The AFI Ship Program
Leif Lahn
January 2025
Preface
At first, I planned to tell the story of how members of the AFI Ship Program participated in the broad-based development project at Agder Maritime College. I realized that an understanding of this case would be facilitated by presenting the Ship Program’s links to the Industrial Democracy Program in the maritime sector, including naval education. Thus, my story became an overview of several projects within the Ship Program’s scope. I took a leading role in some of them and served only as a discussion partner in others, and in research before 1980, I learned only from oral histories and literature. The following story should not be understood as the official presentation of the AFI Ship Program. Former colleagues reading this text are very welcome to provide comments, corrections, and supplementary information.
The AFI Ship Program
In 1980, I had my first research job at AFI (then API or Arbeidspsykologisk Institutt) in the Ship Program, which at the time was a research group located in a brick villa centrally situated in Oslo. It had been ongoing for several years since I joined. Apart from being an administrative unit with some basic funding, the research commonalities were defined by a commitment to the sociotechnical program on industrial democracy and action research (the Industrial Democracy Program, IDP) implemented in the Norwegian shipping industry. Thus, the AFI Ship Program was, in practice, a cluster of research activities spread across time and space, with shifting membership, mixed funding, and frequent collaboration with other research environments – notably IFIM.
This story about the Ship Program has been an exercise in self-plagiarism, as I have been cutting, pasting, and restructuring text from my old AFI reports and adding new comments. It could be conceived as a stimulated recall interview with myself, with some reflections triggered by my reading of the old stuff. Since I have no firsthand experience with the foundational phase of the IDP in the Norwegian shipping industry, this part of my story relies heavily on available literature in Norwegian and English, to which I add my own comments and perspectives. It provides a background for my presentation of Ship Program projects in which I was fully or partly involved. I want to add that the literature and stories about the “pilot ships” and “self-managed ship operations” were part of workplace curricula for latecomers to the AFI Ship Program.
In “my part” of the story, I first address AFI’s expanded understanding of safety at sea (Lahn, 1987). During the 1970s, issues related to manning and safety gained increased attention in the Norwegian maritime sector due to labor shortages, technological innovations, and changing qualification requirements. New staffing regulations in 1982 introduced lower, technically defined manning levels called “safety manning.” The Industrial Democracy Program (IDP) in the maritime industry was accused of acting as the shipowners’ errand boy by advancing arguments for reduced manning. On the other hand, from different academic bastions, the Ship Program attacked the simplified explanations of accidents and risk in terms of “human error”. Discussions of new safety standards and qualification profiles for seafarers were intertwined, and the latter was the object of several AFI projects that extended into action research in maritime education. Although the organization of people around work is conceived within early socio-technical literature as the “leading part” of modern societies, joint transformations of working life and educational systems were highlighted as urgent issues in disturbed or turbulent environments (Emery & Trist, 1965). The early AFI IDP activities included action research in Norwegian upper secondary schools that strengthened the links between these sectors (Blichfeldt et al., 1979). In my story of the AFI Ship Program, I will devote some pages to presenting and discussing our involvement in establishing higher maritime education during the 1980s. My in-depth case concerns a college that engaged in activities to become a “regional competence center.” This commitment anticipated issues that were at the core of later national programs in support of regional development coalitions (Finsrud, 2009) – often involving collaboration between higher education, industry, political actors, and action research. How did the researchers from the Ship Program navigate in this case? But before elaborating on this question, I will quickly review the highlights of the foundational IDP experiments in the Norwegian merchant fleet and Ship Program projects, which were mainly intended to provide a richer understanding of societal issues, such as safety at sea. The latter research task is claimed to be legitimate within the framework of IDP (Gustavsen, 2007).
Explorations in the maritime sector and trust-building research (early 1970s)
As my account will illustrate, distinguishing elements of action research from traditional social science or consultancy work within the Ship Program’s portfolio is not without its challenges. Walton and Gaffney (1989, p. 582) summarize the projects in Norwegian international shipping as “a pioneering effort in action research,” particularly the variant they refer to as “third-party action research.” By this, they highlight the significant efforts of AFI researchers to anchor change projects in Norwegian shipping through various forms of trust-building.
The Ship Program could draw on the experiences of the IDP in land-based industries and contextualize these in light of challenges faced by the maritime sector, such as the 1969 regulations on minimum crew requirements (for safe operations), new technology, limited access to labor, and changes in maritime education. Thus, a legal basis was provided to address the rigid organizational and social structures in shipping (Herbst, 1997). However, the AFI researchers knew that their learning from land-based industries could not be directly transferred to the maritime sector. They conducted studies on the working environment (Johansen, 1978), recruitment into the shipping industry, new career paths, changes in maritime education (Thorsrud, 1984; Hetle, 1983), and new technology (Rogne, 1974b). Additionally, they emphasized the unique day-night rhythms and long-term commuting typical of shipboard communities, along with the consequences of these conditions for seafarers’ families and social lives (Thorsrud, 1982). These differences between sectors were documented and discussed with key industry stakeholders.
By establishing a contact group with key individuals from selected shipping companies, seafarers’ organizations, and three ministries, AFI researchers aimed to strengthen trust in the experimental initiatives. Over the next two years, the first projects, involving the pilot ships Høgh Multina and Høgh Mistral, were launched. The researchers participated throughout the process, from identifying challenges and proposing changes to supporting the implementation with various methodological measures, as Thorsrud (1976) thoroughly describes.
