the domestic market and thus contributed to higher living standards by default,by defusing at the same time social tensions.

4.- Emigrants’ remittances comprised a steady^ 25% or so of the country’s total invisible receipts from 1962 onwards,^ though they were almost offset by imports of luxury goods.

5.- Socially, emigrants’ remittances helped to sustain a tolerable standard of living for a substantial part of the aged rural population in the absence of any comprehensive social welfare system.

6.- Culturally, traditional family ties were loosened. Inevitably, emigration claimed its share of cultural disintegration afflicting rural communities and ties. Cultural identity became confused. Naturally enough, emigrants developed new elements of social consciousness, new political ideas and habits and new social orientations. The overwhelming majority aspired to change their lot and improve their position in society. Few of them ever returned to their villages. Their investments were mainly directed towards property and small- business in the cities. It is easier of course to identify these material developments than to unravel the complex transformation in ideological and political outlook emigrants underwent and their impact on the domestic political scene.

7.- One can therefore, understand why emigration was regarded, as a mixed blessing and why it had become one of the most burning issues

in the political debate of the 60’s, albeit with no apparent political implications.

The ground is now prepared to examine Greek politics in the context of these transformations.

CHAPTER NINE

Politics in an urban setting ; The workers’ movement

A.- Introductory Observations

Urbanism as a concept has been seen and analysed mainly through the ideological spectacles of social integration to modem society.

In this sense the term refers to a distinct system of norms and values or at the level of social actors, to their behaviour and attitudes. It has thus acquired a rigorous cultural formulation’*’ subsumed by ‘mass society’ approaches.

Today the term urban has so many references (e.g. spatial organisation, community power, acculturation processes, etc.) that we must distinguish between urban politics and urbanisation of politics.

It is the latter that our attention will be focused upon.

B.- Loosening of political controls

The rapidity of capitalist growth and urban drift profoundly affected the established controls and the distribution of political power in the post civil-war era. In the first place, the centre of gravity of political developments was decisively shifted to the cities, mainly to Athens and Thessaloniki. Socio-economic changes altered the social terrain of political antagonisms. Peasant mobilisation and participation, which was a major force behind both the Resistance and the Communist guerilla forces during the Civil war, ceased to have β&Υ

impact until the early 60s. – Now the bourgeois parties restored the disrupted networks of political patronage, infused new blood into their local clientelistic branches, the State Agricultural Bank tightened the monopolistic grip on agrarian credit and the commercial middlemen reasserted their authority and role by establishing the mechanisms of appropriation of the peasants’ produce. A quite substantial part of the peasantry, strongly bound to the State by numerous threads, sided with the status quo and provided the social and electoral backbone of the new political order. The peasantry’s nationalist anti-communist orientation were reinforced.

However, the very existence of family agriculture and small-plot agrarian structures, the lack of feudal structures and any latifundist tradition, save some marginal cases which already belonged to the past, the lack of agrarian proletariat, provided no real social basis for fascist social movements. Conditions for endemic violence in the countryside were removed both as a result of socio-economic changes and of effective elimination of any real option for left-wing guerilla mobilisation.

Now new social forces, the urban working classes, middle-strata, students and intellectuals were the protagonists of social and political struggles emanating almost exclusively from the urban centres. The city offered more diversified opportunities for political activities, made avoidance of political surveillance amd repression much easier, gave the political activists alternative chances in seeking solidarity with other social and political groups and rendered them less vulnerable to clientelistic ideologies and practices.

The emergence of socio-political movements over the period must be seen against a background of rapid socio-economic changes, on the one hand, and the persistance of a repressive political system, on the other. This background also highlights (at the same time) the movements’ seasonal strengths and weaknesses as well as their moments of ebb and flow. The city now becomes the pace-setter of political development. It offers the political space for organised political activities and facilitates political communication; it is the predominant basis for building political parties; it produces political 2 leadership and sets the moral standards of condemnation of the existing social and political order.

C.- Mass Mobilisation

An analytical distinction should be made between two types of political mobilisation: indirect and direct, the criterion being no other than the space of action and the goals pursued.

In practice the distinction is made difficult by the very complexity of human agencies and mixed goals involved, as well as by the transforming powers of action in the course of its development. Nevertheless, we must preserve the distinction in order to separate those instances of political mobilisation tout court (e.g. electioneering, political campaigning and meetings, etc), from those whose functions and effects if do not impinge directly on the sphere of politics. However, arrangement of political institutions and force of circumstances transform the relative position and impact of mass mobilisation.

D.- The Trade Union Movement

No other mass movement is so closely related to developments in the economy as the trade union movement. Many people even today should be reminded about this truism. The uneven and restricted character of the CMP profoundly affected the organisational and political morphology of the Greek working classes, (e.g. size of firms, number of industrial establishments and their geographical location, distribution of the Economically Active Population to occupations,industrial and technological heterogeneity). These objective conditions determined the possibilities of collective organisation (e.g. trade unions, societies, associations, etc., ) of the working people. However, this is only one side of the coin. The other side portrays the constraints and limitations imposed by the political system (e.g. trade-union legislation, civil rights, political control,, political freedoms, party and state policies, etc.). Otherwise, identical economic structures should have produced similar trade-union and labour movements, which just is not the case.

Thus, without disregarding compelling correlations between objective conditions and working class organisational and political strengths, it is nevertheless imperative to emphasise the crucial role of the distribution of political power. A change in the latter is a precondition for a change in the general fortunes of the trade-union movement.

These generalisations do not state too much, if taken out of the context and specificities of each particular case – ίο drive the point home it is necessary to examine some illustrating indices:

1.- Strike action

In the Greek case it was related to the political complexion of the government of the day and linked to moments of major political mobilisation. Statistical data given in Table 21 seem to reinforce this

point: in 1952 (during the short lived Centrist government of General

Plastiras) strikes were up, but fell sharply after his downfall and the ascent of right-wing governments. After a relative up-swing in

1957-58 ( a period of some intense political campaigning), strike energy was released in the period just prior to the formation of the first reformist Centrist government of G. Papandreou (1963-64) and was intensified following his overthrow (1965). Despite the efforts made by successive weak governments to repress them, strikes showed a remarkable endurance for some time and started to decline slowly only under extremely strict political and police measures.

TABLE 21

Greece: Number of strikes, strikers and lost working hours (1952-1967)

Year (in thousands)	Strikes	Strikes		Lost hours (in thousands)
1952	195	153		1,615
1953-55	580	184		1.828
1957-58	282	207		2,012
1959-61	250	151		1,824
1962	182	57		1.030
1963-65	1,001	519,	6	9,054
1966-67¹	698	440		6,606
1 – For the	period up to 20.4.67,	the eve of	it the	military coup,

Source:- Statistical Yearbook of Greece.

To put these figures into some meaningful context over such a long period of time we must take stock of changes in employment. Table 22 provides a basis for rough comparative assessments.

TABLE 22

Greece: Economically Active Population (EAP) and Wage Earners

Year	Population(in thousands)	Wage Earners and salaried workers	EAP	Wage earners on % of EAP
1951	7,632.8	1.046.000	2.839.000	41.8
1961	8,388.6	1.220.000	3.639.000	36.8
1971	8,768.6	1,369,000	3.235.000	33,5

Source: Results of Population-House Censuses, 1951, 1961, and 1971, NSSG

Though some writers 4 on Greek trade unionism are inclined to believe that official data rather underestimate the percentage of wage and salaried workers in relation to EAP, the purpose here is not to become obsessed with statistical data, but rather to establish a firm relationship. The real growth of trade unionism over the period as indicated by the strikers-strike index can be reaffirmed without wondering further into the Greek statistical jungle. Further evidence reinforcing the point may come from a comparison between the 1952-1954 and 1964-1966 periods in terms of lost working time as a percentage of total working time for the 5 country as a whole. It increased from 0.02% to 0.07%. The same pattern emerges in regard to lost working days per 1,000 workers: from 96 days in 1953 to 117 in 1957, to 271 in 1963 to reach the apex in 1966 with 520 days, probably the highest in the industrialised world at that time.

2.- The shock troops of labour7

The small size of Greek industry , geographical dispersion and fragmentation of plants were certainly not conducive to strong unionisation.

Consequently, trade union density was kept at a low level. There were of course, substantial variations from one industrial branch to another, whereas the situation in the private and public sector was entirely distinct. For various reasons trade union density in the Civil Service, Public Corporations and the Banks was exceptionally high, barely leaving any employee outside unionisation.

In the private sector, though the branches of transport9 and electricity1⁰ showed persistent militancy over the period, especially in the 60’s, it was not the industrial proletariat, but the construction workers who provided the shock troops of economic and political battles from 1960 onwards. This is not to say that strikes in the industrial sector proper played a minimal role. On the contrary, they get first rating in regard to numbers of strikers, strike and lost working hours. However, their effect was secondary and peripheral. Whatever the reason for cyclical fluctuation of strikes and strike intensity in each individual industrial branch, the fact is that they did not make their political mark felt.

On the other hand, the case for the manifest militancy of construction”*^–workers is not difficult to argue. Due to war devastations, the rush to the capital, the social status and prestige attributed to house owners, the rising expectations of lower and middle-social strata, the need to accommodate the rapid growth of the tourist industry and, last but not least, the well entrenched social institution„of the Dowry, demand for housing gave an enormous push to construction activities. The task of 12 rebuilding and rehousing the coontry was colossal.

The boom in the construction sector was impressive. The annual rates of increase for the sector as a whole or for the sub-sector of 13 14 dwellings was spectacular. For a variety of reasons _f investment in the sector was also extremely high.^~’ Given the fact that the Greek

building materials industry could satisfy nearly 90% of the market’s needs, it was not accidental that the sector became the motor of reflation and/or deflation of the Greek economy as a whole, a real thermometer of its state of health.

Since I960 the average number of building permits issued by public authorities has risen by 9% a year; over the following period the country could well claim that the reserve of houses’^ was more than satisfactory inspite of the population growth.

In accord with the boom in construction, employment in the sector rose rapidly to 150,000 in 1961 and about 250,000 people in 1971.

In 1960 the building workers burst into the political arena with a widespread strike in December, which was bloodily suppressed by the police. Reality and myth wanted them to be omnipresent in every major event of the times as auxiliary, supporting or assault troops of labour and anti- Rightist political forces. The strongly unionised sector of banks and Civil Service white collar workers did not remain idle either.

Their strike action seems to have been more carefully planned and timed, particularly for the period between 1962 and i966, one of accelerating politicisation of all social strata.

3.- Physiognomy and effectiveness of strike action ,-tfeographical distribution of strikes and strikers confirm the pattern of Greece’s postwar economic development and industrial concentration.

Athens, Thessaloniki and Piraeus account for more than half the strikes and participant strikers over the period.

Wage claims rate higher in the scale of causes for strike action, providing at the same time, the vital link to political demands.

Solidarity or sympathy strikes were kept low and never exceeded a meagre 5-10% of the total. The effectiveness of strike action is difficult to measure accurately. From the scattered evidence available, it seems that more than half the strikes did not end in any concrete result for the benefit of the strikers. Few strikes (between 1 – 10% for the period

1958-1967) ended after a negotiated settlement. Average duration of strikes was also very low. The great majority of them fell into the 1-2 days’ category. Parallel to the general socio-political trends

in the period 1963-1967, the category of 3 – 10 days showed a substantial 17 increase over the period. The above figures are very indicative of the relative strengths and weaknesses of a trade-union movement having to confront a variety of hostile forces (employers, anti-labour laws, police harassement, state paternalism and repression).

4.- The role of the State

State intervention in and control of trade unions has been instrumental in shaping the legal, institutional and political configuration of the labour movement. Trade Union Law was restrictive enough to prevent strike action getting out of hand, particularly in tJje public sector and the Civil Service (Law 3239/55). Compulsory mobilisation of strikers, still in force, was quite of’ten employed as a means to end and suppress unwanted strikes. Legal protection of trade unionists against employers’ persecution has never been strong enough. Once that the leadership 18 of the Greek TUC (GSEE) had fallen into the hands of right-wingers during the civil war (1948) the institutional and political structure of the movement was stabilised and controlled by means of expulsions and purges of affiliated unions of left-wing inclinations, refusal to affiliate or register left-wing unions with large membership, corruption, a plethora of rubber stamp unions and stage managed congresses A combination of police surveillance through its specially designated syndicalist section and prosecutions of left trade-unionists contained the free and autonomous development of the movement despite the resistance

put up by many unions. Financial control of the unions by a system of 19 compulsory dues through the Labour Hearth (Ergatiki Estia) or collective agreements made them almost totally dependent on the government will with little room for independent action. Additional funds administered by the Ministry of Labour for selective support of unions, pay offs of pro government trade unionists, and general financing of the special Fund for Trade Unionists made the system of state patronage and tutelage virtually unchallenged from within and extremely difficult to undermine from without And, last but not least, a system of compulsory Arbitration, disposed off the responsibility from the two parts in the industry , employers and employees, in disputes by surrendering the powers of resolution to the ‘neutral’ arbitration of the State. As a result the State had succeeded in incorporating a substantial part of the working classes into its political discourse and system of rewards by means of a dependent participation, restricted and chanelled mobilisation, ‘moderate’ and contained demands. Given the partial effectiveness of this mechanism of incorporation,the chances for the working classes to develop their own autonomous and independent organisations were considerably curtailed.

5.- The role of the political parties

It was clear that any challenge to the system could but come from without. As early as 1956 the ‘Democratic Trade Union Movement* was formed, a cadre organisation rather than a grass-root movement, to contest the authority of the GSEE. It was initiated and led by EDA.

In 1962 the organisation was succeeded by a new one called Ί15′. Later, in 1962, an organisation called ‘115 Cooperating Trade Unions’ founded by trade-unionists of left and left-of-centre inclinations. It grew rapidly to comprise about 720 unions and subsequently claimed the authority to represent the genuinely class-orientated and democratically organised trade union movement. There is no doubt that ‘115’ contributed immensely to every major mobilisation of the working classes both for trade union and political demands. It was an effective agency of mobilisation, in which the Left played the major role, but it did not manage to topple the administration of the official GSEE, which enjoyed considerable international backing.^⁰

Given the duality of the movement and the well entrenched position of the official GSEE, it was no accident that the latter’s long-lasting administration was finally overthrown only by Court injunction during the short spell of G. Papandreou’s government in 1964. It was followed by the appointment of a provisional administration consisting of trade- 21 unionists mostly loyal or sympathetic to the government.

During the same period, the ‘Democratic Trade Union Change’ was formed, a cadre organisation consisting of trade unionists loyal or very close to the Centre Union party of G. Papandreou. The connection between political party and trade union was deplorable. In the Greek historical context, the party preceded the union in regard to organisational strength and power. As a consequence the union has always been regarded as a mere tool for advancing party political goals, a conveyor belt for the party’s political line. Party and trade union leadership overlapped; first and ultimate loyalties lay with the party rather than with the union. The grip was tight.

Party and state patronage subjugated the official unions’ leadership to the dicta of governments. On the other hand, unofficial trade unionism was under the firm grip of the Left and its authoritarian political practices. Trade unionism, therefore, has not been able to distance itself from political authority and to establish permanent institutionalised structures for the autonomous organisation of the working classes.

C.- Conclusions

The trade union movement’s two and later three-way split along the lines of Left, Centre and Right of the political spectrum controlled by the state and the parties and in pursuit of rival goals was no nearer to assuming a leading a social and political role in post civil-war developments. On the one hand, the state succeeded in incorporating part of the movement into the social and political order by confining it to strictly trade-union claims and rolling it down the road of political immobilism and castration. On the other hand, the Left accommodated the urge for political participation and action by means of authoritarian ideological and political controls of the other active section. Both practices led to feeble institutionalisation, discouraged active and responsible participation and left little room for independent power basis.

The state’s attitude towards trade unionism reflected both its anxiety to perpetuate the established social and political order and the difficulties of growth orientated governments in reconciling the conflicting demands of accumulation and distribution. For class or other reasons, the right wing governments of that period neglected the distribution aspect of the problem. On the other side, the fragmented state of trade unionism – eliminated the possibility of working classes posing a serious challenge to the dominant relations of production.

However, their potential for challenging the prevailing relations of political domination, though curtailed, was not to be ignored.

Finally, intensive urbanisation disrupted both the state’s tutelage functions and the Left’s political socialisation processes. The uneveness of capitalist growth and the type of capitalist accumulation were not conducive to the numerical strengths of an industrial proletariat.22

Industrial employment stagnated over the period. Amongst the new emerging social strata the presence of internal migrants was particularly strong. They were not bound to the old occupational communities; they were mobile, ambitious, looking for social elevation, social status, and higher incomes; they were attracted by consumerist ideologies rather than by the parochial sub-culture of the ghettoed Left.

CHAPTER TEN

The Agrarian Movement

I have already pointed out the conditions that drove the Greek preasantry to participate en masse in the Resistance.

At that time the Communist Left had shown considerable restraint in accentuating class differences in the countryside and refrained from putting forward the sort of programme for collectivising agriculture that vould be best suited to its political and economic philosophy. As a result- the peasantry’s political perception had considerably altered and contributed to overcoming its internal political schism which originated from the inter-war period; the paternalistic grip of General Metaxa’s guasi-fascist rule (1936-1940) was eliminated.

The Civil war altered the terms of political reference. The peasantry was completely alienated from communist policies and ideologies and was driven back to the traditional embrace of Greek nationalism, vested now with strong and uncompromising anti-communist contents. With the restoration of conservative political order, the influence of the economic factor in shaping the peasantry’s political orientation grew accordingly.

1.- Lack of feudal tradition and effective application of land reforms

accomplished towards the end of the 30s, overwhelmingly family-owned, small holdings and the partial success of persistent and compulsory state reclamation schemes” conditioned the Greek peasantry to a subordinate political role, compared with the urban working classes and the rising urban middle and lower middle strata.

Small may be beautiful but not particularly effective, at least in the agricultural sector. The family and private cultivation of small holding agriculture not only persisted over the period, but was actually reinforced. Improvements of course did happen. The agricultural sector, though constantly declining in importance, was still the largest single industry of the country in terms of employment and national product. However, one of the permanent structural characteristics of the sector had been the continuous fragmentation of the land, which due to non-expansion of the total cultivated area resulted in the decline of the average size of cultivations and the average number of farmers per cultivation. Leaving aside the type of links between the agricultural and industrial sector (e.g. transfer of resources, etc.,) what is crucial for our analysis is the form of economic dependence of the Greek peasantry, which can point to the relative gravity of its economic claims and political demands.

In the first place, the independent family nature of the agricultural sector (see Table 26) provided a relatively stabilising element in the conservative political order. Greek peasants and small farmers were not dependent on private capital, for their survival. Employees using wage labour actually declined over the period. Similarly the number of wage earners in the sector declined; they were mainly an itinerant seasonal workforce following the harvest of particular crops rather than of an army of propertyless peasants. The social basis for a possible

growth of fascist or revolutionary ideology amongst the peasantry was lacking. After all, left-wing revolution had recently been tried and failed .

TABLE 26

Greece: Economically active agricultural population

Year	Employers	Independent farmers and family members	Wage earners	Total
1950	17 ,000.	1,710,000	124,000	1,851,000
1961	34,000	1,764,000	161,000	1,960,000
1971	19,000	1,232,000	64,000	1,3 30,000
		In Percentage Terms
1950	0.91	92.39	6.7	loo
1961	1.71	90.00	8.27	100
1971	1.43	92.55	6.02	100
Source: Population and Housing Census, 1971

Dependence on the state for economic survival and welfare was nearly total, through credit provisions and investment. The State-owned Agricultural Bank of Greece (ATE) was the exclusive agency for the provision of short, I medium and long-term credit, hence instrumental in carrying out government policies and bringing about desired effects. The importance of short-term credit hardly needs emphasising, given the developmental state of the sector as a whole and the very precarious and unpredictable nature of agricultural production itself. Apart from state investment in the sector, basically in infrastructure (irrigation schemes, storage, etc), private investment was also for the most part financed by ATE. Such was the degree of dependence of Greek agriculture on the state’s banking system that an author was tempted

to characterise the situation emphatically as a de facto nationalisation of the sector. Thus the volume of accumulated debts , which peasants were unable to repay was not surprising at all. Under those conditions a powerful tendency to await for the benevolent leader to write off one’s debts is not surprising. This Bonapartist vein is emphatically stressed by K. Marx in the case of the French peasantry. He thought that it sprung from the latter’s inability to organise and represent itself politically, bought off by bank loans and seeking after a master to ‘send them the rain and the sunshine from above”. In his own words, ‘the political influence of the small peasants therefore, finds its final expression in the executive power subordinating society to itself’.

Marx’s thesis applicable or not in the French case of that era, cannot be sustained in the light of subsequent developments all over the world and the realisation of the radical and revolutionary potential of the peasantry. It is rather an aphorism and as such inapplicable in all places, at all times and under any circumstances. It is characteristic of the Greek case, that no king, political party, leader or dictator, had proved capable of winning the unconditional long-term loyalty and support of the peasantry.

2.- Side by side with the credit and investment mechanism of control, other instruments of agricultural policies, ranging from differentiated systems of price support, direct or indirect income subsidies, etc., were employed by the State. This is to explain why the prime target of agrarian mobilisations was always the support mechanisms and, above all, guaranteed price levels. In every case, the peasants had to confront the state or its agencies in order to make their point. Hence, the inherent potential for rapid politicisation of their claims. This special relationship between the peasantry and the state in fact created a paternalistic perception of the state, which is here to stay.

3.- Despite the considerable advances made in Greek agriculture over the period (rise of productivity, value and volume of production, mechanisation, etc) , the national importance of the sector in economic terms declined from 36% of the GNP in 1950, to 19% in 1971. Agricultural income increased considerably, but lagged far behind the average income earned in urban areas.

4.- Such were the conditions which made political patronage⁵ attractive to peasants and at the same time incongruent with the prospect of establishing an autonomous political and organisational basis as a class. Gradually, with internal migration and immigration and thanks to the increasing commercialisation of agriculture, extreme forms of patronage were eliminated and the whole system was seriously weakened.

Yet the bondage and habit, mentality and practice were to remain for a long time to come. These changes diminished the peasantry as an electoral constituency and as a social class. The losses of human resources to migration and immigration led to an aging rural population

and reduced local autonomy, as was exemplified by grave shortages of labour.

5.- Supplementary sources of income, like self-consumption and, above all, immigrants’ remittances improved conditions, relieved tension and probably contained militancy.

6.- Another restraining factor was the size of Greek villages and rural communities; their scattered nature made communications difficult and time consuming. From a total 11,162 villages, 8,755 of them or 78% were inhabited by no more than 500 persons. This extreme fragmentation imposed some severe constraints both on the timing of political mobilisation and on the forms of political protest, which had usually taken the form of a mass meetings and demonstrations in the main city of a region, which was the commercial centre for one or more agricultural product. Since the peasant protest was based on individual crop-growers it is not difficult to see why mobilisation was regionalised, confined to limited issues (e.g. prices) and unable to widen its appeal beyond a certain radius.

The political weaknesses of the peasantry were amply reflected in its collectively organised activities.

1.- The historical feebleness of the agrarian cooperative movement for instance, persisted throughout the post civil-war period. Since 1950 an effort has been made to reconstruct the movement. The number of active cooperatives increased from 6,784 in 1950 to 7,721 in 1967 and so did membership, but only by a mere 100,000, from 655,123 in 1950to 753,717 in 1967. Yet, if we take into account the number of dormant and inactive cooperatives, average membership remained virtually the same, at 97 members.

Some slight improvement was noticed in the increase of productive cooperatives as against credit ones. The latter had always dominated the movement, which is surprising given the stage of development of the sector and the credit policies of ATE, channelling funds to an extent of 70% approximately through cooperatives. In percentage terms, credit cooperatives fell from 67,5% of the total in 1950 to 61.4%, whereas productive cooperatives rose from 15.4% to 28.8% respectively.

Yet cooperatives as a whole were not in a position to concentrate and sell more than a tiny fraction of the overall agricultural production.

The activities of cooperatives in the field of external trade were also minimal: they had never been able to gain a share of more than 10 to 20% of the total agricultural exports. There were of course, individual exceptions to the rule, but the overall performance was disappointing.

The processing of agricultural products also never exceeded a small percentage – between 5 to 6% of the total.

Cooperatives, organised according to the provision of the law on commercial enterprises, lacked adequate equipment, permanent administrative structure, competent and skilful management; consequently they proved inadequate vehicles for the peasantry’s effective organisation and mobilisation. Though on paper they managed to organise approximately 70% of agricultural households, restrictions on membership practically excluded both the female and younger members of the house-hold- and thus limited the scope of effective participation of a very substantial and potentially much more vital and active section of the rural population.

The co-existence of rich and poor peasants alike under the umbrella organisation of cooperatives made it impossible to establish an independent and autonomous basis of organisation for the less privileged peasant strata.

2.- As private enterprises cooperatives failed to restructure and develop the sector. They even failed to reduce to any substantial degree the most visible form of the peasantry’s exploitation, that on the level of circulation, through the price mechanism and by means of an army of middlemen merchants or strong agricultural industries.

3.- A rather more successful form of organisation was the Peasants’ Unions which made their appearance in the 1950’s. As the professional organisations of the peasantry and based on a much more specific interest- orientated membership, the unions were rather more effective in forging the peasantry’s militancy and proved more adequate vehicles for mobilising specific categories of crop-growers throughout Greece. Leadership was more homogeneous and political party influences stronger, since legal or other political restrictions in general were less rigorous.

Right-wing governments over the period managed to control the cooperative movement by a firm grip of PASEGES (The Panhellenic Confederation of Agricul- tal Cooperatives). For almost 20 whole years the pro-government leadership of PASEGES remained unchanged and was able to block any politicization process. The union barons pursued a policy of alleged ‘political neutrality’ which was nothing more than a pseudonym for camouflaging persecutions and purges against political opponenets in the movement. However, peasant mobilisation did occur but were limited in scope, of short duration and regionally confined. They were mostly concentrated on demanding adequate guaranteed prices from the State. Official data are non-existent, whereas privately collected figures for the period 1951-1962 do not seem very reliable. However, some intense and very militant mobilisations occurred^ in the early 60’s, which, for the first time since the civil-war, had a wider political impact nationally. By the mid-60’s increased mechanisation and improved public and private transport changed the forms of peasant protest. The ‘threatening’ scenes of peasants blocking national routes or access to nearby urban centres with their tractors and/or any other agricultural machinery on wheels, became more and more common. Confrontations with security forces and wide press coverage of mobilisations contributed to a realisation that peasants were still a force to be reckoned. The view that the peasantry scored low political mobility rates over the period, is generally shared.^ Whereas the state managed to contain the rural population, the.Left, despite its intensified efforts during the 60’s, failed to penetrate or break the rural political setting. The motives and intentions of the Communist Left were deeply mistrusted by the peasantry with its anti-communist and anti-collectivist orientations. In relation to the agrarian problems of the country and peasant needs, the Left talked a parochial language; its programme was drafted as if there were still a majority of landless peasants, and an ‘avant-guard’ of a marching agrarian proletariat; the analysis was peppered with the existence of ‘some feudal remnants’.

Only G. Papandreou managed during his ‘unyielding struggle’ (1962-63) to articulate the peasants’ main grievances and to address their needs convincingly. He promised the partial cancellation of accumulated debts, free state education for their children and, therefore, more access to the educational system hitherto characterised by numerus clausus, higher guaranteed prices for their products and last but not least, the relaxation of political controls by restoring the state of law and justice.

Papandreou’s programme and immensely, persuasive oratory appealed to the countryside, which rallied massively behind him. When in power he kept his promises. By touring the country during his protracted political campaign, G. Papandreou awakened the peasantry, helped it to overcome its inertia and to participate directly in mass political gatherings and agitation. Internal migrants, who usually kept their voting rights in their native villages, were instrumental in stirring up political discussions, breaking down hesitation and fear and drawing their fellow countrymen closer to urban political outlook and affiliations.

Finally, the bearing of cultural changes on the question of the peasantry’s political role should not be left out, although it is rather- an unexplored area, which cannot be dealt with here.

1.- Disintegration of the traditional peasant and folk culture under the onslaught of so many drastic changes and transformations was rapid and encountered little resistance by its beare5s. The infusion of cultural models emanated from the capitalist city was deep and effective. All this happened even before the television era, which dawned rather late in Greece. It is difficult to locate the causes of this absence of defences and resistance by the peasant communities. Illiteracy, educational backwardness, lack of cultural facilities and organic intellectuals to articulate anew peasant contexts to fresh and adaptive ideological discourses may go some way to explain the processes of decomposition and surrender, but may also not tell the whole story.

What is more tractable is the underlying material processes. The opening of the economy to external economic influences and cultural penetration, the development of tourism and mass media undermined the pattern of existing exchanges between city and countryside at the expense of the latter. Consumerist ideologies gripped the emerging social strata, which were the main beneficiaries of economic expansion, but also infected the peasants’ aspirations. The latter were rightly looking for a fairer share of the country’s growing prosperity and were keen to reap the benefits of a new life, viewed as better and superior to their own. Consumerist ideologies made a great impact on the countryside. Despite the fact that peasant consumption patterns lagged behind they started to make considerable strides from the mid-60’s onwards, to the extent that a process of ‘convergence’ was rapidly established as a predominant feature of the peasantry’s rising expectations.^⁰ It is· characteristic that the opening of Greek society to so many strong external influences caught the country intellectually unprepared. Developmentalist ideologies quickly set in and affected political forces across the spectrum. Cultural policies were non-existent, nor was there any conception of the variety of possible combinations between ‘tradition’ and ‘modernity’ and the importance of conscious mechanisms of selection from traditional values. On the one side, conservative ideologies and cultural practices reduced ‘popular culture’ to glorified folklore, the usual diet of local and religious festivals and national occasions. The Left shared the same attitude, encouraging folkloristic traditions where the ”true psyche’ of Greekness supposedly

lay lamenting the morals and mores of the city and blaming ‘the American way of life’. As for the old and new urban intelligentsia of the Left, it lived comfortably with its own old truths of the Stalinist era, occasionally shedding copious crocodile tears over the dying body of a belatedly rediscovered culture. These later worshippers of the ”cultural tradition’ and ‘back to the roots’ slogans were ready to praise uncritically whatever cultural element originated from ‘the people’, the peasantry included.

True, the outcry for the preservation of ‘cultural heritage’ can be a healthy reaction to indifference, neglect and/or unconditional surrender to external cultural pressures. True also that a cohesive social group can shoulder the responsibility and take the lead in activating mechanisms of selection and reselection of those significant and recovered elements of the ‘cultural tradition’, which do not represent a necessary and deterministic continuity, but a desirable continuity; therefore a fusion of the old and the new is possible, so · that to achieve new cultural contexts and articulate new forms of cultural activities to moral, ideological and political discourses. No such social group endowed with leading ethical and cultural qualities emerged in Greece during that period. In sum, the duality which characterised the labour movement – state control and incorporation on the one hand, party control on the other – was more assymetrical as far as the peasant movement was concerned. The failure of the rural classes to organize themselves independently from State tutelage or political party control was undoubtedly rooted in historical developments , but it also had a great deal to do both with its conditions of economic existence and the relations of political domination after the civil-war.

The paradox lies in the fact that despite the peasantry’s greater integration into the political system compared with either the urban working classes, or other more volatile social strata, sufficiently substantial numbers of peasants broke ranks with the established order to tilt the balance against it. Dissociation therefore, from traditional masters was possible but political weight was carried only in conjunction and/or alliance with the expanding urban social strata.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Students’ Movement

The Greek Students’ movement (SM hereafter) of the 60’s deserves a quite distinct place in the country’s post-civil war political history.

It was quite distinct both from the third world movements of the time and from European ones, which swept the continent towards the end of the same decade. It was different in its organisation, ideologies, style and expression, political practice and goals.

A.- Historical Background

1.- Up to the mid-50’s mobilisation of students was limited and confined merely to bread and butter issues (.e.g. tuition fees, examinations, etc.) which the exception of the Cyprus issue, which touched the sensitive nationalist nerve and triggered off ad hoc mass responses for a short period (1956) ..

2.- By 1957 the SM managed to get its first organisations in the form of Students’ union, both in Athens and Thessaloniki. Its first ever National .’Congress (1957) ^ addressed a letter to the political parties in view of the forthcoming elections the following year. It stated the need to include the students’ demands and aspirations in their electoral manifestos. The Congress itself was exclusively concerned with the living and educational conditions of its members and omitted any reference either to the national questions of Cyprus or to the burning political issues of the day. It was the stage when the SM was simply a marginal , pressure group with no chance of being taken seriously.

3.- From then on the fortunes of the SM were to be irreversibly linked to the fluctuations of politics. The general elections of 1958 marked a turning point. The communist-dominated left-wing party of EDA was voted into the main opposition place in Parliament. The Communist Party’s leadership in exile decided to stop operating underground and give conditional support to EDA’s legal political activities. EDA’s electoral victory opened the possibility of a radical reappraisal of its strategy, tactics and policies. The Youth Organisation of EDA was instrumental in infusing into the SM a new sense of awareness and direction and in providing organisational and political expertise. The second Students’ Congress convened in 1959. Although it did not radically depart from the analyses and resolutions adopted in 1957, nevertheless the issue of Education was tackled in a broader albeit implicit, political context. It attracted more attention from the Media and was attended by observers from Greek students abroad. The appeal was now somewhat broadened. By this time the nucleus of student unionists of the broad Left had managed to get control of the Onions.

These developments triggered off an immediate response by the ruling ERE party. Lacking a credible organisation in the Universities ERE had to rely on state security branches to combat ‘subversion’. Such was the perception of free union activities; they were seen as threatening to the security of the State. Open and covert surveillance was intensified and the Student Section of the Security Branch started working overtime. Prosecutions and intimidations of activists was continuous and academic sanctuary was frequently violated. The risks of political involvement increased: activists could expect rough treatment during their military service and had no chance in finding a job in the Public Sector due to the system of security screening

based on ‘certification of social beliefs’ , a passport to second class citizenship.

4.- Towards the end of 1959 the right-wing -camp was able to confront the challenge by founding.a students’ organisation, EKOF , which quickly degenerated into violent thuggish actions against its rivals. Financed by the state budget and assisted by the security forces with which it collaborated closely, EKOF terrorised its opponents and by 1960 had managed to capture the majority in the Unions. So the dice was cast^ and the battle to win over the students’ hearts and minds took a new confrontational twist.

5.- The battle was decisively won by the united front of the democratic camp, based on the alliance between left-wingers and the youth organisations of the newly founded Centre Union Party led by G. Papandreou. Approaching the 1961 general elections, the democratic front was already on the offensive and by the time of the elections it had regained control of Athens University’s ’.Confederation Union.

B.- The peak period It is important to put these developments into their political context. The Centre Union Party (EK) , under the charismatic leadership of G. Papandreou was expected to win the 29th October 1961 elections. The challenge to the right wing rule was real and the alternative credible.

The results of the elections, conducted under the caretaking government of General Dovas – a faithfully hanger-on of the Royal Court and head of the King’s Military Office – came as a shock to G. Papandreou. EK was confined to 33.34% of the vote and lOO seats compared with 50.81% and 176 seats (out. of 300) for the ruling ERE party led by Karamanlis. There were enough episodes during the electoral campaign period to suggest a concentrated effort to influence the results unlawfully. But now the accumulated evidence of the use of violence and fraud to rig the elections was such as to make impossible any grant of legitimacy to the new government by EK. Indeed, G. Papandreou not only publicly denounced”^⁰ the results, as a product of ‘violence and fraud’ but also severed his relations with the Court and boycotted the official opening of the new Parliament, moves unprecedented for a middle-of-the-road and midly reformist bourgeois party. Opting to ¹ go to the people’ G. Papandreou had to look for allies. His party, which had been founded just before the elections’*””*” from various groups and formations of the Centre, was very much in the vein of traditional bourgeois parties, that is, personalistic, clientelistic without formal organisational structures and procedures, or constitutional provisions, in short, an impossible agency of mobilisation. G. Papandreou’s personality was of course an irreplaceable asset, but still not a sufficient condition to win power under the circumstances. The SM offered him a golden opportunity to mobilise public opinion.

Many stumbling blocks had to be overcome, like the deep-rooted hesitation of the traditional political leadership of the Centre to use channels of mass political mobilisation on the brink ©f legality, and the fear of an uncontrolled entrance of new social strata into the political arena.

But in the end they were overcome. The political mobilisation of the Students’ as early as April 1962 marked a decisive turning point and persuaded G. Papandreou that conditions were ripe to launch his ‘unyielding’ struggle, which lh years later brought him to power. In the same month, he inaugurated his intensive campaign to topple the government by an open- air mass meeting in Athens, which was destined to change the .complextion and alignment of Greek politics for years to come.

By then, the SM had matured as a socio-political movement and during the subsequent period till the next general elections of November 1963 witnessed its most glorious movement. It has justifiably been characterised as the spearhead and catalyst of the nationwide and protracted political mobilisation, which finally broke the backbone of right-wing rule.

In the first place the SM managed to combine in a perfect balance, the demands for Educational Reforms condensed in the slogan of ‘15%’ and the defence of civil and academic rights and freedoms , epitomized in the slogan of ‘114’. The message spread, not only to all institutions of higher education and schools, but all over Greece. The drive to win over the population to the cause of educational reform by means of a ‘referendum’ managed to collect an astonishing one million signatures.

The Student community acquired enormous prestige, acclaim and support by all sections of society. For the first time, the national press started to devote exclusive space to students’ affairs and assign special correspondents. The vitality in the student communities of both Athens and Thessaloniki in terms of issues raised and discussed, open dialogue and scrutiny of socio-political aspects of society and life was unprecedented. The role of the SM’s tabloid review ‘ panspoudastiki’¹⁶ was paramount in rallying the best brains and talented pens from amongst its ranks. The quality of publication and the debates were of the highest standard.

Cultural openness and intellectual awakening had brought the hitherto small and isolated Greek student community into contact with contemporary intellectual and philosophical European currents, which were debated with passion. Curiosity and a passion for learning, scientific inquiry and questioning of what was taken for granted were at their highest. On the political front the battle was fought with skill, immagination and stamina. The streets of Athens and Thessaloniki became clearly battlegrounds between students and riot police and security forces. Organisation, solidarity, unity, militancy and planned actions were formidable.

The 4th Congress which was convened in Athens between 22 and 28 April 1963, epitomised the process and adopted an elaborate programme combining educational reforms with the demand for academic sanctuary and political democratic liberties. The Congress asserted the predominance of the Broad Left’s united front and gave the’movement an institutionalised structure by founding the National Students’ Union of Greece (EFEE)

It was during the same period (1961-1963) that the movement acquired a degree of autonomy from the political parties, which allowed it to form its own identity and achieve a considerable degree of pluralism, tolerance, inner strength and bargaining power. However, the crucial element was always the control exercised upon its leadership by party apparatuses, initially by EDA, and later on by the Centre Union Party. It is characteristic that soon after the latter’s electoral victories in 1963 and 1964 the SM was split, with one section willing to give unconditional support to the government for having satisfied the demands and achieved the goals for which the movement had fought so hard, and the other pushing for a

critical stance and further radicalisation. Eventually, the forces of if the Centre Union dominated the universities a£ the expense of the Communist Left, which was effectively cornered.

By mid-1965, on the eve of the royal intervention to force G. Papandreou resignation, the SM was already at a very low ebb, disorganised and disorien tated. Infighting and party intervention had reduced the movement to a passive role. The old unity had vanished and both EDA’s and the Centre Union’s student organisations were in bad shape, barely capable of initiating and coordinating any common action.

C.- An Evaluation

The students’ result of the 60’s has been attributed to their middle class backgrounds, alienation from and rejection of the consumerist model in maturated capitalist societies of the West. However, the social and political conditions that made possible the rise of the Greek SM were entirely different. Above all, the political context was such as to invite specific responses and specific solutions. Unlike the European Students’ movements, the Greek one did not advocate the politics of ‘large issues¹.

1.- It was politically influential, because it managed to secure all the internal conditions which make mass movements effective agencies of political and social change: internal cohesiveness, organisational

networks of communications, consensual decision-making, inspiring, skilful and united leadership, cultural diversity and a concrete programme of action in tune with the rank and file feelings and demands and in contact with broader sections of society. Values were established and propagated, but never confused with the politically feasible and realistic targeting of action.

2.- Unlike other movements, it managed to establish its independence from State tutelage and control and to unleash a dynamic process not easily controlled by the political parties. This in turn contributed decisively to making the Unions effective agencies of participation and institutionalisation.

3.- The crux of the Greek political problem at the time was how to end the monopoly of power enjoyed by the Right and pave the way for democratic political and social reforms. To the achievement of that objective the SM made an enormous and irreplaceable contribution.

What else could be more revolutionary?

4.- At the time the SM was the sole agency and channel of intellectual contact with the West and the current of modem thought. The absence of any original tradition of socialist thought made it imperative to look abroad for new ideas of sources of intellectual stimulation. In

this respect the SM had a valuable asset. The large Greek student community abroad, which was quickly brought together with the home movement and contributed in many important aspects both to the common cause and to the circulation of modem ideas.

5.- The issue of educational reform was not only brought into the foreground of national debate but was also to constitute a focal point for any social, cultural and political reform. No other movement at the time managed to achieve such extensive and far reaching reforms for its own social space.

Another important and much neglected aspect of the SM has been its broadmindedness in tackling the issue of education from the point of the general interest of society as a whole. It was neither corporatist and sectional in its demands nor sectarian in its approach to mobilisation, policy-making and tactics. The point is supported by sufficient sociological evidence.

1.- In fighting the numerus clausus of the Greek higher educational system the SM was able to distance itself from any privileged caste mentality. For opening up the system and making it more accessible was bound to lower standards and general conditions, unless more resources were allocated by the State.

For historical and practical social reasons, demand for higher education has been high. Public spending on education has been for many years unsufficient to accommodate even the needs of a very small university students community; tuition fees were charged and grants were provided for only a tiny portion of students (4.5 – 5%), whereas many students were desperately seeking jobs in the labour market to make a living.

It was characteristic of the situation that total public expenditure on education roughly equalled the amount spent in hard currency for the sizeable and evergrowing Greek student community abroad.

2.- The opening of the system was bound to benefit proportionally all social classes and numerically the less privileged ones. For unlike other European countries Greece’s educational system even before the introduction of free higher education in 1964 was more open to lower social classes and less class-ridden and rigid. It was of course, antiquated and obsolete in terms of organisation, values and pluralist contents.

Indeed, statistical evidence suggests that there has been a far greater representation of working, rural and lower urban middle classes in education than in other European educational systems.

Despite the fact that between 1962 and 1966 the student population almost doubled and the intake of students under the new system introduced in 1964 increased by 50% there was proportionally no significant change in the students’ social origins. Such was the lasting impact of the SM on Greek education and so powerful its appeal to and impression upon all social strata that ten years later a fairer class representation structure was effected in close proximity to the social structure of the country as a whole.

3.- In these respects the SM was vindicated in demanding and achieving

a great relaxation of the numerus clausus – for no educational system has emerged so far without a selection mechanism – and initiating a democratisation process. It is characteristic of the orientation of the movement as a whole that it did not confine itself to some form of equal opportunity for minimal knowledge. It went far beyond stressing the importance of raising standards, improving the infrastructure, changing curricula, transforming a deplorable relationship between staff and students, introducing new approaches to teaching and learning etc., demands that met with fierce resistance and denial by the academic establishment and the ossified State authorities.

