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The Lost History of Socialism’s DIY Computer

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  08.02.2020
    * [17]Europe

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                The Lost History of Socialism’s DIY Computer

  By
         [20]Michael Eby

  The Galaksija computer was a craze in 1980s socialist Yugoslavia,
  inspiring thousands of people to build versions in their own homes. The
  idea behind them was simple — to make technology available to everyone.

  Voja Antonić and his colleague Jova Regasek (left) putting together the
  Galaksija prototype in 1983.

  The new issue of Jacobin is out now. [21]Subscribe today and get a
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[22]Did Elites Really Take Over Identity Politics?

  [23]John-Baptiste Oduor

[24]Workers in the Sky

  [25]Sara Nelson

[26]Crypto Can’t Build a Better Internet

  [27]Fraser Watt

[28]When the Mob Tried to Whack Dennis Kucinich

  [29]Tim Gill

  The Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was a political anomaly.
  Ruled by a Communist Party but spurned by the Eastern Bloc following
  the 1948 Tito–Stalin split, this [30]federation of six republics was
  held together under Tito’s banner of an inter-ethnic, inter-religious,
  and international “brotherhood and unity.” Subsequent to its
  repudiation by the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia bootstrapped its
  geopolitical precarity into a Herculean effort to chart a middle course
  between the two world superpowers.

  Along with Egypt, Ghana, India, and Indonesia, the country founded the
  Non-Aligned Movement, a patchwork of developing nations aspiring to
  chart a decolonial “third option” of formal neutrality during the Cold
  War. This constituted one of the few genuine anti-authoritarian,
  anti-imperial international alliances of the twentieth century.
  Yugoslavia’s unique geopolitical situation and its infrastructural
  autonomy constituted the fertile ground upon which the seeds of the
  country’s national identity were planted.

  The fast-track growth of defense stockpiles and industrial facilities
  after the war, and especially after Yugoslavia was expelled from the
  [31]Cominform in 1948, necessitated nothing less than a logistics
  revolution. Robust calculating machinery was essential for the
  comprehensive real-time monitoring of vast quantities of commodities in
  production and exchange. Moving to fill this demand, a local computing
  industry began to bloom.

  Dr. Rajko Tomović — a roboticist instrumental to the invention of the
  world’s first five-fingered artificial hand — worked alongside teams of
  mathematicians and mechanical engineers at the Institute for Nuclear
  Sciences, Vinča, and Belgrade’s Telecommunication and Electronics
  Institute, Mihajlo Pupin (later the Mihajlo Pupin Institute) to develop
  manufacturing techniques using local instruments and local parts. The
  rise in living standards throughout the 1960s and 1970s introduced a
  need for the ever-more widespread adoption of bookkeeping computers in
  bureaucracy. Yugoslavia became a technological pressure cooker,
  incubating an idiosyncratic computer culture that flowered due to
  intense institutional support.

  But computers were expensive. The average price of an Iskradata 1680,
  Sinclair ZX81, or Commodore 64 — standard consumer-grade systems, found
  across the country’s government offices, accounting firms, and
  university science labs — exceeded by many times the monthly salary of
  the average Yugoslavian worker. Compounding this hurdle were the tight
  restrictions imposed by the country on imports of any item costing
  greater than 50 Deutschmarks; that limit was well under the amount
  needed to buy an 8-bit microcomputer produced anywhere on the
  continent. As a result, throughout the 1970s computer ownership,
  experimentation, and programming were the domain of an educated and
  well-to-do select few Yugoslavian youths.

  Often, members of local art, music, and literary movements like the New
  Tendencies, the Novi Val (New Wave), and science fiction scenes would
  pool their money in order to collectively acquire a machine.

  But Yugoslavia’s cultural tradition of self-taught expertise endured.
  While on holiday in Risan, Montenegro in the early 1980s, amateur radio
  and digital electronics enthusiast Voja Antonić devised the basic
  conceptual schema for an elementary microcomputer. Antonić was already
  a reputed engineer; in the past, he had developed Arbitar, an official
  timing system used on several Balkan ski contests, as well as an
  interface for transferring frames from monochrome monitors to 16 mm
  film. On his Montenegrin vacation, Antonić read the application manual
  for a new line of single-chip CPUs produced by the RCA Corporation. It
  gave him an idea. Rather than using a sophisticated and pricey video
  controller, Antonić wondered if it might be possible to construct a
  computer whose 64×48 block graphics were wholly generated using just a
  cheap Zilog Z80A microprocessor—a CPU readily available in electronics
  stores throughout Yugoslavia.

  On returning home, Antonić tested his idea, finding it worked nicely.
  The effect of his critical intervention was twofold: it reduced the
  computer’s overall price and streamlined its design. More importantly
  than this, though, was the fact that the schematic was so simple, users
  could assemble the computer themselves.