Not least, the effort in the form of third-party action research (Walton & Gaffney, 1989) was crucial for the continuation and dissemination of the experiments. This included, for instance, gathering key stakeholders at so-called “ship meets ship” conferences. These meeting spaces and the subsequent network-building (Thorsrud, 1977) were also instrumental in expanding the reform work to include maritime education and certification systems.
Demonstration Experiments and the Pilot Ships (1969–1978)
In the article “Changes in Work Organization and Training on Board Høegh Mistral, Høegh Multina, Balao, and Vanessa” (Johansen, 1979), the leader of the Ship Program, Ragnar Johansen, explores the experimentation with new forms of work organization on board the pilot ships. A key objective of these changes was to enhance integration between officers and crew across departments (deck and engine) and to merge operations and maintenance into a unified task structure. All crew members were given the opportunity to participate in planning the ship’s daily tasks and long-term operational issues. On the Vanessa, a central planning group was established with representatives from all departments and ranks of the crew. The steward unit (stewards, cooks, mess attendants) was reorganized into a single group.
Ragnar Johansen also played a central role in what Herbst (1993) described as one of the IDPs’ strategic cases—the development of a flexible planning scheme on board the Balao, which involved the entire crew (Johansen, 1976). Implementing plenary meetings for weekly planning (who and when) paved the way for task-specific small groups dedicated to practical execution (how). Ship management teams were created to extend the shipboard planning horizon to one year and to prioritize tasks (what) in collaboration with the shipping company office and in his early socio-technical design of effective ship organization Herbst (1996, origin 1969) included minimum requirements that took into account the balancing of work and leisure time, regulation of interpersonal tensions, transitions between sea and shore, and career development. This analysis anticipated the broader operational realities encountered by the “pure cases” of shipboard reforms.
The crew needed to acquire new skills and renegotiate international certifications to restructure small groups for shifting tasks. This process also required establishing a more stable and egalitarian wage system with monthly salaries and fixed overtime payments (Thorsrud, 1976). On the Balao, the crew participated in a two-year learning process involving iterative cycles of implementing greater autonomy, evaluating the consequences, and identifying further improvements (Herbst, 1993). This process, partly orchestrated by the researchers, was referred to by Thorsrud (1972) as a “learning process” with networking as a central mechanism. Trust-building through third-party action research played a crucial role in anchoring these strategies.
In hindsight, the Balao project is a successful “demonstration experiment” and is now exhibited at the Norwegian Maritime Museum in Oslo. The American social anthropologist Lezaun (2011, p. 557) described it as a “metallic capsule of life,” an ideal site for sociotechnical engineering, more concerned with political visibility than scientific rigor. The term “metallic” here refers to the physical design of the Balao’s superstructure, to which AFI researchers contributed in collaboration with architects and other relevant experts. Instead of a closed structure that reflects the segmentation of work and living environments, the design emphasized openness, fostering interaction across roles—shared mess halls, common meeting spaces, recreation areas, etc. Even the sailors’ quarters were upgraded, featuring private bathrooms and more space. Herbst (1996) emphasized that while intensified collaboration in work execution was necessary, it needed to be balanced with spaces for emotional distance and personal retreat.
Decentralization and “Self-Governed Ships” (1969–1978)
The trials with project ships aimed to establish more autonomous ship management. This was expected to enable further delegation of responsibilities within the ship and necessitated reorganizing the relationship between the ship and the shipping company. Smith & Roggema (1980, p. 257) highlighted a tension between ships as geographically dispersed units, far removed from the “center of power” (the shipping office), on the one hand, and a strong tradition of centralized control on the other. The latter was exercised through ship inspections by the shipping company’s inspectors, along with detailed reporting and standardization of routines, areas of responsibility, and competency requirements.
In the wake of experiments with crew participation and flexible task structures on board, researchers from AFI and IFIM collaborated with industry actors in a series of activities to replace the inspection system with agreements, choice frameworks, and discussions to build consensus on decentralized options (Skorstad, 1977). For shipping organizations, such a transformation would mean that the role of company inspectors evolved into project management, in which inspectors, together with other experts, could address broader issues across a group of ships (Roggema & Smith, 1983). In reconfiguring the rigid fields of competence between the ship and the shipping company, these reforms were expected to empower the sailing crew and encourage their participation in policymaking activities, such as shipping conferences and advisory councils. In short, the “self-governed ships” were seen as a step toward fostering a more collaborative, decentralized governance structure in the maritime sector.
Representation of Sailors on the Shipping Company Board
In the autumn of 1980, AFI’s Ship Program and its contact group agreed to systematically collect and process data on the initial experiences of employee board representation in the shipping industry. We regarded this as a valuable extension of previous research on board representation in industry during the IDP Phase A (Thorsrud, 1978) and an opportunity to document potential effects of projects involving direct participation on ships and decentralized operations. Foreign shipping was exempt from the provisions of the National Companies Act regarding employee representation rights. In 1976, a government-appointed committee proposed (1) adaptations of these rules to the shipping industry and (2) guidelines to strengthen employees’ influence over their work situation. AFI researchers participated in several committee meetings and provided specialized reports.
The study of experiences with the new scheme for employee representation in shipping companies’ boards (Shipping Company Board, Rederistyre) was conducted as relatively traditional social research (Lahn, 1982). It included questionnaires sent to shipping companies on factual matters, in-depth interviews with shipowners, trade unions, and employees, and meetings with these parties to discuss findings and action plans. The selected shipping companies complied with the agreement’s minimum requirements (three meetings annually). Still, in terms of influence on business decisions, the shipboard boards were seen as mere rubber stamps. Employees’ influence was limited to being informed about personnel matters and safety and environmental issues.
