folztrcs (1989) (9) 1 8-13

EUREKA AND THE SYMBOLIC POLITICS OF HIGH TECHNOLOGY

John Peterson

I N MODERN political lexicography there are few terms which match the cryptic potency of ‘high technology’. Technological change proceeds with increasing rapidity in a much more open world, where boundaries, originally created by nature between regions and continents, have diminished. Governments have been forced as never before to consider the powerful and multitudinous impact of technological change on the societies they rule. It figures heavily in their choices across a broad spectrum of policies, as well as in their election campaigns. Candidates and political parties in western democracies increasingly compete to identify themselves as guardians and purveyors of the ‘new technological revolution’.

I n the late 1980s national technological competitiveness has risen to the forefront ofpolitical agendas, particularly in Western Europe. Few policy areas are more complex and esoteric than what has come to be known as ‘innovation policy’: the ways and means used by governments to promote technological innovation (Aubert, 1984). There is much to suggest that past models of European innovation policy have lost their relevance in the face of new global economic realities. In many key high technology sectors - for instance telecommunications, microchips, computers, biotechnology, - the US and Japan together now typically control 90 per cent of global market shares (Carton, 1987).

Competition is still keen between nations because technological innovation can rapidly bring benefits across a wide spectrum of national industries and services. But the very nature of technological competition is changing. Increasingly, international corporate alliances are required to spread the cost of research, rationalize production, and sell in a variety of markets quickly as the life-span of technology products diminishes.

The European response to this changed picture has become collaboration between technology firms across national borders. The panoply of co-operative R and D schemes underway within the European Community’s Framework technology programme (Esprit, Bn’tc, Race, etc) reveals that political support for pan-European innovation policies is increasing. As a result, the historically fragmented European R and D community is becoming integrated on a scale previously unseen.

Yet, the most ambitious and arguably most important single pan-European technology initiative exists outside the EC’s Framework programme. Eureka (European Research Co-ordination Agency) has developed in its three year lifespan from a vague, ill defined call for European solidarity to a key 3.8 billion ECU policy instrument. Participants include all 12 EC member-states, the six EFTA countries, and Turkey. Eureka is designed to work ‘close to the market’ and rapidly yield marketable products. At least in theory, i t thus seeks to complement the EC’s Framework programme, which is mainly concerned with basic, ‘pre-competitive’ R and D.

There is a clear logic embodied in pan-European innovation policy initiatives such as Eureka and Esprit. Technological co-operation encourages European national champions to consider the benefits which might accrue to them from a unified internal market after 1992. Technology firms also become an important constituency for pressuring their governments to dismantle national barriers to Europe-wide trade (Sharp and Shearson, 1987). Moreover, collaboration can produce common standards early in the research stage. Eventually, products result which can be easily marketed across national borders.

Eureka, however, did not originate on a pan-European level. It was initially proposed by French President Francois Mitterrand, and clearly was as much motivated by domestic political considerations as by concern for European technological competitiveness. The ‘Europeaniza- t i o n ‘ of contemporary French politics contrasts sharply with DeGaulle’s grosspolitick, which brought European integration to a standstill in the early 1960s. But the convergence ofdomestic

EUREKA AND THE SYMBOLIC POLITICS OF HIGH TECHNOLOGY 9

and international political considerations which inspired thc Eurcka proposal arc rcmarkably reminiscent of DeGaulle’s quest for a ‘third way’ outsidc US hcgcmony, his constant plcadings for common Franco-German policies, and the Gcncral’s adcpt usc of thc powerful political symbolism of technological independence.

The events of 1985 which led to the birth ofEureka reveal clearly thc cxtcnt to which Francc’s technological aspirations have become framed in a European contcxt. Equally, thc Eurcka initiative shows that technological excellence and indcpendcncc remain crucial clcmcnts of France’s national self-image. Finally, the fact that Mitterrand, as the ‘fathcr’ of Eurcka, invested so much ofhimselfin the project is not so surprising given the political gains which havc accrued to other western post-war leaders who have successfully cast thcmsclvcs as champions of national technological advance.