Finally, the SM has been very much another manifestation of the importance of urban environment in shaping some of the characteristics of Greece’s post civil-war political antagonisms. Around 95% of students were concentrated in the Athens and Thessaloniki Universities and other Higher Education Institutions. The geographical locations of schools and colleges, with some of them lying at the heart of the two cities, the absence of isolated leafy green campuses and inward looking student life, and even the network of city transport and social communications made political communication easier, and political tactics (such as the hit and run demonstrations in the streets) workable and effective. Mobility, instant change of tactics and flexible response were indispensable for the success and impact of mobilisation, in view of the immense concentration of riot police forces and the security services.

Both resistance and repression, as exemplified by the two opposed camps were too visible to be ignored by the general public. The theatrical rituals of the riot police could hardly be mistaken for anything other than the manifestation of a police state. Visibility of action by both sides played an all important role in influencing and shaping the attitudes of the general public before the age of television. Such was the social and political impact of an astonishingly small social minority (Athens University had only 16,450 enrolled students in 1962).

CHAPTER TWELVE

Youth and Peace Movements

A.- The Youth Movement

The students’ movement also helped Greek youth to emancipate itself from the politics of despair and political non-involvement in public affairs pursued by the Right-wing governments. Under the impact of the SM, political anesthesia was overcome and a new wave of political participation began. It is characteristic of the Greek political and cultural setting that no class-based Youth movement emerged endowed with its own distinct and cultural traits. Once more the parties were the main agencies of mobilisation.

It was first the Youth Organisation of EDA, founded in 1954, which had been very active in trying to organise the youth and provide political direction. A small but very militant organisation, it managed to establish an *avant-gard ish reputation during the 50’s without succeeding in drawing a mass following. Its influence was somewhat expanded after the 1st Congress of EDA in 1959, which gave the Left, a rather more realistic and less sectarian orientation. It was however if the 2nd Congress in December 1962, held amid, a climate of general politicisation and student mobilisation, that gave it a new push. To a lesser degree, the Youth Organisation of the Centre Union, EDIN , and its predecessor ONEK, contributed to the mobilisation and political education of Greek youth over the same period. It must be said that both the organized sections of the Centre Union’s Youth following and the much wider part influenced by its policies and ideologies, were in their political and ideological outlook far to the left of the Party. Finally, even the right-wing party of ERE ran its own youth section, which was particularly active in the Universities.

The grip of the political parties on Youth organisations was tight and the only exception was the Lambrakis movement, but only to a certain extent and for a certain short period of time. The movement was named after the Greek MP, G. Lambrakis, elected in 1961, as an independent on EDA’s ticket, who was murdered by the political underworld in May 1963 in

Thessaloniki. It grew and spread spontaneously and rapidly enough, from a moral and political outrage against the cover practices of the political authorities, to take the leadership of EDA by surprise.

It is certain that the assassination of G. Lambrakis sparked off already inflammable material: latent discontent and dissatisfaction with a life impoverished in opportunities of self-expression, creative and constructive action. The movement spread rapidly to the countryside reaching isolated rural communities which were eager to receive its message.

Drawing inspiration from the imposing figure of the composer M. Theodorakis and his music, the movement engaged in community and cultural activities, which made it a pole of attraction. The demands if for moral and political catharsis, the cause of peace, cultural and community activities, fired the immagination of the youth, which disregarding the risks involved, swelled the ranks of the Democratic Youth Movement ‘G. Lambrakis’, as it was initially named, both in the cities and in the countryside.

The leadership of EDA quickly realised the potential of the movement but the decision to merge its own youth organisation with the movement took some time⁵ to be realised after acrimonious and bitter infighting which virtually destroyed its students’ section, tom between the Leninist avant-gardist wing favouring a tightly knit and small militant organization and those arguing for a cultural and political opening to embrace wider youth strata and tune in closer to the latter’s needs and pulse. The new organisation, renamed ‘Lambrakis Democratic Youth’ (LDY) held its first founding Congress in 1964^ and continued to grow. The growth trend continued unabated into the subsequent years of 1965 and 1966, when LDY came under enormous political pressure from the State and suffered serious persecution and suppression. The contribution of LDY to the mobilisation of the time is demonstrated by its role between 1965-1967 and particularly in the ’70 glorious days’ following the outsting of G. Papandreou’s government by the King in July 1965. However, the eve of the military coup in 1967 found LDY exhausted and shrunken, confined only to some of its more militant sections (students and urban youth).

The Lambrakis’ movement marked the period not so much by its politics as for the freshness of its political culture, whose formative elements owed more to cultural awakening than to training in left-wing politics.

An expanded network of youth clubs offered youth a place to meet for the first time, to exchange and discuss ideas and to develop elementary forms of cultural and political identity as a social group with separate and distinct needs. In this sense it is possible to talk about a ‘new spirit’ in political culture, which was seen as so threatening both to the establishment and to the diehards of the Left. Its liberating practice was a timely antidote to a revanchist left-wing generation living on the complexes of its defeat and possessed by a lost-paradise syndrome. Creative activities carried a belief in and commitment to the values of life and hope for the future against a generation which * was engaged in worshipping dead heroes and lamenting past glories, an attitude and way of political existence bordering on necrophilia.

Against this background of left-wing tradition and hostile reaction by the established socio-political order, the movement had to live up to the expectations of a new generation wanting to break both with the legacy of an onerous past and a hopeless future.’

B.- The Peace Movement

The peace movement in Greece in the early and mid-60’s was a byproduct of international rather than purely domestic developments.

Although it drew immense inspiration and moral strength from the martyrdom of G. Lambrakis, one of its main initiators, and other independent activists whose diffusionist role by no means can be ignored, it originated from within the political and intellectual climate of the early 60’s shaped by the ‘Ban the Bomb’ single issue politics. Despite the fact that American nuclear weapons had already been stored in Greece, the ‘Ban the bomb’ slogan was not seen by many as totally innocent and humanistic as it sounded. The fact that the Greek Peace Committee was dominated by the Communist Left, which in its foreign policy did not deviate one iota from that of the Soviet Uniort, was sufficient to confine the movement within certain political limits. This is not to deny either the true commitment to peace of many independent personalities of the Greek Peace Movement nor the genuine feelings and sentiments of the common people. Fears sprung from the Cuban missile crisis in 1962 were still fresh and so was the receptiveness of the younger generations to emotional appeals for peace and Soviet ‘peaceful co-existence’. Given the background of the Cold War and the most recent traumas left by the civil war the ground was psychologically prepared for the launching of the Movement.

Contacts with the CND and the Bertrand Russell Committee of lOO had been established earlier.The British contingent in Greece to participate in the first Marathon-to-Athens Peace March of 42 kilometers in May 1963, had a very real taste of what a police state is all about.

The March was banned and the British peace-mongers arrested and deported. However, with the change of government, Marathon Peace Marches took place in the following years, 1964, 1965 and 1966 while the one scheduled for March 5th 1967 – a few days before the military coup d’ e’tat – was cancelled on the government’s advice and warnings about possible bloodshed. The Marches were massively attended, and quite successful in attracting the outer periphery of left-wing political influence. However, it was all about ad hoc mobilisation without establishing either a permanent organisational structure or small scale campaigning in the intervals between the yearly events. The movement had neither independent resources nor a separate political and organisational existence other than that provided by the Communist Left. Identification with Soviet foreign policy carried little credibility beyond the immediate sphere of influence of the Left. It is characteristic that the Centre Union Party never endorsed the Marches and thus effectively blocked the movement’s potential expansion.

C.— Concluding Remarks on the Mass Movements

The characteristics of the movements sketched in this and the previous chapters bear witness to one of the fundamental weaknesses of Greek politics in that era: that both state and political parties as a rule left no space for the development of new political and cultural ideas and practices. Politicisation was identified with party loyalties and distributed along party lines. Political parties and organisations were of course instrumental in giving birth, substance and direction to mass movements but on the other hand, subsumed and shrunk them, hindering their development.

Both the established position of state institutions, on the one hand, and the Left’s political institutions on the other, the two mostly institutionalised poles, dominated their respective fields in the end.

All other categories of political mobilisation fell between the two poles. For neither clientelistic nor charismatic mobilisations were able to initiate any internal dynamism that might lead to a self-sustained and permanently autonomous institutionalisation of political protest.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Electoral Mobilisation and Political Campaigning

Political instability, as evidenced by the frequency of forming and dissolving governments, has been a sallient feature of Greece’s post civil-war political system. No fewer than 33 governments were formed during the period 1950 to 1967. Of course, not all of them sprung from parliamentary elections. Some of them were ‘caretaker governments’ specifically appointed by the King to conduct elections, since incumbent governments were never trusted to play fair. Some others were products of Byzantine intrigues and deals between various wings of parliamentary parties with the helping and quite often enforcing hand of the Throne and other extra-parliamentary centres of powers, like the army or the ‘foreign factor’. Parliaments, as a matter of fact produced many governments during their life and the frequency of going to the electorate was simply a means to resolve the problem of theinherent instability of governmental power. Eight Parliamentary elections were held over the same period (1950, 1951, 1952, 1956, 1958, 1961, 1963 and 1964) and many municipal elections which were sometimes contested with as much passion as the national ones.

It is however difficult to apply a reliable and valid·measurement of participation during electoral campaigns. More importantly, these occasions tended to give the opposition parties greater opportunities for political communication with the electorate, whatever the constraints might be. Open air political meetings became a yardstick for counting

electoral chances and attendance an indication of available resources of mobilisation. For the Left, they were a way or measure of breaking the barrier of fear of political involvement. The political parties reassured themselves as supreme agencies of mobilisation in times of elections and their authority was unchallenged.

Political campaigning, strictu sensu, on the other hand was rather the exclusive preoccupation of the opposition parties, since the fusion between right-wing parties in government and the state apparatus was such as to surrender to the latter the political functions accrued to the political party in normal parliamentary systems of government.

In this respect the Communist Left and the Liberal Centre, though united in the desire to bring about the fall of right-wing governments in the late 50’s and early 60’s, diverged sharply in their political goals, ideologies and programmes. Convergences on immediate political goals did occur at rank and file level, but the leaderships, were miles apart. There were only two exceptional instances when identity of goals brought the two camps reluctantly closer: one was after G. Papandreou’s resignation in 1965, which was followed by protracted agitation, campaigning, mass meetings and strikes across all sectors of the electorate, (see next Part); the other concerns his ‘unyielding struggle’ (Anendotos Agonas), launched in April 1962, when he was a leader of the main opposition party, in order to make Karamanlis’s ERE government resign and the King proclaim new elections.

It is extremely interesting to follow the unfolding of Anendotos, for it gives unique insights into the making of a political movement which was to see a far greater impact on Greek politics than any other since the Civil War.

Papandreou’s unbending determination to stand by his charge that the 1961 elections were the outcome of ‘fraud and violence’ and his refusal to legitimise the nev/ government left him with no other option for a come-back than that of ‘going to the people’. He had therefore, not only to challenge the government, but also the King and the repressive apparatus of the state, in short to use the political methods unknown to a bourgeois party, to test the real validity of the political system and its claim to be liberal and democratic.

He promised therefore, to restore the rule of lav;, to make democracy function properly, to liberalise the country and protect the respect owed to individual and political rights and freedoms from abuse.

Hence, his chief slogan, ‘Democracy shall win’. The political content of his campaign was not incongruent with the proper functioning of the existing constitutional order. The purpose however, was more than clear: to redress the balance between the various components of the established constitutional order by restricting the role of the Throne to ruling rather than governing and meddling in party politics, by asserting the authority of the civil government over the army and the security services and by curbing the influence of extra-parliamentary and non-national centres of powers over the government. Ideologically, Papandreou drew heavily on the Liberal-Venizelisttradition, but left also his unmistakably social democratic mark in restating and reshaping the case of political Liberalism and social justice.

‘Going to the people’ actually meant mobilising public opinion in the main cities and drawing the rural population into his movement by overcoming their fear and indifference. He toured the whole country, grasped every opportunity and drew huge audiences to his meetings.

His message was conveyed clearly and straightforwardly.

4.- Gradually, during the course of Anendotos, the notions of social justice, fairer distribution of income and welfare reforms were intermingled with slogans about political rights. In this sense, Anendotos was the first modernising and moderately reformist movement in post-war Greece. Given the constraints of the Greek political system, it was bound to be seen as a subversive movement with explosive consequences. Thus, political mobilisation was also a process by means of which demands were taken into account, and interests were articulated to a political discourse and party manifesto. This type of mobilisation had its drawbacks. In the first place, it was inconceivable without the charismatic leadership of G. Papandreou. Secondly, the Centre Union party, coalition of personalities that it was, was incapable of transforming itself into a modern mass party. It acquired a mass following, but never became a modern party, with established rules and institutionalised structures. In consequence, this surge of political participation was temporarily channelled, but not given any permanent and stable accommodation.

Movements do not last forever. By their own nature they are loose provisional coalitions of opinion and interest and tend to subside and devolve according to circumstances, especially when goals and demands are mostly or partially achieved, or seem to recede further and further into the distance. It is the job of the political parties to structure political action and to provide an institutional framework for orderly participation and political education. The ‘unyielding struggle’ yielded no permanent structures of political participation and institutionalisation. Its appeal was great and its political effectiveness even more so, but it did not fundamentally alter the political culture of the country or the type of relationship between party and masses. Marginal changes did occur mainly in the political practice and ideological outlook of the younger generations of the Anendotos era. The first elements of an informal coalition between the lower orders of city and countryside made their appearance, but on the whole, Anendotos, by its nature changed authority relations very little. Nor was EDA capable of capitalising ^on Anendotos¹s mobilisation. Though the party contributed immensely to the process by actual participation and organisational experise, it was not a credible alternative agency of participation and institutionalisation. Though its capabilities were far greater than any other political party in terms of absorbing and structuring political participation, it made little progress partly because of the political risks involved, being a primary target for the security services and partly because it was rightly seen as a force not clearly committed to pluralism and parliamentary democracy.

In short, Anendotos was a charismatic political mobilisation from above with some rhetorical and demagogic excesses; similarities with other populist movements stop here. So, it can best be described as a mobilisation for political emancipation and mild social reformism.

A final point should be made in relation to the leader. Above all else, G. Papandreou was a brilliant tactician. He succeeded in dissociating the King from his conservative allies and by implicitly manipulating the strong republican element in the Greek political tradition and adopting an uncompromising stance against the Throne’s abuse of royal prerogatives and political involvements, which finally paid dividends.

He skilfully used his popularity to get his way by securing an honest conduct of elections on his own terms. When he won the elections of November 3rd, 1963 and formed a minority government, he used his spell in power to fulfil and implement quickly some of his most popular electoral promises and in so doing, enhanced his credibility. He then asked the King to dissolve Parliament and proclaim new elections. Again he won the argument and was returned with an absolute majority and an unprecedented 53% of the vote on February 16th 1964. For a short time to come the repressive and conservative era of Karamanlis was to be over.

The Urbanisation of Politics : An Overview

1.- Background influences

I have pointed out that the drift to the cities did not correspond to a demand for manpower created by a cumulative process of capitalist industrialisation, and that the latter was not a precondition of the ‘urban phenomenon’ in post-war Greece.

Western sociological traditions treats modernisation and urbanisation as synonymous, while the culturalist approach of the Chicago School stresses the ‘urban way of life’ and by implication attributes to it a guiding role in the formative processes of new political ideologies and political allegiances.

I have shown the individualities of the Greek urbanisation phenomenon and the flaws in an all embracing cultural approach. That capitalist industrialisation, however limited, uneven and restricted it may be in scope produces a new culture and that urbanisation plays a key role in this proces cannot be denied. Nevertheless, over-generalisation based on western experience, serves no useful purpose and can be highly misleading.

The pattern of Greek urbanisation is a pointer to specific problems and issues, which gave rise to specific political antagonisms. This is another way of saying how futile it would be to look retrospectively at these problems,through the spectacle of today’s problems and/or through the quantitatively and qualitatively different problems that advanced capitalist societies are facing (eg. inner city decay, ecological mass movements, crisis of welfare state, etc).’*’ The urban contradictions of advanced capitalist societies were unknown to Greece and the’quality of life¹ demands characterising modern social movements in metropolitan

cities, did not exist. On the contrary, the quantity aspects of both economic development and standards of living were predominant amongst both ruling and subordinated social classes and political groups. For instance, all those factors which make contemporary Athens an unbearably polluted city, not to mention its traffic and road accidents record, were certainly present by the mid-60’s, albeit in an embryonic form, but the shape of things to come was simply not anticipated.

Class segregation, as expressed in the residential patterning of Athens was also quite visible, though it should not be understood as a simple capitalist/working class segregation irrespective of the overwhelming importance of the intermediate strata. In fact, residential mobility of the working classes was high, while developmentalism and consumerism were capturing the imagination of all social classes, housing was to provide an all important mechanism of social and political incorporation. Not surprisingly, it can hardly be argued that the hungry demand for housing by the lower classes was ever transferred into a mass movement. It has remained a small group and localised issue. Solutions to the problem were applied through the back door of clientelistic practices rather than through a mass and politically coriscious movement.

The State, unable to provide adequate housing, turned a blind eye to so-called ‘unauthorised housing ‘ (A^fthereta) that is, construction of small houses by the lower classes without planning or building permission. Quite often the phenomenon took the form of occupation, rather than purchase of a piece of land, on which all sorts of shelters and ‘houses’ were built illegally. Such was the social pressure for housing that successive governments found it convenient to give in and legalise these settlements at post-festum, taking into consideration both the State’s inability to provide cheap and adequate housing in the short term and the potential electoral clientele. The government’s attitude towards the issue is not difficult to explain: they bought votes and demonstrated the caring and protecting role of the State in the eyes of the lower classes. There has always been a consensus across the political spectrum, from Right to Left, on the issue of retrospective legalisation. Urban planning, on the other hand, in the narrow sense of state coordination of occupations and use of urban land appeared late on the scene in Greece.^ Economic planning in the form of an indicative five-year programme, modelled on the French experiment, came equally late (1966). On paper of course, the State had tried to check the spread of unauthorised settlements by legislation which, as I have quoted, was retrospectively annulled, especially on the eve of ejections.

It has been estimated that between 320,000 – 380,000 people (representing roughly 45% of the total population increase of the capital between 1945-66) have been housed in unauthorised settlements.

The social pressures behind the phenomenon are easily located. The internal migrants who colonised Athens in such a short time, were usually low-income families, and therefore, could ill afford the price of the mush-rooming new appartments in central areas, designed mainly for higher income groups. Land, the price of which increased by 7 times between 1952 and 1963 and by 162% in the subsequent period 1964 to 1972, was considerably cheaper in industrial zones on the outskirts of the city. On the other hand, the steady increase in the price of building materials and widespread speculation by the various sides of the construction business made it even more difficult for these social classes to house themselves. It is interesting to note that the phenomenon of unauthorised settlements differed

radically from the pattern of slums in the western industrial city and the squatter settlements in Latin America. In Greece people owned the land they built on and legal rights and titles were sooner or later sanctioned by official acts. The fact of ownership, regardless of the conditions and quality of living in these settlements , created a sense of possessiveness amongst the lower classes, but at the same time stimulated further demands and fuelled expectations.

Housing under such conditions has been of poor quality and the main problem has always been the need for environmental improvement, chiefly in the form of public utilities (electricity, water supply , sewage disposal, etc.) which took a long time to come, if ever. Thus the chaotic, anarchic and uncontrolled urban expansion vas firmly rooted in the social and political soil rather than being merely a result of unregulated, spontaneous mechanisms.

The State has been a poor provider for the homeless. The problem was left in the hands of the private sector, which managed to satisfy demand and saved Greece from the housing shortages characteristic of third-world and even advanced countries. Patterns of investment in housing show the leading role of the private sector.

Despite the fact that housing was left to thfe private market, thus adding to the sources of inequality based on income, employment and education, construction as an economic activity, as a mechanism of allocating resources and as a distributor of means of consumption of major social importance has been one of the main avenues of social and political incorporation into the system, because it has satisfied all those engaged in economic activities

generated by the booming construction industry and the lower classes at the same time. They both had a stake in the economic growth.

Taking into consideration the development of the tourist industry, the persistence of small-sized and family owned and run artisanal and manufacturing production, the growth of free professions, etc., it is not at all surprising that the ‘middle’ and lower middle strata constituted the great majority of the urban population whereas salaried strata, to adopt the broadest possible definition of dependent labour, hardly grew between 1951 and 1971.

If the phenomenon of unauthorised settlements has been of crucial importance as a mechanism of social (property ownership, mobility) and political (clientelism) incorporation of lower and working classes into the system and its goals, particularly for the internal migrants, the State itself as an employer, has been the other crucial one.

For historical reasons the public sector in Greece has been large and the ranks of the Civil Service over-inflated. The State in its functions as an employer, appropriator of resources and surplus, re-allocator and distributor of favours, means of existence and material benefits between social groups has played a crucial and irreplaceable role in the development of modern Greek society and the formation of its stratification.

Education, of course, particularly higher education has been the main avenue of social mobility by entering the Civil -Service and by this means securing a life-long permanent job, social status and material benefits.

It is indicative that despite the ever-growing numbers of the Greek civil servants, their average income compared rather favourably with their white- collar counterparts in the industrial sector but fell short of the average income realised by liberal professionals. This had continued well into the late ’60s before civil servants began to lose more ground not only in

relation to the liberal professionals but also to the industrial employees in the subsequent decade, as far as wage differentials are concerned.

What has been called ‘gnosiolatry’ in Greek society, deeply rooted in the country’s historical formation in modern times, was but a perpetual effort to acquire educational qualifications in order to secure jobs in the Civil Service. Some estimates suggest that the Civil Service and the public sector in general absorbed more than 2/3 of University graduates over the period under consideration. Random evidence indicates also that the Civil Service (1964-65) absorbed nearly 80% of the graduates from law and economics departments of Greek universities.

Furthermore between 30-40 per cent of those employed in non-agriculatural jobs were dependent on the public sector. The role of the State as a provider of employment in post-war Greece can be seen as having a dual perspective: first to restore the middle and lower middle classes whose ranks have been depleted during the precedent period of war, foreign occupation and civil strife (1940-50) and second to stabilise a social stratum of petty bourgeoisie whose interests would be absolutely dependent on the existence and preservation of the social and political order established after the civil war for its well being and future prosperity. Together with the reconstitution of the old petty bourgeois strata (small shop-keepers, artisans, middlemen, etc.) the new petty bourgeoisie of public sector white collar employees were to become the main pillars of the urban structure of political power of the new post civil war regime. Clientelism, political selection and mass recruitment into the Civil Service resulted in a state bureaucracy (and a public sector) notorious for their overmanning and inefficiency.

However, given the very reasons for this deliberate social and political strategy, no government had ever dared to conduct any serious ‘purge’ or restructuring, despite the fact that every new government without exception, felt obliged to start a new term in office by promising sweeping changes in the state bureaucracy under the label of ‘administrative reform’.

These social and political strategies in conjunction with the mass immigration over the period succeeded in avoiding an immediate proletari- sation of large social strata which otherwise would have had little chance of finding employment, and could have been made an easy targe for oppositional political mobilisation.. In this way the road to would-be members of protest movements in the cities were temporarily closed. On the other hand, reconstitution and reproduction of such new social strata contributed decisively to protect the new order from unwarranted social discontent and political assaults. It can be said that to a certain extent, a social balance has been created which survived for some time the test of intensive political antagonisms.

It must be made absolutely clear however, that the role of the Greek state as an employer on such a mass scale cannot be reasonably explained by parameters other than those cited above. Unlike other Western European societies undergoing a more or less rapid process of ‘social democratisation’, a process in which the state played a key role (expansion of education, housing, health services and other social services), the Greek state was unable to fulfil such a role; neither the state of the economy in the wake of the civil war nor its underdeveloped nature, despite the impressive rates of growth in the subsequent period, could possibly provide the resources for a modem Welfare State, as in the West. Whereas therefore, in the West, State intervention, nationalisations, the setting of the foundations of the Welfare State, the ‘mixed economy’ etc., were processes inevitably linked to a dramatic increase of employment in the state stricto sensu but also in the public sector in general, in Greece there were no similar processes to justify the trend.

It is for these reasons that this phenomenon in the Greek case has been called as a sui generis petty-bourgeoisism’ the survival, stabilisation and reproduction of which it is considered to be an unaltered constituent part of post-war Greece’s social and political condition.

2.- Political Implications

To what extent a class alliance was forged between the higher and lower middle classes so as to provide the backbone of urban social support for the ruling right-wing parties and perpetuate their dominance with relative stability over the period, as has been suggested²,⁰ cannot possibly be answered satisfactorily without detailed studies. The ideological and political context of transactions aid deals of all these differentiated social strata with the governments of the day remains to be patterned.

What,,however, is certain is that the alliance was unstable, shaky and conditional on a continuous promotion of economic growth by government. It was evident that the symbiotic relationship between the emerging socio-economic context and the persistence of a rigid and repressive political regime was ambiguous and problematic. The ideological grip of fanatical anti-communism was loosening under the impact of new problems and new considerations congruent with real issues. The rigid ideological and political straightjackets were under pressure and tensions were mounting.

When the socio-economic context took a rather more explicit political colour the issue was rapidly turned into one of opening up the political system to accommodate new forces. The ruling interests were unprepared and unwilling to bring about a substantial relaxation, let alone social and political reforms.

On the side of the most economically ruling classes there was no strong drive to assume political responsibilities by taking a more active role in the representative political institutions of the country (e.g. Parliament).

The job was left to traditional ‘political families’ and to professional conservative politicians. The pattern of Greek capitalist development did not produce a civic-orientated bourgeoisie with strong cohesiveness as a social group and capable of formulating a coherent set of clear ideas in the vein of western liberalism. They needed the State for protection as much as the other social classes and limited their ambitions to exerting pressure rather than actively entering the high-ranks of political office. It is indicative that a substantial number of Greek industrialists originated from rural areas and petty-bourgeoxs strata.

A political system so heavily reliant on repression and exclusion, dominated by clientelistic structures and managed by. a parochial elite living on fanaticism and vengeance, could not provide the conditions for politically educating the ruling economic interests and making them conscious of their responsibilities, let alone leaders of all these new middle social groups.

Clientelism/patronage of course assumed more state and bureaucratically oriented forms. But as an instrument of political integration’it was becoming very ineffective. In effect, its dubious practices were rejected by the new generation on moral grounds, reinforcing rather than lessening the outcry against corrupt methods of government and lethargic civil administration.

On a social level the right-wing governments had to confront the perennial problem of accumulation versus distribution. To accelerate the pace of industrialisation and accumulation the state would have to assume a more active and interventionist role in the economy and consumption had to be curbed as a necessary pre-condition for investing heavily in industry and mobilising domestic resources.

However, the very corporatist dealings with the various sectionalised interests of these numerous middle and lower middle strata made it impossible to create a positive attitude amongst them in relation to the ‘common good’ and politically costly to force them to pay the price. Eventually this unresolved dilemma was caused by inviting foreign capital take the lead in the early ’60s and by exposing the Greek economy to the chill winds of competition by signing an association agreement with the EEC in 1962. In any case the bet was on growth rather than fairer distribution.

Another source of ambiguity in social and political terms was social mobility. Although the statistical evidence cannot possibly be deciphered, social mobility appeared to be extensive. Starting points and destinations are of course the most important points of the route travelled. In the meantime, however, the journey itself assumes greater significance. For

the lower the start the greater the difference when one looks back. One major avenue of social mobility has been education a road usually leading to clerical jobs, the professionsand the civil service. The road to the city was also by definition a road to a radically different life and opportunities to be grasped. The acquisition of city property and the entry into the small business were also two important footpaths to the main road. It is well known, however, that social mobility is doubled edged. Under certain conditions it might serve as a stabilising and integrationist process.

( though political ideologies and political processes should not be assumed from occupational changes), but might well also turn against the status quo if political access is denied. The opportunity,however, to ‘make it’ and to cross class barriers upwards does not necessarily imply an acceptance of the values of the status quo and does not prejudice ideological and political positions.

Consequently, the considerable openness of avenues of social mobility upwards did not diminish the ambiguous relationship of those large urban strata to the status quo and did not lead to an unconditional political surrender. What counts in the last analysis is the integrative capability and effectiveness of the ruling strata and their political managers.

Being rather weak in terms of legitimacy, generating widespread symptoms of civil privitism and inculcating a civic ethic of political abstention rather than active political participation, the system was vulnerable to social and political reformism. For, as we have seen, social and political conditions were not congruent with left-wing ‘revolutionary’ politics.

Cracks, ambiguities and contradictions in the relations between the rule of the Right and its social basis were masterly exploited by the reformist movement of G. Papandreou, who managed to dismantle the social coalition of the Right.

3.- Mass Media

Cultural confusion followed mass migration to the cities. The notion of the city as a cultural ‘melting pot’ is very ambivalent in the Greek case for reasons which cannot be explained here. Fortunately the traditional forms of identity for these strata were not rooted in any social organization form by tribal, caste, ethnic and linguistic divisions which could endanger the survival of statehood. Ethnically and linguistically Greeks are so highly homogeneous as to render any comparison with emerging ‘new states’ totally irrelevant. The acute sense of deracination felt by internal migrants derived mainly from their social conditions and experiences of life in rural communities. There was not therefore, a strong and solidly unified cultural basis to build upon and legitimise political order in terms of cultural identification.

Significantly, in the Greek case, the role of the mass media which has attracted so much attention in relation to ‘developing areas’ and ‘transitional periods’ appears to have played a much less important role in diffusing modern ‘attitudes’ or as a cultural and ideological unifier agency.

On the contrary, their impact has been predominantly political and this applies both to the Press and the Radio since the Television era dawned rather late in Greece.

The Press was partisan and the main medium for expressing political opinions with a wider margin of safety from persecution. Interference however, by security services on political grounds in the circulation of publication was frequent, but mostly applied to areas outside the capital itself. Court cases involving the Press were abundant.

Total circulation of newspapers cannot be considered satisfactory by world standards; nevertheless, readership, for a variety of reasons, must have been much greater than circulation figures suggest. Pro-government and conservative papers of various shades were almost equally balanced by pro-opposition papers, including party mouthpieces.

Restricted and unconstitutional Press legislation origina ting from the civil-war years was finally abolished as late as 1962 . with the effect of government enlarging the margins of free expression. By 1966 Greece enjoyed the publication of 16 daily national newspapers (7 ‘morning’ and 9 ‘noon’ papers), all published in Athens.

Radio networks, on the other hand, were very tightly controlled by the State. They layed a central role in disseminating ‘national’ propaganda, overbiased news, party political broadcasts on behalf of the governing party only and programmes of poor quality. Governmental control of the newsroom and self-censorship, low standards of professional broadcasting journalism lowered further any remaining credibility.

To be fair, Radio broadcasting in Greece had a bad start under the Metaxas’ dictatorship, when it first began in 1938. One can see the difficulties in the ensuing period of foreign occupation and civil war.

It is no accident that the Radio Station of the Armed Forces began broadcasting in 1948 during th^ civil war. But this is neither an excuse nor an adequate explanation of the bad treatment the medium has suffered under Right-wing governments. On the other hand, despite the institutional constraints and political interference, corporate resistance to the abuses of the political authorities is nowhere to be found.

It is no wonder that under these conditions State-controlled media carried low credibility with a general public that was becoming better educated and more demanding. There can therefore be no talk about any positive contribution to the encouragement and formation of any ‘civil culture’.

If proof is needed one has only to look at the large audience listening to foreign broadcasts in Greek. Indeed, no less than 11 countries ( 5 communist, 5 western and Turkey) were pouring an enormous volume of broadcasting output into Greece every week. Confidential audience research carried out in Greece for the BBC in 1966 by the Minos Marketing Research Institute showed that nearly 80% of the country’s adult population (over 18) of 5,745,000 living in some 2,143,000 households were listening daily, nearly daily, at least one a week, at least once a month or less often to foreign radio stations. This interesting survey conducted on a fairly large random sample contains quite revealing findings which cannot be dealt with here. Unfortunately, the other two surveys on listening to foreign broadcasts in Greek, which were conducted in 1960 and 1961, by the Greek Gallup Institute, covered only a few of the main towns and are not offered for comparison over time about the relative popularity of the foreign radio stations.

Interestingly it also emerges from the same survey that Communist radio stations commanded a high share of the audience (around 34 to 35%) . There were proportionately more people listening to these stations among the lower occupational and social groups, the young (18 – 24 age) and those in rural areas.

Not surprisingly a much higher concentration of listeners was found in urban areas in general and Greater Athens in particular.

4.- conclusions

We have seen how the massive rural exodus had shifted the centre of political gravity decisively and irreversibly to the cities and particularly to the capital, which became the most prominent focus of political antagonisms and the main producer of political power.

We have also seen why the smaller ranks of the urban middle and lower middle strata could not be turned permanently into reliable pillars of the socialand political status quo.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The ‘Security State’

In the wake of the civil war (1946-69) the social and political fabric of the country was completely disrupted; the political forces had to be constructed anew in order to support and cement the new state edifice.

The task to be accomplished did not prove an easy one. A few months’ only after the effective termination of the civil war hostilities, the parties of the fragmented Centre and Centre-Left managed to win a majority in the March 5th, 1950 general election and to form a government, led by the patriarchal figure of General Plastiras, to the dismay of the Army.

The election results indicated considerable moderation on behalf of an exhausted and deeply divided population. The electorate’s desire for reconciliation and political normalisation was clear. However, the coalition did not last long. New elections were proclaimed for September 9th, 1951. In the meantime the Right regrouped its forces. In the person of Marshall Papagos, the’Victorious General’, the army found the leader it sought to bring about a new political formation by eventually rallying the Right-wing camp. This Papagos did with his ‘Greek Rally’ party, despite the Monarch’s opposition. At the same time the Left also regrouped under EDA, (United Democratic Left), the party which provided political shelter for the persecuted Communists.

The Greek Rally did well in the elections, emerging as the strongest party in Parliament but without an overall majority. Papagos refused to enter into any coalition with the Centre parties, which again tried to form a government. This time their spell in government was even shorter and Plastiras managed to achieve very little. He was unable even to stop the macabre work of the firing squads, which continued to operate throughout that time. In the end he gave in to pressure and agreed to amend the electoral law in favour of a simple majority system. At the next elections held on November 16th, 1952 under the new electoral system, papagos won a landslide victory with 49.22% of the vote and 82.30% of the parliamentary seats. He thus put an end to government instability and inaugurated a period of stable right-wing rule. This spell of political re-alignment was crucial. It indicated how dubious the achievements in the preceding period of violent conflicts in fact were , and how difficult it was for the bourgeois parties to provide firm leadership and stable government.

The reasons for such a re-alignment are to be found both in external and domestic circumstances. Externally, the chill winds of the Cold War made tolerant approach to Greece’s domestic political upheaval impossible.

The new international climate suited the military. Greece had to depend on the Marshall Plan for reconstruction and eventual self-sustained economic recovery within certain time-limits set by others. American planners were now preoccupied with the loyalty of the Greek armed forces to the West and their preparation for ‘what would be needed to face various immagined patterns of attack from adjacent Communist lands’ as an American observer has put it.·*”

As I have already pointed out, the primary consideration of American policy was in fact to stabilise and reinforce a military structure capable of dealing under any circumstance with ‘internal security’, that is, to make the military»the current guardian and ultimate guarantor of maintaining domestic, social and political order.

Internally, Papagos relied on the unquestioning loyalty of the army.

He managed however to rally the dispersed and social highly heterogeneous conservative forces. He boosted his image by a dash of empty populism but was quite successful in drawing a clear line between the nationalist/ anti-communist camp and ‘the others’. He imprinted on the peasantry and sections of the lower classes a popular right-wing image and appeared to convey a credible promise of strict disciplined political order and stability as a condition of economic prosperity.

It is tempting to call this form of populist assurance from above ‘populist statism’, not for the sake of neologism, but to substantiate its two component parts: the numerous social strata which were dependent on the state to safeguard their position and guarantee access to state resources through a benevolent strong state, on the one hand, and a political personality responsive to these demands by offering ‘order, security, protection and stability’ amid conditions of great uncertainty and anxiety. Papagos’s populist overtones, combining traditional nationalist values and fresh anti-communist rhetoric, were but a disguise for his autocratic political plans. However, although his appeal did not acquire plebiscitarian dimensions, it was nevertheless sufficient to forge an alliance between the lower social strata and the big bourgeoisie and to tame the old, divided right-wing political elite. The implications of Papagos’s domination were to last a long time.

1.- A new arrangement of state institutions was consolidated where the army occupied a powerful and dominant position although its symbiosis with the monarchy and the governments had not always been without tensions and frictions.

2.- A new demarcation along communist/nationalist-anticommunist lines was henceforth vigorously enforced.

Broadly speaking, the imposed political polarisation between Right and Left was a precondition for perpetuating right-wing political supremacy. The polarity worked well both as a political strategy, leaving no buffer zone, no breathing space in between the two polar points, and as an ideological and cultural divide, which drove the two poles further apart. The Right continued to batter a defeated, demoralised and decomposed Left. The latter’s integration into the ‘national body politic’ was prohibited by law and involved humiliating conditions. Confining the Left to the role of a political outcast reinforced its defensive mentality its fortress-like cultural isolation and self-reference and its extreme dogmatism and ideological rigidity.

To describe the post civil-war political regime, a variety of definitions were coined: anti-communist state and defensive society^, semi- parliamentarism, repressive parliamentarism and guided democracy^, one-party and police state , disciplined democracy , to mention the most familiar ones, while political authority was given a twin configuration by reference

to the existence and operation of a para-state, parallel government, and para-constitution.

Each of the above definitions contains some grains of truth, since they all touch upon different aspects of state institutions and political functions. However, they are partial and descriptive and some of them may lead to serious misunderstandings indeed. For instance, the ‘police-state’ charge can faithfully describe the role of the main agencies of repressive politics, police and security services, but it is well off the target if it implies that these apparatuses were the dominant state institutions. It is better to adopt a more comprehensive definition in order to encompass as many aspects of the State’s institutional setting and political functions as possible. I would therefore suggest the term security state, whose main features were:

1.- the dominant role of the army as a state institution,

2.- the growth of security services and paramilitary organisations,,

3.- a dual legality inscribed in and parallel to the constitutional order,

4.- a restricted range of political rights and liberties,

5.- categorisation of citizens according to discriminating political and ideological criteria,

6.- the identification of external and internal enemies,

7.- the politics of exclusion by legal, administrative and police methods (banning, exiling and imprisonment of political opponents) and

8.- an ideology of anti-communism,subversion, and national security.

A permanent state of emergency with alarmist ideological overtones and repressive political practices became an inseparable feature of state institutions and acquired an organisation fixation defining the operational criteria and value standards of the state apparatus. For reasons of functional effectiveness, centralisation and concentration of power was inevitable and the regimentation of society became a fact of life.

The functions of the security state became increasingly visible as internal security was tightened. The agencies of repression multiplied accordingly. Approximately 27,000 reserves were organised in Territorial Paramilitary _Uni_ts (TEA) which were controlled by the army. Parastate organisations mushroomed and the anti-communist crusade intensified, while more secret funds were allocated for the PSY war, especially after 9 1958. In 1959 two more security agencies were added to an already over-protected state: the Directorship of National Security under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of the Interior and the Information and Enlightment (sic) Service attached to the Ministry to the Prime Minister. Prisons were still full of political detainees, concentration camps were in operation and places of internal exile and banning for political opponents were to be found all over the country.

Public administration and the Civil Service were purged of politically unreliable elements and the institutionalised practice of requiring certificates of ‘civic loyalty’ and strict security screening were widespread. Police surveillance penetrated every aspect of social life in a real witch-hunt to track down the ‘internal enemy’ and ‘subversives’.

No wonder that regimentation of society became suffocating and of course required an enormous army of functionaries, estimated at nearly 60,000 persons. The extreme inflexibility and rigidity of the state, however, should not lead to the mistaken conclusion that the regime lacked any legitimacy. In the first place, the American connection provided the ideological and political ingredients for legitimising the power of the ruling block. Secondly, it is often forgotten that repression and state coercion produce legitimacy and consent if they can be justified. The civil war had left sufficient bitterness, hatred’ and division to justify discriminatory and repressive practices in the eyes of many citizens. Thirdly, the ideological pillars of legitimacy were not only rooted in the civil war experience, but also in the new contexts of economic development. It happens that some people do value the fruits of economic growth without paying much attention to the cost in terms of liberty and/or equality.

It is, therefore, no wonder that while the security state produced an abundance of vulgar propagandists, it could not possibly conquer the heights ef dominant cultural and ideological hegemony. ‘Experts of legitimation’ were in short supply. The political ideology professed by the conservative camp, negative, divisive, rejectionist, and dominated by a strong anti-democratic corpus of anti-political ideas, was incapable of adaptation or transformation from within. Hence, even minor changes within the very boundaries of the state institutional structure could pose a serious threat and throw it off balance. The rise of G. Papandreou’s movement of liberalisation and democratisation was to erode further the regime’s own sources of legitimacy and to disrupt greatly the processes of its legitimation.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Challenge : 1963-1965

I have already outlined the conditions that propelled G. Papandreou to power. It seemed for a moment as if all the major components of the political system had come to a tacit agreement to test its own credibility. The army remained calm for the moment and the King was on good terms with the new government. Neither of them was challenged. However, the breakup of the Right-wing parties’ monopoly of power was bound to have far-reaching consequences. Once the way to the alternation of political parties in government was open, all the conditions which had secured the undisturbed functioning of the institutional Triarchy (Army- Throne-Parliament), were henceforth to be profoundly affected. Above all, the landslide victory of G. Papandreou’s Centre Union Party in the elections of 16th February 1964, produced an overall majority in Parliament carrying the promise of a strong government. Parliament could at last become a new prestigious locus of power. Channelling popular support through Parliament could become a major weapon to confront the anti- parliamentary forces inside and outside Parliament. In this respect the institution was to be strengthened at the expense of Throne and Army.

I am not going to evaluate the record of G. Papandreou’s government, its achievements and failures.^ I will confine the analysis to the general processes which heralded a new era in Greek politics and society and opened new possibilities to advance towards a more tolerant and balanced political system, but one which at the same time sowed the seeds of new conflicts and dangers.

– A New Era

The political and ideological break with the past was decisive.

Papandreou did not (or probably could not afford to) abolish the legal structure of repression but he made it redundant: the politics of exclusion were abandoned; political participation and mobilisation were encouraged under freer conditions of expression and conduct.

Politics became a respectable pursuit once more and a less risky personal and collective enterprise. A new sense of civic morality was emerging and a new feeling of participating citizenship. The newly acquired civil and political rights, though not legally sanctioned, were sufficiently established in people’s minds not ho be surrendered too easily. Thus the political map was redrawn. The Right lost its exclusive claim to govern and the old political divide between Right and Left could not be sustained any longer.

Ideologically the era of state anti-communism and sharp cleavage along the lines of the civil-war camps was coming to an end. Not that G. Papandreou himself or the leading members of his party were less hostile to communist ideology and practice than some of their moderate counterparts in the conservative camps. Nor were his nationalist credentials in any doubt, as many of his opponents had so blindly claimed, branding him as the ‘Kerensky of Greece’ or portraying him as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. It was rather that G. Papandreou, quite comfortable in his liberalism and mild reformism, felt strong and secure enough to defeat the Communist Left by ideological and’political rather than police means. Moreover, the young generation was less inclined to reproduce the old political schisms and more eager to tackle the country’s burning social and economic problems. The new politics of modernisation and democratisation fired the imagination of a new brand of technocratic, but politically orientated intelligentsia, which had realised the urgency of the need to overhaul and modernise the socio-economic and political system. They found in the Centre Union and, particularly its emerging left-wing under A. Papandreou, the political vehicle for doing so.