For AFI, studying employee participation in corporate boards at that time felt like stepping back about 10 years to the IDPPhase A, when Einar Thorsrud, Fred Emery, and Eric Trist conducted an international study on employee participation in corporate boards (Thorsrud, 1964). They interviewed employee representatives about their levels of participation. They famously concluded that such democratization strategies needed to be supported by mechanisms enabling employees to exert direct influence over their own work situations. This conclusion was a key justification for initiating the IDP field experiments in Phase B.
In the shipping and offshore sectors, major components of the Norwegian industry, this progression was somewhat reversed. Social justice and employee empowerment were not high priorities on the political agenda among social partners in the maritime business. As a result, while employee board representation was introduced, its potential for fostering substantial workplace democracy and empowerment remained limited.
How Successful Were the Attempts at Democratization in the Shipping Industry?
The question is difficult to answer definitively because the “demonstration experiments” were deeply intertwined with transformations across multiple dimensions. Some setbacks and resistance to changes were anticipated as various dispensations from rules regarding areas of responsibility, certified tasks, etc., were negotiated. These arrangements likely hindered the institutionalization of the “demonstration cases” and led to their encapsulation. However, opposition reflected the seafaring work culture (Roggema & Smith, 1983), including resistance to dismantling traditional organizational structures and career paths in shipping.
AFI researchers were particularly surprised by negative reactions from maritime officers and their unions, as the proposed new career paths involved broader knowledge and education beyond a single position (Thorsrud, 1984). The decentralization measures under the concept of “self-managed ships” (Nylehn & Skorstad, 1974) transferred operational and monitoring tasks from the head office to the onboard management. These changes were intended to enrich jobs and broaden professional opportunities. However, Roggema & Smith (1983) argued that Norwegian shipboard reforms were based on an inadequate understanding of how deeply officers’ professional identity and practices were rooted in fundamental values, even though these issues were addressed in early studies of the AFI Ship Program (Aamot, 1974). It is possible that action researchers, along with social entrepreneurs in the maritime sector, underestimated the time and range of opportunities needed to develop a new, sustainable informal community.
One of the central arguments for multi-skilling and decentralizing ship management was linked to advancements in maritime operations and communication technologies (Thorsrud, 1976; 1977). However, in practice, such measures sometimes reinforced the shipowner’s position of power, often resulting in greater control over the crew and operations (Lahn, 1985). This created a situation where decentralization was more symbolic than actual.
The IDP in the maritime sector yielded tangible benefits in several areas. Nylehn (1975) at IFIM summarized these benefits: crew members became more active, and onboard interaction was characterized by greater openness. The willingness, ability, and desire to adopt new working methods increased. Ship management gained more freedom of action and developed new perspectives on their operations (e.g., relationships with charterers). Shipping offices had less direct involvement in day-to-day activities but engaged more in long-term planning. Some statistical data indicated lower costs, more efficient operations, and increased stability. Additionally, safety on board was documented as improving due to these reforms—a point I will return to later.
In retrospective evaluations of the industrial democracy projects in the Norwegian maritime sector, Thorsrud (1977) identified progress but “low forms” of participation, such as job enrichment and multi-skilling. In 1984, a colleague in the Ship Program and I mustered aboard gas tankers for the Sigvald Bergesen shipping company, which had never participated in the IDP projects at sea. As a response to our inquiries about flexible planning and crew participation, the captain on one of the ships told us that those matters were handled during the weekly basketball tournament on board. The ships were furnished with impressive gymnasiums.
International partners of the Norwegian IDP in the maritime sector (Roggema & Smith, 1983; Walton & Gaffney, 1989) went further in recognizing the significant influence of this research on modern shipping policies and practices during the 1970s and 1980s. International comparability and standardization efforts supported the spread of ideas about maritime architecture, technical and economic management, and psychosocial work environments. Roggema & Smith (1983) noted that the AFI trials and delegation processes benefited from broader changes in the global shipping industry, such as the integration of operations and maintenance and the adoption of distributed economic management. Technological challenges and the maritime market could be described as “turbulent” (Emery & Trist, 1965), reflecting structural changes that rendered traditional sea-based organizational models unsuitable for the evolving industry (see Thorsrud, 1982). Socio-technical theory responded to these challenges by advocating “organizational choice” (Emery & Emery, 1976), and members of the Ship Program collaborated with international researchers on similar issues, notably from Sweden, Denmark, the Netherlands, the UK, and the US.
Although Balao and other project ships were short-lived and faced risks of “landfall” (Lezaun, 2011), they demonstrated potential as exemplars adaptable across diverse contexts. During the maritime experiments, AFI researchers adopted an ambivalent stance toward this strategy’s scientific and political merits and developed alternative approaches to counter the risk of encapsulation. Thorsrud (1972) outlined an agent-driven approach to knowledge creation and transfer that contrasted with the dominant diffusion model. Networking was a key mechanism in this strategy, offering practical guidelines and models supporting focal interventions. The contact group in the Norwegian shipping reforms mentioned earlier exemplified this approach. Rogne (1974) referred to the active involvement of sailing crews in startup conferences, as well as inter-organizational conferences designed to exchange experiences, identify collaboration opportunities, and define common goals.
Within the Ship Program’s inner workings during the early 1980s, the story of Balao and the pilot ships served as a tangible foundation for shaping future projects and research efforts. These included studies on structural factors in two main areas: (1) changes in competency requirements and maritime education, and (2) career trajectories, family life, and personnel policies. To some extent, these initiatives also sought to capture the broader impacts of the ship experiments.
