The Monk Seal Conspiracy

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16. The Lone Ranger of Conservation

In December 1981 we approached the Franz Weber Foundation in Montreux. We had no inkling at the time that this would be like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Over the years, Franz Weber had cultivated a reputation for himself as a knight errant of the conservation movement, daring and quixotic, thriving on environmental scandals where other organizations feared to tread. Little did we realize that here too, the image was of paramount importance, and that the Foundation was a personality cult with himself and his doting wife as virtually its sole members. Only gradually did we come to realize that Weber had a passionate obsession with seeing his own name and image in print. As if to satisfy this craving, Weber invariably appointed himself President of everything he embraced. He was President of the Franz Weber Foundation, President of Helvetia Nostra, Director General of the United Animal Nations, Chief Justice of the International Court for Animal Rights, President of the Red Dove, and President of various other offshoots of his Foundation which barely exist except as postboxes.

With two sumptuous villas on Lake Geneva, Weber has never shunned respectability, but at the same time he relishes his image as a lone crusader protecting nature from the armies of development. Indeed, the image he has styled for himself is of a patriotic radical modelled on the Swiss hero, William Tell. At other times, his supporters have also dubbed him St Francis, Robin Hood and Zorro.

Ever since his days as a journalist in Paris, covering the society glamour of haute couture, Weber has realized the benefits of the limelight. He will pay a flock of international journalists to accompany him to the Canadian ice-floes where, posing with Brigitte Bardot, he will rail at the barbarity of the seal slaughter and offer millions of francs to build a factory where these weather- and drink-hardened hunters can make fluffy seal toys instead of skinning real seals alive. Years later, after massive international pressure finally manages to halt the seal slaughter, he will then declare that he alone was responsible, as similarly with preventing the destruction of the Hainburg riverine forest in Austria.

So in January 1982, alarmed by our reports, Franz Weber commissioned a press photographer to travel to Samos and visit Seitani. He discovered what appeared to be the first stages of a large-scale tourist development, and confirmed that an ambitious road construction project was now under way, already cutting through the heart of the reserve and involving extensive forest clearance, earth-moving and dynamiting. The headland at Potami on the eastern edge of the sanctuary had been virtually demolished by explosives and heavy machinery. Army vehicles had also been spotted in the area. From what we could glean from our sources in Athens and Samos, US $250,000 had already been committed to the illegal scheme, though it was not clear where these funds originated.

The destruction of the Seitani seal refuge at an early stage (January 1982).

After further discussions in Montreux, Franz Weber decided to deliver a publicized protest to the Greek government and an appeal to Melina Mercouri, the Minister of Culture and Sciences. Harking back to the Brigitte Bardot days on the Canadian ice, Weber remembered that Mercouri had also taken a strong and impassioned stand against the seal slaughter; perhaps the new Socialist government of Andreas Papandreou would have a more sympathetic perspective on the plight of Greece’s own seals and expel the intruders from the Samos reserve. Franz and Judith Weber also announced their intention of launching a 1 million Swiss franc fund-raising campaign for the seals and of re-establishing our project in the eastern Aegean. The immediate plan was to expose the Seitani affair which, according to Franz Weber, had obviously been the cause of the project’s problems with YPEA, coupled with the ‘scandalous cowardice’ of IUCN/WWF.

We then posed for press photographs with Weber. During the following week the story appeared in numerous newspapers in Switzerland, but hardly managed to cross the borders. Harbouring supreme faith in publicity, the Webers wanted to await the reaction of the Greek government, but I was sceptical, reasoning that Greek bureaucracy would be in even greater turmoil than usual following the elections, and mired down in the transfer of power. I believed that we should strike while the iron was still hot, and return to Athens to investigate the scandal, stimulate press coverage of the affair, and forge new links with government. It seemed self-evident that the construction would not be inhibited without taking these measures, and every day of dynamiting would risk chasing away the Seitani seals as the road moved inexorably towards their caves. Furthermore, we were still missing vital information regarding the Seitani development. We needed proof that our project had been deliberately sabotaged by trumped-up spying and lifestyle allegations so that the construction at Seitani could proceed unhindered. Further investigations might also uncover collusion between the as yet anonymous developer, the nomarchia and the Samos police. After all, both the police and the prefecture had clearly been aware of the illegal construction for many months but had not intervened to halt it, despite direct orders to do so by the former Minister of Co-ordination.