The old political and ideological divide did not of course change overnight. What is important is that the terms of reference of political and ideological debate were changing slowly but steadily. It is not difficult to see the gradual erosion of the Right’s sources of legitimacy.

Papandreou’s foreign policy sought to create a new balance with the US and the Balkan States, and pursued a more nationalist and energetic policy on Cyprus. He thus gave the country a new sense of purpose and national dignity. Domestically, the process of democratization and liberalisation of politics began to displace the old political and ideological cleavages, creating a new demarcation between the Right which resisted change, and all the others. Politically, the Centre Union Party did not fundamentally alter existing relations between rulers and ruled. However, despite the fact that it made full use of established clientalistic networks and extensive state patronage, it did help to open new avenues of political participation and mobilisation, which facilitated new political alignments. These processes where greatly assisted by favourable economic circumstances and the mildly redistributive policies pursued by the new government in search of a more balanced growth model. The margins for reforms were such as to give the government the opportunity to consolidate the urban-rural social alliance and to sever further the urban lower and middle strata from the Right’s political hold. Eventually a strong and vocal left-wing formed within the Centre Union under the leadership of A. Papandreou.

It mainly expressed the new radicalism of these strata and started for the first time to debate new ways of articulating this social radicalism to a new nationalism within a coherent political programme, whose populist ingredients and overtones were already visible. The ‘establishment’ was defined as the main enemy of the new left-wing radicalism.

Economically, the limitations and weaknesses of the model of post-civil war capitalist accumulation were sufficiently clear to be taken as inevitable constraints. The change of government did not and could not alter the model in fundamental ways. There was of course wide scope for rationalisation and improvement of the economic apparatus of the state and for using the instruments of economic policy (e.g. the credit and price system, competition rules, allocation of industrial resources, public investment, etc.) in a more systematic and coherent way. Planning could be used to specify the desired targets. As a matter of course, all these instruments were incorporated in an indicative economic plan for the first time. The process of capitalist accumulation would have to be continued and this was explicitely recognised by the most prominent advocate of such policies, A. Papandreou himself. He wrote:

‘To provide the savings necessary for the rate of investment required to propel the economy forward at the rate of 8 per cent per annum we needed no less than 250 million dollars of new capital inflow per year. Assuming that this kind of capital was used to fulfil the targets of the plan, it would require at least a ten-year period before the expansion process could become self-sustained. Thus foreign capital was not only welcome, but necessary to the realisation of our overall targets.’

No matter what adjustments and reforms were needed to make the model operationally more effective, there can be no doubt that the philosophy and ideology of the plan were not such as to challenge the major assumptions of the model of capital accumulations. In the words again of A. Papandreou himself, the concept of economic programming ‘involved a harmonious relationship between the private and the public sectors in the context of a modern mixed economy’. (my emphasis).

Thus, there has never been either in theory or in practice, any radical challenge to the economic system such as might reasonably alarm those groups of economic interests which were vitally dependent on the state or on continuous economic growth, or on foreign capital. Furthermore consumerist aspirations were not frustrated. On the contrary, living standards continued to rise and low income groups also improved their position. What constituted a real loss for the defeated Right- wing ERE, was the fact that this source of legitimation was given new political and ideological contexts, which were not necessarily contrary to the economic interests of those social groups which were supposed to be more tightly bound to a conservative political order.

Finally, the public administration was shaken up and a set of reforms were implemented, albeit with limited success.Political control of the upper echelons of public administration was not a difficult business compared with the daunting task of modernising and overhauling the administrative apparatus in toto. In any case, the Civil Service vote for Papandreou had been such as to offer him a wide basis of support and plenty of room for manoeuvre. In all these respects the processes under way, were eroding the conditions on which the old political order had been based and rapidly draining the Right’s sources of legitimacy.

The reaction of the political Right was to be expected, since it was ill-equipped to fight on the new social and political terrain. Instead, it stuck to old perceptions and practices and tried to reverse the course of things by all available means. The Left on the other hand, seeing the ground cut from under its feet in terms of lost electoral support and political influence, was extremely resentful and became increasingly critical of the government. Having devoted all its energies to bringing about the downfall of Right-wing governments, instead of grasping the opportunity of getting accepted into national politics and winning respect and legitimacy, the Left began to show signs of restlessness and despair. It pushed for ‘real democratisation’ and tried, unsuccessfully, to make political capital out of Papandreou’s mistakes and vacillations.

There was certainly a great deal to complain about and the snail’s pace of reform after the initial momentum, gave ample ground for criticism and agitation. However, all the essential conditions for consolidating a new, more tolerant, liberal and democratic political order, were simply ignored by the Left and the potential dangers of pushing too far, too fast grossly underestimated. G. Papandreou’s policy of changing between Right and Left according to circumstance, his ‘battle on two fronts’ as he put it, and his choice of a middle-of-the road course, whenever possible were totally misunderstood by both Right and Left.

Understandably, the Right had every reason to deflect the government from its radical commitments and lost no opportunity of charging G. Papandreou personally with being the Trojan Horse of an imminent communist take-over. The Left on the other hand, had no reason to behave in the same way. G. Papandreou could ill afford to alienate the moderates and right-wing of his party and to give ammunition to his opponents by inclining too much to left-wing policies. He had to maintain a balance both within the party and between the main political currents in the country as a whole without compromising his reformist programme. In doing so, he had also to ensure some measure of control over the state apparatuses, at least the Civil Service, the Police and the Security Services and to provide them with new operational criteria in accordance with his Liberal creed and the new functioning of the political system.

Guided by conviction and the political realities of the country, Papandreou sought to keep good relations with the Throne and to keep his party solidly united behind him. He had to keep his parliamentary majority intact at all costs and by riding the tide of popular affection and high expectations from a new beginning, to reproduce that majority at the next elections. EDA, preoccupied by an obvious decline in its electoral fortunes, bitterly contested Papandreou’s majority and argued against his political autonomy as if it were possible or feasible to make a bid for power-sharing overnight. The crux of the matter however, was that any diminuition of the Centre Union’s political autonomy and parliamentary majority was more likely to lead to a coalition with the Right rathern than with the Left. A popular front-type of government was inconceivable and obviously dangerous even to contemplate.

The Left had to sharpen its criticism and advance more leftist and ‘socialist’ slogans in order to win votes from amongst disillusioned Centre Union supporters. However, the electoral ground to be recovered was enormous. Besides a new factor had appeared in left-wing politics.

Papandreou was emerging as the new leader of a modernised non-communistleft and his popular following seemed to be impressively large and steadily increasing. This was to pose new problems for EDA’s leadership anxious to make a come-back. It is ironic that while EDA sensed the coming political crisis and made a correct diagnosis of the power structure, it failed to take the practical steps congruent with its conclusions.

Quite the contrary, it embarked on contradictory and incomprehensible political line, as if the main objective was not to defeat the plans of the Right for toppling the government, but to stop Papandreou eating into i ts vote.

B.- The Crux of the Matter

With G. Papandreou commanding a comfortable majority in Parliament – 171 out of 300 deputies – and his popularity running high, there was no likelihood of an early come-back for the Right-wing ERE. The latter was not in good shape. Karamanlis had resigned the leadership of the Party and on the 9th December 1963, set off for Paris in self-imposed exile. P. Kanellopoulos, his uncle, was chosen by the Assembly of ERE as his successor. A liberal and staunch parliamentarian with an honest record in politics and public life, Kanellopoulos had a difficult time running the party, which started to show the first symptoms of crisis.

First he had to adapt ERE to an opposition role, which the party was reluctant and unprepared to take. Secondly, he did not have the authority and authoritarian style of leadership of Karamanlis, necessary to tame the extreme elements in the party. He had, therefore, to move carefully and lead by consensus and negotiation rather than by giving orders.

Thirdly, and most important, he had to deal with party bosses, leaders of deputies factions and cadres, whose commitment to parliamentary democracy was uncertain, to say the least.

Under the pressure of the need to affirm his authority over the party and reconstruct its shattered and demoralised social basis he decided to launch an all out attack on the government and on G. Papandreou personally. In a well-attended rally at Klafthomos Square in Central Athens on 19 February 1965, barely a year after G. Papandreou’s electoral triumph, he overstepped his traditional moderation by making unorthodox calls for Centre Union deputies to overthrow their leader from within.

Papandreou felt obliged to counter-attack and decided to reveal the Pericles Plan in Parliament shortly after. It was the plan behind the ‘electoral coup’ of 1961. The investigation, which had been conducted by a committee of five senior officers, established the active involvement of the army in the elections. It was obvious that G. Papandreou’s move was intended to kill two birds with one stone. To take the initiative and comer ERE and to prepare the ground for a possible purge of the Army; it was time to make them more accountable to the government and get some measure of control over them.

The swiftness of G. Papandreou’s response makes it very doubtful whether it was a calculated move supported by careful planning about the next steps or just one of those fireworks that politicians like to play with. The fact is that his move infuriated ERE, the military establishment and the King, which saw th<= danger clearly. They all accused him of breaking the ‘unity of the Army’ (sic). The King, according to A. Papandreou, went as far as advancing the curious dogma that the five officers who conducted the investigation into the Pericles Plan should never have obeyed the government’s instructions and orders.

In effect, the King overtly contested the government’s right to exercise full power. To the dissatisfaction over the government’s mild social reforms, a new element of conflict was added: who was master of the Armed

Forces? This key issue, which had hitherto been hidden from public view as the one ‘untouchable’ problem, now emerged at the centre of inter- institutional conflict.

The three major components of the old established social and political order, the Military, the Political Right and the King, were combining to topple the government.

Papandreou’s Cyprus policy added to the irritation of his political enemies. Though he was less than adamant in resisting pressure by the US administration and NATO allies to negotiate a bilateral settlement with Turkey along the lines of the Acheson, (the US Secretary of State), plans, he finally bowed to the Makarios’ unyielding determination not to accept solutions imposed upon him without his and the Cyprus people’s consent.^ Moreover the G. Papandreou government had already reinforced the defence of the island by sending Greek troops and realised that no solution was possible without the consent of Archibishop Makarios, the President of Cyprus, who commanded the unquestioning loyalty of the overwhelming majority of the Greek-Cypriot community. The unsettled situation in Cyprus at the time was a considerable irritant to the USA, NATO and Papandreou’s domestic opponents. Besides, leading members of his government, like the Deputy Premier and Minister of Coordination, S. Stephanopoulos, Defence Minister P. Garoufalias and Foreign Minister S. Kostopoulos, were in obvious disagreement over the Cyprus policy and the cracks were not easy to paper over.

It has been argued that the Cyprus problem ‘lies at the heart of the tragic political developments that led to the death of democracy in Greece’. It is, however, difficult to assess the validity of such a statement. It certainly made interested foreign powers rethink their relationships with G. Papandreou, because of his determination to resist their pressures. Times had changed. The evidence available so far suggest that the foreign powers concerned, the USA and Britain, would have preferred not to deal with Papandreou and strongly desired his departure. Their objectives coincided with the aims of Papandreou’s domestic enemies. The real connections between them will eventually be brought to light. What is plain, and beyond doubt, is that whatever the motives and ultimate purposes of each external and internal centre of power and influence, a case can be made about their convergence to the single point of getting rid of Papandreou’s government.

During the period following the disclosures about the Pericles Plan «in Parliament, a fierce anti-communist crusade was launched by ERE, aimed both at discrediting Papandreou for being ‘soft on communists’ and at rallying its supporters within the state apparatus especially those in the security services. It went to extremes with claims too ridiculous to record. Provocations were frequent and merely disguised to make the point that ‘law and order’ was breaking down and that the government was unable to check the Communist advances and arrest an irreversible slide towards Communism! By May 1965, the political situation showed no signs of improvement. The feelings of anger among those working to topple Papandreou for having disclosed the Army’s role in the Pericles Plan were still running high, while the anti-communist campaign continued unabated.

The logical step for G. Papandreou after his decision to make public the findings on the Pericles Plan would have been to purge the army of anti-democratic and anti-parliamentary officers and try to establish a better political balance within the higher echelons of the military hierarchy, which obviously was against him. There is no evidence that such a move was planned by G. Papandreou although pressures to do so were mounting. However, people had clearly come to the realisation that the government could not rule the country without taking effective control of the army, without assuming real power. Until then G. Papandreou had been extremely careful not to upset the existing balance of power and steered a cautious course vis-h-vis both the Throne and the army. In his relations with the King, he saw himself as an elderly adviser to a young prince, who could be educated into learning his duties as Head of State by taking into account the change of times and the will of ‘his people’. He went further and initiated legislation which gave added protection to the Queen Mother Frederika.

He provided the King with a new aura of legitimacy and never attempted to undermine the authority of the institution. This attitude was in tune with public opinion, whose support for the King was conditional on his respecting a freely elected government.

Towards the army , Papandreou used his prudence and showed his goodwill. To placate the Kinf’s fears, he had appointed P. Garoufalias as Minister of Defence, a right-wing personality of his party and a personal friend who enjoyed the absolute confidence of the Court. To the dismay of many of his colleagues, G. Papandreou did not proceed to place loyal officers in key posts and took generally little interest in military affairs. He preferred to transfer disloyal and dangerous officers to active frontier units and Cyprus rather than to cashier or retire them.

He was certainly aware that the ‘secret’ organisation IDEA was still active in the army and that his inaction was demoralising for loyal officers.

If we are to believe some accounts the appointment of well-known IDEA-ites to key position infuriated loyal and pro-government officers. By the same token, it seemed th-at the annual review (1964-65) of promotions and retirements of high-ranking officers, including the rank of Colonel, had left a ratio of two to one against Papandreou amongst the top brass.

It has been claimed that as early as spring 1964, during a visit to Thessaloniki, G. Papandreou was secretly given a report by two army officers, which made clear the political balance within the army.

Papandreou of course, made no secret of his distaste for stratocrats and a militaristic style of government. Having absolute confidence in his Minister of Defence, he even went as far as to abolish the PM Military office. So, had the time come for a head-on collision with the King and the military establishment? If G. Papandreou had decided so, there were no signs of preparation. G. Papandreou could only rely on his popularity and the unity of his party. There was no indication that his standing in public opinion was waning, despite some inevitable attrition. As to the unity of his party and the loyalty of his leading collaborators, that proved his Achilles’ heel. If G. Papandreou had decided that the time had come to take on the King and the Army, it seems that he failed to consult his closest associates in the party, either because he had no reason to distrust their loyalty to him or because he probably thought it unnecessary. After all, the Centre union party lacked any formal institutions of decision-making and any policy had to be hammered out through discussions, consultations and deals with leading party personalities. It appears therefore, that G. Papandreou was drawn into the

conflict with the King and the Army rather than sought to antagonise them. He had of course, to react to any of his opponents’ moves, and the moment of confrontation was not slow to come.

The ASPIDA affair erupted in May 1965. It was to have devastating political repercussions. The latent power crisis emerged into the open and the die was cast.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Political Crisis : 1965- 1967

With ERE openly appealing to the King to dismiss the P.M., pledging support for any government of his making and intensifying the anti-communist campaign, the pressures on the King to take action were mounting. He was made to believe that his P.M. was incapable of facing the alleged communist threat. He was certainly alarmed by the P.M.’s disclosures about the Pericles Plan and was suspicious about his intentions to take control of the army. He now had the political cover of the main opposition party, the traditional pillar of his authority and the encouragement of the military establishment, which felt threatened by G. Papandreou’s disclosures. The ball was in his court and the political climate was deteriorating rapidly.

It seems also that the King was coming under increasing pressure from the US administration to get rid of G. Papandreou, who continued to take a more independent stand on the Cyprus question and improved relations with the Balkan states in accord with his dogma: “allies with the West, friends with the East”. Moreover, if the Papandreou government managed to bring the machinery of state and above all the armed forces and security branches under civilian control, the balance of power would be irreversibly tilted against the traditional channels of foreign influence and the accepted power structure. G. Papandreou excited the suspicions of the US administration by accepting an invitation to visit Moscow, while his son Andreas was despised for his alleged neutralist tendencies.

In the opposite camp, G. Papandreou could ill-afford to follow a course of open confrontation with the King. If we are to believe the account of one of his chief associates in the Centre Union Party, K. Mitsotakis¹, G. Papandreou had made a deal with the King not to touch the armed forces.

In his first 49 days’ government in 1963, the Minister of Defence and the Minister of Public Order were appointed by the King. G. Papandreou agreed to keep the armed forces outside the effective control of his government and he thus secured the King’s approval to dissolve Parliament and proclaim new elections, which led to his triumph. However, despite his overall majority, he stuck to that agreement and tacit understanding with the King. He appointed P. Garoufalias as Minister of Defence, known for his conservative ideas and devotion to the Palace. However, his Undersecretary of Defence, M. Papakonstantinou, managed to make a strong case for the transfer in November 1964 of many right-wing officers from the Athens area to frontier military units and Cyprus, since in striking contravention of military regulations they had all stayed in their posts for excessively long periods. Tension with Turkey over Cyprus provided a perfect cover for this minimal move. Soon after, Papakonstantinou was deprived of- the authority to make transfers of military personnel above the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. The government also passed, almost unscathed a major test,of its authority, when at the first ever official commemoration of the Resistance at Gorgopotamos on November 26th 1964, a mine exploded killing and injuring many people. In the light of subsequent developments, all political leaders later acknowledged the provocative nature of that episode, whose perpetrators have never been caught. The government kept its nerve, but took no further action to deal with those working to destabilise it. G. Papandreou himself seemed to recognise his deal with the King over the armed forces in a passage of his July 9th letter to the King which reads as follows: “.- Your ascendance to the Throne coincided with my coming into power. And I spared no effort, making even important concessions that displeased the democratic camp, in order that we might enjoy an undisturbed cooperation. Unfortunately, as is now obvious, my effort was

, 2 in vain’.

But now Papandreou’s honeymoon with the King was over. The time had come when the government could not possibly implement its programme of social and political reforms and pursue an independent foreign policy without gaining control of the state and bringing the armed forces and security branches of the state under its civilian control.

The echoes of the disclosures about the Pericles Plan, which had deeply disturbed the King, ERE and the military establishement, were still causing alarmist reactions, when all of a sudden the ASPIDA affair broke into the open.

On May 18, 1965 the provincial paper, the ‘Daily Herald’ of Larissa, the mouthpiece of ERE’s right-wing deputy and former speaker of the House Rodopoulos, reported the discovery of an alleged conspiracy within the army involving two secret officer organisations of Left and Centre inclination. One was named ASPIDA (SHIELD) and the other FEA . The second soon disappeared from newspaper reports, whereas the first was to set fire to the powderkeg on which G. Papandreou’s government was sitting.

General Grivas, the Commander of the Greek Cypriot armed forces, had sent a report⁵ to the Minister of Defence and a copy to the King, but not to the PM(‘.) in which he disclosed the findings of an investigation conducted by Brigadier Kollias about the organisation ASPIDA under the leadership of a Captain Bouloukos head of the Greek KYP (Central Intelligence Service) in Cyprus. He considered the affair insignificant and recommended disciplinary measures against some officers. Nevertheless, the report implicated Andreas Papandreou himself and claimed that his visit to Cyprus in November 1964 had undermined the morale of the Greek troops there (I). The connection was dangerous, for it implied that the Papandreou government was seeking to control the army from within by illegal means. Grivas’s investigation seems to have been originated at the request of the Minister of Defence, acting upon information received by the Chief of the General Staff, Major General Gennimatas, early

in March.

In any case, the allegations about Andreas Papandreou’s involvement sounded the alarm bell for G. Papandreou, who acted swiftly. On May 19, the day after the report on the ASPIDA affair appeared in the newspaper, ‘Daily Herald’, he ordered General Simos to conduct an investigation on the spot.

After examining 93 witnesses, both in Cyprus and Greece, General Simos submitted his report on June 1st, recommending disciplinary action against 6 officers involved in the conspiratorial organisation. He concluded that all officers involved and that ASPIDA lacked serious dimensions, for it was restricted to a few officers in Cyprus closely connected with KYP, which was under the direct responsibility of the P.M.

That the ASPIDA organisation really existed, contrary to claims that it was just a frame-up fabricated by forces hostile to Papandreou’s government, should not be in question. No smoke without fire.

That it was of limited importance is not in question today in serious political circles of either right or left.

It is reasonable to assume that its initial conception was due to officers who wanted to counteract the influence of IDEA or other conspiratorial groupings within the army by recruiting from amongst officers of pro-government orientation. No proof of involvement by political personalities has ever emerged despite laborious efforts later on. What is however, beyond dispute is that the matter quickly became the vehicle by which the fears of infiltration of the army by leftists were given credibility.

It also became a political weapon to frighten moderate politicians, to persuade the King that his constituency was under threat and to frame and trap Papandreou. The Minister of Defence, Garoufalias wanted to cashier 10 officers in order to please the King, not satisfied with the disciplinary sanctions taken, while the right-wing press directed all its big guns at the PM’s son for allegedly being the political brain behind the conspiracy. G. Papandreou again took steps to alley the King’s fears and transferred three of the officers who had conducted the Pericles investigation. But in vain. He next tried to defuse the situation by ordering a judicial investigation on June 8th into both Pericles and ASPIDA in order to show his impartiality, his determination to clear up both cases and to allay any suspicion that he intended to cover-up his son’s alleged involvement. The decision to have the cases heard by the military court did not distract the King from his determination to oust G. Papandreou from the government of the country. He was already pushed to collide with the PM and he thought that the ASPIDA affair provided him with the right moral and political arguments to make G. Papandreou comply with his wishes. He had decided to defend his constituency against any trespass and he knew that in the end G. Papandreou would not have any other option than to resign: If all these moves and counter-moves are carefully considered then it is clear that G. Papandreou had no wish to clash with the King.

That is why he made as many concessions as he possibly could stomach in order to stay in power.

Meanwhile, the right-wing press continued to print highly inflammatory fabricated stories in an effort to portray the army in a state of disintegration due to communist penetration and subversive activities! The Public Prosecutor of the Military Court ordered the arrest of many officers, who were held in custody and put under pressure to ‘confess’, in order to provide the ‘missing link’ between the military and the political leadership of the ASPIDA conspiracy. The case was now in the hands of the Military Justice, whose strings were pulled and coordinated behind the scenes by the military junta. The government was unable to do anything at all – and its fated was sealed.

At the same time, the anti-government campaign took a new turn with reports about a’communist sabotage’, in a frontier military unit in Evros. The prospective dictator, Lieutenant Colonel G. Papadopoulos, commander of the 117 Artillery Unit, fabricated a ‘conspiracy’ by Communist soldiers who sabotaged his unit by putting sugar in the petrol tanks of armoured cars and tanks/ Papadopoulos not only linked the ‘sabotage’ with a wider ‘underground communist network’ outside the army, but also leaked his report to a Thessaloniki right-wing daily, before he sent it to Athens m early June. The alleged saboteurs ‘confessed their crimes’ after four days of unspeakable torture, in which Papadopoulos himself took an active part.

The ‘Evros sabotage’, as it came to be known, provided new ammunition for fighting the government and undermining its authority. For, on a simple report by a military officer and without further investigation, the Army Security Services were set in motion and 2o citizens were arrested throughout Greece behind the government’s back. No matter, if the accusation of ‘sabotage and espionage’ were to be proved totally unfounded’*”*’ two weeks later. The

government was once more at the mercy of an apparatus which escaped its effective control, and was clearly on the defensive. Papadopoulos, however, whose performance as a commander was less than competent , survived, and no disciplinary action was taken against him.

During two debates in Parliament on June 17th and 23rd, the leader of EDA’s parliamentary group, E. Eliou, repeatedly posed the question :’Who governs the country’ and had stated the obvious, i.e. that the country was plunged into a deep power crisis constituted in the functions of anti-government centres of power (e.g. the Throne and the Army with their foreign underpinnings) claiming areas of legitimate authority that belonged to the elected government, so that the latter was effectively stripped of any real power.

It seems that G. Papandreou had decided to take firm action and put an end to the cat and mouse game with the King. He first got unanimous approval from his inner cabinet to carry out changes in the leadership of the Armed Forces. The disclosure of the Pericles Plan, in which the name of the Chief of Staff, General Gennimatas, figures prominently, made it imperative to remove him from his post, otherwise the government would loose credibility. The next move was to ask for a vote of confidence in Parliament to strengthen his position against the King. If he could carry his parliamentary group solidly behind him, then the King would not dare to insist on his views, as he would be unable to form another government enjoying the confidence of the House. On 28th June 1965, the government received a vote of confidence after a session which had lasted for several days and which focused on the question of the power crisis and the armed forces. Meanwhile a new development came as a blow to the PM. In a letter¹⁵ addressed to him, on June 24th, the Head of the King’s Political Bureau, K. Choidas, stated that the Minister of Defence P. Garoufalias, had informed the King of the PM’s intentions to carry out changes in the leadership of the armed· forces and that the King was unwilling to contemplate changes without prior consultation and his consent.

For G. Papandreou it was clear that his minister had disclosed to the King, without any authorisation, decisions and discussions of his inner cabinet.

This was too much. He asked Garoufalias to submit his resignation and to sugar the pill, he offered to move him to another ministerial post. Garoufalis not only refused to resign, but made a public statement in which he pledged his allegiance to the King and not to the Prune Minister, and also portrayed the latter as a ‘national danger! From 8 to 15 July 1965, an exchange of 5 letters took place between the King and the Prime Minister. In these letters the issue was stated by both sides with absolute clarity. The King argued his case as if he were an absolute Monarch: Ί am obliged to take a special interest in the Armed Forces, which exist to defend the nation from external and internal dangers’ he wrote. The Prime Minister rightly insisted that in a crowned democracy the people are sovereign, the King advises and the government has the responsibility to govern. It was a clash on a serious constitutional principle, which, in fact, concerned not a legalistic interpretation of the letter of the written Constitution, but the essential functions of government and reflected the relative power position of two institutions within the State. It is not necessary to list here all the arguments and counter-arguments by the two sides. What was really at stake was the power position of the Throne. Losing control of and patronage over the army would imply the loss of his capability to dictate terms to governments.

The contents of the King’s letter indicated clearly that there was a crisis of confidence between the two supreme organs of the constitutional order. Moreover, the King made it clear that he was not willing to accept either changes in the leadership of the armed forces or a replacement of the Minister of Defence. He refused to sign the draft royal decree sent by the PM on July 9th for the replacement of the Minister of Defence.

Papandreou faced with such blatant opposition, thought that if he proposed to take the responsibility of the Ministry of Defence himself, he would avoid further ‘misunderstandings’ and a final clash with the King. He obviously made a miscalculation. For the King considered such a move as a cover-up for his son, whose name was involved with ASPIDA. The King had strong views on the matter and he accused G. Papandreou of undermining the Armed Forces by his own deeds and disturbing the rule of law and order!

It is certain that G. Papandreou had second thoughts and would have been willing to compromise if the matter had remained strictly confidential.

However, the King’s letters were leaked to the press and the dispute became 20 open. From that moment G. Papandreou could not possibly give any more ground. He had to defend the honour, the prestige and the constitutional rights of his office. It was inconceivable to accept that while he was trusted by the King, to remain as PM, he could not be trusted to assume the Ministry of National Defence. So he insisted upon his right to appoint his Ministers and conduct the business of government the way he thought proper, recognising no area where the government would refrain from exercising its full responsibilities and authority, -above all the Armed Forces. To act otherwise would mean humiliation , as other holders of the office before him had suffered in the past, and a great diminuition of the office itself.

The issue had clearly become one of principle.

An audience with the King was arranged for July 15. G. Papandreou was determined not to give in and ultimately to submit his resignation.

He could not see, what other option the King could have, given the fact that his majority in Parliament was thought to be unshakeable and made impossible the formation of any other government without his consent.

On 13 July 1965, two days before his audience with the King, some members of his Cabinet suggested mobilising loyal army units in order to depose the Minister of Defence by force and to create a fait accompi which the King could not ignore. It is not possible to know what chances of success such a move could have had, and what military and political reactions it would have 22 invited. The fact is that G. Papandreou flatly rejected such dynamic action, as well as the advice of his Cabinet, which begged him to compromise at all costs on the 14 July. On 15 July, in his short meeting with the King, G. Papandreou reiterated his position and had only the opportunity of saying that the next day he was going to submit his written resignation.

The King wasted no time, took his word for it and called Novas, the Speaker of the House, to be sworn in as the new PM. In a few hours, other prominent members of G. Papandreou’s Cabinet were called and sworn in, leaving aghast both Papandreou hisemlf and public opinion. ERE switftly promised to support the new government in Parliament while demonstrations had already began to form in the streets of Athens against the royal coup. Papandreou immediately condemned ‘the violation of our form of government and call upon the people to demonstrate massively but peacefully against the traitors’. He was effectively launching the second ‘Unyielding struggle’ (Anendotos).

July 15th was a turning point. It was actually the beginning of the end. For it led gradually to the military coup d’etat of 1967. If I have devoted space to details of dates and events, it is because.I considered it important to clarify the issues at stake and outline a picture of moves and counter-moves in a war of tactical manoeuvres for better positioning. In this context, it is obvious that the government soon found itself in a defensive position, since the initiative had passed to its enemies, who combined their forces to overthrow it. G. Papandreou was forced to react rather than be given the opportunity to counter attack. It seems that he did not know where to go after his resignation and planned no concerted action. On the other hand his opponents closed ranks, won over the King as a spearhead for their movement and trapped him into an impossible position for the time being.

It is inconceivable that the King would have dared to proceed, if he had not been assured by prominent members of Papandreou’s Cabinet that he could rely on them. He had certainly prepared the ground carefully; all the evidence suggest that the showdown with the PM was a calculated and carefully planned move.

2.- The Opposite Camps

Assessing the forces which each camp could deploy for engagement, it is clear that EK (The Centre Union Party) was not in a fit state to wage an effective war, despite the nominal support given to its leader by the main figures in the Cabinet.

In the first place, although G. Papandreou was an imposing personality, at the age of 77 he was obviously at the end of his political career and the struggle for the succession had already begun in earnest behind the scenes.

Papandreou himself had done nothing to modernise the party and give it a democratic institutional structure, capable of containing disputes on policies and succession within certain limits. The main contenders, P. Garoufalias,
Mavros, K. Mitsotakis and the elderly S. Stefanopoulos, bitterly regretted the rising star of G. Papandreou’s son, Andreas, whom they considered a newcomer without any legitimate claim to the leadership. Secondly, the clash of personalities quickly evolved into a clash of policies. For Andreas Papandreou was emerging as the leader of the left-wing faction of the party, militant, vocal and articulate. The balance within the party was rapidly changing in favour of the new radicalism, inspired by A. Papandreou, who had started to capture a mass following. The old traditional left-wing of the party, parochial as it was and rooted in the past, could not make any headway and despite its acclaimed leaders, rallied behind the new movement. The balance of opinion within the party was undoubtedly disturbed by the sudden death of S. Venizelos, leader of the liberal wing of the prty, whose conservatism was a guarantee for the right-wing leadership and that part of the electorate which preferred moderate policies. He was certainly a force that G. Papandreou had to reckon with.

It was becoming increasingly clear that the rift was widening between the various factions in the party. It was very doubtful if they could co-exist within the same party any longer. The rivalry between them became more and more bitter in the fight to win G. Papandreou’s mind on every major policy issue. So the major political weapon that G. Papandreou thought he could rely upon, the unity of his party, was not so formidable and proved him wrong.

Papandreou knew that the military junta existed and that IDEA was alive and kicking despite the dispersal of its forces. To take on the King, the Army and ERE and their foreign supporters at a stroke, would not be wise at all. At the moment, the key-question was the attitude of the King, who was pushed into an open confrontation with him without realising the consequences and without any clear idea of what to do next.

Apparently G. Papandreou could not immagine that his closest friends and Ministers would betray him the next day and that eventually 45 of his deputies would defect from the Party. Having rejected the advice to take dynamic action, he opted for the best possible solution: to resign and put the onus on the King to find a solution, which, given parliamentary arithmetic, could not be other than to return to himself or dissolve Parliament and proclaim new elections, which of course was out of the question.

Viewed from this point of view, G. Papandreou, locked in bitter dispute with the King, was left with no other honest option. Was it however, a wise political move and would it have been better to swallow his pride and opt for an ‘honest (?) compromise solution’as the next day renegades suggested to him? The question is impossible to answer.

Understandably, EK’s conservative wing, did not want a clash with the Palace, on whose grace it counted. If the renegades had remained in the party, and backed their leader, they would have deprived the King of any room for manoeuvre. As experienced politicians, they knew that the power of the Palace lay not only in its threat to throw the army against Parliament, but also in its ability to destroy Parliamentary majorities. Since the King was determined to push his case to the extreme and let nobody touch his fief, the armed forces, he would never allow a humiliated PM and EK government under any condition to lay its hand on the army. Since he would have won a clear victory against the government on the issue, how could the latter possibly come back? For the ‘honest compromise solution’ suggested, could not be a personal matter, that is, who was to run the Ministry of Defence, on which a compromise could easily be found. The issue was one of functions and responsibilities within the form of government and could not be swept aside except at the expense of the government. On the issue of controlling the Armed Forces, the renegades had no policy other than unconditional surrender to the Palace, so that Major M. Arnaoutis, Head of the King’s Military House, would continue to administer military affairs and dictate his terms.

Yet the phenomenon of the renegades (apostates) has a clear political dimension separate from the orgy of bargaining, blackmail, and marketing of Ministerial offices in order to win over EK’s deputies. Since we have to deal with a defection of a group, rather than of individual politicians, in which to everyone’s surprise, some of the ‘old left-wing guard’ eventually joined in, we must recognise a political motive behind their move and give careful consideration to their claims. It has been mentioned that a confrontation with the Palace was for them, unacceptable, risky and highly dangerous. According to their assessment of the situation, the King could not lose face and back down. He would rather impose a dictatorship or resort

to emergency powers in order to win his point. They defected therefore, in order to avoid a rupture with the Throne and to make a compromise possible on his terms. In this way, they left themselves open to popular contempt and sacrificed their careers to save democracy. This picture is too moving to be true. For how could they hope to prevent the coming dictatorship, having failed to carry the majority of their party with them and being in consequence totally dependent on ERE in order to govern? How could they hope to block the way to ‘anomalous solutions’ without any fragment of public opinion behind them or without controlling the state apparatuses?

By crossing the floor they inflicted a fatal blow to the prestige of Parliament, weakened party government, in fact paved the way for dictatorial solutions and did a great disservice to the country. On the other side, the anti-government camp was powerful enough to feel absolutely confident that, if they launched an attack on Papandreou, the latter’s days in office would be numbered. With the power of the army and the security services virtually intact, alarmist reports and worrying claims of the country’s ’slide to communism’were easy to fabricate.

I have dealt with the Monarchy and the Army in the previous chapters.

What remains to be added here is the role of ERE as the main opposition party.

to emergency powers in order to win his point. They defected therefore, in order to avoid a rupture with the Throne and to make a compromise possible on his terms. In this way, they left themselves open to popular contempt and sacrificed their careers to save democracy. This picture is too moving to be true. For how could they hope to prevent the coming dictatorship, having failed to carry the majority of their party with them and being in consequence totally dependent on ERE in order to govern? How could they hope to block the way to ‘anomalous solutions¹ without any fragment of public opinion behind them or without controlling the state apparatuses?

I have dealt with the Monarchy and the Army in the previous chapters.

What remains to be added here is the role of ERE as the main opposition party.

As we shall see below, ERE was far from being a united party. It comprised fascist, militaristic, anti-democratic and royalist factions, which made life difficult for the new leader, P. Kanellopoulos, a moderate and experienced politician. The new leader had not only to establish his authority over them, in order to keep the party united, but to put his hallmark on the party, giving it an aura of liberalism and modernism. His authority however, was disputed. He never managed to win the loyalties of any but a part of the righ wing press. He was a leader on probation, since the hardcore of the party’s followers kept alive the desire for K. Karamanlis’s return from selfexile in Paris. Needless to say both Party and voters could not take the road to reform according to Kanellopoulos’s wishes and the splits within ERE often broke into the open. Kanellopoulos had to rely on his party’s old values and turn a blind eye to its ethics and past practices. Whether he meant it or not, his February 1965 speech, in which he used unusually strong language against Papandreou, was an open invitation to the King to proceed carving up his party. Then, rather easily and naively for a man of his experience, he fell victim to alarmism about communist ‘infiltration’ of the State, undermining of the army and anarchy in the countryside. He fanned the fire with his own deeds and made it easier for his party to be gripped with anti-communist psychosis.

He even believed that the Communists had secretly armed and were making preparations for a new round of violent confrontation with the State.

At the time Kanellopoulos saw the threat coming from a defenceless government and popular mobilisation, not from the military.

Chaos, abyss, disorder, and the like were the common parlance of an anti-communist hysteria which gripped the politicians of the Right and, seconded by the King himself, the right-wing press and the lurking militarists. Despite their diverse interests and ultimate objectives, the three major components of the anti-government camp (King, ERE and the military), were drawing from the same ideological pool and could understand each other perfectly as they spoke the same political language.

Kanellopoulos even reluctantly blessed the King’s initiatives and unconstitutional behaviour and hastened to offer his support for EK’s splinter parliamentary groups. He found himself in an unexpectedly strong position. For the King could not have the faintest hope of a new anti-EK government without ERE’s parliamentary support. By going along with the Throne, he served the interests of his party, but not the interests of Parliament, democracy, people and country.

As for EDA, it was in a state of confusion:

– It had clearly lost considerable electoral ground in the two electoral contests of 1963 and 1964, in which it was deeply divided on the issue of electoral tactics.

– It was torn between a tendency which advocated policies to secure

the best possible and lasting conditions of democratic stability and incorporate the party into the national politics, and another which argued in favour of strengthening its own image and support irrespective of ‘bourgeois politics’ – what its acute parliamentary leader E. Eliou, had called ‘the crux of the matter’ for the Left.

The first tendency implied a political line of moderation, sensible moves, low profile, conciliatory gestures and careful steps, not pushing too far, too fast, and contributing to an orderly democratisation of Greek society and politics. It implied above all critical support for Papandreou’ s government and a non-antagonistic relationship with his party.

The second implied an opportunistic political line to recover the lost electoral ground by capitalising on Papandreou’s mistakes,compromises and implied furthermore, a political practice of pressures and uncompromising demagoguery, a war of attrition against EK. It was concerned with the clean ‘image’ of the party, not with constructive policies. It viewed political mobilisation as ‘revolutionary exercises’, preparing the ‘masses’ for the final assault. This wishful thinking was clearly leading to a blind-alley and ultimately to another catastrophic defeat.

Firmly controlled by the Communist Party’s (KKE) leadership in exile, EDA, though not completely subservient to the directives from abroad, often relapsed into extreme dogmatism and sectarianism, urtable to grasp the essentials of a fluid and constantly changing political situation.

Restricted in its perception of Greek politics by the traumas of two tragic and bloody defeats in the past (1944 and 1946-49) and the constraints imposed by political isolation, EDA could not decide on a political line which would serve the purpose of burying the past and allaying the psychotic fears of its opponents.

Both the strategic and tactical goals of EDA promised the impossible, a mixture of nostalgia about ‘the lost paradise’ and ill-conceived dogmatic, and self-assertive panaceas.

The voices of dissent inside the Party were increasing, influenced by the ill-digested Sino-Soviet dispute and other ‘left-wing infantile disorders’ on the one hand and by the political realities of the country on the other.

EDA, after its second Congress in 1962, had witnessed considerable

organisational growth. It established a vast network of party offices nationwide and published its own papers and periodicals. Its considerable contribution and leading role in the political mobilisation of the period (1962-64) and the freer conditions under the Papandreou government allowed it to recruit new blood and to spectacularly develop its Youth Organisation of Lambrakides. However, organisational expansion should not be confused with political influence which, mainly due to the dynamic, new and sin-free movement of Andreas Papandreou, was on the wane.

This indicative enumeration of conditions for EDA’s political line and practice, is not of course a substitute for deeper analysis and study and may not do justice to a variety of other contributory factors. What is important, however, in the context of our analysis is EDA’s attitude towards the Papandreou government. Early in 1965, the 8th Plenary Session of the KKE’s Central Committee was convened abroad, when the lines of confrontation had already been drawn in Greece between the government and its opponents. Its decisions were shocking. It committed EDA’s leadership to making its immediately political objective the legalisation of the party by any means, if possible de facto. This policy decision, threw EDA into disarray, disoriented its actions and ruptured its links with EK. Moreover, it fuelled the real fears of conservative Greeks, and provided the professional anti-communists-with fresh ammunition for their charges that Papandreou was impotent in stopping the advent of communism! In short, in the crucial moments of the crisis, EDA failed to support Papandreou, as if the power struggle was incidental and unrelated to its future. It is characteristic that despite its diagnosis of the coming political storm, which proved correct, EDA could not concede a vote of ‘tolerance¹ in the crucial vote of confidence on 28 June 1965. Even that infuriated KKE’s leadership in exile, which instead of confronting the immediate danger, preferred to give to Papandreou, more rope to hang himself.

If this alignment of forces is taken into account, the course of events in July acquire a certain sense of inevitability and doom. The options for papandreou were limited and viewed from the point of view of the final outcome perhaps not substantial and decisively different.

3.- Instability and Protest

The July royal intervention failed to harm Papandreou’s popularity.

On the contrary, the people not only forgave and forgot his failures in government but made him a symbol of the new era of democratic resistance against the enemies of normal political evolution, and social and political reform. While the King was struggling to find defectors from amonqrst the ranks of EK’s deputies and ministers by offering ministerial portfolios to any newcomer in the Palace’s ante-chambers, a new wave of protest and political mobilisation was unleashed. However, the conditions of political protest had changed overnight. Hours after Novas was sworn in, the police and its riot units were taking on the demonstrators in the streets of Athens. The next day, 16 July, the security apparatus of the State charged a much more organised and massive demonstration in Athens with such violence that they left behind 114 injured and made 83 arrests.

Demonstrations continued unabated every evening with the same toll of injured citizens and arrests. Organised protests were peaceful, carefully guided and stewarded to avoid clashes with the police and to avoid frightening away moderate opinion. This was not always possible and there were times when Athens was turned into a real battlefield for hours on end.

While the efforts to recruit new defectors continued, G. Papandreou decided to ‘go to the people’.. On 19 July he went downtown from his private Kastri residence on the outskirts of Athens. It was his moment of triumph, his apotheosis. It is doubtful if Athens has ever witnessed such a huge crowd and such political ecstasy. The rally was peaceful, no clashes with the police took place and the point was clearly made: there was no way out of the crisis without G. Papandreou’s consent.

The Palace however, was undeterred. Till the end of August all three attempts to form a government with a confidence vote in Parliament failed:

– The Novas government received only 131 votes out of 300 (4-5/8/65) and resigned.

– The Tsirimokos government received 133 votes (28-29/8/65) and fell in its turn.

– The ‘exploratory mandate’ given by the King to Stefanopoulos on 9 August, was soon surrendered, for the latter failed to convince EK’s parliamentary party about the wisdom of forming a government.

After so many laborious efforts, the King was again in an impasse.