By the early 1980s, many new AFI researchers became involved in a national project funded by the Research Council for the Technical and Natural Sciences (NTNF) titled “System for Safe Ships” (3S), where AFI’s role was to study maritime safety from a holistic perspective. Early contributions included research on shipboard culture and the vessel as a “24-hour society” (Aamot, 1979), followed by studies on family relationships, long-term commuting, and my own study on organizational safety. These 3S projects were examples of social science research combining theoretical development and empirical studies in a perspective-expanding manner. While features of action research varied between projects, final conferences and meetings with participants and stakeholders were common elements aimed at supporting practical actions rather than merely validating findings.
During the first half of the 1980s, the Norwegian government (under the Conservative Party) introduced the Norwegian International Registry (NIS), effectively replacing thousands of Norwegian sailors with foreign crews. This “outflagging” of the Norwegian merchant fleet coincided with the reversal of reforms aimed at higher maritime education. These events marked the end of the Ship Program, although AFI researchers remained involved in projects and activities in the maritime industry and education well into the 1990s (Olsson & Johansen, 1993).
Safety Perspectives on the Ecology of Ship Operations (1972–1982)
Within the framework of the above-mentioned program, “System for Safe Ships” (3S), AFI was commissioned to conduct a “state of the art” study as a platform for estimating organizational safety levels (Lahn, 1987). AFI was tasked with exploring how sociotechnical models and methods could serve as a promising framework for studying safety aspects in maritime operations, including shipping and oil/gas extraction. A comprehensive study of the relationships between occupational culture, social factors, working conditions, and accidents at sea was carried out by the Ship Program researchers Tian Sørhaug, Solveig Aamot, and colleagues and summarized in a “Model of Critical Relationships” (Sørhaug & Aamot, 1982, pp. 270). Figure 1 is an adapted drawing of a holistic perspective on factors influencing safety at sea. This model challenges the tendency to attribute work-related accidents solely to “human error,” which unfairly blames the final link in a chain of causative factors (Næss, 1974). Key elements and relationships in this model are;
Fig.1 A holistic perspective on safety at sea.
- Hierarchical Distances: A specialized hierarchy creates social distance, formalizes command relationships, and influences problem-solving approaches.
- Routinization: Standardized work and life aboard ships, coupled with high crew turnover, contribute to the routinization of operations.
- Work Ethic: Seafaring culture values professionalism, resilience, and physical endurance, often linked to respectability and skill recognition.
- Pay Culture: The overtime pay system prioritizes economic returns over qualitative measures of work, undermining intrinsic job satisfaction.
- Individualism and Autonomy: Sailors value self-sufficiency and freedom, which are influenced by their employment conditions, geographical isolation, and career paths.
- Communication Styles: Storytelling fosters cultural cohesion but also limits personal communication. Alcohol consumption is often seen as a release valve for social and emotional tensions.
- Masculine Norms: Risk-taking and a reluctance to complain are tied to traditional masculinity, often leading to neglect of safety routines and regulations.
Early Ship Program studies (Johansen, 1978; Sørhaug, 1980) explored how seafarers’ home situations influenced onboard safety and work environments. Subsequent research by Tordis Borchgrevink and Marit Melhuus examined the household organization of seafaring families and summarized their rich data material in terms of three models:
· Traditional Model: Seafarers were uninvolved in domestic responsibilities and focused on property maintenance and repairs. Though rare, this model aligned with traditional seafaring roles.
· Mixed Model: A blend of separate and overlapping responsibilities allowed for mutual learning and support but often led to conflicts due to gendered labour norms.
· Symmetrical Model: Equal sharing of responsibilities, though often ad hoc, introduced unpredictability in relationships.
Borchgrevink and Melhuus (1987) noted that the traditional image of the “functionless sailor” persisted, reinforced by the casual labor system and maritime work culture. However, modern shipping practices offering career paths and stable employment could support more flexible household arrangements.
To conclude this section, the Ship Program 3S projects drew heavily on social science and sociotechnical theory to reframe established views on work-related safety in general, and more specifically in a maritime context. Features of action research were incorporated into disseminating findings through conferences and meetings that included project participants and stakeholders. The agenda would center on action that could improve safety at sea – for example, HR policies and continuity in the work of safety committees and representatives (Østby, 1980). The Ship Program research on work-related safety at sea was not limited to foreign shipping. A separate 3S project addressed the specific risks in coastal shipping, including smaller crews and external factors such as weather, sea routes, and time demands (Hetle et al., 1979). It should be noted that the issues related to work-related safety were similar across the Ship Program projects and the twin research program at AFI – the Oil Program (Qvale, 1993).
New qualification requirements for high-technological ship operations and transformations of maritime education and training.
In the early 1980ies, the Ship Program was involved in another national research project, “Future Shipping Operations,” and was asked to evaluate the maritime competencies and training needed for high-technology ship operations. On the international scene, leading experts questioned the appropriateness of maintaining rigid qualification standards (Roggema & Smith, 1983). In a preliminary study (Lahn, 1985), we wanted to widen the concept of “occupational competencies” to encompass not only “hard skills” (technical and productive skills) but also various “soft skills” (cooperative, social, contextual, and innovative competencies). The importance of “hidden qualifications” or tacit knowledge—often overlooked in system development (Gøranzon, 1984)—was highlighted as a support for learning-oriented and participatory strategies of workplace digitalization (Bermann, 1983; Thoresen, 1984). The Ship Program was consulted in activities that adhered to such principles in the implementation of new technology in shipping.