DeGaulle and ‘Big Science’ Efforts to promote technological development in the Fifth Rcpublic havc ncvcr bccn mcrcly a

matter ofdomestic industrial policy. From the late 1950s, DeGaullc and other European leadcrs realized that the United States had succeeded in advancing technology-intensive sectors such as aeronautics, nuclear power, and electronics with large-scalc ‘tcchnology-push’ stratcgics. France responded with its own ‘Big Science’ projects, such as the Plan C a d , Force de Frappe, and Concorde. All were intended simultaneously to advance several broad principlcs of DcGaullc’s foreign policy. They would hasten the economic modernization needed to makc French industry internationally competitive, bring France prestige as a world leader in scicntific rcscarch and, above all, allow France to guard her technological and political indcpcndcncc.

The difficulty of translating such grand foreign policy principles into pragmatic, rational policy choices has been well-scrutinized (Cerny, 1980; Hoffman, 1984-85). Particularly, while French ‘Big Science’ initiatives often produced impressive technological innovations, most resulted in utter commercial failure. Gaullist innovation policies uniformly emphasized national self-sufficiency instead of any business analysis of the global competitive environment. In retrospect, it now seems clear that technological modernization and independence wcrc mutually compatible goals for France only as long as its economy was catching up bchind closed borders in the immediate postwar period (Telesis Report, 1986). The French ‘national champion’ technology firms (Matra, Thompson, Dassault, Cap Gemini, etc.) have always lacked the competitive power of the much larger Japanese and American multinationals. By 1985, the French socialist government appeared to acknowledge that the pursuit of national independ- ence in innovation policy had become prohibitively expensive and competitively impractical for a country the size of France.

Mitterrand and SDI Yet, the French response to President Reagan’s announcement of the US Strategic Defense

Initiative and the subsequent American courting of European partners in the spring of 1985 demonstrates that technological independence remains a potent political symbol in France. Mitterrand immediately warned that European participation in SDI risked the flight of capital and researchers from Europe on a broad scale, and that an unco-ordinated European response would split the community. The French Ministry of Foreign Affairs rapidly convened a report which concluded that SDI would aggravate Europe’s technological backwardness, since the association of European firms would occur only in areas where their technology was more advanced than that ofAmerican firms. The French press was quick to note that SDI’s proposed $26 billion price tag equalled 25 per cent of the entire French national budget and over 25 times more government funding than the EC budget for Esprit (ta Tribune, 19 April 1985).

The intense US diplomatic effort to involve European partners in SDI reinforced French anxieties about the project. In March 1985, Secretary of Defence Caspar Weinberger gave Europe and other allies 60 days to decide whether they wished to participate. Sensing doubts

10 JOHN PETERSON

about the programme in many official European circles, the Americans soon rescinded the deadlinc, but meanwhile began approaching European firms and even individual researchers in April. Within weeks, an estimated 70 industrial groups or European financial firms had been privately approached by the US. Several of the Community’s top rank technology firms - West Germany’s MBB, Italy’s Selenia, and British Aerospace - announced their intention to take part.

SDI’s director, the inimitable Lt General James Abrahamson, hinted publicly that since the US approach was bilateral and fragmented between different European firms, it made little difference whether or not European governments endorsed the project. Nevertheless, he urged their approval with the warning:‘Come just the same while there is still time, otherwise our industries will in the end manage on their own. Not to mention the Japanese, who are often inmy office‘ (Tatu, 1985).

\+‘hen the US announced in advance that i t would pursue the issueofSD1 collaboration at the Bonn summit of the group of seven in May 1985, Mitterrand and his cohort acted quickly. In a speech to the French council of ministers two weeks before the Bonn meeting, Mitterrand proposed Eureka. The scheme, he promised, would pursue predominantly non-military R and D and help foster a ‘European technological renaissance’.

The Making of Eureka I t would be misleading to suggest that the Eureka initiative was exclusively a response to SDI.

For several years before Eureka was announced, France had pleaded with its European partners to take steps to create une Europe de In technologic. Yet the timing of the proposal and subsequent evolution of Eureka reveals much about both Mitterrand’s keen political sensibilities and the political symbolism of grand technological initiatives.

Besides West German foreign minister Hans Dietrich-Genscher, who expressed immediate support for Eureka, the initial reaction ofmost European officials ranged from vague curiosity to outright scepticism. When the project was first presented to France’s partners at the 22-23 April 1985 meeting of the West European Union on Bonn, only Luxembourg expressed enthusiastic support. Resentment of French dominance in previous co-operative ventures, preoccupation with study of the SDI proposals and concern that Eureka would merely duplicate co-operative efforts under the EC’s new Framework programme hindered progress.

