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This study investigates antecedents of entrepreneurial intentions of young adults, the next generation of entrepreneurs. We determine whether aspiring entrepreneurs' positive and dark traits relate to entrepreneurial intentions. Results indicated that entrepreneurial fitness, a second-order construct comprised of multiple positive and bright traits, positively relates to entrepreneurial intention, while the dark traits of Machiavellianism and narcissism differentially relate to entrepreneurial fitness and intention. Narcissism positively relates to entrepreneurial fitness and intention both directly and indirectly. Though Machiavellianism positively and directly relates to entrepreneurial intention, it also negatively and indirectly relates to intention through a negative relationship with entrepreneurial fitness. However, overall, entrepreneurial fitness positively relates with entrepreneurial intention. Findings extend the core model of entrepreneurial intention by concurrently illuminating the adaptive and maladaptive aspects of the dark side of narcissism and Machiavellianism with the bright, positive antecedents of entrepreneurial intention with entrepreneurial fitness. Theoretical and practical implications are discussed.
The Enemy, the Cabildo and the Defence of the City
On 27 June 1806, Porteños awoke to the news that they were no longer Spanish subjects but part of the British Empire. The political consequences of the assault and seizure of the capital of the viceroyalty have been studied by many as the spark that started the Wars of Independence in the River Plate. The aim here is to contribute to these studies through the perspective of space and power and show how the control of the city and its urban development achieved by the Cabildo and the Porteños soon became political control.
As seen in the first chapter, the creation of the viceroyalty of the River Plate and the tightening of the commercial regulations by the Bourbons drastically reduced the area's contraband trade in the late eighteenth century. This left Britain looking for other ways to keep and expand its commercial activities in this profitable area. Trade with the Americas was favoured by the then prime minister William Pitt (1759–1806) who had the support of Francisco de Miranda (1750–1816). Miranda was a Creole and a main instigator of the revolution against Spain; he intended to cooperate with the British as long as the freedom from Spain was guaranteed to the colonies. Miranda had travelled the world in support for the colonies’ freedom but had received little help from the United States and France, turning therefore to Britain, where he met members of a South American lobby group that had been working for the British government to back an expedition to Buenos Aires since the late 1790s. Pitt, Miranda and Commodore Home Popham (1762–1820) met in London in 1803 and discussed possibilities. Popham and Miranda have both been described as a pair of opportunistic mavericks, so after the successful capture of Cape Town for the British Empire in 1806, it is no surprise that Popham immediately saw the chance to sail from here to Buenos Aires and capture this city as well. He was acting also on some intelligence received from Thomas Wayne, an American merchant-ship captain, who described the defenceless state of Buenos Aires with less than one thousand troops, adding on a more personal note that Porteños would welcome freedom from Spain.
Colonialism is a system in which a country controls another country or area, a definition that acquires complexity when considering the different disciplines that research this field, not to mention the evolving narratives and interests of both, authors and audiences. The focus in this volume is on colonialism and human geography, involving cities, architecture and the actors concerned with designing, developing and inhabiting the urban space in colonial Latin America. Within this focus, there are issues related to identity – which is central to spatial conceptualisations of colonial domination that cover private buildings, the public space as well as the inhabitants and users of these spaces. Identity in turn is understood here as a fluid and yet constrained concept affected by culture and politics but also, as this volume shows, by architecture and the urban context. The demographic explosion of the eighteenth century increased the demand for property while the financial gains made by entrepreneurs of the expanding trade created the necessary surplus for investment in real estate assets. No other urban centre exemplifies this phenomenon better than Buenos Aires, the fastest growing city in the Spanish world at the time of the establishment of the viceroyalty of the River Plate in 1776. Since then and until the end of the viceroyalty in 1810, the reduction of contraband trade, the opening of commerce and the regulation of land titles and urban planning helped the local economy and consolidated the basis for a flourishing real estate market.
Although these were spatial and economic measures brought by the Bourbon dynasty in Spain, the century was also characterised by a new way of thinking known as the Enlightenment. The movement was exemplified by freedom in thinking, where science and reason guided humanity. Nevertheless, an all-encompassing definition remains a challenge, as some countries used the concept to support absolutism while for others it represented republican ideas. Furthermore, studies have also shown the importance of geography particularly in colonial societies where the Enlightenment was more revolutionary than the independence movements themselves.