Based on a review of international research and interviews with seafarers, shipping company staff and management, and representatives of social partners in the maritime sector, we found evidence for the polarization and reskilling thesis when estimating trends in qualification profiles (Wood, 1982). Some operational work faced increasing routinization, either being moved onshore or automated at sea. On the other hand, technical skills tended to shift towards broader generalist competencies, and maritime officers were expected to acquire qualifications in administrative, telecommunication, and economic fields. Decentralization of ship operations and schemes for broader participation at work had to be met with new “soft skills” (Lahn, 1975).
In many countries, the negative impacts of automation are counterbalanced by offering sailors opportunities to achieve craftworker status and expanding their job roles. The Ship Program was engaged in action research to develop a multi-purpose ship mechanic certificate and an on-the-job training program for this new profession (Hetle, 1983). The latter should involve changes in on-board work arrangements that allow apprentices to take on a broader range of tasks and adopt a longer planning horizon in their work. Additionally, flexible schedules should empower officers to act as instructors. However, our surveys of the Norwegian shipping industry found significant variation in the implementation of vocational training regulations for subordinate crew members.
The changes in the profile of maritime officers’ qualifications set the stage for adjacent reforms in the educational sector. AFI researchers, particularly Einar Thorsrud, contributed to the national recommendations for a new, higher maritime education that incorporated elements from the IDP in shipping. This integration into the national and regional higher education system aimed to open new career paths in maritime activities and allow for academic mobility. However, it also severed the link to the basic practice-oriented education, which was incorporated into a new structure of upper secondary schools. Education was increasingly expected to exceed certification requirements, freeing it from restrictive standards and enabling a curriculum more aligned with engineering and business/administration education.
The old maritime education structure was a branch-specific vocational school system where study progression was tied to promotion systems and practical work experience, often replacing extended schooling. Previously, officer training schools operated as separate navigation and engineering institutions. Maritime colleges later offered four tracks: nautical studies, engineering, electro-automation, and ship administration. These programs adopted a modular course model, emphasizing defined learning objectives for each subject. This new approach encouraged varied teaching methods and placed greater responsibility on students for their progress. While colleges were granted flexibility to develop tailored solutions, they still remained constrained by international certification requirements and central resource norms.
Labor rationing, structural shifts, outsourcing, and market adjustments led to a mismatch between the supply of highly educated maritime personnel and industry needs. The seven maritime colleges responded proactively by diversifying activities and offering expertise in emerging fields such as offshore electro-automation and safety technology. However, issues like overcapacity, regional influence, and centralized directives diluted the industry’s ties to specific job categories, instead emphasizing regional educational profiles. Competition between schools created pressure on authorities and industry bodies to reduce the number of maritime colleges.
AFI’s influence on the political process leading to the establishment of maritime colleges was partially channeled through networks built around experiments with self-managed ships and “ship-meets-ship” conferences. These connections were reactivated when newly established colleges sought AFI’s assistance in developing educational pathways and regionally anchored profiles. At Tønsberg Maritime College, researchers from the Ship Program played an active role in creating a new ship administration program to replace traditional skipper training. This program emphasized project-oriented learning and interdisciplinarity. Additionally, we helped link college education to regional industry and authorities and encouraged informal networks as platforms for exchanging ideas, experiences, and projects between schools.
As a specific request, we were asked to conduct (1) a survey that mapped the students’ experiences with the new colleges and (2) a follow-up study of the students after one year of employment (Lahn, 1985). The ultimate goal of these studies was to go beyond mere data feedback to students and staff at individual schools and to pave the way for discussions of actionable programs. However, only the electro-automation study at Tønsberg Maritime College followed up on the latter objective. Here, the teachers expressed a desire for stronger ties to relevant industries, open teaching formats, interdisciplinary project work, and changes in course content. Unfortunately, follow-up on these initiatives stalled due to staff turnover at the school and within the AFI research team.
Nevertheless, ideas for a new study structure and teaching were planted. A few years later, during a visit to Tønsberg Maritime College, I spoke with teachers and students in the electro-automation program who had founded a consultancy firm together. They reported that combining business operations with pedagogical concerns was unproblematic, making their work more engaging and challenging. They also contributed to creating their own labor market, planning to hire more graduates as their company received increasing assignments from the oil and shipbuilding industries.
“The Process” at Agder Maritime College
The AFI student survey in 1981 indirectly contributed to a broad reform process at Agder Maritime College (Agder Maritime Høgskole, AMH), located in a district on the southern coast of Norway with long maritime traditions. According to the school’s documentation, it served as “a supplier of arguments for drastic changes to study structures, student democracy, work environments, teaching methods, and course content.” In this review of AFI’s Ship Program, I will delve deeper into the ”drastic changes” that became known as “The Process at AMH” or simply “The Process.” Norway’s largest newspaper, Aftenposten, described AMH as the college that “adjusted its sails” (“høyskolen som tok rev i seilene”, Jenny Lippestad, Aftenposten, 11.11.84) when its staff initiated a broad wave of discussions on goals, methods, and content, followed by action plans. We quickly expressed our interest, adopting William Foot Whyte’s (1984) “reporter strategy” for social researchers: to be present where the action is. This was the starting point for a long-lasting collaboration with this college.
At AMH, conditions were conducive to fostering an organizational learning process within a school that operated within a regionally heterogeneous network, including industrial collaborators. It was among the smallest colleges in Norway, with around 200 students and 28 staff members in 1985/86. The school offered two-year programs in mechanical and electro-automation studies, as well as a one-year advanced program in ship administration. In the autumn of 1983, the maritime college education was formally separated from the rest of the seafarers’ school, Arendal Maritime Technical School, and moved into its own building. By then, much had already changed internally at AMH.