The next three months were marked by a furious French relance di@lomatique. .4 key tactic was the early involvement of representatives from four major European industrial groups - Philips (Netherlands), Siemens (West Germany), Thompson (France), and GEC (United Kingdom) - who together defined a series offive priority areas for Eureka. From the outset, Mitterrand and other French officials stressed that the private sector, rather than a public bureaucracy, would choose general areas and individual projects for co-operation within Eureka. Once European firms became attracted to the idea of the programme, i t became more difficult for their governments to resist French overtures.

The crucial issue of West German support led the French to put a bilateral team of science experts to work on further defining the project less than a month after it was first proposed. Exploiting political divisions within the ruling German multi-party coalition, Genscher announced himself firmly opposed to Chancellor Helmut Kohl’s earlier endorsement of SDI and cast Eureka as a litmus test of Franco-German solidarity. Meanwhile, Mitterrand began to refer to Eureka as a ‘Franco-German idea’. Despite repeated claims that Eureka was a purely civil research initiative, French Foreign Minister Roland Dumas publicly blurred the distinction on 10 May 1985 by suggesting that the programme could produce a European network of military surveillance satellites - an idea with obvious appeal to West Germany (Jublin, 1985). Kohl’s meeting with Mitterrand at Lake Constance later that month produced only lukewarm official German statements on Eureka. But the West German press quickly rallied to the programme, and scathingly criticized Kohl for foot-dragging (La Croix, 3 1 May 1985). Finally, Bonn announced itself ready to support Eureka.

EUREKA AND THE SYMBOLIC POLITICS OF HIGH TECHNOLOGY 11

Mitterrand skilfully exploited Eureka’s domestic political appeal on several diffcrcnt fronts. The repeated assertion that Eureka would be industry led and the plcdgc to commit eight billion francs in government funding to projects involving French firms was consistent with his cffort to ingratiate himselfwith business as the Socialist party drifted rightwards. Simultaneously, a late May 1985 meeting of European socialist parties voiced enthusiasm for the projcct, strcngthcn- ing Mitterrand’s position within his party. The President convinced Edmond Mairc, Secretary-General of the socialist-aligned Confidiration FranCaise Dimocratique du Travail publicly to endorse Eureka and suggest ‘the degradation of the economic and employment situation calls for European solutions’ (Libhation, 25-26 May, 1985). One of Mitterrand’s most visiblc political opponents, Simone Veil, tacitly acknowledged his political coup by grumbling: ‘For French public opinion, i t was perhaps opportune to respond to SDI. Words are sometimes the bearer of symbols. However, I am not sure that the chosen method was the best’ (Beylau, 1985).

Above all, the Eureka initiative came at a time when the popularity of both Mitterrand and his party was in serious decline. Eureka provided a chance for the president to present himself as a visionary leader, taking bold action to hasten the ‘technological renaissance of Europe’ just as the American SDI project was reminding Europeans of their relative decline in science and research. Eureka also provided Mitterrand with a perfect opportunity to seize on two emerging trends in French public opinion. By all indicators, the French have become more strongly pro-European than any other European people (Eurobaromcter, March 1987). Specifically, the French appear the keenest of all Europeans on the idea of increased spending for science and technological research on a Europe wide scale (Eurobaromcter, June 1987). More broadly speaking, sociological research indicates that the French, on balance, believe they have been well served by state led technological modernization of their telecommunications, transport, and energy systems. The rise ofleisure and consumerism as social values in France suggests that new technologies are increasingly viewed as a ‘vehicle for positive changes in values and lifestyles’ (Hermant ct al, 1986, p 167). The appeal of Eureka, which promised to enhance European technological co-operation and expedite the process by which R and D would produce marketable products, was distinct and coherent from the outset.