Papandreou insisted on two conditions _; either a new mandate to form a government or a new election. To regain the initiative, the King called ,a meeting of the Crown Council (1-2 September 1965) . G. Papandreou was a lonely voice at that meeting, but stood firm. The surprise came from the leader of ERE, Kanellopoulos, who stunned the session on 2 September by saying that if he was given a mandate by the.King, he could form a government; ask for a dissolution of Parliament and lead the country to free and fair elections in order not to prolong the political impasse. G. Papandreou was reluctant to accept the proposal, but did so the next morning. It was too late, because Kanellopoulos came under heavy pressure from the Palace, the EK defectors, the hard core of his party and probably from other quarters too, to withdraw his offer.

The Palace would lose face and the prospect of another sweeping electoral victory by Papandreou sent shivers down its spine. The line was: no elections at all costs. The EK defectors faced political extinction and electoral annihilation. For the hard core of ERE elections were anathema, since the chances of the party winning them, were not very great.

Kannellopoulos however, had made different calculations it seemed.

In government ERE could boost the morale of its supporters and mobilise the State apparatus to create the psychological conditions under which it would perhaps be difficult, if not impossible, for Papandreou to win again an overall majority. ERE would probably attempt to change the electoral system in order to reinforce centrifugal tendencies in EK and win better electoral chances for its splinter groups. Kanellopoulos however, succumbed to pressures and withdrew his proposal.

In his memorandum to the King in January 1966, which he published 20 years later, Kanellopoulos noted that in fact his proposal was ‘the only safe chance for a normal way out of one of the most difficult impasses the country had ever known.’ In a self_critical appraisal of the situation, Kanellopoulos considered the withdrawal of his proposal, the most serious moral and political mistake of his life, for he put the interests of his party above the interests of his country. The same view is shared by the then General Secretary of ERE.

For elections at that moment,irrespective of the outcome for each individual party, would have guaranteed a safe return to normality.

Conditions were still not ripe for a military intervention and the King would be faced with the dilemma either of conceding the point or proceeding alone in suspending the Constitution, which would have amounted to a ‘royal dictatorship’ against the will of all parties.

So the chance was lost and, with the benefit of hindsight, the loss, it seems was fatal. The King dug his heels in, proceeded on the same road and on 16 September gave a new mandate to Stefanopoulos, who this time succeeded in cutting another small slice from his old party, and thus winning a vote of confidence in Parliament by a majority of four.

The King had finally got his way and a new page was turned.

During the 70 days from 15 July to 25 September, popular protests did not stop for a moment. EDA, its Youth organisation ‘Lambrakides¹and EK’s Youth, EDIN, contributed most in organising and directing the open air meetings and demonstrations, whose immediate objective was to deter further defections from EK and make it impossible for the King to construct a new government. In that, obviously they failed. A general strike, hastily called for 27 July, met with only partial success.

Neverthless, the mass political mobilisations over the period and the politicised strike action after the July events led to new political contradictions and a radical realignment of forces within the ‘democratic camp.’

– The Monarchy and the King became the target of popular discontent and protest. The institution came under fire for its lack of respect for the Constitution and its opposition to a freely elected and popular leader. The electorate felt cheated, for the 5 3% who had voted for the Centre Union did not have their government. Republican feelings were once more revived and the old royalist- republican schism was re-opened.

– The July events and subsequent developments made Andreas Papandreou into a prominent political leader. He won the loyalty of 45 to 80 of the Centre Union’s 122 deputies who remained faithful to the party. EK purged of many of its right-wing elements, was becoming a different party. While remaining substantially a traditionally Centrist party

the influence of its left-wing dramatically and abruptly increased.

Papandreou had given coherence to a new popular movement whose main feature was a rapid radicalisation. A. Papandreou’s slogans

– Greece for the Greeks, the army belongs to the nation, the People in Power’, epitomised the dynamics of a new social and political movement, which brought together large sections of the urban strata, the peasantry, intellectuals – professionals and above all the Youth.

The ‘Centre-Left’ was bom, combining in a more coherent, systematic and articulate way than ever before, the demands for social and political modernisation and national independence. For a bourgeois party like EK, A. Papandreou introduced new forms of populist discourse and mobilisation , articulating the social and political contents of the new movement to quite a radical nationalism.

So what began as a legalistic constitutional crisis, was transformed en route into a deeper organic political crisis whose main features were:

– The dislocation of representation through political parties.

Artificial parties were formed without any substantial social basis; all parties were torn by dissent and internal disputes , developing contradictory and irreconcilable factions.

– The legal basis of the State was displaced. The breach of constitutional legality by the King eroded legality and popular consent in procedural values.

– Legitimacy collapsed completely. The institutions of monarchy and Parliamentary Democracy were brought into disrepute and contempt.

The puppet governments installed by the King and the methods used to seduce deputies from the majority parliamentary party inflicted

irreparable damage to their credibility and prestige.

Particularly in the case of Parliament, corrupt methods of buying off voters had reached such proportions, that disgust was universal.

Consciences were bought off overnight in the lobbies and elsewhere, ministerial posts were offered as a bait for defection, Parliament was turned into a ‘House of Commerce’. The scenes of fighting and punching between MPs, inflamed passions and unconstrained language added to the picture of a House, which not only did not represent the will of the voters, but was devoid of any moral and political standards.

As one observer put it at that time, it was the period of ‘mean moral cows where both anti-democratic and alleged democratic politicians did not believe in any general ideas.

Social group alliances were cemented by new political discourses. Far from turning the tide against G. ppapandreou, the royal intervention of July and subsequent mobilisation indicated that the social and political bloc of the ‘democratic camp’ was alive, solid and growing. These developments had multiple effects.

EK was now more susceptible to pressures ‘from below’, due to the purges it unwillingly suffered and the new political radicalisation of crucial social sections of its electorate. That made it more difficult to dissociate the Party from radical policies’ and bring it again into the national conservative consensus.

The King, the hard core of ERE and the military juntists, were convinced that the way out of the crisis represented by resort to elections or any legal and constitutional means would prove highly risky. Now there were more issues at stake than in the pre-July 1965 period.

Finally, the conditions of political mobilisation and protest were drastically altered.

The reactivation of police surveillance methods in containing protests, not only exhausted the security forces in constant alerts, but also made central to the conservative political discourse, the issue of ‘law and order¹,-which together with the rallying campaign of ‘communist threat¹ – was used both as a weapon to frighten moderate opinion and as an alibi justifying a perpetual postponment of elections. There is no doubt that the issue of law and order was grossly underestimated by EDA and the Centre-Left of A. Papandreou.

4.- Stalemate

The formation of Stefanopoulos¹s government altered the political scene but not the balance of forces or the options for a constitutional solution of the crisis. It dragged on longer than expected. First, because the King had no other solution to hand and, secondly, because ERE was biding its time and could topple the government at any moment, if it so wished.

The ‘renegades’ scorned by popular opinion and deprived of any social basis beyond their immediate personal electoral clientele of some leaders of the group, had to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for ERE and been squeezed as lemons to the bitter end. As an administration the new government was paralysed because of the amalgam of opinions and clientelistic practices were not and could not be a substitute for genuine support and legitimacy.

They were expected of course to tighten conditions of law and order, which they did with the notoriously energetic help of Apostolakos, Minister of Public Order, so that the ‘right’framework for elections could be established

It was a peculiar government and parliamentary group, without backbenchers since all of them were either ministers or undersecretaries. To justify their defection politically and to give substance to their claim that they acted in accordance with the national interest, they were obliged to perpetuate the myth of the ‘red peril’. The ASPIDA investigation, which was supposed to last for only a month or so, took 16 months to be concluded and the indictment was handed over to the Minister of Defence.^⁰ The indictment was basically a political document and recommended criminal proceeedings against 28 officers, ‘for conspiring to change violently the political system of Greece’ i.e. ‘high treason’. Most of the officers served with KYP and both A. Papandreou and K. Mitsotakis were named as involved in the ‘conspiracy’.

The indictment disturbed the false calm reigning in the country.

Stefanopoulos, contrary to expert advice sent the case to a Military court and the trial opened on 14 November. Such was the violation of elementary rules of law, legal procedures and justice and such was the public outcry at what the defendants had to say about their treatment, the fabrication of pseudo-witnesses and intrigue so that the charge that the trial was ‘a travesty’ of justice’ was very close to the truth. The affair continued to poison public life, to feed the fears of conservative opinion, and to dominate the thinking of both the military and the politicians. Many years later, Stefanopoulos himself’saw the light’. ^ Meanwhile his government had already granted amnesty to all those involved in the Pericles

Plan.

There were no signs of improvement in the political situation, though the King was out to boost morale by diatribes cn political theory. In his 1966 New Year message, he advanced the view that communism was ’filth'(miasma) originating from abroad and contaminating those who came into contact with it.

The most significant political development was EDA’s 5-point plan to ease a way out of the impasse. EDA’s proposals, early in 1966, called for a clear statement by all parties, declaring the opposition to any cover or overt dictatorial solution, an agreement on free elections, with a pure proportional electoral system under a new interim government, guarantees for fair and free elections, the need for the issue of the Monarchy to remain outside the electoral contest and the granting of amnesty for both the Pericles and ASPIDA affairs. They were sensible and moderate points. Unfortunately EDA’s political practice was incongruent with these points.

As for the issue of political control of the armed forces, Stefanopoulos’s government did its best to satisfy the King’s wishes. Within/a few days the ousting of G. Papandreou, 250 officers were transferred from the Attica Region”^, while the 1965 annual review of officers, led to a savage decimation of the remnants of the democratic officers. In fact, with the promotion of G. Spandidakis, to the post of Chief of the Army’s General Staff, the count down to the 1967 military coup d’etat had already started. For he was the key figure in the preparatory phase of the military coup. He provided the cover for Papadopoulos’s organisation and sought to use it for his own ‘generals’ coup’ , the royalist big junta. In the space of a few months, in 1966, all of Papadopoulos’s men were transferred to key positions and took control of all the new centres of the military apparatus {e.g. the Operational Bureaus, the Intelligence functions, KYP, Command of Communications and Propaganda, and key units in and around Athens and in crucial units in the provinces, control of transfers, personnel, etc.). The plotters now had commanding posts inside the General Staff to coordinate planning, to make preparations and to provide mutual cover and protection for each other. Spandidakis was made to believe that the ‘Colonels’ Junta’ was working for him and his generals and, therefore, he could assure the Palace that he was in total control of the army.

Finally, one of the undisputed ‘achievements’ of Stefanopoulos¹s government was to restore the free movement of traffic in the streets by its police methods which made open air public meetings virtually impossible.

All the structural weaknesses of the mass movement and political parties to which I have referred in previous chapters, were now manifest. EDA could hardly rally a few thousand people in its political mobilisations. Most public meetings took place indoors. Only quasi-electoral public meetings were possible. In this context, A. Papandreou’s tours in the country were passionately and massively attended, to such an extent that, in his own words, his father was disturbed ‘beginning to wonder about the consequences of my popularity on the party’s cohesiveness’.

5.- Compromises

Stefanopoulos’s government continued its day to day business without hoping to acquire any legitimacy and popularity in the near future. Stalemate and immobility best suited the group of defectors, since with the passing of time, they hoped to build a political base of their own by distributing the spoils of power and wooing the traditional state patronage networks.

Popular mobilisations subsided and the policy of containment by tough police methods, paid off. Nevertheless, despite the return to ‘normality’ and the rule of ‘law and order’, the government remained extremely weak, at the mercy of the Palace and ERE. By mid-1966 it seems that G.Papandreou had decided that any prolongation of the situation, the climate of intensive psychological warfare and misinformation, which seriously affected the state apparatus and polarised public opinion, was harmful to the cause of democracy and damaging to the prospects of a normal way out of a crisis.^⁰ It could only benefit those who were working behind the scenes for irregular and unconstitutional solutions. Popular mobilisation could not be sustained at peak for ever and in any case, it was at a low ebb. The conditions of political mass protest were deteriorating and immobilism was working against him. It was time for a new initiative.

He therefore, changed tactics dramatically by taking the courageous decision to approach the King and through an intermediary to start negotiating to break the deadlock. Towards the end of November 1966, it appeared that an understanding had been reached. Kanellopoulos was informed by the King about these secret contacts and briefed by him on the contents of these discussions, which the leader of ERE found reasonable and acceptable as a basis to striking a bargain.

According to Kanellopoulos¹s account, on 18 December 1966, the two leaders met secretly and alone to discuss the clauses of a deal. It was not difficult to find common ground and to sign an Aide-Memoire, which was approved by the King a few days later in a meeting with the two leaders.

Not all the points of the deal are known even today. As far as is known, the agreement contained two important points:

– The formation of anew interim government which would be supported by the two parties with a vote of confidence in Parliament. It would consist of non-party personalities. The two leaders agreed on the person of I. Paraskevopoulos , a banker,· to be named as PM.

– The government would remain in power for several months and it should be mandatory for it to conduct elections by the end of May.

– It was also to undertake to introduce a new electoral bill changing the existing electoral system to one of simple proportional representation .

Each party to the agreement had its own reasons for coming to terms.

For the King it was a safety net, for he had made himself the target of popular discontent and Papandreou’s attack. The monarchy would not become an issue in the coming elections. Papandreou would be given some satisfaction by the agreement to hold elections in which he hoped to win a majority. Now, the two major nationalist parties were responsible for developments to the exclusion of the Left. National consensus would have to be restored. In any case he calculated that the results of the elections would not be such as to give· Papandreou’s party an overall majority so that he could again play the role of supreme arbiter between the political parties. To this effect, it is plausible to assume that he had already made Papandreou agree that, regardless of the results of the elections, he would form a coalition government with Kanellopoulos, otherwise he would be risking the prospect of Papandreou winning an overall majority.

For Kanellopoulos the agreement offered obvious advantages. He too hoped, rightly or wrongly, that ERE would come first in the electoral race, if not winning outright. He could isolate the hard core of his party suspected of working behind the scenes for ’other solutions’ and he could establish his authority as leader of the party. Dissent in his party against continued support of Stefanopoulos’s government, had already sounded a warning note.^ A handful of his MPs could bring down the government at any moment, to his own discredit. From the point of view of the forces hostile to Papandreou, the latter would be brought again into the national consensus and the political axis would be moved decisively to the Centre_Right. Papandreou would be dissociated from radical policies and EDA completely isolated. Most importantly, Andreas Papandreou would be forced either to toe the line and vote for Paraskevo- poulos’s government in line with his father’s commitment or to split the party and go it alone to form his own Centre-Left party. In the first instance, his credibility and standing in the public eye as champion of left-wing policies and popular leader would be destroyed. In the second, the chances of G. Papandreou winning the elections would be reduced to nil.

For Papandreou the agreement was a very painful choice. He obviously made a list of concessions – since his bargaining position was weak – notwithstanding his popularity. He had to keep his son in line and avoid a new disastrous split. He had to explain to public opinion how yesterday’s enemies, the Palace and ERE, had become his close associates in supporting

the interim government. His public image would inevitably suffer from the comparison with his ‘unyielding struggle’ and his uncompromising stance on issues of principle. Such was the disposition of a great section of public opinion created during the past months. His acceptance of a single proportional representation system for the elections meant in fact that the chances of winning an overall majority would be severely reduced. It is precisely the nature of the electoral system agreed upon that makes plausible the assumption that Papandreou had already committed himself to a post-electoral coalition with Kanellopoulos. There was also another reason. Papandreou wanted to destroy the arguments and fears of his opponents that a ‘popular front’had already been formed ‘from below’ and that it would be expressed electorally either by EDA’s contesting of its own volition only a hanful of electoral constituencies, or by default that is, by tactical voting (the waste vote inevitable destination). Both possibilities amounted to an adulteration of the electorate’s will, and national politics and the pursuit of this happenning, as a pretext, not only for postponing elections indefinitely, but also for envisaging the use of the armed forces.

The deal also allayed the fears of the King that G. Papandreou would turn the elections into a plebiscite on the monarchy, and blocked the road to any further frontal confrontation with the Throne. It is not known what other commitments Papandreou had undertaken under the agreement. Speculation could be endless. It is however, possible to imagine that certain policy areas and governmental responsibilities, particularly the issue of the armed forces, would be decided through a mechanism of prior consultation between the two parties and the King or a bi-partisan approach to some crucial foreign policy issues (e.g. Cyprus), could well have been within the logical parameters of the agreement.

It would be wrong to assume that the deal was motivated only by electoral considerations and power politics. This applies particularly to the two party leaders, who had come to realise the great dangers for parliamentary democracy inherent in a continuation of the current situation. Seen from his point of view, Papandreou’s concessions were not just a conciliatory gesture towards his political opponents, stemming from his conservative and anti-communist ‘nature’, but a calculated move, a last ditch attempt to prevent the worst coming to the worst.

In this respect, he certainly out manoeuvred his opponents by shifting the ground of political confrontation gradually, but steadily and decisively, towards the electoral arena, his prime objective. He could not of course, expect to change the conditions of electoral contest’ at a stroke and he knew from past experience, what influence the state apparatus could exert on the electorate. But he could reasonably hope to break once more the barrier of fear and hesitation; to neutralise the impact of strict policing and surveillance and to recover the expected losses in popular acclaim by means of his stamina, charismatic personality, skilful oratory and unrelenting campaigning as before.

And so the Stephanopoulos government fell. On 22nd December the Paraskevopoulos government was sworn in. Its cabinet composition was not to the satisfaction of G. Papandreou, but he did not make much noise about it. The reaction however, of Andreas Papandreou was firm and uncompromising and the rift with his father could no longer be concealed. In a letter addressed to his father, he called the new government a ‘royal fabrication’ and pleaded with his father to reconsider his position. In the meeting of EK’s parliamentary group, 45 deputies out of 122 did not show up. A. Papandreou could probably have commanded a lot more support amongst the deputies, but at the moment he only wanted to make his point. Nevertheless, G. Papandreou remained adamant and adhered to the agreement. He threatened the rebel deputies with expulsion and put the onus on them, calling on the minority to bow to the will of the majority. But soon A. Papandreou and his close party friends realised the trap and decided to vote for Paraskevopoulos, who received a vote of confidence on 14th January 1967. However, he continued publicly criticising the compromise solution as’provocative for the people’ and calling for ‘peaceful revolution’. In trying to emerge unscathed from a really difficult position, he launched an all-out attack on ERE, taking Kanellopoulos’s moderation as a ‘new mask’⁷⁰ rather than a real change of heart and attitude.

Papandreou had no reason to worry about his popularity·, but his primary concern was how to block his opponents’ efforts to isolate and neutralise him and deprive EK of as big a slice of its potential support as possible in the forthcoming elections scheduled for 28th May 1967. It has also been claimed that his quid pro quo with his father on the issue of the Paraskevopoulos government was very advantageous to himself, since he was to have a major say in the selection process of the party’s parliamentary 72 candidates. His analysis of ERE’s rule was very limited, so that he was unable to take tactical advantage of his opponents’ divisions . He does not appear to have ever given serious thought to the possibility of joint action with a part of ERE which was genuinely democratic and parliamentarian.

As far as EDA was concerned, it was paradoxical that while the most essential points of his own 1966 proposals were more or less satisfied (the issue of the monarchy, interim government, elections) although itself excluded, the party not only voted against Paraskevopoulos, but also competed with A. Papandreou in sloganeering and intransigence. Yet, inspite of its belated distinction between fascist and parliamentary factions within ERE, and its repeated calls for the formation of an ‘anti-dictatorial front’ EDA in practice did everything possible to undermine such a prospect and its own position as a responsible political force.

Paraskevopoulos’s government did not last long. Its conservative complexion invited strong criticism by G. Papandreou from time to time and violent comment by Andreas. However, it hung on for a while, but without improving the political climate as a whole nor enhancing the chances for the Right. On the contrary, the prospects for the Right, became gloomier as election time approached.

The two political trials which had lasted for so long, the Lambrakis trial in Thessaloniki and the ASPIDA trial in Athens, ended in recriminations. The role of the para-state organisations, the involvement of security services and the army in both bases, were made plain and the public silently drew its own conclusions. Tension rose. The rightist press attacked Kanellopoulos for his moderation, demanded more purges of the army and intensified the scare campaign. The battle of newspaper headlines continued unabated. For the first time bombs exploded in Athens and Corinth between 8 and 12 March. Kanellopoulos was in no doubt that they had been planted by right-wing elements and that many of his party associates were working not only to undermine his leadership, but were also connected with those who were afraid of elections and exerted pressure for ‘anomalous solutions’.

The existence and operation of a military junta and the pressures on the King to violate the Constitution and assume emergency powers were by then an open secret. A variety of scenarios were anticipated in the daily press (scrutinising evidence and speculations). New ASPIDA investigations were initiated. It was perhaps this atmosphere that prompted Kanellopoulos to withdraw his support from Paraskevopoulos .and ask the King for a mandate

to form a government, with the right to dissolve Parliament and proclaim elections. He was looking for a pretext which he soon found.

6.- The Last Days

On 3rd April 1967 Kanellopoulos’s government was sworn in. Certainly his move was in breach of his pact with Papandreou and the latter’s angry reaction was manifested in a strongly worded accusation against the King for becoming a ‘party boss’. Similar reactions came from A. Papandreou and EDA. However, the people’s reaction was different. Demonstrations were

spontaneous and sporadic, both in Athens and Thessaloniki, though clashes with the police were not avoided. In the following days, G. Papandreou modified his tone and contact was established between the two leaders.

Papandreou curtailed his polemics against ERE and the Palace.

Kanellopoulos claimed that his move was dictated by his concern over the coming military coup. It would be much more difficult to overthrow a right-wing government. His party would receive a psychological boost to fight the elections in high spirits. There is no reason to disbelieve his motivation, although his move in practice was not disinterested in the sense that it gave an advantage to his own party. As a deterrent to a prospective military coup, his government wouldsurely have been (by 81 definition), more effective than a mere service government.

Kanellopoulos’s government did not go to Parliament for a vote of confidence, since the attitude of the other parties had already been publicly stated. It would be vain to risk a defeat. Thus, with the King searching for a solution under the guise of a scheme to form a government

of national unity and other ideas circulating between the US Ambassador, the Palace, K. Mitsotakis and the Papandreous, Kanellopoulos resolved the impasse by dissolving Parliament in April 1967, and proclaiming elections for 22 May 1967. Everyone believed that the road to normality was at last open and made preparations for the forthcoming elections. No one doubted that Kanellopoulos would conduct fair and free elections. They could after all, monitor his behaviour and act accordingly. Everyone assumed that no military coup could be attempted without the King’s approval. The King had been warned on all sides not to deviate from his duties and to resist pressure and he had given assurances to this effect. Kanellopoulos had already agreed with the King to present a united front to any pronuncia-

mento by the generals and to declare a ‘state of siege’ under the provisions of the Constitution only in the event of major civil disturbances and with Parliament’s approval. He had therefore, no reason to believe that the situation, although tense, was not under his control. He had made it clear to anxious generals that he could not tolerate any military action against the government for whatever . reason. Both the British and American press, had warned the King that any resort to dictatorship would be unacceptable. For they understood that the King by his own deeds was caught on the horns of a dilemma; he had either to accept the eventuality of a sweeping Papandreou electoral victory or to condone some form of dictatorial solution.

Approaching the fatal day (21 April 1967), the political temperature was heightened both by electoral fervour and by the continuing campaign of scare and misinformation. The operation was undoubtedly well planned and coordinated. The most incredible stories appeared in print in the right-wing papers. the psychological war was at its height and anticommunist psychosis reached a climax. No wonder this climate reinforced the fears of an already strained and deeply concerned officer corps.

Konstantopoulos , bwner of the pro-junta daily, Eleftheros Kosmos, was publicly discussing ‘the fear of dictatorship’ in his Hilton lectures.

Fear, however, had clearly gripped the political parties. The organisational committee, controlled by EDA, in charge of the Marathon Peace March, scheduled for 16 April, postponed it for fear the march would end in bloodshed. An ill-timed and disorderly strike and demonstration by building workers in Athens, was suppressed and resulted in serious clashes with the police. Preparations for military intervention were by then well advanced.

In February 1967, General F. Spandidakis, Chief of the Army’s General Staff and leader of the ‘Big Junta’ (the generals’ pro-royalist junta) had ordered the Little Junta (Papadopoulos’s group) to revise the Prometheus Plan, a NATO contingency plan in the case of a Communist nation’s attack from the north. The plan was modified to deal gtrictly with internal disorder.

The ‘Big Junta’ had many sessions to decide on the date of its intervention with or without the consent of the King, who seemed to be hesitant, vacillating and confused, but they were temporising and probably disagreed on the right moment to strike, that is before or after the elections or on the very day.

No matter their exact intentions, the fact is that the Colonels stole the coup and Papadopoulos’s tanks rolled into the streets of Athens in the early hours of Friday, 21st April 1967. Spandidakis was arrested, but quickly jumped to Papadopoulos’s side and gave the green light for the implementation of the Plan, which had to have his personal approval. A NATO exercise plan, code named ‘Drowsy-Dog’ was also used to make things easier.

The military coup d’etat succeeded without any popular resistance.

There are, of course, lots of questions left unanswered both in relations to the execution and the reaction against it. It can be argued that technically it might have been possible to foil it. The King should have taken the risk of resisting it, as his P.M. Kanellopoulos, and some of his generals advised him to do. According to all indications, he had a good chance of succeeding, because not only were the Navy and the Air Force waiting for his orders to move in, but also because he commanded the loyalty of the military leadership against whom the Colonels rebelled. But he chose to compromise and bide his time, which eventually cost him his throne.

As to foreign involvement in the planning and execution of the military coup, here also a great many questions remain unanswered. The evidence, is scanty and many pieces of the jig-saw puzzle are still missing. It would however be quite unreasonable to assume that there was no involvement at all, perhaps not so much on a governmental and diplomatic level, as by the different branches of the US Administration (Pentagon, CIA, etc.). It is however indicative that the coup leaders, the hard core of the junta, and the whole mechanics of the coup were related to the military intelligence service and not to the military apparatus proper. But whatever details eventually emerge, they cannot change the picture fundamentally and the underlying political conditions of the military coup d’etat.

It is axiomatic that military coups cannot be stopped and defeated unless governments do have the capability to mobilise adequate resources from within the very apparatus which they emanate from; that is, with a timely and decisive military and political mobilisation and strong and courageous leaders. For military coups, aim above all, to paralyse the nerves of government. The basic truth was technically and politically ignored in the Greek case:

(1) Technically because there was ample political warning time for the government of the day to set up counter plans for any eventuality.

(2) Politically, there were serious miscalculations and misjugdements, both of the threat posed by the army and of the means to counter it.

EDA cried wolf, but its policies and political practices were in disarray. It dared not assume its responsibilities and waited for other parties to drag her out of the situation without fuss.

Papandreou and P. Kanellopoulos made the right moves too late and they could not reconcile their mutual understanding and respect for each other with an analogous policy towards their followers. They polarised public opinion and fanaticised their supporters, although they were able privately of seeing the point and striking the necessary compromises.

Finally, while Andreas Papandreou offered a smart modern analysis of Greek society and politics and laid the foundations of a powerful populist- radical and nationalist movement, he was weak on political tactics and surprising slow in grasping the meaning of changes and splits in his opponents’ camp. He did not have a policy of social and political alliances to confront and to comter the threat of military intervention as if the danger was a figment of immagination. He was also wrong to believe that the popular movement alone, which in any case was very badly organised, in poor shape and totally unprepared, would suffice to stop the colonels. ‘But if the frantic pseudo-Caesars attempt to undermine the political life of the country, if they reach the point of attempting the establishment of a dictatorship, we will respond. Response, immediate and overwhelming there will be’, he wrote only a month before the military coup. It was certainly an ‘orgy of self..delusion’ , as one of his academic sympathisers has put it. A. Papandreou excelled in the war of political manoeuvre but in the end the movement was defeated.

It is not reasonable to argue that in the end, i.e. with the fall of the dictatorship in 1974 or PASOK’s victory in 1981, the popular movement defeated the junta and realised the pre-1967 dreams, as if nothing had happened in between or as if history was an uninterrupted continuum whose dark pages and intervals and the sufferings of its subjects, do not matter at all.⁹⁵

As to the ‘group of renegades’ apart from the tremendous damage they inflicted on the parliamentary institution, when in government they did nothing substantial to minimise the chances of a military coup.

Finally, two years of seismic political shocks and fanatical polarisation had split Greek society in many different ways. Under conditions of intense politicisation, fragmented social groups and classes re-aligned their loyalties and reviewed their political position. Class political relations were reconstructed and party allegiances reconsidered. Bourgeois political opinion on the issues of legality and the normal political evolution of Greece’s political system was deeply divided. The infrastructure of political support by capitalist interests to the main political parties was subjected to contradictory ideological pressures during the period of political crisis. That is why it is wrong to believe that dominant capitalist interests as a whole gave their prior blessing and support to military intervention. It is equally wrong to argue that

they did not. On the contrary, many sections of the capitalist class were quite happy to welcome the military.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THEORETICAL REMARKS AND CONCLUSIONS

Since the Greek military’s coup d’etat of 21st April 1967 has been the major focus of analysis in this thesis, I will not try to put my substantive conclusions in the context of the established theories of army intervention in the politics of peripheral and semi-peripheral capitalist societies and to account for the rise of military regimes in the post-war era, I will also review the most relevant literature on the subject and try to draw some general conclusions on the factors that led to the military coup in Greece in 1967 and the establishment of the military dictatorship which lasted for seven years.

1.- Political Modernisation and Military Intervention

Theories of political modernisation assume a gradual evolution of societies towards political democracy and stability through a series of processes similar to those which led to the establishment of modem polities in the economically advanced capitalist states of the West. In other words, political modernisation defines the political aspects and effects of social economic and cultural ‘modernisation’.Hence, the whole conceptualization of the process of modernisation, which deviates very little from the tennets of the Parsonian functionalist tradition. It is almost the Parsonian ‘pattern variables’ in their anti-thetical pairing¹‘ which are used to identify the contrasting realities of ‘modernity’ and ¹traditionality’.

Thus, functionalist approaches, setting abstractly the functional ‘requirements of the system’ are trying to discover the potential social agents and agencies for their eventual operationalisation and realisation. This conceptual framework of analysis implies a cluster of modern elements whose effective diffusion from higher to lower societies, engulfing the whole fabric of social economic and political relations, can eventually bring the latter into the family group of the former.

In short, the attempt to define the ‘political system¹ and its boundaries in developing countries, has been, as a rule, tautologous ,· a rather extended version of the ’system’ with a’dash of political colouring’. The key unit of the’political system’ is still the role. The role structure, in turn, is used to compare various political systems with the same set of Parsonian pattern variables as a yardstick to distinguish between the ‘modern’ and the ‘traditional’ polity. It is not therefore, surprising that a certain functionalist tendency has laid excessive emphasis on normative models of society. From Easton’s ‘authoritative allocation of values’ to Apter’s model building, by .-combining structures of authority and types values^, the central theme is the same: the specific political impact of the prevailing set of values in a certain society.

The premium put on values leads inevitably to the problem of legitimacy or the more ambiguous concept of consensus) and the study of process of legitimation. Thus, values and ideologies are given not only a theoretical status of metaphysical dimensions, as if consensus of values is characteristic of any type of political rule, but also a supreme practical function based on the integrating capabilities of the political system. Following is the construction of normative political models and typologies of political regimes based on types of legitimacy. Hence, the importance attached to political culture8 μcement of the system.

This cultural panacea is ultimately the main characteristic of Finer’s schema , which links military intervention to levels of political culture.

His checklist is drawn up by a loose application of the interrelated criteria namely consensus, (on procedural values) and organisation (the degree of association of the ‘political public’).

Finer also argues that the first criterion is somewhat a discontinuous one, allowing for sudden or permanent lapses of dissensus, while the second is of continuous character.

What Finer’s scale does, in fact, suggest is a crucial threshold, beyond which civil institutions are strong enough to deter or to resist the most violent and abrupt forms of military intervention. Central to his analysis i^js of course the problem of legitimacy via political culture.

However, it is worth stressing that the notion of legitimacy based on an all- embracing ‘value consensus’ can only be found in totalitarian and authoritarian societies; it cannot be applied in pluralistic societies where the dominant type of legitimacy, the complex forms and ways through which it is imposed or accepted, the means of mobilising consent, the co-existence of several types of legitimacy in social groups and the dislocation between dominant forms of legitimacy and systems of government suggest a wide range of problem- areas, pointing to situations of conflict rather than uniform conformity.

Legitimacy·is simply an index of the polity’s stability, no matter what mixtures of types of structural integration are applied in practice and no matter what the institutional arrangements.

Military intervention fundamentally alters the basis of legitimacy and the form of the political regime. It is therefore important to situate the military among those factors the interplay of which is conducive to the modification and transformation of legitimacy. The problem is not charting the waters of ‘developed’ and ‘less developed’ political cultures and ranking them according to consensual criteria for the sake of forecasting likelihood of military coups d’e’tat, firstly because various mixes of modernity and traditionality can really co-exit and provide both a stable basis of legitimacy and a stable political order; and secondly, because consensus may be created by the government and not vice-versa. It may be the result of force, violence or fear, or entrenched both in traditional and modern systems of values.

The conditions of political stability and change in a given polity are not confined solely to the sphere of value consensus and escape the clutches of normative regulation. What we need to know is why dominant legitimacies are eroded and break down, what undermines and replaces them, why political order crumbles and decomposes and what are the political effects of alternative political ideas and practices pursued by politically organised social forces. Military intervention is above all a political act, not an ideological corrective. Anything else is either derivative or a posterior rationalisation, and/or self_justification. On the other hand, those authors who simply present a list of factors, an endless and unordered list of correlations between democratic institutions and various variables (literacy, communications, rates of economic growth, etc.) or who measure either governmental civilian or military performance , are engaged in a fruitless and vain exercise.

The big question about the reasons for the high frequency of military intervention in peripheral and semi-peripheral societies and their chronic political instability remain unanswered.

Nevertheless, this is not to deny that it is mainly those working within the Parsonian functionalist paradigm who have produced the most theoretically coherent suggestions for the study of military intervention. In this tradition, the work of S. Huntington undoubtedly occupies a rather exceptional place. He explains political instability and frequent disruption of parliamentary rule in modernising polities by military coups in terms of the fundamental contradiction between weak institutionalisation of political processes and rising political mobilisation and participation of the masses in politics. Hence the endemic praetorianism of these polities. In other words, effected through mass political mobilisation, this explosion of political participation can neither be orderly accommodated within the existing power structure nor effectively contained.

Huntington, epitomising his verdict on praetorian societies, states that ‘the causes which produce military interventions in politics…. lie in the absence or weakness of effective political institutions in the society.

In this he is certainly right. For weak political and civil society institutions endowed with fragile legitimacy, are no match for the power military machines which usually dominate these societies.

However valuable Huntington’s theory might have been, it has many flaws:

– it lacks historical persepective and the theoretical means to explain what lies behind institutions and weak political institutionalisation.

The problem is not to locate the contradictions and incompatibilities of ‘praetorian societies’, but rather to explain their emergence and their linkages with military intervention and frequent regime alternations in these societies.

– It fails to give due consideration to the relations of production and to the very important processes by means of which social classes are constituted as political forces. The treatment of the ‘economy’ remains ‘neutral’ and the effects of rapid economic growth on politics are neutralised. Its generic use of ‘economic growth’ (industrialisation – modernisation), does not allow an analytical distinction between capitalist modes of production and other economic systems. Therefore, conditions of structurally restricted and unequal expansion remain unaccounted for.

– Whereas it concentrates on the production and mobilisation of political power it completely ignores its unequal distribution and its underlying reasons as well as the coalition of power interests which lie behind the ruling elites.

– It sets political order and stability as a systemic goal, as good in itself, without asking at what price and who is going to pay for it.

This obsession with the problem of order, which leads to the worshipping of strong political institutions for their own sake , simply ignores the contradictory articulations of interests and ideologies to this concept and the fierce fight to command its definition.

Huntington’s theoretical limitations are identified with the very limitations of Parsonian functionalism itself. That is why the theory fails to establish convincing linkages between the economic and the political spheres, and usually results in culturalist explanations or recipes to cure the diseased societies.

The point of view of the ‘system’ and its ‘functional requirements’ ^ systematically misses the point of view of collective agencies and their goals – in the context of their antagonism and conflict. However, if the political and economic developments of these societies are placed in their proper historical context, it can be shown that both the timing and the type of capitalist accumulation, and the restrictive, repressive and exclusionist character of their relations of political domination are of paramount importance for explaining their endemic political instability and frequent regime alternations due to military interventions. These fundamental dimensions of the problem (e.g. relations of production and relations of political domination and the linkages between them) must be seriously considered and conceptualised, if one was to understand why in these societies the military have escaped civilian controls on the pattern known in West European parliamentary democracies.

The problem of control and distribution of political power, the very complex networks of the relations of political domination must be adequately dealt with if one wishes to explain what has happened in the political sphere. For the functionalist, ‘system requirements’ and ‘system goals’ are concepts which cannot deal with differentiated interests, goals, political projects of social and political groups which the ‘system’ consists of.^ They cannot account for their antagonistic and conflictual political strategies and tactics in their struggle to acquire a major share of scarce material resources and command the means of control and distribution of political powers.

2.- Problems in Marxist Approaches

While the search for an equivalent to Weber’s Protestant ethic in broad cultural values has turned out to be elusive in ‘modernising’societies and polities, Marxist and Marxisant approaches have shifted the ground of the debate to sociological factors and the changing functional requirement of capitalist accumulation in order to explain the rise of bureaucratic-authoritarian regimes in the post-World War II era. What all those approaches

share in common is a crude interpretation of the political sphere, on the basis either of class reductionism or economic contradictions.

A.- J. Nun’s analysis for instance, exemplifies the sociologistic approach.

Nun tries to establish a direct link between social classes and the military by the sheer fact of large recruitment of personnel into the military profession from the rising middle classes. As I have already noted in Chapter IV, the complex relationship between social class and the military as an all important coercive branch of the state apparatus, is reduced to one of the social origins of the military personnel and particularly of the officer corps. In this sense, the military are portrayed as puppets executing the orders of the ‘middle classes’. Breakthrough military coups’ d’etat, which open the way to power for the same ‘middle classes’,are considered ‘progressive’, whereas in the later phase of middle class consolidation in power, the military play a guardian role, in so far as they fend off any attempt by the lower classes to translate their mass entry in the political arena into real political power. It is obvious that this approach ignores:

a.- later formative ideological, organisational and political processes which shape the officers corps as a distinct social and political group,

b.- the military’s position within the State and the latter’s impact and influence through various means and policies, and

c.- the overall socio-political and historical context in which armed forces find themselves at a certain political conjuncture.

Thus Nun’s explanation collapses to an ‘instrumentalist’ view of the army apparatus, which can be manipulated at will either by a social group pulling the strings behind the scenes or by those who control the reins of power.

It is a view that has long tantalised as well Marxist conceptions of the State and its apparatuses.

B.- The second group of approaches to the establishment of bureaucratic authoritarian regimes tends to argue its case in rather economistic – structural/functional terms and advances egually unsatisfactory explanations. O’Donnel’s theory^⁰ for instance, explicitly built on the research of many other theorists on the subject, attempts to bring into focus the variety of arguments concerning the impact of dependent capitalist industrialisation and of associated changes in social structure on Latin American politics. It can be said that in this way he tries to formulate a better ‘conceptual way’ for the study of the resurgence of military rule in the sub-continent calling into question the hypotheses of modernisation theories, and the establishment of bureaucratic-authoritarian regimes. Developments in Latin American countries during the 60’s and 70’s inevitably led to a further rethinking of the relationship between capitalist industrial modernisation and political change.

O’Donnel’s theoretical arguments have been criticised extensively.

However, whatever the charges against his theory may be, whether, for instance, it can be appropriated as a casual relationship between changing economic requirements of the system and bureaucratic authoritarian regimes or it simply suggests an ‘elective affinity’ between advanced industrialisation and authoritarian rule for the late starters in capitalist development, the fact is that his theory remains economistic and reductio- nist. This is not to belittle the importance of economic factors in explaining the rise of military rule in the post-war era. In that sense, O’Donnel’s theory may not be wrong, but it is surely incomplete in so far as the political sphere is given not only inadequate conceptualisation but also secondary attention and rank. So, the links between economy and polity are too direct and unmediated with the result that the type of linkages established between them constitute a major distraction from a proper consideration of the relations of political domination and the autonomy of the political sphere.

C.- In contrast to the modernisation thesis, the old neo-Marxist theoretical alternatives have focused on underdevelopment and the conditions that make economic backwardness a predominant and persistent feature or peripheral and semi-peripheral societies.

The serious theoretical and explanatory limitations of the basic tennets of the underdevelopment thesis have been extensively discussed and criticised, though the echoes of the controversies over the very notion of ‘underdevelopment’ are very slowly fading away. Besides, neither Marxist attempts to deal theoretically with the so-called ‘peripheral state nor ‘dependency’ theories or the ‘logic of capital’ school have managed to break decisively with economic reductionisra and tackle seriously the problem of autonomy of the political sphere and its functional and reproduction requirements.

D.- That the problem of the relationship between the economic and the political constitutes a central preoccupation of modern Marxism cannot be seriously disputed. Indeed, the Achilles’s heel of Marxist political theory, is the relationship itself, which ascribes different ontological status to the economic and political realms and orders their primacy.

The tendency of Marxism to explain politics in terms of economic categories and the thorny problem of determination has led to Byzantine debates and produced voluminous works.

This is neither the place to embark on a full review of Marxist theories, old or new on the determinations of the political nor on a detailed criticism of various old-fashioned and new reductionist approaches. The point, which is worth making in the context of our analysis here, is that to many Marxists the political sphere still seems to be less amenable to conceptualisation and theorisation than the economic one. Marxist theories put forward today very unsatisfactory views of the economy-polity relationship and seem very poorly equipped to deal with the complex organisational and institutional realities that lies between social classes and the State. This is particularly evident in the case of peripheral and semi-peripheral societies, whose politics Marxist theories have proved unable to deal with in a more or less convincing and coherent way. And even when the¹ autonomy of the political¹ is stressed and theorised, as in the works of the late N. Poulantzas^⁰ and particularly in his later modifications of early strict structuralist conception of the political, the end result does not break with the Marxist tradition of ascribing a superior status and determinant role to the economic. In other words, the primacy of the economic has remained unchallenged as a cornerstone of Marxist political theory. And even when it is sometimes conceded that economic constraints dictated by the overall structure of the capitalist mode of production, cannot possibly be regarded as the direct determinants of politics, the study of political phenomena is relegated to conjuncture, which is superimposed on the constant elements of the ‘structural matrix’.

The difficulties arising out of the many inadequacies of a strict class analysis for explaining the politics in peripheral and semi-peripheral capitalist societies derive from the absence of conceptual tools specific to the sphere of politics. This is the main reason why so many thoroughly researched studies, in trying to avoid the pitfalls of reductionism, are led to an empirist treatment of politics concentrated only on conjunctural analysis and missing any sensisble and meaningful linkages with the economic sphere But what can be put in place of reductionism? A possible way out of the impasse, to which Marxist theory had lent itself from its very inception is to abandon altogether the notion of determination and to study the political sphere on its own terms that is, to analyse it neither as mere expression or reflection of economic needs nor as conditions of existence of the economy without relegating all political phenomena to the sphere of conjunctural analysis. N. Mouzelis has suggested the introduction of the concept of mode of political domination with its own structures and reproductive requirements in a given polity. Examining both the political technologies of domination and their institutionalised ways of control by social agents, one can possibly open the way to study how political power is produced, controlled and distributed and who are those who control and regulate these functions. It might therefore be possible, to distinguish clearly political from economic , power, their fusion when it applies, as well as their separate existence, in a manner which avoids reductionism without falling into the trap of compartmentalisation of the political and economic spheres, like parallel lines which according to Euclid’s principle can never meet. Admittedly, it is a difficul enterprise , which aims at saving Marxist political theory by injecting into it heavy dose of Weber’s political sociology. Many Marxists would seriously question the feasibility of this rapprochement and would rather stick to the economistic/reductionist approach in order to save what they consider to be Marxism’s most distinctive and specific quality as a social science. However, Marxists apart, one should not hesitate to try new footpaths and test the utility and validity of new concepts as tools of investigation of major phenomena like the all important political and economic transformation in the semi-peripheral countries in the post-war era. Finally, whether a non- economistic theory of the political is possible or not within the Marxist tradition, can only be shown after a series of studies which would effectively experiment on the conceptual ground suggested.