The beginning of a development process. In the spring of 1982, I was invited to Arendal Maritime Technical School to present the findings from AFI’s study evaluation. During this meeting, attended by nearly all the faculty, the opportunity to spark a forward-looking discussion about the school’s goals was not seized, much to my disappointment. On the contrary, most comments reflected a defensive attitude toward the new college education. One teacher expressed concern about the future of steam engine courses. At the same time, others felt electronics had been given too much emphasis in the curriculum—understandable reactions considering the changes in maritime qualification requirements. However, what was missing was a belief that these trends could be influenced. The seafarers’ school had a reputation for being highly traditional, with strict boundaries between disciplines—for instance, navigators and engineers had separate staff rooms.
Two years later, the school’s inspector and a teacher visited AFI to plan a collaboration project between the newly established college, a local shipping company (O. Tønnevold), and AFI’s Ship Program. They told me exciting things were happening at the school and invited me to visit. When I arrived in Arendal, I witnessed what seemed like a cultural shift within the institution. Previously, faculty had avoided discussing professional topics in the staff room. An engaging wave of discussions about pedagogical methods, school organization, and future knowledge requirements had taken root.
A young civil engineer and automation teacher, who began the process without a formal mandate, had initiated this change a year earlier by drafting an internal “subjective state analysis” of the school. This spontaneous effort was quickly accepted and later supported by the school’s leadership and several teachers. Eventually, after fighting for recognition and legitimacy, this teacher became the formal leader of “The Process.” He took on the role of an institutional entrepreneur.
Tensions and clarifying rounds. At this time, the school’s future was far from settled. Among the faculty and steering committee, two local action theories about how to approach “The Process” emerged. One practice-oriented approach emphasized learning through trial and error, reflecting a willingness to take risks—an attitude linked to seafaring culture. The other was a systematic approachthat advocated carefully planned experiments, drawing on informatics.
The “practice-oriented group” began creating course packages and correspondence courses for subjects they believed were feasible. Meanwhile, the “systematic group” focused on identifying suitable areas for remote learning and assessing needs. AFI’s research stance was often associated with the practice-oriented approach, but we emphasized that both models had merit depending on the situation. We recommended trying both approaches in practice across distinct areas, potentially forming a third theory of action.
The steering committee proposed a “pedagogical model” and primary goals as guidelines for “The Process,” aimed at creating a sustainable, enjoyable, and interesting workplace. A fraction of the teachers were not content with having such “platitudes” as a platform for the development work. We argued that it provided a space for multiple interpretations and possibly productive compromises while also indicating a direction that would exclude undesirable alternatives, for example, to tailor an inferior academic offer to the short-term needs of businesses. Our reference at this point was Thorsrud’s (1972) notion of policy-making as a learning process and Herbst’s (1976) diffusion strategy map.
AMH agreed to detail their model in the early part of 1983. Four interdisciplinary teacher groups were established to set sub-goals and propose projects in areas such as industry collaboration, student democracy, new courses, and the school environment. The groups aimed to avoid fragmenting courses, instead grading content by difficulty and suitability for the learning format—ranging from “unknown waters” requiring guidance to “navigable open waters” where students could progress independently. Each teacher was encouraged to map at least one course onto a Gantt chart, specifying its duration, sequence, difficulty, control level, and adaptation modules. These charts were intended to serve as the basis for collective discussions and decisions. However, only three charts were included in this system, and the majority of teachers were indifferent to them. A separate group was assigned to develop plans for the third-year study in ship administration that replaced the old skipper school.
The work contract with AFI. To avoid the problem of researcher interests becoming overly aligned with top-level management in the host organization (the “junta problem,” Elden, 1979), AFI’s approach has been to establish a “deep slice” between the host organization and researchers (Emery & Emery, 1976). In practice, this means a partnership with a broadly composed decision-making body in the local organization. This structure is clearly important when working with educational institutions, where the principal and school leadership often hold sole responsibility for managing external relationships (Blichfeldt et al., 1979).
Early contact with AMH (Agder Maritime College) primarily went through what I would call the “active core.” However, this group turned out to be somewhat top-heavy, including the principal, inspector, and a lead teacher as central members. However, I did not perceive this self-appointed working group as particularly strong or action-oriented, as its position within the school’s organization was still somewhat unclear. Then a steering committee was established, partly to formalize the authority of the project leader – the automation teacher who started “The Process.” It should be noted that AFI, in line with the principle of “deep slice”, played an indirect role in decisions that led to the formation of the steering committee and to having students represented. However, staff members felt this structure to be overly bureaucratic and cumbersome for such a small school.
In the discussions with the AMH steering group about a “work contract” for the AFI researchers, we took a rather reclining stance. An agreement was made to exchange impressions and ideas about “The Process” and to accept that mutual expectations would evolve as we learned more about each other’s expertise and interests. Some faculty members argued for a clear contract that defined the tasks we would carry out. We countered this view by underlining the need for some flexibility when the issues at hand were rather open-ended. The skeptics thought this would lead to wasted time in endless negotiations.
Reorientation and project expansion. At the beginning of 1984, in an “autopsy report,” the school’s institutional entrepreneur (now the project leader) expressed frustration over the teaching staff’s lack of commitment to “The Process.” Some colleagues responded that progress had been made, albeit in small steps. They were engaged in subject-specific pedagogical development within their fields and preferred that the steering committee not intervene in their work. The project leader sought to generate interest in a unifying idea to carry “The Process” forward. By the end of 1984, both factions largely achieved their objectives. The result included introducing several new courses and two additional third-year programs, a detailed study plan in ship administration, and an outline for a study combining mechanical engineering and electro-automation. Concerted efforts were made to develop part-time study options with remote learning for the basic two-year programs.