Notwithstanding, politics is not the only contradiction posed by the Enlightenment. By 1750, the power of the church in Europe had begun to decline favouring the ‘disenchantment of the world’ or the search for a more rational explanation of the world and the working of its natural forces.
The United States Supreme Court decision in Dobbs v Jackson Women’s Health Organization brought to the forefront the intersections between technology and reproductive rights. As the country grappled with the impact of Dobbs on reproductive rights, digital and human rights experts warned that the vast amounts of data collected by companies could now be used to target and punish people seeking or facilitating access to abortions. This is the most recent manifestation of the negative impact technology can have on women, girls and persons of diverse sexual orientations and gender identities, and represents a global challenge for companies that collect, store, share and process user data. To fulfill their responsibility to respect human rights, companies should take steps to prevent the risks associated with collecting, storing, sharing and processing user data, and adapt these steps to respond to emerging risks, such as those now posed by the Dobbs decision.
The Geo-Administrative Division of the Colonial Territories in the Americas
The sixteenth century consolidated the geographical expansion of European powers over territories populated by indigenous people by means of a strategy that guaranteed the dual objective of subjugation as well as the economic exploitation of the colonies. From this common baseline, colonialism adopted different forms depending on several factors including the dominant socio-political ideas of each European power, as well as the physical environment encountered and the particularities of the local indigenous population, including their responses to foreign strategies. Colonialism was thus not uniform all over the territories, not even within those under the same colonial power.
In the case of Spain, the geographical colonial system consisted of administrative units, each with its own office that was dependant on an immediately higher office in a hierarchical order that culminated with the Spanish king. Administrative offices often lacked clearly defined functions, which generated disputes that only peninsular authorities could solve, albeit after a long bureaucratic process of communication. This long chain of letters and reports from the colonies to the Crown was deliberate and aimed to guarantee that ultimate decisions were taken by the state. The blurring of incumbencies also ensured that officials themselves watched their peers, immediately informing superiors when someone was encroaching another officer's incumbencies. The effect was a bottom-up surveillance system to prevent excesses of power and thus supervise the vast dominions with scant resources. Furthermore, as colonial officials were located far from the state's close control, European rulers often opposed the appointment of the nobility to high offices in the colonies, fearing that they could challenge the ruler's authority. During the earlier time of the colonies, Spain and Portugal, in particular, aimed to prevent the establishment of powerful nobilities overseas.
Modern European empires had separate colonial authorities in the metropolis to supervise the administration of the colonies. Initially, in Spain, the Royal Council of Castile dealt with matters related to the Indies, but the increase of business (and bureaucracy) forced the creation of a separate council exclusive for the colonies. This was known as the Real y Supremo Consejo de las Indias, created by Charles V on 1 August 1524 and although it ranked below that of Castile within the Spanish imperial system, it had undisputed powers in overseas territories.
The Spanish Pedro de Mendoza (1487–1537) founded the port called Nuestra Señora Santa María del Buen Ayre on 2 February 1536. The settlement was the result of various Spanish expeditions searching for a passage connecting the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, a connection of strategic importance given the possibilities of shortening trading routes and the discovery of new lands. Juan Diaz de Solis (1470–1516) commanded the first expedition in 1512; the voyage had such tactical significance that it was secretly organised to avoid leaking information to foreign sailors and nations. The result was the European exploration of the River Plate and the Paraná River, and although Solis died during a defence of the territory mounted by local indigenous groups, the area soon attracted the attention of other sailors.
The second expedition was that of Ferdinand Magellan (1480–1521), a Portuguese at the Spanish service, who sailed down the River Plate in 1520 but left the area when he realised that the river did not provide a passage to the Pacific, continuing the journey south and eventually succeeding in his quest. The importance of these expeditions is not only the success in finding a connection between the two oceans, but also the new knowledge that was gathered and shared in the attempts. By pushing the Spanish's boundaries further south, the River Plate area begun appearing in European maps, particularly as survivors of the expeditions recounted the stories of a legendary king with enormous wealth, known as the White King. Indeed, port taverns and bars were the perfect place to exchange travelling stories. The English Sebastian Cabot (1474–1557), who was also at the service of the Spanish king, heard the story of the White King while docked in Pernambuco (today Brazil), deciding immediately to set sail south in search for the treasure in 1526. The expedition was unsuccessful, although it resulted in the foundation of the fort of Sancti Spiritus, the first settlement in today's Argentinean territory. However, the colony did not last long as it was soon destroyed by local indigenous groups who were defending their territories. Cabot returned demoralised to Spain, where he nevertheless spread the legend of the White King that captivated the imagination of other Spaniards.