3.- A Brief Survey of the Li.terature on the 1967 Military Coup in Greece.

It is of course, impossible to review here the numerous books and articles dealing with the 1967 military coup. Nor would it be possible to classify them without being unfair and oversimplistic. Besides, there are many books and other accounts of the period which, while not dealing directly with the military coup, are nevertheless important for understanding many aspects of Greece’s post-civil war society and polity.

My sample from the relevant literature was taken to serve a dual purpose: first to locate works representative of distinct orientations on the subject and second to contrast them with my own approach. In this respect it is possible to define three broad categories: descriptive, functionalist and Marxist.

A.- The descriptive category comprises a wide range of accounts of the events leading up to the 1967 military coup d’etat: from the journalistic investigations and conventional historiography to more elaborate- political analysis dealing with political conjunctures and the ‘course of events’.

Journalistic accounts on the subject usually try to unearth new evidence and shed new light on what actually happened at crucial moments connected with the coup. They focus on personalities, groups and their motivation rather thaji on underlying causes and reasons.

Investigative journalism in Greece is not well developed and is concerned more with the political conveniences and expediencies of the day than with serving the truth. it is hindered both by obsessional official secrecy and an over-politicised press. However, some accounts are particularly interesting because they manage to convey genuine information and to include useful insights either on the Greek officer corps and individual officers involved in making the (1967 military coup ) such as the investigation of G. Karayorgas, or to highlight US activities in Greece and the US decision making processes concerning Greek affairs, such as the account of L. Stern. Some other accounts shed some light on obscure events and behind the scenes dealings and intrigues. Other narrative stories, while combining elements of social and political analysis, can hardly be dissociated from sheer polemics. There are also a handful of books, like those of Stockton and Young , which pepper their,open pro-junta propaganda with a cultural or historical background, in order to show how the Greek temper, character or passion is incongruent with democracy. Holden’s book goes even further and proclaims democracy suitable only for higher civilisations, from which Greece is apparently excluded.

As a general rule, journalistic accounts, and particularly the Greek ones, have a strong polemical tone and are so politically biased (and openly motivated), that it becomes extremely difficult to distinguish argument and fact from wishful thinking and figments of the immagination.

Conventional historiography, on the other hand, strives to pull together all the pieces of information available, to exploit all possible sources of material and reference in order to establish a logical sequence of events, but it still lacks the theoretical means to provide coherent and consistent interpretations. Greek and foreign historians alike, share the urge of

unearthing new evidence and compiling lists of factors and motivations.

There are numerous Political Studies dealing directly or indirectly with the events that led to the 1967 military takeover. Among them we can single out J. Meynaud’s painstaking and detailed work which combines an account of political events before the military coup with a serious effort to systematise the material and analyse the trends at work. While other works attempt to set the record straight, they do not offer radically new ideas. Greece under military rule however, can be singled out as the most informative and comprehensive account of the military regime’s policies in their historical context, although a special issue of Les Temps Modemes is theoretically more ambitious. Both were published during the dictatorship.

A number of other books deal with the problem of the political strategy and tactics followed by the political parties prior to the military coup.

Lastly, A. Papandreou’s own book on the period can be seen as highly idiosyncratic, for it combines the application of a coherent political analysis with his own personal perception and assessment of a situation (and the events) in which he was a major participant – as well as his justifications for the policies he followed.

It is characteristic of the works enumerated above, that with few exceptions , their political stance though critical of the workings of the Greek political system, is very hostile to military intervention and to the established military regime.

B.- The Functionalist Category comprises more theoretically oriented works.

A number of Greek-American political scientists , very actively involved in turning American public opinion against the colonels’ junta, very naturally concentrated on externally generated processes and influences on Greek politics. The American modernising influence, they argued, was disproportionately distributed in Greece between military and civilian institutions. Hence, the resultant hypertrophy of the military and the relative atrophy of the other political structures. Although the application of a typical ‘praetorian’ model is dismissed as too simplistic to fit into the Greek case, the political modernisation approach remains nevertheless the core of their problematic and analyses.

Other authors lay much emphasis on the military as an interest and pressure group, intervening directly or indirectly in the political process or as a professional group with strong and political exploitable corporate interests.

The studies of G. Kourvetaris and others, on the Greek military and their professional ‘self image’ also belong within the same functionalist tradition and closely follow Janovitz’s profile of the modem military? And their impact on civil-military relations. This latter-day theoretical

transplant to Greek soil reproduced well-known stereotypes rather than constituting an effort to deal with genuine problems.

On the same functionalist terrain, some writers have also tried to broaden the scope of analysis by placing political developments in Greece in a wider context of social change. K. Koutsoukis for instance, has tried to assess the interaction between ‘social change and elite transformation’. Predictably, he ended up with the platitude that there has been a lag between elite transformation and socio-economic change, something that is so familiar to the average informed Greek, that it requires no sophisticated, computerised techniques .of analysis to prove it. He has also tried to measure political development in Greece (1946-70) by using statistical and correlation analysis to verify the hypothesis laid down by the proponents of functionalist and political development approaches. Once more, predictably, he has found something to satisfy everybody. His brief historical analysis (sic), as he claimed, pointed to the conclusion that at least in the short-run(sic) social and economic modernisation in Greece has been disfunctional 1

Another fine example of correlational nonsense is the study conducted by J. Brown to establish the relationship between economic indices and the ‘April 21st revolution’ (e.g. the military coup of 21.4.67). Apparently he did not find any linkage between the decline in the balance of trade and military intervention m Greece.

On the other hand, K. Legg’s eclectic use of political modernization models produced a study on modern Greek politics that concentrated on descriptive processes of socialisation and recruitment. Greece is depicted as a ‘transitional’ society and polity and ‘recruitment data or cabinet members’ are traced back to 1843 (‘.) , suggesting an endless process of ‘modernisation’, as if changes on the socio-economic structure of Greece in a time-span of more than a century had long occurred in a political vacuum.

I have repeatedly pointed out that pseudo-scientific correlational analysis and a theoretical statistical measurements lead nowhere. We are always confronted with a recurrent functionalist cul-de-sac, in that any discrepancy or contradiction between political structures and normative patterns of society or elite characteristics, is either ignored or dealt with by means of the notion of disfunctionality, relegating differing, opposing and dynamic political movements, organisations and practices to the ‘system’s’ fringes, occupied by marginal maladjustments.

C.- On the other side- of the fence, writings within the Marxist tradition, do not actually overcome the serious shortcomings of various types of reductionism.

The relative autonomy of the political sphere and its own structural constraints are too easily ignored. Quite often the army is crudely seen as a passive instrument in the hands of the indigenous or foreign bourgoisie, and domestic politics is unconditionally subjected either to the vagaries of imperialism or to conspiracies by invisible and invincible powers (e.g. CIA,

the Establishment, etc.) pulling the strings between the scenes.

Analyses based on social class and class conflict also have their limitations. N. oulantzas for instance, although he shifted the focus from action to system analysis, did not help to overcome the reductionist/economist impasse. The ultimate function of the state is reduced to the mode of production contradictions and political developments are explained basically

as an interplay between bourgois factions. It is in this way that the rise and fall of the Greek military junta is analysed and explained. A more recent attempt by D. Haralambis to study the post civil-war structure of political power in Greece collapses into economistic and reductionist interpretations through a mechanical application of a mixture of concepts from Gramsci, Miliband and Poulantzas.

Finally, the work N. Mouzelis constitutes an attempt to break theoretically the fetters of reductionism in Marxist political theories. His early writings on the rise and fall of the Greek junta had placed the problem in a wider socio-economic and historical context and sowed the seeds for further theoretical advances. It must be noted , however, that in these writings the political sphere was still underrated in some respects, and the conceptual framework was rather heavily dependent on underdevelopment and structuralist notions.

It seems though, that it was precisely his critical stance towards this theoretical tradition and an awareness of the crucial importance of political institutions and political struggles in determining specific political outcomes, that enabled Mouzelis to question the validity of the economist/reductionist conception of politics and start looking for alternative developments.

He suggested exploratory conceptual routes, which could lead to a better understanding of the complex inter-relationships between the economic and the political spheres. In regard to this new problematic, his latest work is very critical of the reductionist way in which Marxist theory conceptualizes the relationship between the economic and the political, creating many difficulties in the study of semi-peripheral polities. Whether this attempt to conceptualise political structures and contradictions in a non- economistic manner, will finally break the mould of Marxist reductionism, remains to be seen.

The concepts of mode of political domination and relations of domination, are drawn by analogy from Marx’s analysis of capitalism.

It is not quite clear as yet whether their application on the political level should follow identical lines of investigation or be subject to theoretical readings analogous to those which prevail in various readings of Marx’s capitalist theory.

Nevertheless, the new approach seems to lay some basic preconditions for a more effective and non-reductionist study of politics. Ultimately, it might be totally irrelevent if the Marxist tradition can be saved by this sort of fuite en avant. For the moment it appears that Mouzelis’s suggestions constitute a way out of the present stalemate of Marxist political theory, which cannot provide convincing accounts of political developments and changes without ultimately referring to the economic.

4.- Methodological Considerations

In view of these theoretical difficulties, the main lines of the investigation in this thesis were drawn in such a way as to make it possible to study the 1967 military coup d’etat in its structural and conjunctural determinations_r particularly in the politico-military sphere.

Admittedly it was perhaps not always possible to strike the right balance between them and many lacunae have undoubtedly remained. Therefore, the main methodological considerations have been the following:

A.- In contrast to functionalist approaches, I have tried to adopt a holistic approach, i.e not to erect barriers between the political and economic spheres. In this sense, I have tried to outline the main changes which occurred in Greek society during the first two decades after the end of a bitter civil war, changes which were due to the expansion of the capitalist modes of production – with its own particular characteristics and effects – and to other interrelated factors (e.g. population movements, urbanisation, employment, etc.). The structural changes in the economy of the country and their various social and spatial effects, laid down the conditions for the new and mass urban politics of the ’60s. Yet, I was anxious to emphasise that neither the predominance of the capitalist mode of production (CMP) nor the pattern of capitalist accumulation, no matter how important this may be to our understanding of structural changes and constraints, can by themselves explain the range of political changes and transformations that occurred over the period. Even less, the final solution to the political troubles in the form of a military intervention. For the latter, the proper unit of analysis is the mode of political domination and its institutionalised strongholds within the State.

It can hardly be overstressed however, that the study of structural tendencies in the economy and their multifaceted effects on social conditions is indispensable, if we are to identify major sources of political discontent and unrest. Economic and social inequalities can be more or less accurately assessed. Whether or not they may lead to serious political struggles is an entirely different matter, which does not depend on economics. Inequality of conditions may be lived as a daily experience by individuals or groups.

But there is a long way to travel until they become a locus of political organisation, mobilisation or collective and effective political action – under the constraints imposed by the very mode of political domination – in order to have some bearing upon the political process.

I have tried, therefore, to bring collective actors – both social classes and other groupings – into the analysis and examine the relative strengths and weaknesses of organised mobilisation in their political context.

B.- In contrast to the Marxist tradition of reductionism, I have tried to

emphasise a degree of autonomy in the political sphere, e.g. to examine the political realm in its own terms, to study both its structural and conjunctural aspects without recourse to economic categories either as explanatory tools or as the ultimate source of ‘authoritative¹ statements. In this context I thought it better to imply an institutional concept of the State rather than get entangled in essentialist and reductionist discussions about the abstract properties of state power. Hence my emphasis on the institutional arrangement within the State and the assessment of the relative power position of the Throne, Parliament and Armed Forces. The dominant institutional position of the Armed Forces within the State was found to be beyond dispute. It was therefore, necessary to devote much space and analysis to the military’s domestic and foreign sources of power, and to identify the major internal processes which enables the military organisation to exercise immense political influence on domestic politics. Despite the difficulties in conceptualising the influence and impact of the ‘foreign factor ‘, I have tried to outline and discuss some major aspects of the Greek military’s dependence on foreign powers and have accepted that in terms of assessment of the relative strengths and weaknesses of major antagonistic political forces, the ‘foreign factor’ must be integrated into the domestic correlation of forces and weighted accordingly.

However, this analysis of the State’s institutions would be incomplete if not misleading, for it might leave the impression that politics is merely an interplay of institutional wrangling. That is why considerable attention was given to the overall ‘matrix’ of political domination; the exclusionist and repressive means of political controls introduced into the’security state’; the erosion of political clientelism and the inability of the system to replace it with a new type of political relations to correspond to the new era of mass urban politics; its rigidity and undemocratic character, which made it unable to accommodate new social and political demands; its inability to adapt and generate change from within by integrating in an orderly way new social and political groups, provide political leadership and an ideological, organisational framework for political institutionalisation. In this respect, I have focused only on the institutional setting of the ‘civil society’ and examined the various political movements and their carriers which emerged over the period concerned. In contrasting these movements to the basic characteristics of the Greek polity, I have tried to formulate as clearly and coherently as possible the basic and dominant political contradiction between mass political mobilisation and participation and the exclusionist, repressive and undemocratic nature of the political regime.

In conclusion, my basic position was formulated to show that it is the relative autonomy of the political sphere and political contradictions not alleged determinations of the economy ‘ in the last instance’ which can best explain political developments .

If this position is basically correct, then the reasoning of structural causation which presents political structures and the alignment of political forces as mere effects of economic structures, so that the former conforms to or reflects the ‘logic’of the latter, must be rejected! Accordingly, the notion that political forces are mere executive committees of economic interest or that their moves in the political arena are just dictated by purely economic or class considerations, must also be rejected.

In any case, against the structuralist tradition in the social sciences, it can be stressed once more, that structures can only be the constraining forces, the setters of limitations which, however, may or may not be taken into account by individual or collective actors at their risk. They can neither dictate nor decide issues. They might indicate which choice has the better chance of succeeding, but obviously they cannot show which choice will finally prevail

Choice is a property of human agents, not of structures. Political calculations are often mistaken and may well be irrational. The risks, calculated or not, are borne by those responsible for making decisions and facing the consequences. That is why I thought it indispensable to devote considerable space to political conjunctures.

C.- Consideration of political conjunctures leads directly to political crises as locomotives of political change for better or worse. Indeed, deciphering political crises is of paramount importance since military interventions in politics do not occur in a vacuum and are never totally unexpected events.

They are born out of the womb of serious political crises and correspond to distinct types of them. To understand why such a solution finally prevails between a variety of possible resolutions to a certain political crisis, it is important to identify and analyse the opposing political camps in a state of conflict and acute antagonism.

However, in the light of our methodological considerations it is particularly important to avoid certain conceptions of political crisis which view it through theoretical spectacles we have already encountered:

a.- the purely empirical and descriptive account of political events and their sequences without paying any attention to their underlying or more constant factors.

b.- the functionalist approach which views the crisis of the political organism always as a crisis of adaptation. The inherent assumption is that everything has to do with an unfolding process determined by a series of anachronisms (institutional, sociological, economic, motivational, etc.) in their asymmetrical relationships. This conception of crisis is intrinsic in functionalist models of crisis epitomising what is called ‘developmental causation’ characterised by dissynchronisation.So disfunctional inputs are challenging the existing ‘natural’ equilibrium causing adaptive response.

c.- the Marxist abuse of the term ‘crisis’ as a permanent state of things heralding the eternally Imminent collapse of capitalism, like the Capitol’s geese.^ Marxist political analyses of crisis situations have mostly been characterised by crude reductionism.

Marx himself very rarely came close to suggesting a situation of real political impasse between social classes. It was Gramsci who inspite of the scattered and elliptical nature of his writings, argued the case for a consistent theoretical position. His concept of equilibrium, for instance

is used as a generic hypothesis of socio-political analysis to account for specific situations of balancing.

Despite a variety of qualified expressions which are used interchangeably by Gramsci to describe situations of crisis (e.g. State, organic or catastrophic equilibria) , his concept of equilibrium is rather one of the ‘fundamental forces’, that is, between the principal political formations representing the basic class division in a given society. But at the same time, Gramsci takes the precaution of putting these phenomena in their specific historical context.

Gramsci refers fundamentally to crises of hegemony which are characterised by a crisis of the moment of consensus and marked both by a concomitant crisis of political representation and a crisis of authority. He refers also to the process marked by the entrance of ‘huge masses’ into the political arena, a process which threatens the existing political equilibrium.

Apparently, social strata previously in a state of passivity or docility are not any longer willing to remain voiceless and one now ‘putting forward demands’ seeking to acquire and secure the means of their political organisation and representation. In a way, Gramsci anticipated the explosive implications of political participation under conditions which do not guarantee either a progressive and orderly assimilation into the body politic or incorporation into alternative hegemonic politics projects.

Gramsci’s analyses constitute a major point of departure from reductionist reasoning and can provide the basis for future theoretical elaborations.

Therefore in studying situations of political crisis, it is possible to start from a given equilibrium and try to identify the major shifts⁷⁰ under way in the relations of the antagonistic political forces as well as the means by which they are effected. (Organisation, political direction, mobilisation, etc).

Those shifts constitute a real test of political solidarity between social groups (between the leading group and its subaltern allies), whereas the persuasive function’ of the state starts to crack. It is therefore,. all too important to identify the processes which cause the dominant cluster of political allegiances and the functions of ideological dominance to be disconcerted and the claim to universal acceptance and consent to be discredited.

It is also evident that a great battle rages around the point of political order, which, given the intense mobilisation and politicisation of the opposite camps in conflict, is usually seriously disturbed and challenged . Inevitably, political order becomes the focus of rival claims, which are accentuated by the very fact that political crisis invites the active involvement of the forces of coercion. In these circumstances, the temptation to exploit and usurp the function of order by military intervention (in order to re-establish ‘law and order¹) is usually great.

The military of course, figures prominently in all situations of political crises. The control of the means of violence is always the focus and the bone of contention between rival political forces under conditions where the relations of political domination . are challenged and even more so, naturally, when the threat to the established political order is combined with a serious challenge to the economic organisation of society.

Thus, the terrain of political crisis is full of contradictions and conflicting elements. The shifting ground and the elusive and/or deceptive elements make it difficult to weigh accurately the relative importance of each particular element and so to evaluate the relative chances of success and failure of possible alternative routes and modes of political action. Because the participants in this dramatised situation are always individual and collective human agencies subject both to material and psychological conditioning, their perception of the situation constitutes an intrinsic part of the situation itself; their political calculations depend on the instruments – material, theoretical and moral – at their disposal; in turn approximate assessment and degree of predictability depend on these instruments. From a methodological point of view, political crises constitute the most important and crucial aspect of political conjunctures. Their historical value lies precisely in their role of shaping the final outcome of political struggles·.

P.- Ά historical dimension was also given to the analysis of post-civil war Greek society and politics. In contrast to conventional historiography, I have argued that only a holistic approach which places outcomes in their overall framework of economic and political contradictions and struggles can provide an index for assessing what was central and important and what secondary and trivial in each particular case. The historical approach enables us to look at problems of continuity and change of institutions, their formative processes and practices which sustain them and which must pass the test of time before they are considered as determinants or influential factors in weaving a country’s social and political web.

A teleological or deterministic approach can destroy any meaningful findings in this operation, because it conceives of historical change as a movement obeying ‘iron laws’ natural or metaphysical, and concedes ground to ‘historical necessity’ and ‘historical inevitability’ type of reasoning.

From a historical viewpoint it is certain that we cannot get away from history’s fait accomplis. Specific outcomes of socio-political conflicts do, of course, matter for many years or even generations to come, because they change human conditions. However, we should not simply confine ourselves to asserting that ‘we ought not to surrender to its (history’s) circumstancial logic¹. We should rather try to accumulate evidence on the conditions under which alternative outcomes were also perceivable and feasible and give convincing interpretations of their non-realisation. Such an account is important not only for asserting the moral responsibility of individual and collective human actors in making choices, but also for evaluating courses of action in time, place and circumstance.

E.- Finally, I have tried to give the analysis a tint of comparative perspective -elliptical and paradigmatic rather than systematic – in order to underline the differences between Greece and other countries, particularly the most advanced ones, and to warn against the dangers of hasty and ill-conceived generalisations.

5.- General Conclusions

In this thesis, I have tried to assess the relative power positions of state institutions in post’ civil-war in Greece, to trace the roots of the army’s structural dominance, to outline the social context of the instability of Greece’s political regime and its susceptibility to military intervention, and to assess the basic political parameters of the political crisis prior to the April 1967 military coup.

1.- The first major conclusion which can be drawn from my analysis is that no immediate economic factors were involved either in creating an opportunity for the military to intervene or in accelerating an intervention in the making. In other words, economic contradictions and conflicts were kept in the background and can be seen only as very indirectly linked with the politico-military dynamics of the period, which finally resulted in the imposition of a military solution to a persistent political crisis.

11.- Long term socio-economic developments provided the conditions for an upsetting of hitherto more or less stable institutional and political arrangements. The social and political fabric of the country was severely disturbed and disrupted by the type of capital accumulation and the distribution of human agents in space and economic activities. The movements of the day and the intense political mobilisations were built upon these socio-economic conditions, but at the same time were directly linked with the prevailing mode of political domination and the repressive and exclusionist means of political controls.

The tension between mass political mobilisation and the nature of Greek polity has been the basic political contradiction.

111.- Developments in the ’60s culminated at a point where the need to

remodel Greek society and polity along more just, equal and democratic lines became overwhelming and required an ‘opening up’ of the ‘system’, an orderly accomodation with the rising- tide of social and political radicalism and a great effort to provide adequate and legitimate political institutions to channel and assimilate the explosion of political participation equally within and without the state institutional setting.

IV.- The predominant role of the army within the power block comprising both the Throne and a substantial part of the Political Right, made it extremely difficult to bring about changes in an orderly and consensual manner, as long as this power block remained capable of vetoing radical social and political change. I have tried to show the powerful position of the army in the post civil-war political arrangements, its structural dependence on foreign powers, which has been both a source of power and weakness, and its firm grip on the State’s repressive apparatuses. This explains why the containment of mass political movements and the popular pressures ‘from below’ were the major issue for established interests.

The different social and political configuration also explains why the methods for the containment of pressure and the management of conflict characteristic of West European societies were so different in the Greek case.

V.- The 1967 military coup was not inevitable. The threat ‘from below’ in now way challenged the social foundations of the political regime and the prevailing capitalist economic relations. A substantial part of bourgeois interests, despite its worries about the unknown forces unleashed during the deepening political crisis of 1965-67 and the continuing political unrest, did not show signs of panic and did not demonstrate any open preference for dictatorial solutions.

The parliamentary Right was clearly against any abolition of constitutional processes and the two main bourgeois parties, ERE and the Centre union, had come to an agreement, though in secret, to cooperate after the elections in order to placate any fear of a Communist take-over, which was either a figment of the immagination in many ‘concerned’ quarters or used in a sustained scare-mongering campaign to frighten public opinion.

There was therefore, the possiblity for parliamentary political forces to impose a political solution to the crisis and reinforce the position of the Parliament as a whole vis-a-vis the Army and the Throne.

However, the Throne, which exarcebated political relations, was not only reluctant to relinquish part of its power, but also very confused and indecisive about opting for a political solution. As a matter of fact, the Throne was prepared to give its blessing to a military intervention which would impose a state of siege on the country under the control of the King, thus enabling him to dictate future political developments. At the end of the day, this vacillation proved fatal, for the lower-ranks of the army proceeded to stage a pre-emptive coup to stop the forthcoming elections and thus made their choice without his assent.

The army’s perception of the threat naturally took alarmist and danger- mongering proportions given their political and ideological role within the State. Any strengthening of Parliament would have certainly been at the expense of the Army; any sensible political government formed after the proclaimed general elections for May 1967 would have made the control of the army a first priority, after the experiences of 1965-67. That is why the army deemed it necessary to take pre emptive action as the only way to protect its position and put an end to a radical re-alignment of social and political forces in the making.

VI.- The party structure that prevailed (e.g. personalistic, clientelistic with no established functional rules and weak structures of institutionalisation and political participation) contributed to the political instability and was unable to resist the encroachments of extra party forces such as the Throne. Their intrinsic weaknesses facilitated their fragmentation and allowed disagreements on loyalties and political tactics to get out of hand.

Their political practice and behaviour during the crisis period of 1965-67 was such as to polarise public opinion in extremis, thus making it difficult to accept party deals and complex tactics in order to save the day and bar the road to dictatorship. Whenever political leaders came together to draw common action plans in order to break the political impasse, they did it in secret; public opinion was kept in the dark. In a way political leaders became prisoners of the passions they themselves had contributed to creating and inflaming. In short, polarisation of public opinion had made compromise highly risky and publicly unacceptable to party followers and supporters, who demanded clear-cut solutions and clean stances on complex issues.

Vll.- Political repression, intense police surveillance and restricted measures during the crisis of 1965-67 succeeded in stemming the tide of social and political mobilisation. In this sense, the way for the tanks to roll into the streets of Athens, on April 21st 1967 had been prepared without much trouble. Approaching the day of the General Election on May 22nd 1967, and just before the pre-electoral campaign was launched by all political parties, political mobilisation was at a very low ebb.

Vlll.- Political ideologies were not an effective deterrent to military intervention. The Communist Left’s commitment to parliamentary democracy was in doubt,, and rightly so. Conservative ideology was reactionary and constituted no real defence against authoritarian solutions. Anti-communism was entrenched in state institutions, a real official state ideology and scaremongering campaign had even convinced politicians of liberal political complexion about an imminent danger. It is characteristic of this climate of paranoia that when the incumbent Prime Minister, Mr. P. Kanellopoulos, was arrested by the military in the early hours of April 21st in his house, he first thought that the country was in the grip of a commun i s t coup.

My detailed account of events for the period 1965-67 was designed to identify the issues at stake, to assess perceptions and to appraise the relativity and congruence of conflicting political lines, moves and practices.

My purpose was not to apportion moral and political blame but rather to interpret processes and their dynamics, and make the picture as clear as possible. This is not to equate the executioner and the victim and I hope I have made the distinction” between the two crystal clear. Political responsibility is another matter. For it alone can save politics from destruction or collapse. If this is a valid point, then it is beyond any reasonable doubt that the political parties of that period would have to accept a great part of the responsibility of not having been able to fend off the military intervention.

EPILOGUE

It is always tempting to undersign the remark that ‘slaves are as guilty as tyrants’ and to jump too easily to the conclusion that, after all, societies and peoples enjoy the form of government they really deserve.

One could find many supporters of this view today! However, the dictum is not only arrogant, cynical, contemptuous and too har^lsh on humanity, but also morally and politically unacceptable. For it justifies the perpetuation of unequal conditions between the rulers and the ruled, and sanctifies enternal subjugation. The hallowed Brutus’s knife should be applied only against Caesars.

FOOTNOTES

chapter one

1.- F.O. documents 1946, File no. 58850, R.2780, Tel. 363 (21-2-1946).

The British Ambassador commenting on the ability of 12 Greek generals heading the seniority list said that most of them were ‘incapable of grasping the essentials of any military problem’, and that it was difficult to establish ‘confidence’ in the officer corps with ‘such men at the head’. Criteria for appointment were highly political at the expense of efficiency.

2.- For instance, the record of a conversation between the Head of the British Mission in Greece and the then Greek War Minister Major-General Manettas (F.O. – File 58850, R.3509, 28-4-1946) reveals the following:

(a) that the first requirement was to be the establishment and maintenance of a high state of morale inspired by the ideal of service for Greece;

(b) that there has been a ‘tendency’ to make changes in the higher command of the Any with each change of government;

(d) that officers on the active list have been taking part actively in politics;

(e) that the bitterness and hatred, which had divided the country had effected the Army in general and the corps of officers in particular and,

(f) that there were two lists for army officers: List A for those who were employable and List B for those who for political or other reasons should not be employed (emphasis added).

In another despatch from the British Embassy in Athens (F.O., R.2647 Monthly Progress Report No.14 – January 1946) it is stated that despite many discharges there were still 534 officiers from the 1936-37 classes (the period of Metaxa’s dictatorship) in the army.

3.- In fact, the choice had been made earlier. After the German occupation of Greece, several officers of the dismembered national armed forces fled the country, and put themselves at the service of the British-made- King’s government in exile in the Middle East. Army, naval and air units which numbered around 30,000 were reorganised under British command and though they contributed to the best of their ability to the allied war effort in the area, they were merely designed as a reserve force to be used accordingly in determining the political future of the mainland after the liberation. However, command of the political loyalties of these units eventually slipped from British hands. The British suppressed ‘mutiny’ supported by the vast majority of the Greek troops, demanding changes in the Greek Government-in-exile that would allow for the participation of the Resistance forces on the mainland (1944), in short for the formation of a Government of National Unity. The British dissolved the units and out of their remnants founded two new ones

(The Mountain Brigade and the Sacred Battallion) staffed exclusively by ‘reliable’ officers. But since this kind of ‘reliability’ could not provide more than 5,000 men in toto , hardly enough to match the guerillas of the Resistance in Greece, the British did not hesitate to resort to direct military intervention when their position seemed to be dangerously threatened in Greece (December 1944). There is still a lot of confusion about the events in the Middle East and details are not fully known. See, for instance, V. Nefeloudes, “Greek Combattants in the Middle East”, (in Greek), Athens 1945, and his serialised account in the daily paper AVGI, Nov-Dee. 1978. See also F.O. documents. Nevertheless, it is in this period that we can locate the formation of the first conspiratorial groups and secret societies within the Greek Officer corps. See N. Stavrou,”Allied Politics and Military Interventions: The Political Role of the Greek Military, Papazisis, Athens 1977, especially his treatment and scrutiny of available sources about the origins of the right-wing conspiratorial officers’ group IDEA (Sacred Bond of Greek Officers).

Any restraining influence the British had been able to exercise upon the right-wing extremists should not overshadow the essential determining conditions of ‘alternative’ choices. It is now clear that as early as 1943 a general agreement was reached between various British government agencies that the policy of backing two horses (e.g. left and right-wing Resistance groups) could not continue. For a summary but well documented account, see Y. Yanoulopoulos,”Greece Political and Constitutional Developments 1924-74″ in Greece in Transition, Zeno, London 1977.

On the purges required and the options available to create both a loyal army and a Civil Service see respectively, A. Gerolymatos, “The Security Battalion and the Civil War” , and P. Papastratis, “The Purge of the Civil Service on the eve of the Civil War”, papers presented at the Conference on the Greek Civil War, University of Copenhagen, 30/8-1/9/84.

“The fundamental assumption of our policy has always been that both for political and strategic reasons Greece must be retained within the British sphere 2. At the Defence Committee meeting on the 27^th March the Prime Minister said that our strategic position in Greece was weak and that the only defence against aggression lay in an agreement with Russia” (.F.O. documents, 1946, Meeting of the Defence Committee, 27-3 File 58683, R. 5167, 27-3-46).

See F.O. documents and Cabinet Minutes of this period.

See Cabinet Defence Committee (27-3-46 F.O. documents, File 58683 R.5167). “We should be grateful if the Chiefs of Staff would have the question of the Greek forces re-examined with a view to deciding whether it would be possible to organise a force capable of maintaining internal order and security and of conducting vigorous guerilla warfare against Bulgarian and Yugoslav aggression…” op. cit.

“A direct Russian attack on Greece appears to be unlikely provided the presence of British troops makes it clear that this would bring them into direct conflict with ourselves”, (see note 5 for reference).

“The Secretary of State said that he thought that we might in any case remove British troops from Greece by August or September (1946) at the latest. It had been agreed at Moscow that the peace treaties with the German satellites should be signed on about May 1st and we should then wish to press the Russians to withdraw their forces from these countries. They would probably demand that we should withdraw simultaneously from Greece, and this demand would be very difficult to resist. It was, therefore, important that every effort should be made to get the Greek Army into a sufficient state of readiness to take over from us by the next summer” (1947). (File 58765, R.277, 1-1-46, emphasis added).

9.- See, E. Kofos, Nationalism and Communism in Macedonia,Institute for Balkan Studies, Thessaloniki, 1964.

10.- Between January 1945 and April 1946, for instance, no less than eight governments of various political complexion were appointed and stepped down amid chaotic conditions.

11.- “The Greek Army should be capable of assuming responsibility for internal security by next August (1947)(see note 5 for reference). Assistance to the Greek government to develop its armed forces for domestic security had been recommended as early as 1945 by A. Kirk, US diplomatic adviser to the Supreme Allied Commander, Mediterranean Theatre, quoted from N. Stavrou, op. cit.

12.- There were regular monthly reports from Athens to the F.O. and other concerned Departments about the state and needs of the Greek armed forces , from promotions and appointments of officers down to the operational state of military vehicles. According to statistics in these reports, the full strength of the Greek armed forces was at 71,499 all ranks. Gendarmerie 23,214 – Police 6,435 (early 1946).

13.- participation of the Heads of British Missions concerned in various decision-making state organs was fully guaranteed, though without the right of formal vote, by the following clauses in a series of decrees and laws about the reorganisation of the armed forces (December 1945): Law 730 of the Supreme National Defence Council and Council of Chiefs of General Staff, art. 3 and 5 para 2.

Law 731 on the Higher Military Council, art. 1,3 para. 1 and 5.

Law 732 on the Reorganisation of the Ministry of War, art.3 para.2,j. (F.O. File 58850 R.911 9-1-1946).

“The Regent (Archbishop Damaskinos) was persuaded not to sign promotions (concerning 17 colonels to major-generals and 27 lieutenant colonels to full colonels) submitted by the War Minister”. (R.5319 30-4-46).

“….the personel of the permanent element are closely integrated into the Greek military machine down to divisional HQ level” (emphasis added – F.O. File 58764, R.13189 3-9-1946). It seems that the British did not bother at all about the apparent contradiction between wishing to create an ‘efficient and non-political army’ and their actual involvement at every crucial decision-making level concerning the Greek military. Thus, it is not surprising to find statements assuring on the one hand that “the British Military Mission’s recommendations regarding appointments and dismissals in the army are based exclusively on military efficiency” (File 58753 R.9356) and, on the other, that “…by an agreement which applies equally to the Greek Army, certain categories of the Gendarmerie and Police Officers were classed as unemployable on various grounds: a) inefficiency, collaboration with Germans, EAM (the Resistance movement) sympathisers or actions, rebellion” (R.2 318) whereas, ‘sympathies in regalrd to majority of officers are undoubtedly with the Right at any rate in the restricted sense of being very strong anti-communists and anti-EAM” (File 58850, R.2647, Jan.1946).

14.- It was obvious that the weak Greek economy could not afford to maintain an army of more than 50,000 on the long view. Inflation was endemic.

The retail commodity price index rocketed from month to month (June 30, 1946 = 1002, November 1946 = 3,981). The local currency (drachma) suffered one devaluation after another (from 1 US$ = 140 in 1944 to 500 in June 1945, to 5,000in 1946). According to a British report “the Greek state should earmark at least 40% of their probable internal income in 1946 to be spent wholly unproductively on armed forces” (File 58765, R.3439, 24.2.46). If we follow the exchanges between the F.O.’s Department dealing with Greek affairs and the Treasury officials about the costs of maintaining the Greek armed forces, we can see how categorical the answers were in rejecting requests to allocate the amount of money required. It was estimated that for the maintenance of an Army of about 100,000 men (Gendarmerie of 26,000, Police of 10,000 Navy of 13,250 and Air Force of 5,450), some £ 13 million would be needed yearly. “….This country cannot afford £13 million a year (for the maintenance of the Greek armed forces). This would take away from us about one third of the amount which we had hoped to be able to find for some moderate easement of our present austerities”, answers the Treasury to the F.O., and points out that ” ….unless the F.O. call a halt to political overseas expenditure we shall very soon have to reduce our existing standard of living, or as Lord Keynes puts it, to impose bread rationing in this country” (File 58765, R.1775 and R.1789, Jan. 1946).

15.- There were two matters for settlement.

1.- What conditions must be fulfilled before British troops can be withdrawn . Can any provisional date be fixed for withdrawal?

2.- What should be the strength of the Greek armed forces and what financial arrangements must be made for their equipment and maintenance? (for reference see note 5) .

“The whole question of British assistance to Greece and the maintenance of British forces in Greece was recently considered by the Chiefs of Staff’.'” paragraph 3. The Chiefs’ of Staff conclusions were that if we are to prevent Greece falling into Russian sphere of influence, which from the strategic point of view is held to be of great importance to us, we cannot afford to withdraw our forces at the end of this year…(1946).

3.- We, or the Americans, must be prepared to equip and largely maintain Greek armed forces of a reasonable size.

4.- If we decided to withdraw our troops, the Chiefs of Staff consider that we should not enter into any staff talks with the Greeks, that we should maintain our Military Mission, that we should give the maximum possible assistance in the equipment and maintenance of the Greek armed forces, and that we should, by propaganda and other means, indicate that we still support the independence and integrity of Greece”. (From F.O. to UK delegation to Council of Foreign Ministers, NY, 21.11-46 R.16951).

16.- A personal communication of the British Ambassador in Athens to Sir 0. Sargent of the F.O. reads as follows: ” American interest is also a good new factor. We are in constant contact on all levels with US Embassy. Their new enthusiasm may lead them into rather ill-considered gestures which we with our recent experience of British-made governments would prefer to avoid. And we shall still politically have to bear the onus, for some long time to come”. (R. 17040, 18-11-46), emphasis added.

17.- In his despatch of February 21, 1947, to the F.O., the British Ambassador in Athens Sir Clifford Norton emphasised inter alia that the Greek government had no funds with which to maintain the armed forces, that it could not stand the shock of British withdrawal, that were was no alternative government that would serve half as well nor indeed any other Parliamentary Party that would be prepared to serve at all when faced with that hopeless position; and that if the Government did not resign its only logical course would be to disband the armed forces by March 31st, since starving troops were no good for anything, and he concluded: “…. In brief, the consequences of His Majesty’s Government’s decision appear to us to be that for the sake of £6 to £ 10 million required to keep the whole of armed forces going until American help can become available, all British money and effort put into Greece since its liberation, and the object of British policy in Greece during a much longer period will have been lost and country handed over to the Communists”

18.- See Paul Kennedy, The Realities behind Diplomacy: Background Influences on British External Policy 1865 -1980, Fontana 1981.

19.- J.M. Keyne’s memorandum on “Our Overseas Financial Prospects” had already warned about the severe austerity measures the British government should have to take domestically to avoid bankruptcy. PRO, Cal.129/1/04971, CP (45) 112.

20.- See Foreign Relations of the United States, Washington, DC: Gov. Printing Office, 1945), about the preparatory stages of Truman Doctrine declaration.

21.- See M.M. Amen, “American Institutional Penetration into Military and Political Policy-making Structures^–, June 1947-October 1949″ in Journal of the Hellenic Diaspora, Vol. V, no.3, Fall 1978, pp.89-113.

22.- According to J.M. Jones, even the request for American help had to be drafted in USA by Americans, The Fifteen Weeks, NY, 1964.

23.- As an article in the Manchester Guardian has put it: “Greece’s troubles are due partly to certain basic structural weaknesses, partly to mistakes made by her politicians and their western advisers, but mainly to the international balance of power, which the Greeks can but slightly affect by their own actions”. “Greece in 1948″ by Hugh Seton-Warson in Nationalism and Communism 1946-63, Methuen and Co., Londonl964. Dean Acheson wrote that ‘all this time Greece was in the position of a semi-conscious patient on the critical list whose relatives and physicians had been discussing whether his life could be saved”, Present at the creation, NY, W.W. Norton Co., 1969. See also S.G. Xydis, Greece and the Great Powers :1944-47, Institute of Balkan Studies, Thessaloniki, 1963. in which it is argued that the US plans could but be implemented at the expense of limiting Greek sovereign rights.

24.- Reliance on military elements in politics has been a permanent component of US policy in Greece, see, M. Goldbloom, “United States Policy in Post- War Greece” in R. Clogg and G. Yannopoulos (eds) Greece under Military Rule, London 1972.

25.- The notorious role of the US Ambassador in Greece, PeHrifoy,- is so well- known as to render unnecessary any further clarification.

26.- See, Thanos Veremis, Greek Security Considerations: A historical perspective Papazissis, Athens, 1982, p.67.

27.- US Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States: Diplomatic Papers, Washington, DC, Government Printing Office, vol. IV and V, 1948 and 1947. See also, Foreign Relations of the United States, 1948, vol. IV, Eastern Europe: The Soviety Union, Historical Office-Bureau of Public Affairs, Washington, 1974, no. 8743. For analyses and commentary on the documents see Y. MalakassiS’s series of articles in ELEFTEROTYPIA September 1980 and ΤΑ NEA, June 1979 and November 1981. See also, G. Karatzoglou, “1948: Greece’s dependence and the US roles, in Politi$ no. 23, Athens, December 1978, pp.34-38 (in Greek).

28.- Despite some foreign and Greek accounts of the military aspects of the civil war, General Staff’s publications, voluminous memoirs by Communist leaders and retired senior officers, Communist Party resolutions, serialisation in daily papers, recently discovered archives of the “Democratic Army” and other scattered sources, the military history of the civil war is still awaiting its authoritative writer. An inside view of the Communist Party of Greece (KKE) policies and objectices in the civil war is given by F. Eliou, in a series of commentaries on official documents published in AVGI, December 1979 – January 1981.

29.- Any attempt to refer to bibliographical sources about this period would be futile. Foreign studies have not made much use of Greek sources in the past but now historiography of modem Greece is rapidly expanding and a growing number of serious studies appear in English. For a select bibliography of works in English on Modern Greek history see the volume on Greece, compiled by R and M. Clogg, in the World Publication Series, published by Clio Press, Oxford.

See also the most recently published books:

L.S. Wittner, American Intervention in Greece,1943-49, 1982 and V.Kontis,

The Anglo-American policy and the Greek Problem: 1945-49, in Greek, Paratiritis, Thessaloniki, 1984 See also, H.A. Richter, Greece and Cyprus since 1920: Bibliography of Contemporary History Heilbronn, 1984.

30.- J.M. Jones, op. eit.

31.- Todd Gitlin, ‘Counter-Insurgency: Myth and Realityin Greece’, in Containment and Revolution, by D. Horowitz (ed). Anthony Blond, 1967.

An undated pamphlet of rather left-wing inclination estimates that between 1945-1959/60 a total amount of 3,561.7 million dollars was made available by the US for economic and military assistance to Greece. Economic aid amounted to 2,073.9 million dollars, of which

1,788.9 million dollars were in grant aid, while 193.3 million dollars were eventually turned into state credit payable after an initial short period of grace. Military grant aid totalled 1,487.8 million dollars, while the cost of the American Military Mission to Greece, at the same period, was around 91.7 m. dollars. According to the same source, $ 300 m. were supplied to Greek governments under the Truman Doctrine provisions. Another source estimates that ‘Greece has received a total of $ 1.7 b. in military assistance since 1950, in addition to about $ 200 m. of immediate assistance provided under the Truman Doctrine in the two previous years’, Nuclear Weapons and NATO, June 1975, Department of Defence, Washington DC, p. 352.