A heavy investment in time and energy for AMH was the initiative of the steering committee to establish a regional competence center for shipping companies. The first step was to design a project along these lines with a small local shipping company, Tønnevold Tankrederi, as a partner. Rather than passively supplying expertise to an anonymous market, AMH wanted to pilot a model for long-term school-industry collaboration that would be mutually beneficial. The competence center was organized as a matrix with one or several designated teachers serving as “technical inspector(s)” and additionally entitled to draw on other teachers and students for ad hoc assistance. These arrangements were beneficial to AMH’s ambition to link their “pedagogical model” to key principles of problem- and project-based teaching – a perspective that gradually gained acceptance by the teaching staff through their experiences with “real-life” issues.
A relevant example of this type of collaboration involved the regulatory loops on the ship M/T Thorgull. A teacher from the electro-automation program identified a problem with a boiler system that the shipping company wanted resolved. Two students were sent onboard to examine the electrical circuits in the regulation system, working in consultation with the crew. Similarly, a second-year mechanical engineering student analyzed the energy balance in the boiler system. This work served as the basis for the student’s project assignments, facilitated professional connections between teachers and suppliers, and proved useful to the shipping company in negotiations with equipment suppliers.
Ambiguous signals about AFI’s role. In this expansive “The process” period, AFI’s and my presence at AMH was met with a mix of openness and suspicion. We went deep into preparing the ground for the Tønnevold project and often took the opportunity to discuss the problem and project-based teaching in a warm, open way. On one hand, these interventions were met with enthusiasm. On the other hand, some expressed skepticism. Concerns included fears that the company would exploit the school for free expertise, that tailoring course offerings to a small shipping company was a questionable policy, and that the school already had enough on its plate.
There was also ambivalence toward our proposal to foster collaboration with other maritime colleges. In a governance vacuum and intensified competition among schools for survival, some teachers were concerned about protecting “The Process” as a trade secret and guarding against “industrial espionage” from other schools. However, the other side of this coin was that the steering committee was eager to have “The Process” gain recognition in the shipping industry, public institutions, and among potential recruits. The AMH institutional entrepreneur argued that “it would be a feather in our cap if we could serve as a model for others.”
When “The Process” was in high gear, our involvement took on a more active role than some of the AMH teaching staff expected. The latter voiced concerns that the school’s leadership and the steering committee did not fully understand what they were undertaking. There had been moments when fears that AFI would take over the project surfaced as the steering committee struggled to agree on a direction. Did we contribute to this feeling of insecurity by advocating openness and flexibility in formalizing the AMH/AFI collaboration?
Crisis and a new start. In early 1985, several individual projects were operating independently. The steering committee ceased to function following a contentious meeting, and one of the initiative’s key driving forces left the school. The school successfully secured national research funding to develop a part-time study model for seafarers, alternating between four months at school and four months at sea. The coordination of the expanded AMH project portfolio was formally assigned to the teacher council, project group, or planning meetings. Line meetings had stopped functioning, and many teachers felt they had lost a professional base. In this rushed period, the open decision-making structure was also perceived as a stressor, as there was insufficient information and participation required to stay up to date on numerous matters.
It had become increasingly clear that the project leader and institutional entrepreneur for “The Process” intended to step down and leave the school. His decision was influenced by disagreements over project-planning strategies and by colleagues’ general lack of response to his “pedagogical model.” “The Process” lost its footing among mechanical engineering and automation staff, while teachers in nautical studies prioritized the newly established third-year ship administration program, to which AFI made significant contributions. The design of this study drew inspiration from the democratization model tried out on board M/S Balao. In an educational context, participant-driven work planning was meant to raise the students’ awareness of their own learning processes. They were expected to be active in running and developing the program.
Steps were taken to secure broader staff participation. Planning meetings served as an information channel for all members, including students, and a venue to evaluate project progress, develop new plans, and align these with daily operations. They were coordinated by an administrative committee, open to all staff, and led by the school’s management. We encouraged these changes. One positive side effect of increased teacher collaboration was the revival of line meetings, with student participation included.
New study structure as the last convulsion. By the summer of 1985, the wave of outsourcing in the Norwegian merchant fleet had been ongoing for several months, making it increasingly clear that the school’s offerings needed to target new audiences. This event directly impacted the school’s projects, as the Tønnevold shipping company was forced to re-register its two test ships abroad. However, AMH managed to redirect its services as a competence center to a collaboration with a larger regional shipping company, the Ugland Group, to pilot operational models for a pair of shuttle tankers under construction for the North Sea oil and gas production.
This development was partly anticipated in “The Process”. In 1985, AMH pursued some of the earlier cross-disciplinary activities to construct a new study structure, the so-called ABC model. It was less focused on meeting maritime certification requirements, offered students greater flexibility, and enabled greater integration across fields. The electro-automation track was furthest along in its redesign, proposing a one-year extension to allow electro-automation engineers to gain enough mechanical training to qualify for a machinist certificate or to prepare for a completely new offering in an oil-related field.
In 1986, the national research funding to AMH and “The Process” was phased out. While representing modest sources, the enthusiasts perceived this loss as a lack of support from external stakeholders. At this time, project activities at AMH spread across several tracks, losing their internal focal point. Staff members expressed pessimism, as seen in a project where AMH, in collaboration with the County Employment Office and AFI, aimed to reskill and provide continuing education for unemployed seafarers. This was met with sarcastic remarks such as, “We’re going to survive first by training for the sea, then retraining for the land.”