But while Rita and I remained guardedly optimistic, Franz and Judith Weber retained an inordinate faith in their press release and letter to Melina Mercouri. This faith was destined to be entirely unfounded. Quoted by the Greek news magazine Epikaira on 11 March, a spokesperson for the Ministry of Culture and Sciences stated that they had ‘received a letter referring to the seal with many signatures. This letter was written in German and has not been answered as yet.’ In fact, the letter was never answered. Although the Foundation supported my return to Athens on 4 February with a written testimonial, the Webers stated that they would be unable to finance my endeavours until the fund-raising campaign had been launched. In the meantime, they would consider diverting funds temporarily from another project, but only if developments in Athens warranted it.

It was bitterly cold in Athens and once again, chronically short of funds, I had to make do with the Crystal House, a sleazy pension on Nikis Street which was condemned as unsanitary by the government a few months later. But with a hectic schedule of meetings with Greek and foreign journalists, government officials and local conservationists, I soon forgot about the cold, damp slum with its gaping holes in the floor.

I discovered that the NCPPE was now virtually defunct, its employees living under a cloud of uncertainty, having their contracts renewed from month to month. The new permanent secretary, Nikos Papadodimas, was even unable to sign official letters and his days were already numbered. No one seemed to know whether the agency’s responsibilities would eventually be transferred to the newly established Ministry of Environment, Planning and Housing. According to Penny Marinos, there were only two ecologists in the entire ministry, the remainder being city planners, architects and legal advisers. As we sat in her office, savouring our reunion over Greek coffee, she told me that the NCPPE had recently received a delegation from the EEC Environment Commission. They had apparently offered a grant somewhere in the region of 9 million drachmas for monk seal protection in Greece, the priorities being the northern Sporades marine park and the sanctuary at Seitani.

Penny then told me that permission for the Seitani road had apparently been granted by the prefecture, and for the bungalows by the Karlovassi town council. The three owners of the bungalows had already been taken to court and ordered to pay a 1 million drachmas fine. Irate at their court conviction, they had then barged into the NCPPE offices, shouting and screaming histrionically that it was the Greek shipowner Michael Peratikos who had designs on Seitani. Powerful and wealthy, and with high-level political connections including, with pungent irony, the former Ministers of Co-ordination and Foreign Affairs, it was he who harboured secret plans for the commercial development of Seitani and was only waiting for the road to be finished before building a hotel. They alleged that Peratikos had visited Seitani in the summer of 1981 in his luxury yacht and that he had marked out his land with surveying posts. Perhaps predictably, Peratikos fervently denied their allegations. When I telephoned him in London, he voiced support for the protection of the area and told me that his son had observed a seal while diving at Megalo Seitani. He termed the spying charges against us ‘absurd’ and suggested that it was the military who had designs upon Seitani.

On 19 February, I was at last permitted an audience with the Minister of Environment, Mr Antonis Tritsis. I had already been waiting weeks, paying regular calls on his kind and perpetually flustered personal secretary, Mrs Tsopanakis. She told me candidly that ‘a wealthy businessman could have paid everyone on Samos, including the police, so that the building could go ahead. She would scurry back and forth, carrying piles of documents, hardly daring to knock on the minister’s door lest she offend his daunting and ogre-like power. When at last the moment came for me to be ushered into his sacred precincts I had almost forgotten what I had come to say. For the sake of propriety I had squandered my money on a black jacket, a white shirt and a red tie, but could not stretch my scarce funds far enough to buy a new pair of shoes. Tritsis was a lanky and dour man, and like most politicians in their official lives, impossible to reach as an individual, a fellow human being. ‘It’s very kind of you to see me,’ I said as he limply shook my hand. ‘Nonsense,’ he replied tersely, ‘it’s my job.’ And although it had only been his job for a few weeks, it seemed as though he was already regretting having accepted it. As he ushered me over to the plush creme sofa and sat down, I realized that he was looking down with evident disapproval at my feet and the hiking boots I was wearing. ‘It’s my only pair,’ I wanted to say, but thought better of it. Perhaps he was wondering whether, if it had been summer, I would have come in with bare feet.