Official Minutes of the Meetings of Greek Parliament (1950), statements by various Ministries and US Press reports reveal that approximately 84% of 550 m. dollars provided under the Marshall Plan (1948/49-1949/50) were in fact spent to cover military costs.

See, for example, the joint Greek-American communique’ (20-9-1951).

Although industrial development appears to have been a low priority domestic capital formation was overwhelmingly dependent on foreign aid. See Analysis and Assessment of the Economic Effects of the US PL480 Program in Greece by the Center of Planning and Economic Research, Athens 1965.

The Athens Daily Post of October 20th, 1963, carried the full text of a confidential Aid Memoire of the US State Department to the Greek Government about the mature of assistance the US proposed for the future years after 1964, and a top secret report about future US military and economic aid programs to Greece. Both documents were sent by the journalist Elias Demetracopoulos to B. Rosenthal, Chairman of the Sub-Committee on Europe of the US House of Representatives, see Hearings, Committee on Foreign Affairs, Washington DC, July 15, 1971.

In short, Technical Asssitance and Supporting Assistance Programs were terminated in 1962. Major economic aid ended in 1964. Also, ‘support of the Greek military budget was terminated in F.Y. 1963’, statement by Col. A.C. Ayotte in Hearings, before the special subcommittee on North Artlantic Treaty Organisation Commitments. US Gov. Printing Office, Washington 1972, p.13447.

The US embargo on Greece was rather cosmetic and symbolic; the changing pattern of Greek military dependence was reflected in the ease with which the Colonels’ regime ‘renounced’American ‘aid’, reduced by then to insignificant proportions, for domestic political consumption.

7.- A relevant comment in the Economist (7-7-1979) reads as follows:

‘Arms transfers are a legitimate transaction between sovereign countries. The right question to ask is to whom the arms should be provided, not for what purposes. In the long run a policy of sales without qualifications to the right sort of country – meaning guns for countries whose general policies are acceptable to the supplier, no guns for those whose policies are not – is better than yes-but-no deals to be squabbled after the battle.’

8.- Theodore Couloumbis, ‘Post World War II – Greece: A Political Review’ in Hearings 1971, op. cit., p. 464-483 and N. Stavrou, ibid.

9.- The Military Balance, IISS, 1962-63 .

10.- See statements by Col. J. Campbell, Capt. J. Hitchcock and Lt. Col.

f’ersereau about the state of the Hellenic Army, Navy and Air Force respectively, in Hearings 1972, op. cit.

11.- ‘At a yearly cost of approximately 500,000 dollars we can train between 150-175 personnel. We believe the money is well invested and provides a good return for MAP (Military Aid Program) dollars.’ Statement of H. Hitchcock, Chief USNS, in Hearings 1972, p.13460. ‘Senator Rosenthal: How do they (the Greek officers) get selected

12.- Negotiations initiated by the Conservative Government of G. Rallis, reached a deadlock in mid-June 1981. The PASOK government of Mr. Andreas Papandreou re-negotiated the status and operation of

US military installations in Greece and finally a 5 years’ agreement on Defense and Economic Cooperation was signed between the two governments on September 8th, 1983 which contains the possibility of their removal.

Moreover by three secret agreements (30-12-59, 3-5-60 and 17-6-60) US nuclear weapons of the ‘Honest John’ and ‘Niki’ type were stored in Greece.

13.- See Theodore A. Couloumbis, Greek Political Reaction to American and NATO Influence, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1966.

14.- Of a total of eOeven infantry divisions, eight were assigned to NATO and the rest earmarked.

15.- Greece, of course, was not in a position to share European fears of American commercial domination in arms procurement – which has been one of the main causes of the failure of NATO’s standardisation policies in the 1960s. She had to accept what was offered.

for that (MAP) program?

Mr. Noyes: I think their own people select them based upon consultation (emphasis added) with our MAAG (Military Assistance Advisory Group)

people in Athens and based upon what items are in the program.’ in Hearings 1971, p.147

16.- (It is characteristic that) the Conservative Prime Minister of Greece K. Karamanlis in his message to the head of state of the NATO countries on August 28, 1974, announcing Greece’s withdrawal from the Alliance’s integrated military structure, following the Turkish invasion of Cyprus>invoked reasons of national security:” Greece shall recover forthwith…. full exercise of sovereignty which was heretofore limited on account of her participation into NATO and as a result of the permanent presence of foreign military installations and facilities for…’ he stated.

17.- About the concept of national security, its origins and further ideological consequences, see Joseph Comblin, Le pouvoir nilitaire en Amerique Latine: l’ideologie de la Securite Nationale_fParis, 1977.

18.- The controversial article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty-which came into force on 24 August 1945 – has been a major point of worry for many member states. On the one hand it stipulates that ‘the Parties agree that an armed attack against one or more of them…. shall be considered an attack against them all…., ¹ , while on the other, it provides that the Parties will assist the Party or Parties so attacked by taking forthwith, individually and in concert with the other Parties, such action as it deems necessary, including the use of armed force, to restore and maintain the security of the North Atlantic Area.’ (emphasis added).

19.- See, Y. Roubatis, ‘The United States and the Operational Responsibilities of the Greek Armed Forces, 1947-1977’ in Journal of the Hellenic Diaspora, Spring 1979, pp. 39-57

20.- In May 1956 the North Atlantic Council established a Committee of Three Wise Men to report on non-military cooperation within NATO. The report was unanimously approved by the Council on November 1956. The main recommendations of the Committee were concerned with strengthening NATO’s internal solidarity, cohesion and unity to be effected by closer political cooperation. We have to bear in mind that 1956 was a year of major crisis for NATO due to Anglo-French intervention in the Suez- Canal dispute and international turmoil with the Soviet intervention in Hungary.

21.- Toleration and overt support of the Greek military regime (1967-1974) by both the US and NATO and their stance over Cyprus in successive crises eventually eroded unconditional Greek support for the US and NATO even by those who in the past had made loyalty to both the supreme measure of nationally accepted policies.

22.- N. Mouzelis, ‘Capitalism and the Development of the Greek State’, in R. Scase (ed) , The State in Western Europe , Groom .Helm, London, 1980.

See also, N. Mouzelis, ‘Rise and Fall of the Greek Junta’, NLR no.96 March-April 1976.

23.- See E. Papacosmas The Greek Military Revolt of 1909, Ph.D. Dissertation, Indiana Ur.iv. 1971, T. Veremis The Greek Army in Politics 1932-1935, Ph.D. Diss., Trinity College, Oxford 1974, T. Veremis ‘The Officer Corps in Greece:1912-36’ in Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, London, vol.2, 1976 and G. Dertilis Social Transformation and Military Intervention 1880-1909, Ph. D. thesis, Sheffield Univ., 1976

25.

26.

27.

28.

29.

30.

– See T. Couloumbis, J. Petropoulos and H. Psomiades, Foreign Interference in Greek Politics, Pella, N.Y., 1976. The authors have extensively applied the analytical concepts of J. Rosenau, Linkage Politics, NY 1969 and others in order to study US interference in Greek affairs.

– Ibid, p.150.

– T.A. Couloumbis, Greek Political Reaction to American and NATO Influences , New Haven, 1966.

– See B.M. Elechman and S.S. Kaplan, The Political use of military power in the Mediterranean by the US and the Soviet Union,August 1977.

– Ibid, p.21 .

– Statistically, incidents categorised under the heading of US direct involvement represent 20.6% of the total incidents leading up to the political use of US armed forces. The corresponding figure for the Aegean area is 13.3% while 46.7% corresponds to inter-state (other than US) incidents and 40% to intra-state ones.

– Ibid, p.76. In the list of incidents concerning the Mediterranean area as a whole, the corresponding instances concerning Greece figure as follows:

Political conflict in Greece – April 1946
Insurgents in Greece – September 1946
Civil war in Greece – April 1947
Cyprus-Greece-Turkey crisis – January 1964
” ” ” ” – June 1964
” ” ” ” – August 1964
Political developments in Cyprus – July 1965
Military coup in Greece – April 1967
Political developments in Cyprus – August 1967

It should be noted that the above incidents were extracted from a variety of US official records.

CHAPTER THREE

1.- SIPRI, 1972 – Military Balance, IISS – 1972

2.- Retail Price Index – OECD, 1978

3.- See E. Eliou’s minority parliamentary report on the budget (I960), pp. 145-159, National Printing Office, Athens, I960.

4.- See Jean Maynaud etal. , The Political Forces in Greece (in Greek) Athens, 1966, pp.421-422, and the related tables.

5.- See I.D. Sabetai, ‘Brain Drain:the case of Greece’ in the Greek Review of Social Research, nos 26-27, Athens 1976. see also

Athanassiou, ‘Size and costs of scientific emigration’ in Economicos Tachydromos, Athens 12-4-70, G. Kourvetaris ‘Brain Drain and International Migration of Scientists: the case of Greece’, in the Greek Review of Social Research, nos 15-16, Athens, Jan_June 1973, and G. Coutsoumaris, ‘Greece’in Walter Adams (ed) The Brain Drain , NY, MacMillan, 1968.

6.- See Hearings 1972, p.13456

7.- Cl.NATO Review , no.l, February 1978, p.31, Table IV

8.- About defence budgeting see Richard Burt, Defence Budgeting, the British and American cases, Adelphi Papers, 112, IISS, London 1976.

9.- op. cit., pp.86-88

10.- A study by J. Pesmazoglou, shows that in terms of money earnings the annual compound percentage rate of increase was 9.0% and 10% for the civil servants and the military respectively in the period 1963-64. The respective figures are 7.5% and 13% for the 1967-70 period, but this can be explained by the exceptionally big increases given to the military by the military junta and generous rewarding of their political constituency. For further comparisons with the private sector, see the same study: “The Greek Economy” since 1967″, in Greece under Military Rule, by R. Clogg and G. Yannopoulos, (eds), Seeker and Warburg, London 1972. Other data suggest that over 25% of the army officer corps owned homes, but the percentage would naturally be much higher in the higher ranks. See, G.A. Kourvetaris ‘Professional self-images and political perspectives in the Greek Military’ in American Sociological Review, 36, 1971. Similarly, there are no detailed accounts about the true scope of activities of an Independent Construction Organisation established in 1950 to cater for officers’ housing. The officers’ income was further boosted by marriage due to the statutory obligation for the bride to be endowed with a dowry sufficient to maintain the required social status of the husband.

– 358

11.- There is no reason to dispute the account of retired Gen. D.

Hondrokoukis on this point. See his article in TO VIMA, 18-6-78.

12.- Th. Veremis’ analysis in his Greek Security Issues and Politics ,

Adelphi Papers, no 179, IISS, 1982, p.28

13.- Professor S. Rousseas has noted that’ The American plan to stabilise theGreek economy through a severe reduction in Greek military expenditure was forgotten when the Korean war broke out’ and that ‘Greek military policy became part of overall NATO planning. The dominant position of the American military in the Greek aid program meant that the fears of civilian American economists concerning such problems as inflation were to be put aside in favour of military needs. Greek government leaders, of course, found this to their satisfaction, as did the military¹. Stephen Rousseas, ‘The Death of Democracy: Greece and the American Conscience’, Grove Press, New York, 1967, p.95.

14.- W. McNeil has noted that ‘………………. unless the Greek army was drastically

cut back, all hope of making Greece economically self-sustaining within the limits of the Marshall Plan years had to be abandoned.

Ihe changed climate of world affairs put primacy back into the hands of the military as far as American action and policy in Greece were concerned. How much it might cost to keep a Greek army hardly mattered to either Greek or American army officers; what concerned them was planning and preparing what would be needed to face various imagined patterns of attack from the adjacent communist lands.

The size of the Greek army was henceforth determined not by any sort of economic calculation or by the financial resources of the Greek government but depended simply upon the number of young men reaching draft age each year.’ The Metamorphosis of Greece Since World War IT, Blackwell, Oxford, 1978, pp.96-97.

15.- For the application of these arguments in the Greek case, see G. Zaharopoulos, ‘Politics and the Army in Post-war Greece’, in Greece under Military Rule , op. cit. It seems that the idea of using soldiers in programmes of ‘civic action’ was originated and promoted in the early 1960s by the then US Secretary of Defence R. Macnamara, particularly in relation to Latin American countries.

16.- L. Pye, ‘Armies in the Process of Political Modernisation’ in J.Johnson (ed), The Role of the Military in Under-Developed Countries, Princeton, N.J., 1962, pp.69-9^. For a critical review see H. Bienen (ed)

The Military and Modernisation, Chicago and NY, 1971.

17.- Some Greek-American political scientists have expressed similar views to account for the 1967 military coup in Greece: ‘…. during the 1950s the American modernising influence was disproportionately distributed in Greece, enlarging and influencing the military.

The resultant hypertrophy of the military, its multifunctional technical and managerial training…. may have erected the structural basis of military dictatorship in Greece.’ (emphasis added), in T. Couloumbis, J. Petropou- los and H. Psomiades, Foreign Interference in Greek Politics: an historical perspective, PELLA, NY 1976, p.127- See also T. Couloumbis, Post World War II – Greece: A political review, in Hearings, Before the Subcommittee on Europe of the Committee on Foreign Affairs – House of Representatives, US Printing Office, Washington 1971, pp.464-483 .

Stavrou, Pressure Groups in the Greek Political Setting, Ph.D. Dissertation, the G. Washington University,- 1970.

It must be noted, however, that these authors argue from a political position which is clearly hostile to any form of military intervention in Greek politics.

18.- S. Finer, The Man on Horseback: The Role of the Military in Politics Penguin 1975, p.263.

19.- D. Lerner, The Passing of Traditional Society: Modernising the Middle East, The Free Press, NY, 1958. The human bridge from tradition to modernity is constructed by the so-called Transitionals, who play a key-role, since ‘what they are today is a passage from what they once were to what they are becoming. Their passage, writ large, is the passing of traditional society’ p.75. The transitionals compose ‘the living reality of transition’ (p.410), they are the apostles of ‘psychic mobility’, the ‘middle sector’,. Their true spokesman, the mass media, undertake the central task of spreading modernity, creating more tansitionals, rationalising attitudes. ‘Where radio goes, the modernising attitudes come in’, De Sola Pool has noted’. What is needed above all are ‘images’ from the modern sector because what is lacking is not desire . for development but a puritan ethic: ‘Communication and Development’. in Modernisation by M. Weiner, Basic Books, 1966. It is characteristic of functionalist approaches to conceive of mass media as neutral transmission belts, since they delimit the area on which interaction among the units of the ‘system’ have an effect upon the system itself. Theories about mass communication systems occupy a central position in functionalist political analyses. See, W. Schramm (ed), Mass Communications, 2nd edn. ,Univ. of Illinois Press, I960, his Mass Media and National Development., Stanford Univer. Press, 1964, L J>ye (ed) Communications and Political Development , Princeton Univer. Press, 1963, De Sola Pool et al (eds) , The Science of Human Communication, Basic Books, NY, 1963, H. Duncan Communication and Social Order, Oxford Univer. Press, 1962.

20.- M. Janowitz, The Professional Soldier, NY, The Free Press, 1960, The Military in the Political Development of New Nations, Univer. of Chicago Press, 1964, Military Conflict, Sage 1975, pp. 136-145.

21.- For a typically mechanical extrapolation of Janowitz’s ‘self-image’ profiles in the Greek case, see G. Kourvetaris, ‘Professional Self- Images and Political Perspectives in the Greek Military’, American Sociological Review, 36 (December) :1θ43-1θ57 .

22.- For a recent critical appraisal in the context of political development in some semi-peripheral capitalist societies see N. Mouzelis, Politics in the Semi-Periphery: Early Parliamentarism and Late Industrialisation in the Balkans and Latin America, MacMilland, 1986.

23.- See G. Zaharopoulos, op. cit. , p.26

24.- See E. Eliou, op cit . pp. 158-159.

25.- See Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, Penguin, 1982, especially part three, pp. 135-194.

26.- For an ‘interesting’ account see P. Kranidiotis, Military Psychiatry in peace time: the process of the adaptive behaviour in the military setting, Athens, 1967, (in Greek).

27.- A summary but well argued account in D. Kavanagh, Political Culture, Macmillan, 1972.

CHAPTER FOUR

1.- For a comprehensive account and critique, of various theories and bureaucracy see N. Mouzelis, Organisation and Bureaucracy, Routledge and Kegan Paul, London 1975 (revised edition). For main theoretical approaches see M. Crozier, Le Phenomene bureaucratique, Paris, 1963, A. Etrioni, Modern Organisation, New Jersey, 1964, M. Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organisation, 1947, R. Michels, Political Parties: A Sociological Study of the Oligarchic tendencies of Modern Democracy, NY, 1962 and N. Poulantzas, Political Power and Social Classes, NLB, 1973 ch.V (Bureaucracy and Elites).

2.- The percentage of career personel in the Greek Navy has been favourable and one has to take into account the utilisation of merchant marine personnel so that a large proportion of conscripts «ere in fact already skilled and experienced seamen in various specialties.

3.- See Kurt Lang, ‘Technology and Career Management in the Military Establishment’, in M. Janowitz (ed) The New Military: Changed Pattern of Organisation, Russel Sage Foundation, NY, 1964.

4.- Data from retired General D. Hondrokoukis, TO VIMA,18-6-1978. See also a reliable report compiled by General Panourgias on the events which led to the military coup of 1967, Acropolis, 20-8-1974. According to this report, there were 2,000 captains before the 1967 coup and with an average rate of promotion between lOO and 150 annually, those listed lower in seniority would have to wait as long as fifteen years for promotion.

5.- Ibid

6.- Even later the ranks of lieutenant-colonel and major were still over- crowded:in the former, seven classes (1950-56) are stuck together and in the latter no less than 9 classes (1956-64) . See P. Loukakos, TO VIMA, 5-3-1978.

7.- Cf. N. Stavrou, op. cit., p.181 and his ‘Reflections on the Greek political crisis’ in Political and strategic implications of home- porting in Greece, Hearings of the Committee on Foreign Affairs, House of Representatives, US Government Printing Office, Washington, 1972, p.237. See also the ex-brigadier-general 0. Vidalis’s statement at the same Hearings, p.146 . See also N. Pantelakis, L’Armee dans la Societe Grecque Contemporaine, Ph,D. (Paris V) 1980.

8.- S. Huntington, The Soldier and the State, Cambridge,Mass., 1957, pp.8-18.

9.- For the origins and historical development of the doctrine see Joseph Coniblin , Le pouvoir militaire en Amerique Latine:L’ideologie de la Securite Nationale, Editions Universitaires, Paris, 1977.

10.- Cf. T. Veremis, The Greek Army in Politics, Ph.D. thesis, Trinity College, Oxford, 1974, and his¹ The Officer Corps in Greece 1912-1936^!, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, No.2 London 1976.

11.- Civil war recruitment lowered the Military Academy standards and for the first time established a system of free education (Law 577/

12.- Cf. G. Kourvetaris, ‘Professional self-images and political perspectives in the Greek military’ , American Sociological Review, 36, 1971,

(T^ble 1). According to his data 47% of the officers come from rural areas (36% from urban and 17% from semi-urban), 64% from southern regions, 51% from middle and upper middle class and 49% from lower or working class (definitions provided according to father’s occupation. See also his contribution ‘Greek Service Academies: Patterns of Recruitment and Organisational Change’ to the volume The Military and the Problem of Legitimacy by G. Haries-Jenkins and J. van Doorn (eds) Sage, 1976.

13.- For more data see D. Smokovitis, Armed Forces: A special social group Ph. D. thesis, Thessaloniki University, 1977 (in Greek).

14.- Ibid

15.- No wonder that an experimental scheme to recruit women volunteers came into effect in 1980 and that plans to recruit around 5,000 volunteers for 5 years as tank crews are now (1986) implemented.

16.- See Smokovitis, op. cit. , see also TO VIMA (5-3-19791 The changing nature of social structure is also reflected in the social composition of candidates. Thus,in 1976, 48% came from urban areas (but only 12% from Greater Athens Region comprising 38% of Greece’s population), 58% asserted that their parents education was confined only to a primary school certificate, while 37.4% asserted that their family’s monthly income did not exceed the national minimum wage.

17.- M. Halpern, The Politics of Social Change in the Middle East and North Africa, Princeton Univ. Press, 1963, p.75. See also his ‘Middle East Armies and the New Middle Class’ in J.Johnson (ed), The Rule of the Military in Underdeveloped Countries, Princeton, N.J., 1962.

18.- Cl. M.C. Needier, ‘Political Development and Military Intervention in Latin America’ in American Political Science Review, 60(Sept. 1966).

See also E. Lieuwen, Generals versus Presidents, NY., Praeger, 1964.

19.- J. Nun, ‘The Middle Class Coup’ in C. Veliz (ed), The Politics of Conformity in Latin America, Oxford 1970, pp.66-118. ‘Amerique Latine: la crise hegemonique et le coup d’etat militaire’ in Sociologie de travail, no. 3, 1967. See also his ‘The middle class coup revisited’ in A.F. Lowenthal, (ed) , Armies and politics in Latin America, NY, 1976. Similar views, although in a different political context, are expressed by J. Meyer ‘Technocrates en uniforme: l’etat symbiotique’ and by I. Sotelo, ‘Modeles d’explication du militarisme latino-ame’ricain. Une 22-9-1945)interpretation historique’ in Critique, special issue: L’Ame’rique Latine, no 363-364 Aug-Sept, 1977. M. Janowitz, also sometimes relates military intervention to officers’ middle class and lower- middle class social origins, The Military in the Political Development of New Nations, Univ. of Chicago Press, 1964, pp.27-29.

20.- See, for instance, G.Franks’ “The National Bourgeoisie and the Military Coup in Brazil’ in Latin America: Underdevelopment or Revolution MRP, 1969.

21.- See S. Finer, The Man on Horseback, Penguin, 1975, p.263

22.- For a critique of Halpern’s analysis see A. Perlmutter, ‘Egypt and the Myth of the New Middle Class’ in Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. X, October 1967 and his article ‘The Arab Military Elite, in World Politics no.22 (January) 1970, pp. 269-300.

23.- See F. Khuri and G. Obermeyer ‘The social bases for military intervention in the Middle East’, in Political-military systems: Comparative Perspectives by C. Kelleher (ed},Sage 1974.

24.- See, P. Hirst, Problems and Advances in the Theory of Ideology Cambridge 1976 and his ‘Althusser and the theory of ideology’, in Economy and Society , vol. 5, no. 4, 1976, pp. 385-412. See also P. Hirst, on Law and Ideology, MacMillan, 1979.

25.- G. Mosca (Elementi di Scienza Politica) has argued that political stability has been an attribute of that state of common social origins, hammering out bonds of kinship, habit, economic interest and common outlook.

26.- But see an extract from G. Eisler, A. Norden, A. Schreiner, The Lesson of Germany NY, 1945, p.78 quoted in the preface of Graham Lock in Karl Liebknecht’s Militarism and Anti-Militarism,Cambridge Rivers Press, 1973 – ‘In Prussia, the officers’ corps together with the nobility formed the first estate. This remained true even after (my emphasis) the corporative nature of the state with its privileges for nobility was abolished and the officers’ corps included more and more sons of the bourgeoisie. Accordingly, its feeling of social separation from the rest of the population was even more profoundly marked. The more bourgeois elements flocked into the officers’ corps, the more the latter nourished and emphasised the ideology and behaviour pattern of the nobility especially of the landowning gentry’.

27.- E. Hobsbawm has noted that the French Army since 1799 has remained loyal to every government that looked like being the effective and legitimate national government, through two kinds of monarchy, two empires, and four republics – with the exception of the period of the Algerian war…’ quoted from ‘The Labour Movement and military coups’ in Marxism Today, October 1974, pp.302-308.

28.- Thus, K. Marx in his work ‘The Eighteenth Brummaire of Louis Bonaparte’ writes: ‘In the June days the bourgeoisie and petty bourgeoisie, as the National Guard, were united with the army against the proletariat; on 13 June 1849 the bourgeoisie let the army disperse the petty bourgeois sections of the National Guard; on 2 December 1851 the bourgeois National Guard (my emphasis) itself vanished…. Thus the bourgeoisie smashed its own last weapon against the army. However, it was compelled to do so

from the moment when the petty bourgeoisie ceased to stand behind it as its vassal, and instead stood before it as a rebel….’ in Surveys from Exile, Penguin, 1973, p.183.

29.- See, for instance, the remarks by K. Marx in relation to the National and Mobile Guard in his ’The Class Struggles in France: 1848 to 1850′ in Surveys from Exile, Penguin, 1973 pp.52-53. About the relation between the bourgeoisie and the army in a different political setting see F. Engels, ‘The Prussian Military Question’ in The First International and After, Penguin, 1974, pp.121-157.

30.- For a comparative analysis see M. Janowitz, Military Conflict, Sage, 1975.

31.- From, the voluminous bibliography I can mention here the most relevant to social recruitment patterns: F. Frey, The Turkish Political Elite, Cambridge, Mass, 1965; A. al-Quazzaz, ‘The ‘· Changing Pattern of Politics of the Iraqi Army’, in M. Janowitz and J. Van Doorn (eds), On Military Intervention, Rotterdam,1971; E. Be’eri, Army Officers in Arab Politics and Society NY, 1970. For the ‘exception’ of Jordan (tribal loyalties) see P.Vatikiotis, Politics and the Military in Jordan: A study of the Arab Legion 1921-1957, London 1967.

32.- For valuable insights see C.B. Otley, ‘Militarism and the Social Affiliation of the British Army Elite, in Van Doorn, ed. Armed Forces and Society, The Hague, 1968.

33.- See the remarks of P. Hansen, ‘Career Motivation and Military Ideology: The case of Chile’ in Van Doom (ed) , on Military Ideology Rotterdam, 1971. According to some views class origins are more important when the military institution is less professional. See J.J. Johnson, The Military and Society in Latin America, Stanford Univ. Press., 1964.

34.- In USA for instance, between 1910 and 1970, social recruitment of cadet officers underwent enormous changes. Of the class of 1971 at the US military Academy 17.6% were from the working class and even at the Naval Academy 20.1% in the same class described their background as ‘blue collar’. Figures mentioned by M. Janowitz, Military Conflict, op. cit., p.124.

35.- J. Wiatz, for example, argues that in this way elitism is smashed. In Poland 48.6% of the officer corps were sons of workers, 33.3% sons of peasants and 11.3% sons of white collar workers (1963) according to his definitions, ‘Military Professionalism and Transformation of Class Structure in Poland’, in Van Doorn (ed) Armed Forces and Society, The Hague, 1968. The same argument is advanced by J. Craczyk for the period 1946-49 when entry requirements to Military Academies were lowered. But, he adds, in this early period the main criterion has been ideological commitment on the side of the new regime. ‘Problems of Recruitment and Selection in the Polish People’s Armed Forces’ in Van Doorn (ed) On Military Ideology, op. cit. But what has actually become of all these sons of ‘workers and peasants’, in Poland, was to be sufficiently demonstrated when the time of reckoning finally arrived; the armed forces assumed power directly and turned against the workers’and peasants’ Solidarity (1982).

36.- The concept is elaborated by N. Poulantzas in his Classes in Contem- porary Capitalism, NLB, 1975 pp.23-35 and 185-189 and his L’Etat Le Pouvoir,tie Socialisme, PUF, 1978, ch.4 – ‘Le personnel de l’e’tat’ pp.170-177

37.- In France, 40% of Military Academy entrants orginate from military families. See R. Gizardet, La Crise Militaire en France 1945-1962, Aspects Sociologiques et Ideologiques, Paris 1964.An indication of the potentially damaging consequences of this phenomenon is given in a report by the Paris correspondent of The Economist (July 17, 1982, p.52) which reads as follows:” The army probably should be worrying less about the Socialist threat and more about improving the calibre of its officer recruits Up to half of the candidates are the sons of military officers and virtually all of them have come up through military cramming schools. The army fears this could lead to a ‘sclerosis’ of the officer corps, whose senior members increasingly need some training in science and economics to hold their own against France’s top civil servants” In G.B. between 1961 and 1970 59% to 69% of successful candidates for a regular commission had a father who had held a commission in the armed forces. See M. Garnier, ‘Some Implications of the British Experience with an all-volunteer Army’ , Pacific Sociological Review, April 1973. See also, Gwyn Harries-Jenkins, ‘From – conscription to volunteer armies’, in Force in Modern Societies: The Military Profession, Adelphi Papers no. 103, 1973, pp 11-31. According to M. Janowitz in USA since 1945 ‘self recruitment’ increased sharply, especially in the 1960s, where more than 1/4 of entering cadets at the service academies came from career military families, Military Conflict, op. cit.

38.- The core concepts were coined by the pioneer work of G.M. Mead, Mind Self and Society, Univ. of Chicago Press, 1934, but the approach as developed later draws heavily on social anthropology and psychoanalytic studies.

39.- Largely due to the work of E. Erikson, Childhood and Society, Penguin, 1965.

40.- See J. Lacan’s psychoanalytic distinction between I and It which seems to overcome Mead’s deficiencies, The Four Fundamental Concepts of Psychoanalysis, Hogarth Press, London, 1977.

41.- The development of human personality has always been the apple of discord between psychological schools. Functionalist approaches of socialisation emphasize the aspects of internalisation and effective integration, while the Freudian psychoanalytic current stresses the conflictual aspects and the inherent tensions in the development of personality.

42.- Cl. R. Miliband, The State in Capitalist Society, Quartet, 1973, ch.7 and 8, for an analysis of broader political processes of legitimation.

43.- A. Giddens, Central Problems in Social Theory, MacMillan, 1979, esp. ch.3 (Institutions, Reproduction, Socialisation).

44.- Professional socialisation in M. Janowitz (ed) The New Military: Changing Patterns of Organisation, Sage, NY 1964, p.115 esp. J.Lovell ‘Professional Socialisation of the West Point Cadet’, ibid.

45.- Cl. on this the well known Miliband-Poulantzas debate, New Left Review, nos. 58, 59 and 95; and E. Laclau ‘The specificity of the political : The Poulantzas-Miliband debate’, Economy and Society vol. IV, no. 1

46.- Th. Veremis, op. cit.

47.- Cf. N. Mouzelis, Modern Greece, op. cit., Part III, ch.5, for a genuine analysis of the political pecularities of the Greek peasant classes in comparison with their Balkan counterparts.

48.- In this respect the observations by J. Vatikiotis as to the cultural and ideological relationships between civil institutions and the army, although presented in the form of ‘reflections’ are close to reality. See, Greece: A political essay, the Washington Papers, 1974.

49.- See Colin Summer, Reading Ideologies, Academic Press 1979, where as many as ten definitions of ideology are listed.

50.- Y. Andricopoulos, ‘The Power base of Greek authoritarianism’ in Who were the Fascists by S. Larsen, B. Hagtvet and J. Myklebust (eds), 1980.

51.- Cl. A. Gerolymatos, ‘The Security Battalions and the Civil War’ paper delivered at the Copenhagen Conference on the Greek Civil War 1945-49, (August-September 1984). See also G.M. Alexander,

The Prelude to the Truman Doctrine: British Policy in Greece 1944-47, 1982.

52.- See S. Sarafis, ELAS: Greek Resistance Army Merlin Press, London 1981. According to Gerolymatos, op. cit. , “At the beginning of the occupation, there were approximately 4,391 officers who survived the campaign of 1940 and 1941. During the course of the occupation about 600 served with ELAS, including 2,000 reserve officers, while an additional 2,500 joined the Greek forces in the Middle East.

The rest served with EDES (The Right-wing Resistance Group) and other resistance groups remained inactive or served with the Security Battalions’. For more details see A. Gerolymatos, ‘The Role of the Greek Officer Corps in the Resistance’, Proceedings of the International Historical Congress, Dictatorship and Occupation in Greece 1936 – 1944.

53.- About sociological theories of nationalism see E. Gellner, Thought and Change, London 1964, A. Smith, Theories of Nationalism, Second Edition, Duckworth, 1983, especially the Preface, E. Kedurie, Nationalism , 1960 and S. .Zubaita, ‘Theories of Nationalism¹ in Power and the State, by G. Littlejohn et all (eds) , Groom Helm, London, 1978 E. Gellner, Nations and Nationalism, 1983.

54.- It is of course highly ironic that the military regime of G.Papado- poulos normalised relations with Albania, maintained good relations and cooperated with all East European countries, opened up relations with China and even went as far as to suggest the foundation of a ‘federal state’ between Greece and Turkey while selling out Cyprus.

55.- Racialism, according to B. Crick, is the characteristic perversion of nationalism. The true nationalist must believe, on the contrary, in the equality of nations, In Defence of Politics, .op. ci.t, ch. 4.

56.- It is often not realised how important for military values is the distinction between masculinity and femininity. Military virtues are associated with masculine, whereas femininity and homosexuality are ostracised. Virility becomes the emblem of bravery and fighting qualities. Greek military educational values were based on this popular and historical misconception by mistaking culture for nature. It is ironic of course that homosexuality, for instance, in ancient Greece was not at all related to military virtues and virility. Nobody could argue that ancient predecessors were less brave and skilful, warriors; after all ancient Greek society defended itself successfully against external threats confronting far more superior armies and powerful enemies. In this respect it is illuminating to quote S. Freud’s remarks: ‘It is clear that in Greece, where the most masculine men were numbered among the inverts, what excited a man’s love was not the masculine character of a boy but his physical resemblance to a woman as well -as his feminine neutral qualities – his shyness, his modesty and his need for instruction and assistance. As soon as the boy became a man he ceased to be a sexual object for menand himself, perhaps, became a lover of boys’, S. Freud, On Sexuality, vol. 7, pp. 55-56, Pelican Freud Library, London, 1977.

57.- See M. Janowitz, The Professional Soldier;A social and political portrait, Glencoe, I960.

58.- Cl. M. Janowitz (ed) The New Military: Changing Patterns of Organisation, Sage, NY, 1964 (Introduction).

59.- M. Feld, ‘The Military Self-Image in a Technological Environment’ in M. Janowitz (ed) The New Military….op. cit.

60.- J. Meyer, ‘Technocrates en uniforme: l’etat symbiotique’ in Critique No. 363-364, 1977.

61.- See B. Abrahamson, Military Professionalisation and Political Power Sage, London, 1972.

62.- See R. Kolkowitz, ‘The Impact of Modern Technology on the Soviet Officer Corps’ in Armed Forces and Society, by Van Doorn (ed) , The Hague, 1968.

63.- H. Laswell’s hypothesis of the garrison state expresses genuine worries about militarism invested in the ‘decision-making process’, ‘The Garrison State Hypothesis Today, in S. Huntington (ed), Changing Patterns in Military Politics, op. cit.

64.- See the analysis in the article ‘Officer Education and the Officer’s Career’ by Lieutenant General Wolf Graf Van Bausissin, in Force in Modern Societies: The Military Profession, Adelfi Papers, no. 103, IISS, 1973. See also American Political Science Review, vol. LXX, Dec. 1976. no. 4, ‘Politicians in Uniform: Military Government and Social Change in the Third World’.

65.- See G.A. Kourvetaris, ‘The Greek Officer Corps: its professionalism and political interventionism’ in M. Janowitz and J. Van Doorn (eds) On Military Intervention, The Hague, 1971.

66.- See A. Gouldner, The dialectic of ideology and technology, Macmillan 1976, esp. ch.12.

For an outline of the Greek military regime’s ideology see R.Clogg, The Ideology of the ‘Revolution of 21 April 1967’ in R. Clogg and G. Yannopoulos (eds), Greece under Military Rule, op.cit., ch.3 Seeker and Warburg, London, 1972. About the general trend of modern armies to be engaged in counterinsurgency, see J. Van Doorn, The Soldier and Social Change, Sage,1975.

See for instance, R. McNamara, The Essence of Security, NY, 1968 epitomising policies and doctrines already under application in the sub-continent. The Vietnam war gave a new ‘stimulus’ to the elaboration of these themes. The’civic action’ programme referring to the extra-military activities (social, psychosocial, economic,etc.), of the military was also developed by MacNamara on the basis of the forementioned enlargement of the concept of defence. See H. Lafont, ‘L’intelligence militaire: des canons et du beurre’ in Critique no.363-364, 1977. Cl J. Comblin, Le pouvoir militaire en Am^rique Latine, op. cit.

70.- See G. Kelly, ‘The French Doctrine of la Guerre Revolutionnaire’

in Kelly, George A and Brown, Clifford W, Struggles in the State: Sources and Patterns and World Revolution, New York, 1970. Cf. R. Girardet, ‘Civil and Military Power in the fourth Republic’ in S. Huntington (ed) Changing Pattern of Military Politics, Columbia Univ. Press, 1962, esp. the passage referring to the impact of the wars in Indochina and Algeria on the formulation of the doctrine. For a review of the literature and contemporary counter-insurgency doctrines in the context of the domestic exercise of state power, see Philip Schlesinger, ‘On the Shape and Scope of Counter-Insurgency Thought’ in Power and the State, op. cit.

71.- About the crisis of legitimacy emanated from the involvement of the military in the maintenance of law and order functions in a liberal- democratic regime see G. Harries-Jenkins ‘Legitimacy and the problem of order’ in G. Harries-Jenkins and J. Van Doom (eds), The Military and the Problem of Legitimacy, op. cit.

72.- The plan was published by the Greek fortnightly political review ANTI, Sept. 1974, nos. 1 and 2.

73.- See B. Crick ‘Basic Concepts for Political Education’ and ‘Procedural Values’, Teaching Politics, September 1975 and January 1976.

74.- W. von Bredow, ‘The West-German Bundeswehr as an Institution for Political Education’, in J. van Doorn (ed) Ideology and the Military Rotterdam Univ. Press 1971. See also K. Royhmann ‘Armed Forces and Society in West Germany’, in Military Intervention, op. cit.

75.- See for instance, the Disciplinary Regulations of the USSR Armed Forces Soviet Military Review . nos 3 and 6, 1976.

76.- Cf. Emil Nagy, ‘The role of mass communication in the political socialisation of the Hungarian Armed Forces’, in The Military and the Problem of Legitimacy, op. cit.

77.- Consider for example, the importance attached to the expansion of radio and TV sets in the Army by the Soviet authorities. Col.N.Ustyakin ‘Ideological education at the present stage’, Soviet Military Review, no. 1, 1977.

78.- The Central Radio Station of the armed forces began broadcasting at the peak of the civil war in 1948.

79.- S. Huntington, The Soldier and the State: The Theory and Practice of Civil-Military Relations, Harvard, 1957.

80.- From the author’s famous work: De la division du travail social: Etude .sur 1’organisation cfes societies supe‘rieures, Paris, 1893. For an analysis of these concepts see S. Lukes, E.Durkheim, His Life and Work: a historical and critical study, Penguin, 1973,pp.137-167. A. Gramsci has also noted that military organisation offers a model of complex gradations between its parts which feel a solidarity; it is especially the lower strata (the NCOs) that display the most blatant esprit de corps, from which they derive a certain ‘conceit’ in Selections from the Prison Notebooks, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1971, p.13 footnote. Organic solidarity comprises exactly the opposite attributes.

81.- See A. Giddens, New Rules of Sociological Method, esp. ch.3,

Hutchinson 1976. Bravery, discipline, obedience, self-abnegation, patriotism, etc. See on this point Carl von Clausewitz, On War Penguin, 1968, pp. 253-264 (The chief moral powers).

For a discussion of epistemological contradiction in Duikheim’s sociology, see P. Hirst, Durkheim, Bernard and Epistimology. Routledge and Kegan Paul, London, 1975.

82.- We have seen how inconclusive and diametrically opposed is the debate on military professionalisation as the dominant factor of military intervention in politics. According to Huntington (Political Order in Changing Societies, Yale Univ. Press, 1968), militarising the military, making them as professional as possible, is the best way to neutralise them politically. Professionalisation makes the military uninterested in political matters, thus an obedient tool of the state. Janowitz believes, on the contrary, that the societal power of the military has grown dangerously in advanced countries. The military have acquired a significant degree of independent action and play an active role in politics. Thus, political control of the military has become more difficult and complex. Professionalisation increases intervention. (Military conflict, op. cit.). Equally, Finer’s approach ( The Man on Horseback, op. cit.) is of no use since his list of motivations as far as military intervention is concerned, is simply drawn from case studies and purports to demonstrate all possible variations of motivational amalgams. The power of a motive is ’empirically verified’ by its frequency of occurrence in military intervention.

83.- For the concept, see B. Abrahamson, Military Professionalisation and Political Power, Sage, London, 1972

84.–See N.Alivizatos,’The Greek Army in the Late Forties: Towards an Institutional Autonomy’ in Journal of the Hellenic Diaspora, Vol. V, no. 3, 1978.

85.- As A. Vagts has noted, ‘the army by the very nature of things depends for its existence, honor, emoluments and privileges upon the order, in which it takes form…. it is conservative in relation to the order… the major internal values of the profession are in accord with the basic elements of the conservative tradition…. and stem from its historical role as a guardian of the status quo, its traditional ties with ruling establishments A History of Militarism: Civilian and Military , London, 1959.

CHAPTER FIVE

1.- Greece’s population at that time was 8,388,553 inhabitants – 1961 census.

2.- Figures compiled by K. Legg, op. cit., Table 8.6, p.213. See also, P. Bakoyannis, Anatomy of Greek Politics (in Greek) Papazissis, Athens, 1977, pp.84-85.

3.- ‘Black Books’ on the electoral coup were published both by EDA and EK in 1962.

4.- Report by General Vasillas, Supreme Comnander of ASDAN, for the disciplinary aspect of the affair and by Major Zozonakis of the Military Justice for the criminal aspect. (The papers, January 1952)

5.- For details see N. Stavrou, Allied Politics and Military Interventions: The political role of the Greek military, Papazissis, Athens, 1977 and Spyros Linardatos, From civilwar to the junta (in Greek) ,Athens, 1977, vol. II.

6.- For a short guide to the Greek Secret Services and their history see P. Bakoyannis, TO VIMA, June 1977.

7.- During the parliamentary debate on the new bill (Jan. 1984), which brought KYP under the direct control of the PM, figures between 12 m and 30 m. files were officially mentioned. According to some Press reports they could be as many as 35m (Anti-20.2.84).

8.- ‘Encouraged by Western intelligence services, with which it cooperates closely,· the KYP has built up files on id-llions of Greeks’, Foreign Report, 9-2-84

9.- A report about the activities of the CIA station in Greece in the special issue of Anti, no. 73, June 1977, with the cooperation of Phillip Agee.

10.- P. Bakoyannis, op. cit.

11.- The Military Balance, 1976-1977, estimates their strength at a level of 78,500 men.

12.- See A. Lentakis, Neo-fascist Youth Organisation (in Greek), Athens, 1963 with very useful documentary evidence.

13.- The Lambrakis affair has been dramatised in the film ‘Z’ by K. Gavras, named after the book by the Greek novelist V. Vassilikos.

14.- For a balanced account see Hagen Fleischer, ‘The Anomalies in the Middle East Forces, 1941-1944, in Journal of the Hellenic Diaspora, no. 3,1978, Special Issue, Greece:1940-1950.

15.- See V. Nepheloudis, op. cit., and G, Athanassiadis, The First act of the Greek tragedy: Middle East 1941-1944, Athens 1975 (in Greek).

16.- See G. Karayannis, The Drama of Greece: Glories and Miseries, IDEA

1940-1952, Athens, undated (in Greek).