  A long-standing commitment to open hardware and open software allowed
  Antonić’s invention to ripple across the country. It precipitated a
  minor computer revolution, activating a multiplicity of subcultural
  actors—programmers, gamers, DJs, musicians, and fanzine collectors—who
  each coagulated around his machine’s novel combination of collectivity,
  autodidacticism, and technophilia.

  Around the time of Antonić’s discovery, Dejan Ristanović—journalist,
  computer programmer, and wunderkind of the Rubik’s Cube—wrote a
  favorably received article on computing for a Yugoslavian science
  fiction and popular science magazine called Galaksija. Shortly after
  that article’s publication, Galaksija’s editor-in-chief, Jova Regasek,
  received a reader request that the magazine dedicate an issue entirely
  to computers. Though initially skeptical, Regasek tasked Ristanović
  with spearheading this project. At precisely this time, Antonić was
  looking for a place to publish the diagrams for his new DIY “people’s
  computer.” Though Antonić had bundles of home computing monthlies like
  Elektor from Germany and BYTE from the United States—foreign
  publications that were expensive to procure—accessibility was
  essential; SAM Magazine in Zagreb was a domestic periodical, but after
  a mutual friend connected him with Ristanović, the project found its
  home in Galaksija.

  The special issue was titled Računari u vašoj kuć i (“Computers in Your
  Home”). A thick portion of it was devoted to Antonić’s computer: it
  included not solely the diagrams, but also comprehensive instructions
  for assembling the circuity, store locations for purchasing makeshift
  equipment, mail-order addresses for obtaining built-it-yourself kits,
  and channels through which to order accessory parts legally from
  abroad. Ristanović and Antonić settled on the naming the project after
  the magazine—Galaksija—and no one involved thought that readership for
  the issue would exceed Galaksija’s regular print run of 30,000 copies.
  But the response was extraordinary: Regasek ended up needing four
  reprints to cover the joltingly high demand for each preceding
  out-of-print run. Antonić recalls the trio chatting casually one day
  before the issue’s release, speculating as to how many readers would
  actually try and make a Galaksija; he remembers guessing a maximum of
  50 hardcore hobbyists. But, after a total distribution of 120,000
  copies, the magazine had received over 8,000 direct letters from
  enthusiasts who had built their own Galaksijas.

  Oftentimes the very limitations of a technological device are what
  allow for its expressive capacities to surface. Antonić’s microcomputer
  contained only 4K bytes of program memory — a veritable
  drop-in-the-bucket compared to any laptop today. Owing to this
  restriction, the system could only display three splendidly playful
  one-word error messages: users received a “WHAT?” if their BASIC code
  had a syntax error, a “HOW?” if their requested input was
  unrecognizable, and a “SORRY” if the machine exceeded its memory
  capacity. The 4K EPROM — erasable programmable read-only memory—was
  packed so tight that some bytes had to be used for multiple purposes;
  through this hack, Antonić says, his firmware now stands as proof that
  it is possible to use more than 100% of program memory.

  The innards of the machine reflected the social milieu under which it
  thrived. No two Galaksijas looked alike: in addition to the organic
  imprecision that necessarily accompanies the untried, error-prone
  action of neophyte circuit tinkerers, the assembly kits shipped without
  a case. This omission became the stimulus for users to get creative;
  many designed their own. Individualized designs often reflected the
  aesthetic overlap of these new computing revolutionaries with the
  subcultures around New Wave and sci-fi. And, like other computers of
  the day, cassette tape was Galaksija’s main storage system. While most
  other machines would automatically run a program after loading the tape
  — a primitive anti-copy protection — Antonić’s commitment to open
  source meant that he had no desire to protect anything. After loading a
  program, users would have to type a “RUN” command to make it go. That
  extra step, though subtle, acted as a deterrent to programmers imposing
  any copy protection upon their work; the tape could just as easily be
  straightforwardly input as it could be edited or duplicated en masse.
  Free play was implicitly encouraged: the sharing, collaboration,
  manipulation, and proliferation of software was built into Galaksija’s
  very operation.

  A computing enthusiast since 1979, Zoran Modli caught wind of Galaksija
  after the publication of Computers in Your Home. As host and DJ of
  Ventilator 202—a renowned New Wave radio show on Serbia’s Radio Beograd
  202 — Modli was something of a minor celebrity in Yugoslavia. This was
  the period in which the compact cassette tape had begun to usurp the
  12-inch vinyl record as the listening medium of choice for audiophiles;
  portable pocket recorders like the Sony Walkman were in the ascendant.
  Sensing an opportunity in this media shift, Regasek called Modli one
  day in the autumn of 1983 with a pitch for a radically new Ventilator
  segment. Because all the day’s computers, including Galaksija, ran
  their programs on cassette, Regasek thought Modli might broadcast
  programs over the airwaves as audio during his show. The idea was that
  listeners could tape the programs off their receivers as they were
  broadcast, then load them into their personal machines.

