How Development Mania Is Consuming the Island’s Soul
The other day, we published a piece titled The Vanishing Paradise—a heartbreaking exposé on how five-star hotels and half a billion euros in development are being used to flatten, pave, and package southern Crete for short-term profit. That article focused on two key examples: a 600-bed luxury resort at Triopetra and a massive complex planned for Keratokampos, both greenlit despite being located in areas of ecological and cultural sensitivity.
But these aren’t isolated incidents. They’re symptoms of a much larger, more dangerous trend. Since publishing that report, even more disturbing developments have surfaced. What we are witnessing is not merely overdevelopment—it’s an orchestrated campaign to convert one of Europe’s last sacred places into a giant, extractive infrastructure project.
The island’s landscape is being systematically appropriated by energy giants like TERNA and corporate developers who see the hills, gorges, and plains not as living ecosystems, but as real estate for harvesting wind, sun, and subsidies. The BOAK superhighway project—celebrated by regional officials and Eurobank alike—is not about improving the lives of Cretans. It’s about logistics for more resorts, easier access to construction sites, and interconnection for energy exports.
Crete’s governor calls this “the top of the development pyramid.” But to anyone with eyes, it looks like the top of a funeral pyre. The video below provides the reader with an idea of what’s at stake. The south of Crete is considered sacred to many Cretans, but no one knows what to do about a government that is determined to bow to big business and investors. It’s a disgrace in a world overflowing with appalling greed.
Meanwhile, the very heart of Crete’s ancient culture is being desecrated. Near the site of the new Kastelli airport, a remarkable Minoan monument was discovered—a rare concentric structure on Papoura Hill, more than 4,000 years old. While archaeologists marched to save it, officials in Athens quietly approved a radar installation just 30 meters away. On July 9th, the Central Archaeological Council (KAS) gave it the final green light. One of the most extraordinary discoveries of recent decades will now sit in the shadow of an airport tower.
Even protected zones are no longer safe. In places like Agiofarago Gorge and Zakros Palace, plans for photovoltaic farms and wind installations have progressed with minimal to no public input. Archaeologist Diamantis Panagiotopoulos warned us directly: “They will destroy this island, Phil.” And every week, that prophecy inches closer to fulfilment. One of the world’s most eminent archaeologists, Diamantis Panagiotopoulos could not contain his ongoing fear of the ultimate destruction of Crete this morning when he posted the following about an amazing Minoan find about to fall under the steamroller of progress. Here’s what he had to say:
Despite yesterday’s decision of KAS, Papoura should stay as it is, without radar. If we archaeologists fail to save it, then we should, as our friend and colleague Antonis Vassilakis said, tear up our degrees.
Worse still, truly regenerative initiatives—such as Panagiotis Magganas’ organic farm at Peskesi—are being hindered by wind projects and overlooked by policymakers. Even award-winning resorts embracing sustainability are finding themselves flanked by industrial eyesores. The message is clear: Crete’s future is not being shaped by those who love her, but by those who profit from her.
Mig and I have seen the decay firsthand. The once-lively seaside park near Heraklion—once filled with fountains, concerts, and laughing children—is now a moldy husk, with stagnant pools and broken benches. Heraklion itself struggles under piles of garbage and a summer plague of cockroaches. Basic services collapse while the island’s resources are diverted to luxury enclaves.
Licenses are handed out with alarming ease. Public-private partnerships proliferate. And a second undersea energy cable is already underway—linking Crete not just to the Greek mainland, but to Israel, Cyprus, and the European grid. Crete is being turned into Europe’s power station, without the people of Crete ever consenting to the deal.
To those who read our first article and felt sorrow, we now offer something stronger: outrage. Because this isn’t just about hotels. It’s about a complete inversion of values. It’s about treating an island home as a battery. A playground. A product. And it’s about total neglect and dereliction of duty.
If there is to be any hope for Crete, it must come from a new vision—one that prioritizes care over capital, heritage over haste, and the long memory of the land over the short memory of markets. Let this article stand not just as a warning, but as a reckoning. We are losing Crete. Not all at once, but in pieces. One sold-off hilltop, one buried spring, one silenced villager at a time.
And unless something changes, we will wake up one day and find that the island we loved—its wilderness, its wisdom, its wonder—gone forever.
Not by accident. But by design.