Nevertheless, there was still considerable enthusiasm, and many viewed the ABC model as the most important outcome of “The Process.” The three years leading up to the school’s closure on January 1, 1990, saw intensified efforts to gather industry information on training needs and to strengthen collaboration with other higher education institutions. These boundary adjustments were primarily handled by individual teachers or program lines, with support from the administration committee and planning meetings as advisory bodies.
What can we learn from “The Process”?
The launch of AMH coincided with several unfavorable conditions for successful development. Given the national overdimensionalization of maritime colleges, the external message was clearly to “swim or sink.” A majority of the teaching staff were newcomers in higher education, and their roots in a rather traditional maritime school raised the threshold for unlearning the old and learning the new. Moreover, the teacher community was divided along professional boundaries with very different views about a concerted strategy. Fortunately, “The Process” was initiated in pairs by the institutional entrepreneur and the school’s principal, representing the two major factions, respectively, the field of electro-automation and nautical studies.
A lucky move was the early announcement of the new “pedagogical model” to mobilize hope and avert panic reactions. It provided some leeway for dispersed activities in revising the curricula and reviewing teaching methods. We silently applauded this strategy and tolerated the conflicts that arose when attempts were made to outline a study template aligned with the model. Our insistence on a rather laid-back role contrasted with how we unfolded the merits of problem- and project-based learning. We did not anticipate the risk that the “resource center” idea could imply a strong alignment with the shipping companies’ short-term needs. In retrospect, we should look somewhat self-critically at how AMH struggled with implementing a “matrix organization” and “broad participation” as anchoring concepts in “The Process”. These efforts were seen as time-consuming and unproductive, leading to over-administration, but we did not delve deeply into the representativeness of these views. As expected, the teachers and students who pioneered a new model of ship management modeled after the Balao case were the most supportive of the AFI jargon.
The question about what AMH learned from “The Process” is easily answered by pointing to the achievements – the networking and new teaching concepts connected to the “resource center”, an innovative part-time model for seafarers, participant-driven study planning as a new model of ship management training, and a blueprint for academic reorientation (the ABC model). We may also assume that the underlying activities have nourished learning-to-learn processes and the development of change competency. The most salient indicator is the transformation from a mentality of confinement within established roles to a new college with a proactive approach to external opportunities. We do not know how this expertise was recontextualized in the new environment of the larger engineering college after the transfer.
A harder question to answer is to what extent the listed achievements had been realized without “The Process” and/or without the involvement of the AFI Ship Program. To the latter, we may speculate that AMH’s alliance with a national research institute is beneficial when navigating stormy weather. Did “The Process” successfully adopt and implement our perspectives and concepts …, and was AMH able to leverage the network relationships that AFI facilitated? These questions are, at best, hypotheses about the possible impacts of our interventions. No attempt was made to peel away competing explanations, and our research design did not equip us with the methodological tools to clearly identify “what works” in our approach.
The Ship Program as an action research program
My review of the Ship Program reveals that several projects, notably those addressing safety at sea, should be characterized as social science mixtures of theory and data-driven research. They launched new perspectives that added complexity and options for action to societal challenges. At best, this research had an action component by organizing participants and stakeholders in discussions of policies, measures, and action plans. As a rule, these activities were not followed up in research that could estimate the local and/or societal effects of reframing the agenda on the issues addressed. The same goes at a more general level, when “encapsulation” is used as a generic term that encompasses a range of factors that could explain why social experiments need to be replaced by diffusion strategies and networking. It also paired with a reorientation of socio-technical design that prioritized interaction over action (Gustavsen, 2007). As shown above, this logic was implemented in the early projects of the IDP at sea, through thrust-making activities and ship-meet-ship conferences, which were elements of the action research profile in the maritime sector. It also guided the Ship Program’s engagement with AMH, but the initiative yielded mixed outcomes. The discussions about the maritime college as a “regional competence center” were nourished by a timely international enthusiasm for the innovative potential of regional clusters (Porter, 1990). This line of thinking had likewise gained a strong foothold in the AFI, and when the Ship Program ended, several of my colleagues and I transferred to the Region Program. Our network contacts and insights into the Arendal region were valuable in designing an action research strategy for the development of the Longum technology and competence center. In short, our role was to organize strategic discussions about profiles and liaisons across fields of expertise and organizational affiliations (Johansen et al., 1991). A later project in the Region Program followed in the steps of IDP at sea by underlining how the Norwegian International Registry and “out flagging” of the merchant fleet widened the gap between the governance capability of maritime authorities and the implementation of personnel policies in line with Norwegian regulations (Spjelkavik & Næss, 1993).
The Ship Program at AFI navigated a transitional period in the discourse on industrial democracy and action research. Although the “pilot ship” and “decentralization” trials were dependent on supportive structures among social partners and political actors, it seems reasonable to claim that the national conditions for this research to lean on the so-called Nordic model of tripartite working life development were not present. The skirmishes around the ”out-flagging” of the merchant fleet clearly made a lack of mutual trust and a weak coupling of the sector to the political apparatus visible. Even so, the seeds were planted in the so-called “Third partner action research” and the related network strategy for ideas that were operative in the AMH case and more clearly spelled out in the regional development project at Longum. These elements are recognizable in later large-scale AFI projects that were framed by tripartite national agreements on working life and regional development, such as the “Enterprise Development 2000” Program (Gustavsen et al., 1998) and “Instruments for Regional Innovation” Program (Virkemidler for Regional Innovasjon, VRI, Finsrud, 2007). The latter awarded regional colleges a central role in development coalitions as “resource centers.” Transformations in the role and toolbox of socio-technical action research across these periods and turns deserve a more comprehensive investigation than what is possible here.
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