  An overnight sensation, this DJing practice quickly became a staple on
  Modli’s show. In the ensuing months, Ventilator 202 broadcast hundreds
  of computer programs. During the hour, Modli would announce when the
  segment was approaching, signaling to his listeners that it was time
  for them to fetch their equipment, cue up a tape, and get ready to hit
  record. Fans began to write programs with the expressed intention of
  mailing them into the station and broadcasting them during the segment.
  Those programs included audio and video recordings but also magazines,
  concert listings, party promotions, study aids, flight simulators, and
  action-adventure games. In the case of games, users would “download”
  the programs off the radio and alter them—inserting their own levels,
  challenges, and characters—then send them back to Modli for
  retransmission. In effect, this was file transfer well before the
  advent of the World Wide Web, a pre-internet pirating protocol.

  During the mid-1980s, Yugoslavia entered a period of profound political
  and social uncertainty; several bloody wars and an economic spiral put
  an end to New Wave culture and the vibrant computing scene. By then,
  import restrictions and tariffs were relaxed, and Western-made
  computers were welcomed into the country by consumers, corporations,
  and government bodies alike. For a brief time, pre-assembled versions
  of Galaksija were mass manufactured, finding a place in classrooms at
  some of Yugoslavia’s high schools and universities. In 1995, Antonić
  threw away all five of his personal Galaksija prototypes because by
  that point, he laments, simply no one cared.

  However, a kind of nostalgia for technological obsolescence has emerged
  in recent years, and — in addition to encountering old Galaksijas being
  sold on the marketplace dearer than many modern laptops — Antonić was
  approached by Belgrade’s Museum of Science and Technology several years
  ago to participate in an exhibition of pre-millennium computers. For
  the occasion he claims to have scavenged and located a forgotten
  Galaksija in his attic, one that sits on display in that museum today.
  What’s more, a short while ago Antonić was contacted with a similar
  request from the Computer History Museum in Silicon Valley, a few
  hours’ drive from his current home in Pasadena, California.

  The reason for this resurgent interest in Galaksija is perhaps due to
  the fact that this exciting and little-known episode in
  computer-science history is pregnant with counterfactual potential.
  Galaksija embodies a destratification of today’s technological
  hierarchy, a tacit ideological assertion that computing machinery
  should be for the masses, cheap and available to everyone, and that
  neither money nor technical know-how need be barriers to entry.
  Paralleling the Yugoslavian alternative to the bipolar world order, the
  Galaksija saga signals to uninitiated technologists that alternative
  modes of practice are possible, paths wholly separate from those of
  Western manufacturing overlords like IBM, Microsoft, Hewlett-Packard,
  or Apple.

  In this sense, Antonić’s 1983 schematic was more than just a
  build-it-yourself microcomputer. Through its virtual capacities for
  connectedness — between its circuitry and components as well as between
  the agents and forces that shaped it as a cultural phenomenon —
  Galaksija stands tall as a monument to a different kind of
  technological life, one teeming with exploration, experimentation, and
  communitarian spirit.

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Contributors

  Michael Eby is a writer and researcher on contemporary art and digital
  culture. He lives in New York.

Filed Under

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    * [34]Science and Technology
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  The Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was a political anomaly.
  Ruled by a Communist Party but spurned by the Eastern Bloc following
  the 1948 Tito–Stalin split, this federation of six republics was held
  together under Tito’s banner of an inter-ethnic, inter-religious, and
  international “brotherhood and unity.” Subsequent to its repudiation by
  the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia […]

Medium

  The Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was a political anomaly.
  Ruled by a Communist Party but spurned by the Eastern Bloc following
  the 1948 Tito–Stalin split, this federation of six republics was held
  together under Tito’s banner of an inter-ethnic, inter-religious, and
  international “brotherhood and unity.” Subsequent to its repudiation by
  the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia […]

Large

  The Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was a political anomaly.
  Ruled by a Communist Party but spurned by the Eastern Bloc following
  the 1948 Tito–Stalin split, this federation of six republics was held
  together under Tito’s banner of an inter-ethnic, inter-religious, and
  international “brotherhood and unity.” Subsequent to its repudiation by
  the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia […]

Further Reading

[39]In These Stunning Images, Ordinary Yugoslav Partisans Captured Their
Revolution on Camera

    * [40]Davor Konjikušić

[41]How Yugoslavia’s Partisans Built a New Socialist Society

    * [42]Gal Kirn

[43]Smartphones Aren’t the Problem — Capitalism Is

    * [44]Nicole Aschoff

[45]The Life and Death of Yugoslav Socialism

    * [46]James Robertson

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