Still, the minister was certainly business-like. During our short conversation, he assured me that no permission would be granted for any further development at Seitani, that the road construction had already been halted on his instructions, and that the area would be protected by Presidential Decree. There was no question of a hotel being built at Megalo Seitani. His legal advisers were still attempting to trace the source of the funds which had been poured into the road construction project, and I should rest assured that if a road had to be built to reach the isolated mountain villages of Drakei and Kalithea, it would take a different route, or the existing road south of Mt Kerkis would be improved. Seitani would be completely rehabilitated, and Greece would welcome the Weber Foundation’s plans for the protection of the monk seal. The Greek government was firmly committed to protecting endangered species.

In a widely publicized press release a few days later, Franz Weber announced a ‘total success’ for the Foundation on the Samos issue. According to Associated Press, which transmitted Weber’s announcement, I was now ‘the British representative of the Foundation’. Gratified by the breakthrough, Franz Weber promptly promised to send funds to help my continuing research, but they never arrived. As I was to discover through painful experience, I was a representative when things were going well, and merely a freelance collaborator when things turned sour. In both cases, money was to be a perpetual headache, a string of empty promises while, with our ritual gullibility, we would dig ourselves into so many commitments that it was always impossible to resign.

Meanwhile, on the advice of Mr Tritsis, I visited the Ministry of Public Order in an effort to discover whether I was still prohibited from the eastern Aegean. The ministry is a huge and austere building in an Athens suburb which also houses the Intelligence Service for National Defence. Each floor, I was told, represented a different rank of seniority: on the ground floor there were bureaucrats, on the first and second, agents, on the fourth, the YPEA administrators, including General Kapellaris, the new chief of the intelligence service. The top floor was reserved for the Minister of Public Order, Mr Skoularikis, and his entourage. Predictably, my quest to have the YPEA order against me lifted had to begin on the ground floor.

Within the next few months, however, the case was to become the subject of a top-level political controversy. It was already exciting considerable public interest in Greece, with numerous newspaper articles and radio reports. The officer who took charge of my case on the ground floor, Mr Apostolopoulos, was always kind and amiable – entirely different from the rough and severe agents one floor above, where I had to deliver my first application to be allowed to return to Samos. Apostolopoulos had already read about the affair in the press and was fascinated by it. He telephoned Mrs Tsopanakis, the Environment Minister’s personal secretary, who told him that the previous government had apparently turned a blind eye to the secret development plans for Seitani, and that it was still a mystery where the funds had originated. She informed him that Mr Tritsis would speak personally to the Minister of Public Order about the spying affair. Apostolopoulos turned towards me, beaming. ‘Are you brave enough to go upstairs?’ he joked. ‘You must make an application to YPEA.’

It was the first time that I had visited YPEA headquarters, its endless empty corridors guarded by closed-circuit television, its office doors seemingly identical to one another. The atmosphere was claustrophobic and intimidating. The officers of YPEA never introduced themselves: they were all anonymous. I delivered my application to two gruff agents who appeared to regard me and everyone else with utter contempt. As I was to discover a few months later, the YPEA officials one floor above are more refined, though no less severe in their attitude. During my several visits to the intelligence service that year, I was told repeatedly that YPEA was under no legal obligation to name or elucidate the secret allegations levelled against me. In numerous letters and applications to the service, and also to the Minister of Public Order himself, I endeavoured to appeal to common sense, reasoning that it was impossible to defend myself against secrets, that I was even prepared to stand trial if need be, and that YPEA may have been led astray by false accusations which I might be able to prove unfounded. Alas, common sense did not prevail, making it all too suspicious that YPEA itself was involved in the conspiracy.

By 10 March, press coverage was reaching a climax, with leading articles in at least six national dailies and many provincial newspapers, The scandal, having now simmered for years, was steadily reaching boiling point. Several of the major international press agencies were also transmitting features on the Samos affair abroad. The only exception was Associated Press, which confined its dispatches to describing the Franz Weber Foundation’s ambitious plans to save the monk seal. Karin Hope, a staff reporter at AP, explained this by saying that any mention of the spying affair would inevitably be edited out at their New York headquarters. So much for the freedom of the press, I thought. On the other hand, Agence France Presse was telexing almost weekly updates on the affair to Paris, and under the guidance of its mercurial bureau chief, François Grangie, was endeavouring to investigate the affair through its government sources. At press briefings at the Ministry of Press and Information, it regularly demanded to know details of the Samos scandal, what allegations were contained in the YPEA top-secret report, and whether I would be allowed to return to the island. The answers they received were invariably non-committal.