17.- Documents compiled and published in ΤΑ NEA (February 1979) by Y. Malakassis. According to the reports of US agents in the Middle East there were many organisations in the Greek Armed Forces. There was one mentioned as PAN and claiming a membership of 150 officers. Another one is mentioned as EE. Both were pro-royalist, anti-communist and pro-dictatorial, explicitly stating their objectives in their constitutions.

18.- See N. Stavrou, Allied Policy and Military Interventions; The Political Role of the Greek Military, Athens, 1976.

19.- P. Bakoyannis, op. cit.

20.- The prophetic warning of EDA’s parliamentary party leader, E. Eliou, about thedanger of some Papadopoulos becoming a dictator during the debate on the incident in Parliament has by now become proverbial. See E. Eliou, The Power Crisis, Themelio, Athens, 1966 (in Greek).

CHAPTER SIX

1.- Referendum of 1-9-46, the result of which was undoubtedly a product of violence, fear and fraud.

2.- In the century and a half since the establishment of a monarchy in Greece in 1.833 by Europe’s major powers, five Kings had gone into exile (one of them twice), their rule was subjected to referendums six times (they won only twice) , one abdicated his Throne, one was assassinated and one died of a monkey bite.

3.- It has been estimated that the Fund raised as much as $10 million annually.

4.- See W. Bagehot, The English Constitution, 1867

5.- During the night of May 30-31, 1951, senior officers in key positions staged an allegedly ‘protest’ mutiny in Athens against the resignation of Field Marshal Papagos from his position as Chief of the HAF, for they suspected the forceful hand of the Palace behind this move. Although the motives and real objectives· of this short-lived military coupd still remain obscure, the point is that it was the prestige and the orders of the Marshal not of the King, which made the rebels return to their barracks. The mutineers were pardoned by a royal decree in January 1952.

6.- For a detailed account see A. Papandreou, Democracy at Gunpoint, Pelican 1973, ch. 6.

7.- Ibid, ch,7.

8.- For a discussion of the constitutional aspects of the dispute between King and PM, see C.J. Hamson, R.Y. Jennings, JJ.Markezinis, The Theory and Practice of Dissolution of Parliament, Cambridge University Press, 1972. Articles by prominent lawyers and politcal figures appeared in the Press, are an indispensable source for understanding the issue at stake.

9.- Since 1864, forty one dissolutions were based on conflict between House and Government (18), conflict between Crown and Parliament (7), Party politics (10, of which 8 in the 20th Century), end of term approaching (7) , Dissolution by force (4) , the House not representing the Nation (3), other reasons (3). List provided by B.Markezinis, op. cit.

10.- A. Papandreou, son of G. Papandreou, was then an MP and leader of the left-wing faction of his father’s Centre Union Party.

11.- Democracy at Gunpoint op.cit, pp.110-112. Subsequently Karamanlis submitted his resignation (emphasis added).

CHAPTER SEVEN

1.- For a critique of the functionalist/evolutionist approach to clientele sm, an analysis of the Greek case from a ‘mode of production’ and class standpoint, and an annotated bibliography, see N. Mouzelis, ‘Class and Clientelistic Politics: the case of Greece’, The Sociolo- gical Review, vol. 26, no.3, August 1978. See also his Modern Greece, op. cit., ch . 8.

2.- See, for instance, the totally a-theoretical manner by which R. Vati- kiotis explains the discrepancy, Greece: A Political Essay, the Washington Papers 1974. See also Thucydides (pseudonym) ‘Greek Political Myth and Reality’ The Political Quarterly, vol. 41, Oct.-Dec. 1970, pp. 455-466.

3.- K. Legg, Politics in Modern Greece, Stanford Univer. Press, 1969.

4.- See K. Tsoukalas, ‘The problem of clientelistic politics in nineteenth century Greece’ , in Social and Political Forces in Greece, Exantas, Athens, 1977 (in Greek). See also his Social Development and State, Themelio, Athens 1981, (in Greek ) .

5.- The 1844 Constitution made all male adults aged 25. and over eligible to vote, exempting only servants and apprenticed craftsmen. The electoral law of 18 March 1844 established the principle of direct election.

6.- Law 2159/1952, Official Government Gazette, A.177.

7.- This historical pattern explains to a certain degree the absence of any democratic tradition within the working class movement, which easily fell pray to authoritarian controls by bourgeois governments and the Communist Party.

8.- For genuine questions and analysis of the relationship between advanced capitalism and democracy see G. Therborn ‘The Rule of Capital and the Rise of Democracy’ in New Left Review, no. 103, May-June 1977.

9.- The erosion of patronage/clientelism and its transformations in an urban environment is a well known effect of changing socio-economic conditions. Cf. M. Comninos, The Development of Patronage System in Aetolo-Akharnia and Kavala, Ph.D. thesis, LSE, 1979.

10.- For a detailed analysis of these factors, see J. Mevnaud Les Forces politiques en Grece, Lausanne, 1965.

11.- In March 1952, when Peurifoy openly threatened Greece with the termination of American aid if the system was not changed to simple majority one. See R. Clogg, A Short History of Modern Greece, Cambridge Univ. Press, 1979, p. 167

12.- The 1961 elections which were denounced by the opposition parties as a product of ‘violence and fraud’.

13.- For instance, between 1946 and 1964, around 95 parties appeared on the electoral register. See J. Meynaud, op.cit. See also R. Clogg Parties and Elections in Greece: The Search for Legitimacy, forthcoming.

14.- The proposals submitted on February 13, included the reform of 22 articles of the 1952 Constitution and pointed to some vital new provisions. The opposition parties refused to participate in the parliamentary committee set up to examine the proposals. The plan was killed with the resignation of Karamanlis’s government on June 11, 1963.

15.- For data cl. K. Legg, Politics in Modern Greece, Stanford, California 1969, Politics – Review of political science, no.l, Parliament, Athens, 1981, (in Greek). See also D. Kitsikis, Greece and Foreigners: 1919 – 1967 ch. VII Parliament and Social Changes in Greece till the 1967 military coup, Athens, 1977 (in Greek).

16.- Sporadic data can be found in the following studies: K. Legg, op. cit., J. Meynaud, op. cit. , E. Karas, Anti, (19-10-1974, 2-11-1974, 2-12- 1977). Also National Statistical Yearbooks, and B. Kayser and K. Thomson, Economic and Social Atlas of Greece, Athens, Center for Economic Research, 1964.

17.- The refugees arrived in Greece from Asia Minor in the early 1920s after the defeat of the Greek expeditionary force and the subsequent exchange of ethnic populations between Greece and Turkey. At that time they comprised nearly a quarter of the whole population of Greece and had a devastating cultural, social, economic and political impact on the country. During the inter-war period the Liberal Party initially commanded the loyalties of the refugees as a whole, because King Constantine I and the pro-royalist Populist party were held responsible for the Asia Minor disaster in 1922. When the hopes for land and housing were frustrated, they turned to the Left after 1936. This shift in voting patterns persisted after the civil war and contributed to the highly urbanised left-wing vote.

CHAPTER EIGHT

1.- See N. Mouzelis, Modern Greece: Facets of Underdevelopment, MacMillan, 1978.

2.- The importance of foreign direct investment in the Greek economy lies not so much in its magnitude (directed mainly into the manufacturing sector – chemicals, petroleum, basic metals, transportation, etc.), but rather in its productivity and multiplier effects on a technologically backward, ill-organised and manaqed, and low productivity domestic economy. See G.A. Petrocheilos, The Determinants and Role of Direct Foreign Investment in the Greek Economy, Ph.D. Thesis, The University of Birmingham, November 1983.

3.- See T. Lianos, Wages and Employment (in Greek), Athens, 1975. On wage differentials, Cl. T. Lianos and K. Prodromides, Aspects of income distribution in Greece. Centre of Planning and Economic Research, Athens 1974. See also L. Athanassiou, Income Distribution in Greece (in Greek) Centre of Planning and Economic Research, Athens 1984.

4.- Statistical Yearbook of Greece, 1971.

5.- Angeliki E. Laiou of Harvard University argues that the displacement of peasants from the countryside involved by 1949 (the end of the Civil War), a maximum of perhaps 700,000 people, especially from mountainous areas, to the lowland and the town. Examining American sources and various statistics Laiou arrives at the conclusion that the demographic effects of the Civil War were, to some extent, irreversible, and are still evident in the censuses of 1951 and 1961. From her paper ‘Population movements in the /reek countryside during the Civil War’ delivered at Copenhagen Conference on the Greek Civil War 1945-1949, Copenhagen University, Fall 1984.

6.- Historically, Greece had an urban tradition dating back to ancient times. In modem times, it is worth noting that between 1928-40 the rate of increase of urban population was faster than that of the country’s population. Over the same period, Greater Athens Region showed an increase of 40.2%, whereas the rate in the other urban centres was far lower. In the ensuing period of 1940-1951 urban population grew by 20%. See F. Filias, Problems of Social Transformation (in Greek), Athens 1974, pp. 271-290.

7.- The Greek census defines an ‘urban’community as having at least 10,000 inhabitants, and a ‘semi’ urban community as 2,000 – 10,000 inhabitants.

8.- Statistical Yearbooks 1968 and 1969. It must be noted that during the period of 1940-47, Greece lost an estimated 844,500 of its population. See V. Valaoras, Ά Reconstruction of the Demographic History of Modern Greece’, The Milbank Memorial Fund Quarterly, v.38, no.2, April 1960, p.125.

9.- The migration between rural areas cannot be ignored. Its distinctive characteristic has been a massive movement from mountainous areas and less fertile islands to the plains. According to the 1961 census, 55% of the Greek population lived at altitudes of less than lOO m., by comparison with 27% in 1951.

See F.W. Carter, ‘Greece’ in Regional Development in Western Europe (2nd ed.) edited by H.D. Clout, John Wiley and Sons, London 1981.

11.- National Statistical Service of Greece (NSSG), Sample Survey from 1961 Census, no. 5 – Internal Migration, Athens 1963.

12.- Average annual growth rate of 0.99%. See, The Population of Greece in the second half of the 20th Century, NSSG, Athens 1980.

13.- Between 1961 and 1971 the two largest cities in Greece, Athens and Thessaloniki, grew most rapidly. Athens increased by 37% and Thessaloniki by 44%. The population of Athens in 1971 was five times that of Thessaloniki’s whereas the latter was three times larger than the next largest city , Patras.

14.- See P. Peppas, Determinant factors in the movement of the countryside population, (in Greek), Agricultural Bank of Greece, Athens 1977. See also NSSG, Athens 1962.

15.- See C. Moustaka, The Internal Migrant – A Comparative Study in Urbani- sation, Social Sciences Centre, Athens 1964.

16.- H. Mendras, Six villages d’Epire – Problemes de development socio- economiques, Paris, UNESCO, 1961.

17.- See for instance, E. Friedl, Vasilika – A Village in Modern Greece, NY 1962 – Also R. and E. Blum, Health and Healing in Rural Greece – A study of Three Communities, Stanford Press, California, 1965.

18.- ‘……… whoever wishes to study a city (or series of cities) must also study capital, production, distribution, politics, ideology, etc.¹¹ M. Castells, The Urban Question, Edward Arnold, 1977, p.440.

19.- The rate of growth of employment in the secondary sector during 1951-1961 was 7.6% as against 15% of the labour force* According to another estimate between 1958 and 1963 the rate of growth of employment in the same sector was 3.3%, thus absorbing only 13.5% of the annual national growth of the population. It is not, therefore, surprising that in 1964 only 12.5% of the total available labour force were employed in secondary economic activities.

20.- See. V. Filias, op. cit., p. 280

21.- Between 1958 and 1963 around 65% of the industrial establishments and 85% of the industrial employment increase was realised in Greater Athens Region.

22.- See NSSG, ‘Results on Population-Housing Census’ March 1971, vol.I, Athens 1973, p.127.

2 3.- See A. Andricopoulos, ‘Industrial Structure and Regional Change: The case of Greek economy 1963-1969’ in The Greek Review of Social Research, . Jan-April 1978, p.110.

24.- See I. Nicolopoulos and G. Tsouyopoulos, ‘Structural aspects of the network of Greek cities’, in the Greek Review of Social Research, no. 26-27, 1976, p.61

25.- Cl. B.F. Hozelitz, ‘The role of the cities in the economic growth of underdeveloped countries’, Journal of Political Economy 61, 1957, and ‘Urbanisation and economic growth in Asia’ in Economic Development and Cultural change, no. 6, 1957.

26.- See N. Mouzelis, Modem Greeece, op. cit.

27.- The productivity gap, for instance, between firms employing under and over 10 persons increased in relative terms between the two industrial censuses of 1963 and 1969. (see NSSG) . Even the importance of Greece’s traditional industries (textiles and foodstuffs) was in steady decline. For instance the textile industry with a dominant 25% of value added in total manufacturing in 1961 drops to 15% in 1971. (see Statistical Yearbook, NSSG, 1973).

28.- See V. Filias, ‘Human Resources in Industry’ (in Greek) in Economy and Society, Athens, April 1981. See also T. Lianos and K. Prodro- mides, op. cit.

29.-The remarkable ability, for instance, of small-size firms to survive under conditions of accelerating rapid economic development must reflect a very complex economic, social, institutional and political environment. See, T. Lianos, ‘Industrial Structure and Potential Labour Supply, in Greek Review of Social Research, no.24, 1975. The TABLE 20 following provides additional evidence of this persistence and durability of small and medium sized firms.

30.- Towards the end of the ’50s,. Athens contained no less than 44% of the country’s manufacturing firms, 53% of industrial works, and 56% of industrial output. By 1963 the capital was in command of 50, 55, 51 percent of the indicators cited below. Qualitative parameters blacken the picture even further. According to national industrial cencuses of 1963 and 1969, industrial employment in the periphery as a percentage of national total declined during the above period: from 11.2 to 9.6%. The breakdown of figures shows that even traditional industries sited in the periphery lost ground. The new dynamic industries (over the same period) were sited in Athens and Thessaloniki. As for the industrial value-added the periphery commanded just slightly over 2% of the national total. Furthermore, according to NSSG figures (1971) the capital contributed around 13% to emigration, but absorbed 30% of repatriation. Athens was the site of 46% Of wholesalers establishments, consumed 40% of the electrical energy, had 50% of the hospital beds, 65% of the University students, 90% of the daily newspapers, 83% of insurance business, 95% of advertisements, 63 computers out of the country’s total of 65, 61% of telephone exchanges, 55% of university graduates, 70% of civil engineers, efee., etc.

TABLE 20

Greece: Number of Establishments, Employment, Value Added, and Value Added per Capita in manufacturing 1959 and 1969

	Large Scale Manufacturing		Small scale manufacturing
	Absolute Value	Percentage	Absolute Value	Percentage
1. Number of Establishments	5,851- 6,356	6-5	100,368-112,968	94-95
2. Employment (in thousands)	197-233	45-47	243-259	55-53
3. Value Added (in m.drs.)	9,142-30,514	67-76	4,552-9,403	33-24
4. Value Added per capita (in thousand drs.)	46.4- 131.0	–	18.7-36.3	–

Sources : NSSG, Statistical Yearbook of Greece 1961 and 1971

NSSG, Results of the 1959 Annual Industrial Survey, 1962

31.- See K. Leontidou-Gerardi, ‘Structural problems of the country’s urban networks’, in Sychrona Themata – (Contemporary Issues), no.6 Athens 1979 (in Greek)

32.- See G. Prevelakis “The Capital city of Greece: Geographical location and Urban Development’, in The Greek Review of Social Research, no. 30-31, Athens 1977 (in Greek)

33.- N. Kalogirou, ‘Urbanisation and planning policy in Thessaloniki Region’ , in The Greek Review of Social Research, no. 30-31, Athens 1977 (in Greek).

34.- The great majority of internal migrants settled in the peripheral counties and communities whose population increased by 200% in a span of only 10 years.

35.- See L. Vasenhoven ‘Development and System of Settlements: A contribution to theory’, in Synchrona Themata, op.cit. (in Greek)

36.- See G. Prevelakis, ‘Geographical perspectives of Greece’s capital city and planning’ , in Polities, no. 45, Athens 1981 (in Greek) The only pessimistic view on the future of Athens was taken by K. Doxiades in his prophetic Our Capital City and its Future, Athens I960, (in Greek.)

37.- For instance, in doctors and dentists, hospitals beds, bath and showers, drinking water supply, electric power consumption for domestic use, private cars, illiteracy.

38.- Even that figure must be treated cautiously since averages conceal quite disparate situations. Thus, for a few relatively prosperous regions, the disparity between them and the core capital region, should have been less than between the latter and other regions, enjoying a much slower rate of growth.

39.- In 1963 total family income in the peripheral regions of Greece was about half of that realised in the GAR (NSSG) . However, some distance was covered in the course of the following decade, so that by 1973 peripheral family income rose to around 65% of the level of the GAR. See also, D. Psilos et al, Economic Development issues: Greece, Israel, Taiwan, Thailand, Committee for Economic Development, ji ji NY 1968.

40.- The purchasing power for the inhabitants of the GAR was 5 3% of the national total (1962).

41.- Wages were nearly 20% higher in the GAR compared with the Rest of Greece. However in some industrial sectors differences were unimportant (Cl. Benjamin Ward Regional Development of Greece, Centre of Planning and Economic Research, Athens 1963).

42.- See B. Kizilou, ‘Planning and participation’in Politis, March-April 1977 (in Greek). Cl. Five year plan for Economic Development, Ministry of Coordination, published by Estia, Athens 1960 (in Greek).

43.- NSSG: 1955 – 1968

44.- See X. Zolotas, Emigration and Economic Development, Bank of Greece, Athens 1966, (in Greek), Cl. NSSG: 1966, 1967.

45.- Cl. Statistical Yearbook of Greece, Athens 1978.

46.- Repatriation statistics started to- be compiled only in 1968. For some data see I. Mitsos, ‘Emigration and Repatriation’ in Greek Review of Social Research (in Greek), no. 2^3, Oct. 1969-March 1970 p.117.

47.- See, The Population of Greece in the second half of the 20th Century, NSSG, 1980, fig. 8.

48.- G. Siampos, Emigration from Greece to industrialised Europe, Institute di Demografia, Univ. di Roma, 1976.

49.- See B. Kayser, Geographie Humaine de la Grece, Paris, P.U.F., 1964, See also A. Pepelassis – P. Yotopoulos, Surplus Labour in Greek agriculture, 1953-60, Athens 1962. ^J

50.- Estimated to be close to 20% of the rural population in toto.See V. Filias, op. cit.

51.- P. Merlopoulos, .’Post-war Emigration’in ΝΕΑ ΟΙΚΟΝΟΜΙΑ, Dec. 1965 Athens (in Greek).

CHAPTER NINE

1.- See Luis Wirth’s conception of the city and urban life typical of the Chicago School. ‘Urbanism as a way of life’, American Journal of Sociology, no. 44, 1938.

– B. Moore, Injustice: The Social bases of obedience and revolt,

Macmillan, London 1979.

3.- The use and abuse of statistical data as a political weapon cannot be better demonstrated in the Greek context than in the case of labour statistics. Manipulation of state statistics in the sense of underestimation – in order to demonstrate the reign of ‘social peace’ being proverbial. For quite opposite reasons the Left used to inflate the figures. The gap between these data and the official ones is so huge and unbridgeable that one of them must be a deliberate liar. To caution the reader, I will cite an example: An article in the official monthly political review of the United Democratic Left (EDA) party (G. Stefanatos, ‘The Working class struggles in the decade 1956-1966)’, Elliniki Aristera (Greek Left) April-May 1966, pp.72-82) provides figures for strikers and lost hours of work, (Table I) , admittedly compiled from press reports 7 to 10 times higher than the official ones. On the other hand, the Great Soviet Encyclopedia counts 252 strikes for 1965 involving more than 964,000 people, and for 1966, 395 strikes with more than 1 million people. See vol. 7, MacMillan, 1975.

4.- See. Th. Katsenavas.The modern trade union movement in Greece, NEA SYNORA, Athens 1981, p. 159 – (a part of his Ph. D. thesis at LSE).

5.- See R. Fakiolas, Trade unionism in Greece, (in Greek), Papazissis, Athens, 1978, pp. 333-335.

6.- See Th. Katsanevas, ‘Important historical moments of Greek trade unionism’ in Economicos Tachydromos, 1.5.1980.

7.- For instance, according to the 1958 Industrial Census, 84.9% of the industrial establishments employed no more than 5 persons. See G. Koutsoumaris, The Morphology of Greek Industry, Centre of Economic Research, Athens, 1963 (in Greek),

8.- It is reasonable to assume that less than a third of wage-earners belonged to unions, that is, less than 15% of the country’s labour force. (Approximation for the period 1950-1967).

9.- The historical element of a well-established and lasting left-wing influence in the unions of transport workers seems to have played an important role in addition to the key position of this sector in urban communication.

10.- Electricity generation increased dramatically from the early 1960s. For example output rose by more than a third in a single year (1965) when previously constructed plants went into operation.

11.- The sector included construction of houses by private and public corporations, hotels, public works, for infrastructures, etc.

12.T-The following tables illustrate the point:

TABLE 23

Greece:	Buildings	Constructed before 1919	1919-1945
Greece Total	3,244,078	592,219	752,895
	416,166	20,175	99,997

	1946-1965	1966	1967
Greece Total	1,348,531	114,835	109,334
	232,947	13,899	10,667
Source: Results	of the census of buildings of December 1/1970 – NSSG

	TABLE 24
Greece: Uses of Buildings
		Exclusively for housing households	Mainly for housing households
Greece Total	3,244,078	2,104,313	172,729
Greater Athens	411,166	325,463 Exclusively or mainly for other purposes	39,070 Non-declared
Greece Total		961,659	5,377
Greater Athens		45,570	1,063

Source: Same as in Table 22

TABLE 25

Greece: Comparative housing censuses 1961 – 1971

Dwellings

1961

Dwellings

1971

Change

Greece Total

2,318,023(100)

2,997,976(100)

679,953 (29.3%)

Greater Athens

502,462(21.7)

828,960(27.7)

326,498 (65.0%)

Source: Provisional results of the 1971 housing census (1971), NSSG

13.- The annual rate of increase for the sector was 9.6% (1952-1957),

11.9% (1957-62) and 7.6% (1962-1966). The dwelling sub-sector rose also at an annual rate of 4.2%; 4.3% and 6.9% in the corresponding periods. On these points I am indebted to H. Stamatopoulos for making available to me his paper, The Greek Economy in Historical perspective, LSE 1978.

14.- See H. Ellis et al, Industrial Capital in Greek development, CPER Athens 1969.

15.- Average percentage of investment in housing during the sub-periods mentioned in footnote no. 13 was:41.1%, 30.9% and 31.4% respectively Quoted from H. Stamatopoulos¹s paper, op. cit.

16.- There were at least 300,000 unoccupied houses all over the country, the great majority of them in remote and mountainous areas, vacated due to mass migration.

17.- See R. Fakiolas, op. cit.

18.- GSEE = General Confederation of Greek Workers. For a historical

account of the GSEE and the Labour Movement, see the classic orthodox Marxist work of Y. Kordatos, History of the Greek Labour Movement,

Athens 1931 (in Greek), Th. Leon , The Greek Socialist Movement and

the First World War: The Road to unity , Columbia University Press, 1976, Th. Katsanevas, Trade Union in Greece: An Analysis of Factors determining their growth and Present Structure, Ph. D. Thesis, LSE 1980 and C. Jecchini’s Trade Unionism in Greece: A Study in Political Paternalism Roosevelt Univ. 1967.

19.- A governmental organisation responsible for collecting compulsory

dues and distributing the funds to unions according to some criteria…. The system of financing the unions has been bitterly contested without success.

20.- That the official administration of GSEE was receiving substantial financial and political support from the leader of the US trade- union establishment Irving Brown (of AFL-ClO) was an open secret.

21.- Naturally enough G. Papandreou’s government wanted to control the trade union movement for its own purposes, to the dismay of the Left which was looking for an opportunity to take hold of GSEE. This is not to deny the effort to democratise the whole structure of trade unionism. However, considerable pressure by the International Confederation of Free Unions watered down initial good intentions.

The newly born structure collapsed with the fall of the government in 1965. GSEE had once again changed hands.

22.- As we have seen, employment in the manufacturing sector of the economy remained almost stagnant between 1951 and 1971; from 15.9% (450,000 people) of the total active population in 1951 and 13.4% (489,000 people) in 1961 to a mere 16.4% (540,000 people) in 1971. On the other hand, employment in the service sector rose from 26.7% (757,000 people) in 1951 to 32.8% (880,000 people) in 1971 (see 1951, 1961 and 1971 censuses by NSSG).

CHAPTER TEN

1.- See L. Vergopoulos, The Agrarian Question in Greece, (in Greek) Exantas, Athens 1975, p. 206.

2.- Debts represented 27% of the gross agricultural product in 1950 and 32% in 1967, Ibid.

3.- Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, Werke, VIII pp. 198-9.

4.- Ibid.

5.- See N. Mouzelis, ‘Class and Clientelistic Politics: The case of Greece’ in The Sociological Review, Vol 26, no. 3, August 1978.

6.- See Pepelassis, op. cit..

7.- It has been estimated that their contribution to agricultural income equalled 10% of the total value of gross annual agricultural production; 40% of immigrants’ remittances went to the countryside. See Evelpides ‘L’exode rural in Grece’ in J.P. Peristiany^ Contributions to Mediterranean Sociology, Mouton 1968. However, per capita agricultural income went on declining from 56% of the urban one in 1957 to 48% in 1963;

See P. Merlopoulos, ‘Problems of the Agricultural Economy’ in NEA ΟΙΚΟΝΟΜΙΑ, June 1966 (in Greek).

8.- Statistically, the Greek village was defined as having up to 1999 inhabitants.

9.- Statistical Yearbook of Greece, 1964.

10.- See A. Avdelides, The Agricultural co-operative movement in Greece, Athens 1976, (in Greek).

11.- Around 9% of agricultural production and 8% of overall traded production (1959 figures)

12.- Membership was limited to the head of the household, which in practice meant the male, middle aged pater-familias.

13.- It has been estimated that during the period between 1950-1967 nearly 2,000 members of the administrative councils of various cooperatives were dismissed on grounds of political unreliability. Purges were intensified. Quoted from P.D. Merlopoulos, op. cit. On the octopus of legal restrictions , police surveillance, state intervention and methods of political exclusion from the cooperative movement. Cl. T. Keltemides, ‘The democratisation of cooperatives’ in Greek Left’, Athens Apri1-May 1965 (in Greek).

14.- See P. Avdelides, op.cit, pp. 89-90

15.- The strike of wheat growers in Thessaloniki, the mass demonstrations in Karditsa and the mass meetings of wheat growers in Thessaly during 1961.

16.- See, N. Karas, ‘The KKE and EDA in the years of Democratic Resistance 1950-1967’ in Communist Review, January-March 1973 (in Greek).

17.- See V. Sakellaris ‘Report in the First Panhellenic Agrarian Conference of EDA’, 25-27-5-1965 in Grefek Left, Athens, July 1965 (in Greek) Appendix.

18.- ‘What is the National Democratic Change’, Ideologico-political lectures for EDA members, no.6, p.11 (in Greek) – 1965.

19.- The first experimental TV broadcast was transmitted by the National Broadcasting Service (EIR) in September 1965 and the Armed Forces Broadcasting Service followed suit in April 1966.

20.- Cl. B. Karapostolis, Consumption models in the Greek countryside, ATE Athens 1979 (in Greek).

21.- See the classic work of K.D. Karavidas, Agrotika, new edition by Papazisis, Athens 1978 (in Greek). Cl. N. Mouzelis, ‘Agrotika: The comparative study of inter-war Balkan rural structure’ in Greek Review of Social Research, Athens, Summer 1978.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

1.- The First Panhellenic Students’ Congress was convened between 28 November and 3rd December 1957, in Athens.

2.- On the peculiarities of the Greek Left, after the civil-war, see B. Kapetanyannis, The Making of Greek Eurocommunism’, Political Quarterly, October-December 1979.

3.- The 2nd Panhellenic Students’ Congress was convened in Athens from 19th to 25th April, 1959. Its final resolution, in the form of an appeal was this time addressed not only to the political parties, but also to Parliament, press and public opinion. It called for a militant campaign to promote ‘students’ problems’, related educational issues to economic development, called for drastic reforms in the Universities and raised education itself to the level of a national issue.

4.- The system should not be confused with positive vetting.

5.- EKOF = National Social Students’ Organisation. Its contribution was placed before the courts for approval on 8.1.60. Its organ, The Students’ Echo, echoed exactly its violent policies and ideologies.

On the role of neo and semi-fascist organisations in Greece, see A. Lentakis, The neo-fascist organisations, Athens 1963, (in Greek).

6.- In December 1959 a permanent strike was called in Athens’ University whereas on the 10th of the same month a militant students’ demonstration in the streets of Athens was suppressed by force with many casualties and arrests. Prosecution of students for ‘breaking public order’, ‘contempt of the authorities’ and for a variety of other reasons was to become a permanent feature of the tactics employed by the authorities to break the movement. On the other hand, the 3rd Panhellenic Students’ Congress organised by EKOF and held in Thessaloniki in December I960, was never to be concluded.

7.- ONEK = Federation of Centre Union Youth Organisations.

8.- DESPA = Governing Committee of Athens University Unions.

9.- Such was the notorious legacy of EKOF that in 1964 EREN, the youth organisation of ERE now in opposition, felt it necessary to publicly denounce EKOF’s deeds and dissociate itself from any of the letter’s redundant activities.

10.- G. Papandreou’s public statement on 31-10-61. EK also organised a press conference for the foreign press to put forward its allegations and evidence (16.11.61). On 26 February 1965 G. Papandreou’s government submitted to Parliament the findings of an official inquiry into the Army’s role in the implementation of the notorious ‘Pericles Plan’, the electoral coup of 1961. The Report of the Committee of five senior officers, chaired by General Loukakis, established beyond any doubt the active involvement of the army, the police, the gendarmerie, the para-govemment and para-state organisations and the Secret Services.

11.- The new electoral law of ‘reinforced (weighted) proportional representation’ passed by Parliament in Spring 1961 clearly favour a two-party system and thus made it imperative for the fragmented forces from the centre to Right to left of Centre, to be united under one banner, if they were to have any chance, not only of winning the elections , but also of surviving.

12.- The first, crucial, public students’ meeting took place in ‘Hatzichristos Theatre in Central Athens on 6 April 1962.

13.- See the account of Yannis Yanoulopoulos in the Athens daily ‘Eleftero- typia – (7.4.1982). See also the monthly review Prosanatalismoi, April and November 1982.

14.- It symbolised the demand for an allocation ; of 15% of the state budget to Education.

15.- By invoking the last article of the 1952 Greek Constitution, which stipulated that ‘observance of this Constitution shall be devoted to the patriotism of Greeks’.

16.— For the role of ‘Panspoudas-tiki¹ see an a posteriori assessment by its editor Stelios RamfOs in ANTI , 9.6.82 and by G. Kaleodis, in Elefterotypia, 20.3.82.

17.- For a-concise historical account, see A. Lentakis’s article in Avgi, 26.8.79.

18.- Unlike the NUS, EFEE’s Constitution (article 6) prohibited any eventual evolution of its Central Council’s elected members into salaried executive union managers.

19.- On the formation of a large Greek student community abroad and its various aspects and implications, consult, I. Theodorakopoulos, ‘Greek Students abroad’ in The Greek Review of Social Research (in Greek), no.33-34 – May to December 1978, Statistics of Education 1976-77, NSSG, Isaac Sabetai, ‘Brain drain: the case of Greece’ in Greek Review of Social Research, no. 26-27, Athens 1976, G. Kourvetaris, ‘Brain drain, and international migration of scientists: the case of Greece’ in The Greek Review of Social Research, no. 15-16, Athens January-June 1973. B. Kapetanyannis, ‘The Greek Students in G.B! – in Economikos Tachydromos, (in Greek), Athens 12.3.1981.

20.- See the pamphlet ‘Greek students abroad’ in Greek, Athens 1965.

21.- Public expenditure on education never exceeded 8% of the State budget in the period between 1955-1962, rising to 12% in the subsequent period, but still totally inadequate, always less than the rate of increase of GNP, of which it shared a meagre 2.25%. No wonder that Greece consistently bottom of the European list on educational spending and fared even worse in comparison with other less developed countries. See M. Drettakis, ‘Public expenditure on education: 1962-1972’ in The Greek Review of Social Research, no. 25, Athens 1975 (in Greek).

22.- For Athens University the average percentage was 15% while in the Faculty of Law it was as high as 25%. It is not possible to estimate how many of the working student population had permanent jobs (e.g. civil servants, etc.) See Statistics of Education, NSSG 1962-63.

23.- According to the Bank of Greece figures in 1962, there were 7,964 Greek students abroad attending various courses as against 28,042 home students. The corresponding figures were 7,421 and 31,995 for 1963,

6,652 and 39,824 for 1964, 6,285 and 43,452 for 1965 and 6,577 and 54,261 for 1966.

24.- See J. Lambiri-Dimaki, Towards a Greek Sociology of Education, Athens 1974, ‘Democrat!sation of education in contemporary Greece: selected aspects’ in The Greek Review of Social Research, no. 29, Athens 1977.

25.- See Ch. Noutsos, The Curriculum in the secondary education and social control, (1931-1973), (in Greek) Themelis, Athens 1979. On higher education, see A. Vrycheas and K. Gavroglou, Attempts at reforming higher education, 1911-1981, (in Greek) Synchrona Themata, Thessaloniki 1982.

26.- Statistics of Education, Higher Education 1962-63, GNSS. See also J. Lambiri-Dimaki, op. cit., and M. Papazoglou,’Social Characteristics of the Students Community’ in TO VIMA TIS KYRIAKIS, 11.5.80 (in Greek).

27.- From 19,864 in 1956 to 28,042 in 1962 and to 54,261 in 1966.

28.- From 8,200 in 1964 to 12,800 in 1965.

29.- Statistical data suggest that between 1956 and 1966 there were no significant changes in the share of educational representation by the listed occupational categories. If there was any, it should be confined to the lower classes since the rapid exodus from the countryside etc., could not be easily registered in the period between the two national censuses (1961-1971).

30.- For the academic year of 1974-75, the percentage of students who declared their fathers’ occupation as ‘agriculture’ was 24.3% of the total compared with 23.2% in 1965. It must be noted however, that the economically active population in agriculture was then no more than 29% compared with 53.23% in 1961. The same observation applies for the students coming from working class families. Whereas students’ in this category represented a 9.7% of the whole in 1965 (as against 19.18% of the EAP registered as workers in 1961) in 1975 they represented 2]^7% (as against 29.42% of the EAP registered as workers in 1971).

For an analysis of social and regional inequalities in Greek higher education, see G. Spyropoulos, Politique d¹Admission dans l’enseigne- ment post-secondaire en Grece,,QECD, Paris 1978 Articles in Ekonomikos Tachydromos, 11.1.79 and 11.10.79. Presentation by G. Mitralias.

CHAPTER twelve

1.- Until 1958 at least, a handful of cadres of EPON, the outlawed Youth Organisation of Resistance times, were still operating underground, controlled by the KKE leadership in exile, but without any apparent influence on events.

2.- EDIN = Hellenic Democratic Youth. On March 4, 1965, the then’

Prime Minister, G. Papandreou, set its ideological and political guidelines in a memorable speech launching the new organisation.

3.- With the eclipse of EKOF in the Universities EREN (National Radical Union of Youth) took over. Its policies practice and methods though conservative to the core, became more moderate; a certain readiness to play according to the democratic rules of the game was also evident amongst its most enlightened leaders.

4.- The Lambrakis affair became known worldwide through G.Gavras’s film ‘Z¹.

5.- EDA decided on the issue towards the end of 1963. The KKE’s leadership decision was taken in January 1964 giving its seal of approval for the merger.

6.- It took place in Athens between 20th March and 1st April 1984. From the confused figures of the official report given in that Congress no reliable data on membership can be drawn. (See the 1st Congress of the Lambrakis Democratic Youth, Athens, 1965 (in Greek).

According to some estimations, by the time of the Congress, the Movement could count on membership of 20,000 which reached a peak in the subsequent years of between 40,000 and 50,000 perhaps if one allows for some flexibility in the application of the definition of membership.

7.- The King was pressurising the G. Papandreou’s government (1963-1965)

to ban the organisation (see Minutes of the Crown Council 1-2 September 1965 – in Greek – p.69). Papandreou, greatly apprehensive of the rapid expansion of the movement, had tried hard to block further inroads into the educational system by banning politics from the classroom (circular 1010/1964) . Under the renegade government of Stepha- nopoulos, an abortive attempt was made in 1966 (July 20th) to introduce legislation covertly providing for the potential dissolution of LDY by the Courts.

8.- LDY had its hero in the person of S. Petroulas who was killed in central Athens (July 20th 1965) during a demonstration protesting against the King’s attempt at installing a new government under the renegade Centre Union politician Novas.

9.- According to some accounts, there were 60,000 LambraJcides in 1966, organised in some 4,500 Youth Clubs throughout the country, figures which seem rather exaggerated. See J. Carey and A. Carey, The Web of Modem Greek Politics, NY 1968, p. 131.

10.- See C. St. Martin, ‘Organised and Spontaneous Youth Movements’ in ANTI, Athens 20-6-1980 (in Greek). Her thesis, in French, based on 185 interviews, was published in Greek under the title of’L*mh_rakides The History of a generation’,Polytypo, Athens 1984.

11.- See the account of John Petherbridge ‘Greece ’63’ in The CND Story, Allison and Busby, London 1983, pp. 64-66.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

1.- On the importance of urban mass movements centred around these issues from a Marxist perspective, see M. Castells, City, Class and Power, MacMillan 1978. See also C.G. Pickvance, ‘On the study of urban social movements’ in Urban Sociology,by C.G. Pickvance (ed), Tavistock Publications, 1976.

2.- Road accidents statistics for 1981, for instance, show that Greece has

1.45 deaths per 1,000 vehicles compared to 0.38 for Great Britain. Compared with Belgium, of roughly the same population size, Greece fares even worse: whereas Belgium has three times as many cars as Greece,, the number of fatalities per 1,000 cars is only 0.77. A report which appeared in the Yorkshire Post (19.11.82) quoted below illustrates the point in a tragical ironic way:

‘Donald Apleyard, an American professor of urban planning made frequent visits to Greece. He often visited various ministries to tell them how he thought the monumental traffic problem in Athens could be solved. He was also very concerned about the high death rate involving automobile accidents. Prof. Apleyard was on his way to the Ministry of Planning and Environment in the centre of the capital on September 23 to give a report on traffic safety. He never reached his destination. Ironically, he himself became another fatal accident victim.

3.- See Anti, the Athens’ Problem, nos. 155 and 156, July 1980. Master Plans for Athens bearing the ambitious title ‘Capital 2,000′(in Greek).

4.- Cl. R.J. Johnston, City and Society, Penguin 1980, p.149.

5.- On urban planning in Greece see G. Kontogiannopoulou-Polydorides,

‘The transferability of city and regional planning expertise’, in The Greek Review of Social Research, no 32, January-April 1978, pp.127-152.

6.- See Planning in Greece 1977, A study by the University of Strathclyde Department of Urban and Regional Planning, January 1978.

7.- Figures quoted from L. Leondidou-Emmanuel ‘Industrialisation and class formation in Contemporary Athenian Society’ in Economy and Society, no. 4, August-September 1979, pp. 40-47, (in Greek).

8.- Prices increased by 45% each year on average between 1955 and 1970, quoted from Planning in Greece 1977, op. cit.

9.- See L. Leontidou-Emmanouel, Life Patterns in an Illegal Housing Area unpublished thesis, Athens 1972.

10.- Public investments in the construction sector represented only 15.6% of total public investments, as against 33.8% of private investments for the period 1949-52. Percentages for the periods 1953-56 and 1957-60 have been 17.4% and 9.2% as against 51.% and 42.4% for the private sector respectively. See Psilos et al (1968) ,op. cit.

11.- Cl. in this context ‘Greece’ fcy N. Mouzelis and M. Attalides in Contemporary Europe: Class, Status and Power by M.S. Archer and S. Giner (ed), Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1971.

12.- In Athens, salaried strata grew from 37.49% of the economically active population in 1951 to a mere 38.76% in 1961 and to 41.78% in 1971.

. 13.- See T. Tsoukalas, Social Development and the State: Organisation of the Public Sector in Greece, (in Greek) , Themelio, Athens’ 1981.

14.- V. Karapostolis, Consumerist behaviour in Greek Society, 1960-75, Athens Greek Centre of Social Research, 1983.

15.- K. Tsoukalas, ‘Higher Education in Greece as mechanism of social reproduction’ in Defkalion, no. 13, Athens, 1975 (in Greek).

16.- Cl. K. Tsoukalas, Dependence and Reproduction: The Social Role of the Educational Mechanisms in Greece 1830-1922, (inGreek) , Themelio, Athens, 1977.

17.- K. Tsoukalas ‘Social repercussions of public employment in post-war Greece’ in The Greek Review of Social Research (in Greek) no. 50, Athens 1983, pp. 20-52.

18.- Ibid.

19.- Ibid, p.44

20.- See K. Tsoukalas, The Greek Tragedy, Penguin 1969.

21.- The occupational distribution in Greek Parliaments displays an overwhelming dominance of the two main professions, i.e. law and medecine. See K. Legg, Politics in Modern Greece, Stanford Univer.Press, 1969

22.- See A. Alexander, The Greek Industrialists, Athens 1964. Alexander claims that 40% of the more important Greek industrialists were sons of peasants, craftsmen and small shopkeepers.

2 3.- On the changing face of clientelism and a patronage in post civil-war Greece under the impact of massive emigration abroad, accelerated urbanisation, economic growth and political mobilisations, see N. Mouzelis ‘Class and Clientelistic Politics: The case of Greece’ in the Sociological Review, vol.- 26, no.3, August 1978.

24.- On the ‘openness’ of the Greek educational system and ‘class access’ to higher education. See also J. Lambiri-Dimaki, ‘Democratisation of Education in Contemporary Greece: Selected aspects (1960s-1970s)’ in her Social Stratitication in Greece: 1962-1982, Sakkoulas, Athens, 1983.

25.- For a detailed discussion of social mobility see John H. Goldthorpe, Social Mobility and Class Structure in Modem Britain, Clarendon Press,1980, Ch.l. See also A.H. Halsey, A.F. Heath, and J.M. Ridge, Origin and Destination, Clarendon Press, 1980.

26.- If we choose the year 1966, for instance, conservative newspapers’

share of total average yearly circulation was 46.7%, whereas ‘progressive’ papers’ share was 53.3%. From D. Stamps, The political line of ‘TO VIMA¹ during 1967-74, Ph. Thesis (in Greek) Athens, 1981.

27.- Legislative Decree 4234, July 1962.

28.- For a short survey of the Greek Press before 1967 see R. McDonald, Pillar, and Tinderbox, London 1983. For the role of the Greek Press in the political crisis of 1965-67 see a study by D. Carmocolias,

Political Communication in Greece: 1965-67, NCSR, Athens 1974.

29.- Another interesting characteristic which emerged from the survey was that 92% of those interviewed were radio listeners, including 68% who listened daily, an indication of the radio’s widespread use as a medium of information.

30.- In the context of T.H. Marshall’s analysis in his Class, Citizenship and Social Development, Greenwood Press, 1973. For a critical appraisal see A. Giddens, Profiles and Critiques in Social Theory, Macmillan 1982.