Government Regulations and the Development of Private Buildings
Phillip II's Ordinances of 1573 stipulated that private architecture in colonial cities should be homogeneous and have uniformity. This principle was still debated during the eighteenth century when theorists at the time discussed the lack of uniformity in cities. A prominent architectural theorist expressed in 1753 that towns in France were ‘a mass of houses crowded together haphazardly and without system, planning or design’. While in Spain, another recognised authority, Abbot Antonio Ponz Piquer (1725–1792), published a book titled Travels in Spain (1772), where he critically revised peninsular architecture while advocating for ordered and homogeneous cities. Similar arguments were circulating in the colonies. According to Manila's governor, the street line in this city in 1792 was a collection of different houses including elegant buildings and poorly built ‘cabins and huts’. The governor was appalled by these conditions, adding that these huts were built on an irregular plan that damaged the geometrical layout of the city. Without a doubt, in Europe and the Spanish American colonies, the ideal cities of the Enlightenment were ordered, with unbroken street lines and with houses following a similar style and quality. What theorist wanted and admired was regularity, and while European cities struggled with their medieval layouts and crumbling housing stock, the colonies in the New World had the advantage of been developed following the gridiron system, which provided a solid platform for ordered geometry.
In Buenos Aires, the introduction of planning permissions for private buildings was consistent with the ideas of Abbot Antonio Ponz, who declared that no government should allow complete freedom to people for building their dwellings. The reason for this statement was that, according to him, no citizen had the right to ‘make the city look ugly’ emphasising that governments should control both planning permissions and architectural styles. Such system of planning permissions appears thus as the ultimate tool in government control of the urban space and personal choice. Equally and in the context of the enlightenment, ideas like the ‘benefit for all’ had to prevail over individuality. Therefore, all citizens had to regularise their façades in order to display in the whole, a magnificent city, characterised by unity and order, showing harmony and support for the monarchy, thus sending in turn a strong message of power to all rival nations.
This article analyzes a single bankruptcy case—Hancock v Halliday (1742–1752)—as it was litigated in the Court of Chancery across a ten-year period. By incorporating local sources, the work attempts to move away from assumptions surrounding the “implicit contract” of family, and to provide a more nuanced analysis of “family strategies” in action. I argue that business historians—looking at networks—and economic and social historians—analyzing the use and implementation of credit—should continue to explore the divisions within families, which will help to reemphasize the role of women within business transactions and the wider credit-based economy. Ultimately, this article makes a significant contribution to the burgeoning scholarship on the negative aspects of familial networks of credit and debt, demonstrating how the complex and multifaceted nature of family indebtedness has been overlooked, and misunderstood, in the existing literature.
The Czech Republic often has been cited as an example of successful economic transformation. The available literature has primarily focused on changes in the macroeconomic environment, although the actions of economic agents at the microeconomic level have emerged as the crucial factor explaining this success. Based on 101 oral history interviews, this article offers the firsthand experiences, frustrations, challenges, and human dimensions of doing business at that time and shows that the road from socialism to the market economy was a bumpy one. Our approach fills major information voids, and thus offers a unique opportunity for business historians to avoid slipping into the incomplete view of the world presented by written literature and archives.
Colonial Spanish cities had three well-defined areas that radiated from the centre where the main square or plaza mayor was located, extending from here to the periphery and the surrounding fields. The first inner area was the urban core and where public buildings were located and where the original settlers had their dwellings. This core was usually divided into square blocks of 140 varas side (approximately 120 metres). Surrounding this, was the ejido, which was land shared by the community and administered by the town council, all settlers with a house in the core had a right to use these com¬mons for grazing the farmstock that they had in the town (most families had a couple of livestock for daily milk and eggs consumption). Beyond the ejido was the land divided into agricultural plots – called suertes (luck). The suertes were randomly allocated to the first settlers and used for agriculture. Beyond this area, the lands belonged to the Spanish Crown and were known as tierras realengas.