The story was even to appear in Greece’s glossy and sensational weekly magazine Tachydromos. But not bothering to even read the text we had supplied, they let it be known that the Seitani seals were in danger because bulldozers were sending rocks hailing down onto the beaches below, smashing their eggs buried in the sand…

Perhaps the most instrumental in bringing the issue to the forefront of the news at the time was the highly popular ‘Saprinidis’ radio phone-in programme which, on three separate mornings, focussed on the Samos scandal, the involvement of YPEA and the reasons for my mission to Greece. Perhaps significantly, YPEA retained its stony silence. It was heartening, however, that the programme also held lively discussions on the seals themselves from around the regions of Greece, and it became obvious that many Greek people were concerned about the plight of the seals and the environment. Apparently the studio was inundated with calls from around the country, perhaps the most memorable one being from a family who reported that they’d had a pup seal living with them for a number of years, and that the animal loved to play with their children and listen to music.

On 11 March, the respected Greek news magazine Epikaira published its revelations about the Seitani affair. They quoted the Department of Public Works on Samos as saying that the building of the Seitani road ‘will require 2 kms of tunnels and 2 kms of bridges over valleys for its making. It would cost 2,000 million drachmas. This means an enormous sum of money will be spent, a sum sufficient for reconstructing the entire network of roads on the island, which is actually in bad condition.’

According to the report, it was the Union of Local Councils and Municipalities which had ignored expert opinion and had proceeded with the road. But it was inconceivable that they could afford such expense and there were rumours that the funds were being diverted from other sources, perhaps the prefecture or the Ministry of Defence.

The magazine also interviewed the Samos chief of police, Kyrios Drumpis, who declared: ‘Yes, there was a search of their houses and a film was taken out of a camera. Its development, however, did not give any incriminating evidence.’ Drumpis also alleged that we had been ‘bothering people on the island, urging them to buy posters of the seal for which they charged zoo drachmas,’ but the magazine’s editor stated that ‘from what we heard on the island, the photograph was given free,’ which was true. Drumpis also acknowledged he had seen the report in the German magazine Der Spiegel, two years earlier, but denied that he had ever said that ‘Johnson and Emch trained the seals with the purpose of using them to spy for the Turks.’ It was, however, unlikely that the sober and very proper Spiegel correspondent in Athens had fabricated the account. Mr Drumpis went on to say: ‘We judged that their presence here entailed dangers for national security. Therefore we saw to it that their passports bore a red stamp by the YPEA so that these two persons might not come to Greece again.’

This was strange; Despite Rita’s tussle with YPEA in April 1979, only I had been refused entry to Greece in February 1980. Did YPEA headquarters in Athens decide to ignore the charges against Rita, assuming that to prevent both of us from returning to Greece might reveal their genuine intention of sabotaging the monk seal project? By targeting only the head of the project, they were able to impose their veto on the creation of sanctuaries for the monk seal, while at the same time pretending that my ‘top-secret’ crimes had no connection with the work I was engaged in. It was an ingenious ploy. Now, under a barrage of press attention, YPEA and the Ministry of National Defence were hiding behind a wall of silence and Drumpis, whose head was about to roll, seemed aghast that I had returned to Greece. ‘No,’ he told the Epikaira journalist, ‘we do not know that Johnson is actually in Athens. He is a persevering one…’

In another Agence France Presse dispatch on 19 March, François Grangie wrote that he had been ‘assured by the Ministry of Environment that a Presidential Decree proclaiming Seitani a protected zone will be passed in the weeks to come.’

Hearing no news of my application to YPEA, on 26 March I again visited the Ministry of Public Order where Mr Apostolopoulos told me that my case had now reached the top floor of YPEA – and might even reach the minister himself. He then advised me to stop wasting my time, and return to Samos. I asked him if it was possible that I would be arrested. ‘I don’t know, but you must try,’ he replied. ‘Then who does know – YPEA? The minister?’ I asked in exasperation. ‘Believe me, nobody knows,’ he said sardonically, and then added with his amiable smile, ‘Go to Samos tomorrow and have a good trip. Call me if you have any problems.’

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