31.- From B. Jessop, ‘Capitalism and Democracy: The best possible political Shell?’ in Power and the State, by G. Littlejohn, B. Smart, J.Wakefield, and N. Yuval-Davis (eds), Croom Helm, 1978.

32.- See N. Mouzelis, ‘Rise and fall of the Greek Junta’, in New Left Review No. 96, March-April 1976, pp. 57-80.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

1.-‘W. H. McNeil, The Metamorphosis of Greece since World War II , Blackwell, 1978, p.96.

Rousseas has also noted that, ” The American plan to stabilise the Greek economy through a severe reduction in Greek military’expenditures was forgotten when, the Korean War broke out’. See Stephen Rousseas,

The Death of Democracy, Grove Reis, Y.N., 1967, p.95.

2.- See Y. Roubatis, op. cit.

3.- Estimated at one third of the population as a whole, see A. Papandreou, Strategy for Economic .Development of Greece, Athens, 1962 (in Greek).

4.- For an analysis along these lines, Cl. K. Vergopoulos, ‘The protective state and the social alliances: Greek Society in the period 1945-1952 in ANTI, no. 66, March 1977, pp.14-18.

5.- G. Kateforis, Barbarians’ Legislation, Themeli. , Athens 1975 (in Greek), and “L’organisation Institutionelle d’une ‘societe defensive’ en Grece’¹,’ in Les Temps Modernes, no. 276, 1969.

6.- N. Mouzelis’ Modem Greece…., op. cit. , ‘Rise and Fall of the Greek Junta’ in NLR, ho. 96, March-April 1976.

7.- Terms used by the opposition parties and G. Papandreou himself.

8.- See N. Alivizatos, Les institutions politiques de la Grece a travers les crises: 1922-1974, Paris 1979.

9.- See A. Lentakis, ‘Para-state organisations: Boomerang for ERE’ in ANTI, 19.4.1975.

10.- See Alivazatos , op. cit.

11.- See K. Tsoukalas, The Greek Tragedy, Penguin 1969.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

1.- For a balanced account, see J. Maynaud, Rapport sur 1’abolition de la democratie en Grece, Montreal 1967.

2.- A. Papandreou, Democracy at Gunpoint, Pelican 1973, p.127

3.- A critique of the plan from a Left point of view, see A. Zachareas,

‘The draft of the Five-year Plan: Its philosophy and ideology’ m Nea Oikonomia (in Greek), June 1966.

4.- A. Papandreou, op. cit., p.125.

5.- On the deplorable state of Greece’s public administration, see the reports of Georges Langrod commissioned by the government, Ministry of Coordination 1964-65.

6.- On this point, see Y. Kranidiotis, The Cyprus problem: 1960-74 (in Greek), Themelio, Athens 1984. See also A. Xydis, S. Linardatos, K. Hatziorgyri^, Makarios and his allies, (in Greek) , Gutenberg, Athens, 1972 and N. Kranidiotis, The International Dimensions of the Cyprus problem (in Greek), Themelio, Athens 1983.

7.- A. Papandreou, op. cit., p. 144

8.- See D. Paralikas, IDEA and ASPIDA, Athens 1978 (in Greek) pp.167-177.

9.- Ibid. G. Papandreou gave that memorandum for study to his trusted Minister of Defence. When it was found after his fall, it was claimed that he intended to use it for ‘purges’ of disloyal officers under the code-name ‘Plan Elicon’. It has also been claimed (TA NEA 26.4.77) that another memorandum was submitted to G. Papandreou by army officers in the wake of his electoral triumph. It urged sweeping reorganisation of the army. The pressures on the Papandreou government from loyal, active officers and also from many others retired on political grounds by previous governments, were understandable. However, Papandreou did not take any action.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

1.- See K. Mitsotakis’ account in EPIKAIRA, Athens, June 1976 (in Greek)

2.- Translation from Democracy at Gunpoint, op. cit., p. 168, emphasis added.

3.- ASPIDA = AXIOMATIKOI, SOSSATE PATRIDA, IDANIKA, DIMOKRATIA , ANEXARTISSIA – OFFICERS SAVE FATHERLAND, IDEALS, DEMOCRACY, INDEPENDENCE.

4.- FEA = FROUROS ELEFTERIAS ANEXARTISSIAS – GUARDIAN OF LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE.

5.- Report 400/311 of May 10th, 1965.

6.- According to Gennimatas¹s account in the ASPIDA trial, Captain and Captain Nitis first informed him about the organisation on 15.3.1965.

7.- This view is widely shared from P. Kanellopoulos, the then leader of ERE (See his historical essay in KATHIMERINI, 1975 ,in Greek), and the General Secretary of his party, retired Admiral A. Spanides (see his account in KATHIMERINI, 20-24.4.1981 in Greek), to A. Papandreou himself (see Democracy at Gunpoint, op. cit.) However, the possibility of ASPIDA being set up by Grivas or somebody else to trap ‘democratic officers’ and then being disclosed the affair prematurely for political exploitation against G. Papandreou’s government cannot be excluded. This view is taken by G. Karageorgas (see ‘The ASPIDA Affair’ in ΤΑ NEA, 17/5 – 22/5/75 – in Greek) who also argues that ASPIDA was founded in 1961 and that Captain Bouloukos had in vain warned the political leadership of the Centre Union government about the existence and functioning of IDEA and Papadopoulos’s – the prospective dictator – own organisation. See also K. Mitsotakis’s interview in the daily ‘VRADYNI¹ in 14.2.83.

8.- See N.-Stavrou, Allied politics and military interventions: The political role of the Greek military, Athens 1977, p. 169

9.- Privates K. Manatis and D. Bekios.

10.- In his plans Papadopoulos was aided by Captain Steiakakis, head of the Intelligence 2nd Bureau in his unit, a chief witness in the ASPIDA trial later on and a trusted member of Papadopoulos¹s junta.

11.- The first investigation into the affair was assigned to Captain Nikolaides who ruled that the soldiers were innocent. He was switftly replaced. A second investigation was conducted by Captain Dimatakis, who in accord with the Military Prosecutor, Colonel Gopis, concluded that private citizens under custody should be released for ‘lack of evidence’, whereas the soldiers accused were not guilty of any espionage. (Indictment 547/65/20-10-65). Colonel Gopis, whose credentials were impeccable, was retired by the junta in May 1968.

12.- It has been claimed that Papadopoulos was disciplined by the commander of the 6th Division Lieutenant General Manetas (Disciplinary reports F 691.1/45/6446/2.3.65 and F. 691.1/46/35184/29.3.65), for having his unit in a sorry state of preparedness. See a report by A. Hatzopoulos in KATHIMERINI 4.2.75.

13.- See E. Eliou, The power’crisis, Athens 1966 (in Greek)

14.- Out of the 171 EK deputies, one abstained, 163 voted for and 7 absent sent telegrams of support. EDA did not vote for the government and expressed its reservations.

15.- S. Houtas, a deputy of EK and close friend of G. Papandreou, claimed that the letter is in his possession. See ELEFTEROTYPIA, 12.4.76.

16.- I. Manousakis, the General Director of the PM’s Political Office, visited Garoufalias on June 29 to convey the P.M.’a wishes.

17.- The King’s letters are dated 8, 10 and 14 July 1965 and the P.M.’s letters 9 and 15 July 1965.

18.- In his letter of July 10th.

19.- He offered the portfolio of Defence to his Minister of Public Works, S. Houtas. The appointment of retired Lieutenant General D. Papanikolopoulos was also mentioned. Other choices seem to have been discussed.

20.- G. Papandreou, speaking to the Crown Council convened between 1 -2 September 1965, openly stressed this point. See Minutes of the Crown Council, General Directorship for Press and Information, Athens 1965 (in Greek).

21.- In his letter to the King dated 15 July 1965, G. Papandreou refused to be ‘a Prime Minister under prohibition’. Ά political man’ he wrote, ‘ who would accept such a humiliation would be worthy of the contempt of the people, and he would remain as a unique example of lack of self-respect on the political history of the country I may cease being Prime Minister. This causes me neither political nor moral damage, but I do not accept the role of a humiliated Prime Minister, and I do not consent to the violation of the principle of Crown democracy What interests me is my personal honour and the honour of democracy.’ Quoted from Democracy at Gunpoint, op. cit., p. 181.

22.- As a matter of course on 15 July, Garoufalias, who had been expelled from his party on 13 July, had alerted the army and ordered the army regiments (one was the 28th Regiment in Trikala) to move to Athens. He was not of course prepared to defend the government against the King, but rather the opposite. It is not accidental that in the abortive King’s counter coup on 13 December 1967 he was the P.M. designate.

23.- The traffic of US officials between Washington and Athens, their meeting with the Palace and the prospective EK defectors, the activity of the US Embassy in Athens and other US agencies behind the scenes, the meetings between Palace officials and Papandreou’s cabinet ministers, etc. etc.

24.- G. Mavros, soon withdrew from the contest and was appointed Governor of the National Bank of Greece.

25.- S. Venizelos died on 7.2.64 during the electoral campaign.

26.- See EPIKAIRA, op. cit.

27.- See his intervention in the Crown Council, op. cit. See also the account of the General Secretary of ERE, A Spanides, in KATHIMERINI, 21.4.81, in which he paints a vivid picture of the Party’s fears and anti-communist hysteria.

28.- See his reports to the Executive Committee of EDA in 1964 published in AVGI, 16/2 – 22/2/75.

29.- For data and assessments see J. Meynaud, Les forces poliques en Grece, Lausanne 1965. In the years to come EDA intensified its recruitment campaign and probably succeeded in having between 50,000 and 70,000 members. However, from mid-1966 onwards it organisation was obviously in decline.

30.- See. P. Paraskevopoulos, Witness 1963 – 67, Dialogues, Athens 1974, (in Greek). This is a particularly interesting account by one of EDA’s Executive Committee members and KKE cadre, because it was written in 1971 when the author was exiled by the junta to the island of Leros.

31.- On 20 July^ ‘ 160 injuries were recorderid more than 100 arrests.

32.- On 21 July, in a massive demonstration in the centre of Athens, S.Petroulas, a leading member of Lambrakis’ student organisation was killed and more than 300 people injured. On 20 August the streets of Athens were set on fire, when a peaceful demonstration was turned into a riot by agents provocateurs.

33.- Included 99 votes of ERE arid 8 of the right-wing Progressive Party of S. Markezinis.

34.- New defectors were added to the group of ex-EK members, but Markezinis’ Party refused to support the government. Tsirimokos was voted down by 159 deputies.

35.- In a meeting of EK’s parliamentary party, Stefanopoulos¹s proposals were rejected by 113 votes, with 26 votes in favour, and 2 abstentions.

36.- He reitereated his conditions on 8 August when he conferred with the King.

37.- An institutional relic not stipulated by the Constitution and consisting of party political leader and ex-Prime Ministers. EDA was not invited.

38.- See KATHIMERINI, May 1975 (in Greek)

39.- See TO VIMA TIS KYRIAKIS, 9.1.83 (in Greek)

40.- A. Spanides, op. cit.

41.- In a heated debate in Parliament, on 24 and 25 September 1965, Stefanopoulos managed to get 152 votes as against 148.

42.- Some estimates refer to 320,000 participants ‘(see Great Soviet Encyclopedia – Vol. 7, MacMillan 1975), around 350,000 (see G. Stefanopoulos Elliniki Aristera (Greek Left) no. 33-34, April-May 1966, p 75 in Greek). The same figure is quoted by V. Nefeloudis in Elliniki Aristera, nos. 35-36, June-July 1966, p.62. Both figures are certainly exaggerated. The limited success or failure of the general strike is explicitly admitted by other authors (see Democracy at gunpoint op. cit., and J. Meynaud, Rapport op. cit., respectively).

43.- The Left claimed that 50% of the strikes after the July events were clearly politically motivated and has as their chief political demand the restitution of normal political condtiions.

44.- A. Papandreou established the ‘Alexander Papanastassiou’ gioup, a think- tank of prominent intellectuals and the Democratic Leagues consisting of young professionals.

45.- The renegades formed their own party, FIDIK, (Liberal Demoractic Center).

46.- See Kanellopoulos_/ Spanides, op. cit.

47.- According to epigrammatic G. Papandreou.

48.- See F. Vegleris , The July Events: 1965-66, Athens, 1966 (in Greek), p.33

49.- It is characteristic that while K. Mitsotakis conceived of the main threat as coming from the armed forces and justified his defection and subsequent actions in terms of preventing the coming dictatorship (See EPIKAIRA, op. cit.), Stef anopoulos’ s conception was focused on the ‘-communist threat’ (See KATHIMERINI, 22/6 – 2/7/75).

50.- Tie indictment against the organisation ASPIDA by the permanent court martial of Athens, was submitted to S. Kostopoulos, Minister of Defence, on 29 September 1966. It contained evidence from 650 witnesses in a 475 page volume and argued that the organisation was already in touch with 750 officers (!) for proselytisation. The document was prepared by Colonel Laganis.

51.- Lieutenant General P. Panourgias, Head of the Intelligence of the General Staff (2nd Bureau) and known for his right-wing views, had advised Stefanopoulos against any criminal proceedings and recommended the case be closed with the retirement of 2 to 3 officers. (See D. Hondrokoukis, The Golgotha of Greek Democracy , Athens 1974, (in Greek), Communication to the author on 2nd September 1974, pp. 85-86.)

52.- From 26th January 1967, the trial continued behind ‘closed doors’. All the main witnesses for the prosecution were later to be known as important members of the Papadopoulos’s junta.

53.- KATHIMERINI, op. cit., 1-7-75.

54.- In May 1966.

55.- EDA’s parliamentary leader, E. Eliou , analysed the logic behind the points in a public meeting in Thessaloniki, 16-2-66.

56.- See Paralikas, op. cit., vol. 2

57.- Κ. Mitsotakis, ορ„ cit., has claimed that on this issue he found himsel in a minority and that in the next year’s review (December 1966), the government, under his pressure, planned for the first time not to folloi the King’s directives! This is difficult to believe for how could a clay-footed government succeed where the all powerful government of G. Papandreou failed? It is possible to envisage some room to manoeuvre but not a decisive voice. In any case the claim cannot be tested since the government fell before the review.

58.- See N. Karas, Communist Review, January-March 1973, (in Greek)Appendix.

59.- Democracy at Gunpoint, op. cit., p.202

60.- A peaceful demonstration in Athens on 18 August 1966 was turned into a savage riot.

61.- He was S. Houtas, a trusted friend of his, and a Cabinet Minister in his 1964 government. According to Houtas’s own account, he had three long sessions with the King to prepare the ground for negotiations (see his interview in ELEFTEROTYPIA, 12.4.76) .

62.- All the facts are based on Kanellopoulos’s account, KA1HIMERINI, op.cit, The Aide-memoire was drafted by the Head of the King’s Political Bureau, Ambassador D. Bitsios, who had replaced Choidas in the post.

63.- By custom, such governments were called ‘service governments’ and were entrusted the task of conducting elections. This time however, since the life of the government would be longer than usual and would be politically supported by the two main parties in Parliament, its character was more political than service.

64.- The same person had served as Prime Minister in the government which conducted the November 1963 general elections.

65.- The same person had served as Prime Minister in the government which conducted the November 1963 general elections.

66.- Thus E. Vlachos’s daily KATHIMERINI, which supported Kanellopoulos, considered a scenario which might prompt military intervention:’….

If God forbid, the Centre Union becomes the majority party or obtains a majority with EDA….will abolish the regime and become masters of the government or rather of power and it would be necessary to use the armed forces tooustthem…’ 23.2.67. Translation quoted from R.McDonald Pillar and Tinderbox;The Greek Press and the Dictatorship, London 1983. The same justification was later advanced by apologists of the junt . G. Kousoulas, for instance, argued that ‘a vocal and determined section of the liberal camp was closing ranks with the pro-Communist Left against the constitutional order’, Greece:Uncertain Democracy, Washington 1973, p.39.

67.- The letter dated 27.12.1966, was intended as an appeal rather than as an ultimatum.

68.- With 215 votes against 61. Some of the defectors’ group abstained, the rest (31) voted against, together with EDA and the 8 deputies of Markezini’s Progressives.

– See A. Papandreou’s leading article in his mouthpiece, the monthly, ΝΕΟΙ DROMOI (New Roads), no. 2, January 1967.
– Ibid, no 3, February 1967.
– According to an opinion poll conducted in the spring 1967, A. Papandreou’s ratings were even higher than his father’s in the electorate’s preferences. See ANTI, 3.12.77.
– According to Stephen Rousseas, The Death of Democracy, New York, 1967, he won the right to select 178 out of a total of 300 candidates.
– See L. Kyrkos, ‘Anti-dictatorial front: the people’s answer’, in ELLINIKI ARISTERA, November 1966.
– The Lambrakis’ trial had started on 3rd October 1966 and ended on 17 January 1967.
– The ASPIDA trial ended on 16 March 1967. Only fifteen officers were given prison sentences.
– See D. Carmocolias, Political Communication in Greece 1965-67, Athens 1974.
– cit., In his letter to K. Karamanlis, in mid-March 1973.
– In a parliamentary debate on the new electoral law on 29 March 1967, an

amendment was tabled by EK to extend parliamentary immunity during the

electoral period. The reason was that a petition was pending for the removal of his immunity so he could be interrogated about his alleged involvement in the ASPIDA affair. As soon as ‘Parliament was dissolved he could be arrested.

– Upon the resignation of Paraskevopoulos’ govememnt, Papandreou had conferred with the King (31.3.67) and urged him not to grant the mandate to a political leader, but to a new interim (service) government.
– Through EK’s MP, retired General P. Katsotas.
– Mitsotakis has argued that the fate of democracy was sealed with the fall of Paraskevopoulos’s government (see EPIKAIRA, op. cit., and AKROPOLIS 5.12.82.)
– The leaders of the Military, Police and Security Services had twice

suggested in the Past and guite openly to both the Novas and Tsirimokos Governments in 1965 that they should proclaim martial law.

– The Times (17.4.67), New York Times (18.4.67)
– Papandreou planned to start his electoral campaign in Thessaloniki on 23 April, EDA in Volos on the same day and Kanellopoulos in Piraeus on 22 April 1967.

– For the psychological and propaganda preparation of the military coup, through state institutions, see ANTI, 7-9.74 and 21.9.74. The plan titled ‘Programme for immediate implementation’ was conceived by the junta’s civilian branches and paid particular attention to the ideological preparation of the officer corps.

86.- Forged papers were published to ‘prove’ G. Papandreou’s alleged involvement in the ASPIDA affairs and Elefteros Kosmos, the mouthpiece of the junta, ‘revealed’ a ‘leftist’ plan to assassinate the King.

87.- Ihirtyfour strikers were injured, 17 hospitalised and 60 arrested.

On the side of the police, 51 policemen were reputed injured (12.4.67).

88.- G. Spandidakis himself claimed that a decision was taken on 20 April 1967, the eve of the Colonels’ coup, to move on Saturday, 22nd April, before the inauguration of the electoral campaign and ahead of G. Papandreou’s open air electoral meeting in Thessaloniki the next day.-. See his letter toAKROPOLIS, 31.12.72. However, the Director of KYP at that time, General K. Papageorgopoulos, places the coup a week later (See AKROPOLIS, 20.12.72). Other dates have also appeared in press reports.

89.- Cl. L. Stern, The Wrong Horse: The politics of Intervention and the Failure of American Diplomacy, NY 1977, A Papandreou, op. cit., E. Drew, ‘Democracy on Ice’ in Hellenic Review, Sept. 1968, G. Karageorgas, From Idea to the Junta, Athens 1975, (in Greek), D. Paralikas, op. cit., S. Gregoriades, History of the Dictatorship, vol. I, Athens, 1975, (in Greek) K. Tsoukalas, The Greek Tragedy, op. cit. A report compiled by a group of Greek journalists and submitted as evidence in the junta’s trial (1975) in POLITICA THEMATA, 18-25/4/75, S. Theodoropoulos, From Truman’s doctrine to the junta ‘s doctrine, Athens, 1976 (in Greek), N. Psyroukis, History of Modern Greece, vol. Ill (1940-67), Athens, 1976 (in Greek, S. Rousseas , op. cit., A. Papandreou, TA NEA, 22.4.77, and numerous reports in the Greek and foreign press.

90.- In March 1967 to the 10th Plenary Session of KKE’s Central Committee, which was -convened abroad further aggravated the crisis which had gripped the party during the whole period (1965-66) and completely disorientated EDA’s political objectives in the face of the threat from the military. The gap between reality and wishful thinking was widened.

91.-EDA’s leaders, E. Eliou and A. Brillakis, had suggested to K. Mitsotakis

voting for Kanellopoulos’ government, but their party dared not make any similar move for fear of the reaction of its own supporters and the expected general outcry against such .dealings and compromises. K. Mitsotakis’ op. cit., P. Paraskevopoulos, op. cit., N. Karras, op. cit., and B. Drakopoulos Ta’nEA, 25.4.77

92.- See his leader,* Towards Normality, in ΝΕΟΙ DR0M0I, (in Greek·) , March 1967, p.5.

93.- See Rousseas, op. cit.

94.- See A. Papandreou interview with TA NEA, 22.4.and 23.4.77.

95.- Ibid.

96.- Athenian, Inside the Colonels’ Greece, London 1972.

FOOTNOTES

Chapter Eighteen

1.- T. Parson’s pioneering sociological work has had an immense influence

on most of the extensive writings on problems of economic social and cultural development and change. His major works, The Structure of Social Action (1937), The Social System (1951), Towards a General Theory of Action ( with the co-editorship of E. Shils, 1951), Structure and Progress in Modern Societies (I960) and Sociological Theory and Modern Society (1969), have initiated a host of studies in every possible field of social sciences. It is characteristic for instance how Hoselitz, prominent figure in this field, conceives of development and underdevelopment in terms of variables: universalism versus particular achievement versus ascription, speficity versus diffuseness and effective ty versus effective neutrality. (See B. Hoselitz, Sociological Factors in Economic Develoment, Glencoe, I960; ‘Sociological and Social Change by J. Finkle and R. Cable (eds), NY 1964.

2.- B. Crick, In Defence of Politics, Penguin, 1973, p.173. According to the orthodox engravers of the concept, the political system is defined as ‘a system of interactions to be found in all independent societies, which performs the function of integration and adaptation (both internally and vis-a-vis other societies), by means of the employment, or threat of employment, of more or less legitimate physical compulsion. The political system is the legitimate order-maintaining or transforming system in the society’. G. Almond and J. Coleman, The Politics of the Developing Areas Princeton Univ. Press, 1960, p. 7. See also, R. Macridis, The Study of Comparative Government, NY, 1955, Ch. Ill

3.- The role is described as ‘that organised sector of an actor’s orientation which constitutes and defines his participation in an “interactive process”, and thus political system can be redefined as a patterned interaction of roles affecting decisions backed up by the threat of physical compulsion’, G. Almond, Political Development, Boston 1970. About Vole structures’ see N. Smerlser, ‘Mechanisms of Change and Adjustment to Change’, in Industrialisation and Society , by B. Hoselitz and W. More (eds) UNESCO 1970.

5.- Apter’s approach is more ‘synthetic’ and poses challenging theoretical problems but his typology of political structures does not mark any significant departure from structuralism/functionalism. See D. Apter The Politics of Modernisation, Univ. of Chicago Press 1965, and esp. Political Change, London 1975.

6.- The concept originates in Max Weber’s writings. According to S. Lipset legitimacy signifies ‘the capacity of the system to engender and maintain the belief that the existing political institutions are the most appropriate ones for the society’, S. Lipset, Political Man: The Social Basis of Politics, NY 1960, p.77

7.- See among others, E. Shils, Political Development in New States, The Hague 1962, J. Kautsky, Political Change in Underveloped Countries,

NY, 1962, and P. Organski, Stages of Political Development, NY, Knopf, 1965.

8.- ‘Attitudes, sentiments and cognitions that inform and govern political behavrious and…. they represent coherent patterns which fit together and are mutually reinforcing’ L. Pye and S. Verba, Political Culture and Political Development, Princeton Univ. Press 1969. See also G. Almond and S. Verba, The Civic Culture, Princeton Univ. Press, 1963, where political culture is defined as ‘orientation’.

9.- See S. Finer, The Man on Horseback, Penguin 1975.

10.- On the problem of legitimacy, see The Military and the Problem of Legitimacy by G. Harries-Jenkins and J. Van Doom (eds) , Sage, 1976.

11.- See J. Coleman and G. Almond (eds) The Politics of the Developing Areas, Princeton Univ. Press, Princeton I960.

12.- Cl. M. Needier, ‘Political Development and Military Intervention in Latin America’ in American Political Science Review (APSR), no. 60 (Sept.1966). See Also E. Nordlinger, ‘Soldiers in Mufti: The Impact of Military Rule Upon Economics and Social Change in the non-Westem States’. APSR, no.64 (Dec. 1970)

13.- See S. Huntington, Political order in Changing Societies, Yale Univ. Press, New Haven and London, 1968.

14.- Ibid .

15.- Three conditions are necessary for the working of the ‘system’; the first is often described as functional requisites (Levy) or imperatives of any system of action (Parsons), the second concerns the interdependence of the parts of the system, conceived more or less as equal quantities, in a way that when the properties of one component part change, all the other parts must consequently be affected. And the third refers to the maintenance of the system in equilibrium, a condition which depends on the interdependent interaction of social structures and institutions performing functions for the very sake of maintenance and integration.

16.- See N. Mouzelis, Politics in the Semi-Periphery: Early Parliamentarism and Late Industrialisation in the Balkans and Latin America, MacMillan, London 1986 , esp. Ch. IV.

17.- D. Apter, Political Change, Frank Cass, London 1973

18.- See J. Nun, The Middle Class Military Coup’ in C, Veliz (ed), The Politics of Conformity in Latin America, Oxford Univ. Press, 1967.

19.- Cl. on this the well-known Miliband-Poulantzas debate: N. Poulantzas,

The Problem of the Capitalist State’, New Left Review, no.58; R. Miliband ‘The Capitalist State: A Reply to Nicos Poulantzas’, New Left Review , no.59 N. Poulantzas, ‘The Capitalist State: A Reply to Miliband and Laclau’, New Left Review, no. 95; E. Laclau, ‘The specificity of the political: The Poulantzas-Miliband Debate’ in his Politics and Ideology in Marxist Theory, NLB 1977; A. Giddens,*Sociology: A Brief but Critical Introduction, MacMillan, 1982, Ch 4, and B. Jessop, The Capitalist State, Martin Robertson, 1983.

20.- See G. O’Donnel, Modernisation and Bureaucratic Authoritarianism, Univ. of California, Berkeley, 1973.

21.- like F. Cardoso and E. Faletto, Ph. Schmitter, A. Hirzschman, A. Stepan, C.Furtado, Tbrcuato di Telia and others.

22.- For a brief synthesis of this argument see D. Collier, ‘Overview of the Bureaucratic Authoritanian Model’ in The New Authoritarianism in Latin Amerj ca,by D. Collier (ed), Princeton Univ. Press, Princeton, NJ, 1979.

23.- For a critique see N. Mouzelis, Politics in the Semi-Periphery, op. cit.

24.- For a comprehensive critique see J.G. Taylor, From modernisation to modes of production, MacMillan, 1979.

25.- For a wind-up critical discussion, see A. Foster-Carter, ‘The Modes of Production Debate’, in NLR, no. 107 Jan-Feb. 1978, pp. 47-77

26.- A review of this limited literature by W. Ziemann and M. Lanzendorfer,

‘The State in Peripheral Societies’, in Socialist Register, 1977, pp.143- 177. A later more political analysis by C. Leys, ‘Capital Accumulation, Class Formation and Dependency – The Significance of the Kenyan case’, in Socialist Register, 1978, pp. 241-266. See also, R. Muck, ‘State ana Capital in Brazil’, in Capital and Class, no. 8, Summer 1979; and his Politics and Dependency in the Third World, Zed, London 1984. For a comparative approach see P. Lubeck and J. Walton, ‘Urban Class Conflict in Africa and Latin America’, in International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, vol. 3, no.l. 1979. For a critical elaboration and application of the concept of the ‘peripheral state’ in the Greek case see N. Mouzelis, ‘Capitalism and the Development of the Greek State’ in R. Scase (ed), The State in Western Europe, Groom Helm, London 1980.

27.- It has been suggested that the notion of ‘dependence’ should be abandoned for good for its misleading connotations, illogicality and extensive abuse. See G. Therborn, ‘The Travail of Latin American Democracy’ in NLR, nos. 113-114, Jan. April 1979.

28.- For a presentation of this school see J. Holloway and S. Picciotto (eds), State and Capital: A Marxist Debate, Edward Arnold, London 1978 .

29.- See N. Mouzelis, op. cit.

30.- See N. Poulantzas, Pouvoir Politique et classes sociales, Maspero, Paris 1968; Les Classes Sociales dans le Capitalisme AUjourd’hui; Seuil 1974 L’Etat, le Pouvoir, Le Socialisme,PUF 1978. See also N. Poulantzas (ed) IaCrise de l’£tat, PUF 1976 and Fascisme et Dictature, Maspero 1970. As Stuart Hall has noted, Poulantzas’s last book State, Power, Socialism opened up ‘ a series of Pandora’s boxes’ in ‘The Legacy of N. Poulantzas’, NLR, no. 119, Jan-Feb. 1980. See also B. Jessop, For Poulantzas, NLB London 1984.

31.- G. Karayorgas, From the Idea to the Junta (in Greek) Paparissis, Athens 1975.

32.- See L. Stem, The Wrong Horse, US 1977.

33.- Cl. C. Sulzberfer, ‘Greece under the Colonels’, Foreign Affairs, no 48, 1970. Eric Rouleau’s penetrating analyses of Greek politics in Le Monde during 1965-67, are recommended reading and exemplary species of responsible and professional journalisTir.

34.- Cl. J. Katris, Eyewitness in Greece: the Colonels Come to Power, St. Louis Missouri, New Critics Press, 1971.

35.- B. Stockton, Phoenix with a Bayonet, Ann Arbor, Michigan, Georgetown Publications 1971.

36.- K. Young, The Greek Passion, Dent, London 1968.

37.- D. Holden, Greece without Columns,Faber and Faber, London 1972.

38.- See for instance, T. Voumas, History of Modem Greece (in Greek) Tolidis, Athens 1984; S. Linardatos, Modern Greek History (in Greek), Papazissis, Athens 1977,; S. Gregoriadis, History of the Dictatorship (in Greek) Kapopoulos, Athens 1975; R. Clogg, A Short History of Modem Greece, Cambridge University Press, 1979; C.M. Woodhouse, Modern Greece·: A Short History , Faber 1977.

39.- Biographies of leading political personalities of the period complement narratives of events through the spectacles of their own actors.

They are usually exercises in self-justification or a posteriori rationalisation, whenever they do not degenerate into sheer hagiography. (Cl.

Genevoix, The Greece of Karamanlis, Doric Publications, London 1973;

C.M. Woodhouse, Karamanlis:The Restorer of Greek Democracy, Clarendon Press, 1982, K. Tsatsos, The Unknown Karamanlis (in Greek), Athens 1983.

See Also S. Yannatos, G. Papandreou in the Crucial Hours of Greece and the Greek Democracy (in Greek), Greek Cultural Press, Toronto, 1971. Political profiles of the ‘old man of democracy’ are equally hagiographic.

40.- For bibliographical guidance see the notes of Y. Yanoulopoulos, in Greece under Military Rule (Greek edition) by G. Yannopoulos and R. Clogg (eds) Papazissis, Athens, 1976, pp. 385-406; and S. Korizis, The Authoritarian Regime: 1967-74 (in Greek), Guteberg, Athens 1975.

41.- See J. Meynaud,Les Forces Politiques en Grece, Lausanne, SSP 1965;

Ifepport sur l’Abolition de la D^mocratie en Grfece: 15 Juillet 1965-Avril 1967 6tudes de Science Politique, Montreal 1967.

42.- Cl. R. Roufos, Inside the Colonels’ Greece, Chatto and Windus, London 1972 (published under the pseudonym ‘Athenian’); J. Campbell and P. Sherrard, Modem Greece, Benn, London 1968; J.P.C. Carey and A.G. Carey, The Web of Modern Greek Politics, Columbia Univ. Press, NY, 1968.

43.- See R. Clogg and G. Yannopoulos, (eds) Greece under Military Rule,

Seeker and Woburg, London 1972; Les Temps Modemes, special issue

¹Aujourd’hui la Grece’, Paris, no 276, September 1969 in which S. Papaspi- liopoulos’ article ‘Structure Socio-politique et Developement Economique en Grece’ is particularly well argued.

44.- P. Vatikiotis (Greece: A Political Essay, Washington, 1974 ), seems to

be quite obsessed with Greek Society’s alleged parochialism; S. Rousseas (The Death of Democracy, Grove Press, NY, 1967), focuses specifically and critically on A. Papandreou’s policies and tactics, whereas P. Paras- kevopoulos (Witness 1963-67 (in Greek), Dialogos , Athens, 1974) concentrates on the politics of the Left and its own blunders.

45.- See A. Papandreou, Democracy at Gunpoint, Penguin, 1973.

46.- See G. Kousoulas’s apologia for the junta, ‘The Origins of the Greek Military coup, April 1967’ in Orbis, Foreign Policy Research Institute Uiiv. of Pennsylvania, Spring 1969; See also his Modem Greece: Profile of a Nation, NY, 1974.

47.- See Th. Couloumbis, ‘Post World War II – Greece: A Political Review’ in Hearings before the sub-committee of the Committee of Foreign Affairs, House of Representatives, US Government Printing Office, Washington, 1971; See also his Greek Political Reaction to American and NATO influence. New Haven, Yale Univ. Press, 1966; and T. Couloumbis, J. Petropoulos and H. Psomiades, Foreign interference in Greek Politics, Pella, 1976.

48.- See N.Stavrou, Allied Politics and Military interventions: The Political Role of the Greek Military, Papazissis, Athens, 1976. Th. Veremis, op.cit., see also ‘Greece: Veto and Impasse, 1967-74’ in The Political Dilemmas of Military Regimes, by C. Clapham and G. Philip (eds), Groom Helm, London 1985.

49.- See G. Kourvetaris, ‘The Greek Army Officer Corps: Its Professionalism and Political Intervention’ in M. Janowitz and J. Van Doorn (eds) On Military Intervention, Rotterdam, 1971; ‘Professional Self-Images and Political Perspectives in the Greek Military’, in American Sociological Review, vol. 36 1971; ‘The Role of the Military in Greek Politics’, International Review of History and Political Science, 1971; See also, D. Smokovitis, The Armed Forces: A Specific Social Group (in Greek), Ph. D. dissertation, Thessaloniki 1977; J. Siotis, ‘Some Notes on the Military in Greek Politics’ The Greek Review of Social Research, no. 7-8, Athens 1971.

50.- See Koutsoukis , ‘Socio-economic Change and Cabinet Composition in Greece 1946-1976’ in GRSR, no 32, 1978, pp. 74-79, and his ‘Political and Socioeconomic Development in Greece (1946-1970)’: (An attempt to verify empirically the theories of Lemer, Lipset and others by means of using advanced statistical methods – factor analysis and multiple regression analysis), in GRSR (in Greek), Athens, nos. 36-37, 1979, pp.372-392.

51.- See J. Brown, ‘Political Performance within Politics: a Case Study of Greece: 1963-67’, in GRSR, nos 11-12, 1972.

52.- See K. Legg, Politics in Modem Greece, Stanford Univ. Press, California 1969,

53.- Cl. M. Nikolinakos, Resistance and Opposition: 1967-1974 (in Greek) Athens 1975.

54.- See, for instance, N. Psyroukis, History of Modem Greece: 1940-67 (in Greek) Epikairotita, Athens, 1976.

55.- See C. Tsoukalas, The Greek Tragedy, Penguin, London 1969.

56.- See N. Poulantzas, La Crise des Dictatures – Portugal, Grece, Espagne, Maspero, Paris 1975. The presentation of Poulantzas’s standpoint is certainly oversimplified. However, it is fair to say that his conceptualisation of politics and analysis of political developments relied heavily if not exclusively (or ‘in the last instance’) on economic categories

57.- See D. Haralambis, Army and Political Power; The Structure of Power in Post-War Greece, (in Greek), Exantas, Athens 1985. Haralambis applies the key-concepts of modernisation, legitimation and continuity/rupture by means of political crises, but his analysis is in fact more functionalist than Marxist. He is led to adopt a view which attributes an omnipotent integration role of the ‘system’ implying that any alternative anti-bourgeois political project must necessarily operate outside ‘bourgeois legality’ and the very ‘mechanisms of bourgeois legitimation and consensus. It is in fact, a dangerous position, which not only surrenders democratic political values to the exclusive property of the bourgeoisie, but also has nothing to put in their place. More fruitfully and successfully, the problem of institutional crisis over a long period of Greece’s history (1922-74) is tackled by N.Alivi- zatos (The Political Institutions in Crisis; 1922-74 – Facets of the Greek Experience), fin Greek), Themelio, Athens 1983. Alivizatos’s focus is constitutionalism and the legal functioning of state institutions over the period. However, he is well aware of the wider political and historical context of legal institutional arrangements and the political functions and implications of legality which he resiters with considerable clarity and perception.

58.- See N. Mouzelis, Modern Greece; Facets of Underdevelopment, MacMillan, London 1978; ‘Capitalism and Dictatorship in Post-War Greece’ , in New Left Review, no. 96, 1976, pp. 57-80.

59.- See N. Mouzelis, politics in the Semi-Periphery; Early Parliamentarism and later Industrialisations in the Balkans and Latin America, MacMillan, 1986.

60.- Cl. G. Almond (ed), Crisis, Choice and Change, Little Brown, Boston 1973. See also Scott Flanagan, Models and Method of Analysis, in Crisis, choice and Change, by G. Almond (ed.) op. cit.

61.- For instance, in both political theory and practice, the notion of ‘economic catastrophism’ as a concomitant characteristic of the latest (and presumably last) stage of ‘monopoly capitalism’, the identification of every major or minor political crisis with ‘revolutionary situations’ in the context of Lenin’s analysis, survived long after the grave political disasters of the European Left (Cl. N. Poulantzas, Fascisme et Dictature, Maspero, Paris 1970) and one still to be found both on the leftist fringes of the political spectrum and in many Marxist debates on the ‘generalised crisis’ of capitalism world-wide.

62.- Assessing the coup d’etat of Louis Bonaparte in 1852, Marx wrote that ‘

In reality, it was the only form of government possible at the time, when the bourgeoisie had already lost and the working class had not yet acquired the faculty of ruling the nation’ (emphasis added). K. Marx, ‘The Civil War in France : Address of the General Council’ in The First International and After Penguin, 1974, p. 208. In The Eighteenth Brumaire, he writes, for instance, that ‘Bonaparte is in the executive authority which has attained power in its own right, and as such he feels it to be his mission to safeguard ” bourgeois order”…. he is only where he is because he has broken the political power of the middle class……But by protecting its (middle class) material power he recreates its political power’, in Surveys from Exile, Penguin 1974, p. 245.

63.- See A. Showstack Sassoon The Political Thought of A Gramsci, Ph.D. thesis LSE 1978, esp. Ch.II (the analysis of the conjuncture) and 13 (the passive revolution).

64.- In numerous passages and especially in his analysis of the phenomenon of Caesarism, Gramsci stresses the point that the resulting political outcome is always determined by the political struggles of antagonistic forces. He makes a clear distinction between economic crises and political crises, insisting that the latter are not directly determined by the former. The rupture of social equilibrium of forces does not occur as the result of ‘direct mechanical causes’ but, ‘in the context of conflicts on a higher plane than the immediate world of the economy¹, Prison Notebooks, Lawrence and Wishart, London, 1971, p.184. Gramsci goes so far as to say that ‘among the effective causes of the coups must be included the failure of the responsible groups to give any conscious leadership to the spontaneous revolts or to make them into a positive political factor’, Ibid, p.199, (emphasis added).

65.- A static equilibrium exists where ‘no group…. has the strength for victory’ Ibid, p.211 An organic equilibrium exists where the antagonistic forces are in conflict with catastrophic prospects – a situation from which Caesarism is born (can be born), Ibid, p.211. ‘Caesarism can be said to express a situation in which the forces in conflict balance each other in such a way that a continuation of the conflict can only terminate in their reciprocal destruction’ Ibid p.219. Historico.political situations characterised by an equilibrium of forces heading towards catastrophe….’p.219, ‘…. the equilibrium with catastrophic prospects… between forces whose opposition is historically incurable…’ Ibid, p.22.

66.- For Gramsci, the Caesarism of Napoleon I, represented the ‘historical phase of passage from one type of state to another type….’whereas the Caesarism of Napoleon III, was only “evolution” of the same type along unbroken lines’ Ibid, p. 222.

67.- For Gramsci situations of crisis are predominantly political despite the presence of elements of permanent structural determinations because they constitute the terrain on which particular constructions/reconstructions of hegemony are actually taking place. What he calls organic crisis is but a ‘crisis of the ruling class’s hegemony’. (On the disputed concept of hegemony, Cl. P. Anderson’s article ‘ The Antinomies of Antonio Gramsci’, New Left Review, no. 100, Nov. 1976-1977 and A. Showstack Sasson’s ‘Hegemony and Political Intervention¹ in Politics. Ideology and the State ‘ by S. Hibbin (ed), London, Lawrence and Wishart 1978) . In fact, Gramsci’s organic crisis refers to the crisis of what he calls integral state (dictatorship + hegemony), in other words, to the particular processes by means of which the moments of violence and consensus, the two faces of Janus, embodied in the apparatuses of political and ideological domination are thrown into a state of crisis.

68.- The crisis of political representation refers to social classes becoming

detached organisationally as well as ideologically – from their traditional party affiliations; traditional parties, in other words, are no longer recognised by those who are represented by them; there is a conflict between ‘represented and representatives’. The ideological aspect of the representation crisis assumes the form of an equally strong detachment of social forces from their traditional ideologies, a process leading inevitably to a crisis of authority. The term is identical to the crisis of hegemony, or general crisis of the state, as Gramsci labels it. The crisis consists in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appear’, he wrote. (Prison Notebooks, op. cit., p. 276). ‘When such crises occur’, Gramsci concluded epigrammatically, ‘ the immediate situation becomes delicate and dangerous, because the field is open for violent solutions, for the activities of unknown forces, represented by charismatic men of destiny (Prison Notebooks, op. cit., p.210). See N. Poulantzas, ‘Les transformations actuelles de l’Etat, la crise pDlitique et la crise de l’Etat’, in his (ed) La crise de l’Etat, PUF 1976. See also his L’Etat, Le Pouvoir, Le Socialisme, PUF 1978, esp. Part II, pp. 135-179. See also, N. Poulantzas, Political Power and Social Classes, NLB, 1973, p. 206.

71.- J. Sallois et M. Cretin, ‘Le Role Social des Haut Fonctionnaires et la Crise de l’Etat’ , in La Crise de l’Etat., op. cit. , pp. 233-261.

72.- R. Miliband, Marxism and Politics, Oxford University Press, 1977. See also M. A. Macchoicchi, Pour Gramsci, Paris 1973.

73.- Such situations constitute the ‘prelude of a veritable redistribution of relations between social classes and parties’. (C. Buci-Glucksmann, Gramsci et l’Etat, Fayard, 1975, p.121. See also her article ‘Sur le concept de

la crise de l’Etat et son histoire’ in La Crise de l’Etat, op. cit., pp59-89.)

74.- See E.P. Thompson, The Poverty of Theory, Merlin Press, 1978, p.186.

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