Recent Developments Eureka is an unquestioned diplomatic success, but the long-term nature of its mission makes

it difficult to judge its economic and technological consequences. The majority of Eureka projects are still in the first third of their projected lifespans, and only six have resulted in applications for patents (Eureka document 651, 1988, p 4). A key problem continues to be finance, and many of the early promises of government funding have failed to materialize. Estimates vary wildly (Hudson, 1987; Gack, 1988; CEC document, 1988, p 5; European Parliament report, 1988, p 7), but it appears only 10-20 per cent of Eureka’s current financing comes from public sources. Several smaller member-states have expressed disillusionment with Eureka, complaining that the larger countries tend to snap up the most interesting projects (Europe, 12 September 1987). Perhaps the most serious threat to Eureka’s long-term prospects is the European Commission’s lack of enthusiasm for the initiative. The EC often seems jealous of Eureka’s progress, and both West Germany and Great Britain have expressed dissatisfaction with the degree of synergy between Eureka and the EC’s Framework programme (Clarke, 1988).

Even if Eureka eventually collapses due to waning enthusiasm or bickering between partners, it will hardly tarnish the political returns the initiative has brought Mitterrand and the French Socialist Party. The SDI/Eureka debate in 1985 allowed Mitterrand to portray his political opponents as short sighted, anti-European and, by association, promoters of the nuclear arms race and Reagan’s America. During his recent re-election campaign, Mitterrand repeatedly reminded French voters that he personally launched Eureka, and more generally embarrassed Jacques Chirac by making an issue of cutbacks in state sponsored research after 1986. Chirac- responded that Mitterrand’s charges were ‘woolly’ and ‘misinformed’, but the French quality

12 JOHN PETERSON

prcss gavc thc topic much play and helped the President take the moral high ground on the technology issuc (Coles, 1988).

Eurcka is also indicative of how consistent the tenor and rhetoric ofFrench foreign policy have remained throughout the Fifth Republic. The Gaullist notion of national independence clearly persists as a symbolically powerful element in contemporary France (Cerny, 1983). Yet, ifonly by neccssity, France has outgrown its obsession with national technological independence as a foreign policy goal. Instead, the European Community has become the forum for French efforts to rctain its historical self-image as a leader in science and research. Prestige is now sought by securing for France a leading, if not dominant role in any attempt to develop an independent European technological capability.

Conclusion As the ability to develop new technologies becomes increasingly critical to economic

competitiveness, the efforts of politicians to convince voters that they possess unique visions and strategies to harness scientific creativity in the pursuit of national goals will become more vigorous. Barring another Chernobyl or an environmental disaster resulting from genetic engineering research, public acceptance of new technologies can be expected to appreciate as western societies become more computerized, travel and communications become faster and cheaper, and medical breakthroughs enhance the length and quality of life. Historical evidence shows that, in comparison with most other issues, it has always been relatively easy to forge political consensus on the desirability of technological advance. Witness Harold Wilson’s 1963 pledge to deliver a New Britain ‘forged in the white heat of the technological revolution’ which won united support from a previously severely divided Labour Party. Or, Reagan’s 1983 Star Wars speech, which defused the then growing American nuclear freeze movement and expunged the parameters of the nuclear deterrence debate with the promise of ‘new hope for our children in the 21st Century’ (Ashford, 1983).

Initiating grand government schemes to mobilize national technological capabilities offers the added advantage of clearly identifying who the ‘enemy’ is in global competition, a key element in the symbolic use of politics generally (Edelman, 1964). Just as the Kennedy administration’s Apollo programme seized upon American anxieties in the years after the Soviet launch of Sputnik, Mitterrand’s Eureka initiative reinforced his claim that the heavy handed American push to involve Europeans in Star Wars would lead to technological subservience.

As a case study, Eureka shows that large scale technology initiatives can often pay considerable and immediate political dividends. Whether they enhance technological competi- tiveness or merely waste precious scientific resources may not become clear until years after they have been launched. Instead, the distinction may not matter much to politicians compared to the short term political benefits that are engendered. Political leaders who are able to manipulate the symbolism of high technology for political gain may have little notion of how public policy actually translates into technological advance. Thus, innovation policy reveals baldly the extent to which the gap between the ability to win high office and the ability to discharge it successfully is widening in western societies (Williams, 1987, p 182).

As technologies inexorably advance, western democracies will increasingly need to elect representatives who know and understand technical change or are advised by those who do. Ultimately, as one science writer has suggested: ‘Technology is a word used by non- technologists to describe what the other people are all about’ (de Bono, 1971, p 1 ) . Given the distinction, i t would not be hard to place most politicians, or indeed most voters, into their appropriate group.

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