In order to ensure that the settlers remained in the colony, the Crown required that a minimum of five years residency cultivating the land and maintaining a dwelling in the core, earning full possession of the property after this period. However, some settlers migrated to other more hospitable areas of the empire, leaving behind empty plots in the city along with uncultivated suertes. The problem was that by the sixteenth century, there was a surge in empty urban plots, and it became difficult to monitor which owners were forfeiting their rights to the land or if they intended to return. The Crown therefore resolved that those who had reasons to leave a settlement but did not intend to emigrate had to appoint a ‘fully armed’ person in their place in case of enemy attack. This problem of settlers abandoning colonies was common particularly during the sixteenth century, when Spain was expanding its dominions and settlements. This prompted the Crown to order that settlers build houses as soon as possible, preferably in stone. Presumably intending that a capital investment would tie people to the land.
In most cities across the Spanish world, royal ceremonies covered a range of events associated with the royal family. They included the arrival of new infants, birthdays, commemoration of royal patron saints as well as simple gatherings at the local church to pray for the well-being of a particular member of the royal family who was unwell. Undoubtedly, among all these events, the most important was the death of the king and the subsequent proclamation of his successor. On these occasions, the routine of eighteenth-century city life was disrupted; market activities ceased and streets in the city centre transformed giving way to processions and parades. Citizens were compelled to attend the festivities and even if they did not, the ceremony brought to a halt their everyday routines, making them aware of the events.
Royal proclamations and city arrivals are closely related and have been traced back to the entrance of Christ into Jerusalem and therefore linked to Christian rituals. It was during the Medieval Ages when Christianity spread, creating centres in Europe where political power and Christian rituals intertwined. This was particularly true in catholic Spain, where rituals of power and ideas of civitas soon merged and rooted in society. In medieval Castile and in the event of the death of a monarch, the custom was that the nobility met in private to make funeral arrangements and select a new ruler, with a public proclamation following soon afterwards. As rituals were based upon familiar actions, gestures and movements that were meaningful to a given society, they were understood and mostly acknowledged without debate. By the time of the conquest and colonisation of the Americas, rituals were well established in the Spanish society and seen as a powerful tool for domination. Elaborate religious and political acts were therefore transferred to the colonies during the foundation of new cities (see Chapter 1), becoming regulated as soon as the administrative geographies were organised and the relevant offices in charge of events established. Notwithstanding, the issue of how to make the presence of the king felt by all subjects during royal ceremonies became an important question for overseas administrators.
During the eighteenth century, many peninsular and colonial cities of the Spanish empire focused on improvements and modernisation of public services on offer, such as waste collection, street paving and lighting, with the aim of bettering urban health standards. While these measures tried to improve urban conditions and benefit its citizens, local authorities simultaneously used them to enhance the overall image of the city and with it, the image of the empire and the monarchy. Indeed, it was during this century when European governments realised that travellers’ accounts and maps were becoming more widely available thanks to the widespread distribution of books that disseminated urban images to a global public. Urban images were therefore an opportunity for European governments to impress their rivals with tales and images describing architecture, monuments, or local festivities. This meant that urban developments carried out in Buenos Aires had to be as aspirational as those in other Spanish colonial centres were. Furthermore, as this city was now the capital of one of the four viceroyalties of the empire, it had to set even higher standards and spread stylistic trends as well as public health innovations across the River Plate area that was under its control. This was a tall order for a small town at the periphery of the colonies, with a skyline dominated by the domes of religious buildings. The task now was to shake-off this catholic and rural image and become a modern capital for an enlightened society.
Thinkers of the Enlightenment argued that cities were the way to progress. An ‘urban man’ was a civilised man and the elimination of ignorance was only possible through the secularisation of the city. Achieving this in the eighteenth century meant the expansion of public places where society could mingle and enjoy leisure activities, and not just spaces for religious and/or political gatherings. The century saw a rise in the development of promenades, parks and even entire towns were redesigned around the concept of health as a social activity, with spa towns spreading across Europe, with visitors arriving in the summer months to enjoy the restorative power of thermal baths or to drink from famous wells providing mineral waters.
In the late twentieth century, the European Union (EU) emerged as a global leader in setting environmental protections, including vehicle emissions standards. But member state consensus around environmental rules did not come easily, and the regional norms eventually set by the EU and its predecessor, the European Economic Community, had complex origins. This article argues that common emissions standards were ultimately achieved through a public-private process during the program to create the Single European Market in the 1980s and 1990s. For regional policymakers, standards were key to achieving an internal car market and strengthening the auto industry's global competitiveness; for many European carmakers and their transnational business associations, common norms could facilitate economies of scale and level the playing field. The “liberal environmentalism” born out of this convergence of interests produced common standards that fell pragmatically between the greenest member states and those most invested in protecting their national champion firms.