THE ROAST OF TSOUKALAS

In the "Prophecy" (Προφτητικόν) section of his famous poem of fall and renewal, the Dodecalogue of the Gypsy, (Ο Δωδεκάλογος του Γύφτου), Kostis Palamas, prophesied that the renaissance of the Greek nation would only take place "when there will be no more steps to fall further down the stairs of evil,"  (και μην έχοντας πιο κάτου άλλο σκαλί/ να κατρακυλήσεις πιο βαθιά/ στου Κακού τη σκάλα,/ για τ' ανέβασμα ξανά που σε καλεί).

Of late it appears that the downward rungs of Palamas' ladder of decline are endless and that just when one believes that the Greek state is scraping the absolute bottom of the barrel, all it is doing is discovering an abysmal chasm of decay in which to fall further.

Indicative of this downward plummet, both in confidence and competency is the member of the ruling party of Greece, SYRIZA's central committee and general secretary for Administrative Reform, Dimitris Tsoukalas' recent callous and bizarre statements on the death of an illegal immigrant on the Greco-FYROMIAN border.

A hapless 22 year old Moroccan youth (he remains unnamed in the news reports, possibly indicative of the way much of the Greek mainstream media has begun, for many reasons, to dehumanize the hordes of refugees and illegal immigrants that have overwhelmed Greece of late), met a tragic death by electrocution, while attempting to cross an electrified border fence. As is common knowledge, refugees and illegal immigrants often face life-threatening obstacles in their quest to reach the country of their choice and the terrible demise of this young man could have been the starting point of a discussion with regard to the broader ramifications both of global and European policy on the conflicts that have caused this massive movement of peoples and its management.

Instead, the Greek people are subjected to Dimitris Tsoukalas. As general secretary for Administrative Reform, one would have thought that he would have been able, at least to provide a semblance of being able to intelligently discuss reform proposals that could streamline processing of refugees, provide them with humanitarian assistance, or even identify them adequately, this last element being important, given that Greece's inability to properly assess just who is passing through its borders almost saw it ejected from the Schengen zone.

Tsoukalas discussed none of these important matters. Instead, when veteran journalist Popi Tsapanidou asked him what exactly had happened, he responded flippantly: «είχαμε ψητό Μαροκινό,» ie "we had a Moroccan Roast."

In any decent western country, the public utterance of such disgusting remarks which appear to display firstly, an inherent racism, in that the reprehensible Tsoukalas feels free to emphasise the ethnicity of the deceased, in order to denigrate him, dehumanize him and parody his death,  and secondly an astounding sense of impropriety given that it appears almost inconceivable that a public servant in his right mind would publicly find humour in the heinous death by electrocution of an innocent human being, would have resulted in an immediate request for said public servant's resignation. Tsoukalas however has not been disciplined by his party. Instead of apologizing or withdrawing his hurtful remarks, he has gone on the offensive, making the ridiculous claim that his interview with Tsapanidou was montaged and "taken out of context."

When senior public officials and key members of the ruling party make a jest not only of people's ethnicity but also of the manner in which they lose their life and are permitted to do so with impunity, this sends as number of deeply disquieting Kafkaesque messages. Firstly, to the people of Morocco and indeed to the entire Arab world (a world with which Greece has, cultivated close relations for years) that the supposedly left-wing, progressive, internationalist SYRIZA led government is composed of racists, who view the Arab peoples as lesser  beings and thus prime candidates for denigration. Secondly, to the global community, that the government is comprised of heartless, alexithymic, inept hacks with the emotional intelligence of a sociopathic teenager, who cannot even govern their own emotions, let alone the country itself. Lastly, to the people of Greece, (if they have the capacity to perceive it, given that for many, their critical faculties have been eroded by the rhetoric and empty promises made by successive political parties for the past thirty years, to the extent where they have difficulty in distinguishing myth from reality), that the members of the government they have elected do not sympathise with those who suffer and instead pour scorn upon their plight, even at the most extreme moments, affording them not even dignity in death.

One would have thought that at this divisive time, when the veil of that which masqueraded as social cohesion has been torn to shreds and civil trust is at an all-time low in Geece, that governmental expressions of sympathy, solidarity and determination are sorely needed. If Greece is going to rebuild itself, its civic society needs to coalesce around key events that could provide a sense of unity. The death of the Moroccan youth could have been one of those events, in permitting Greek citizens just for a brief moment to focus on their innate humanity and all the commonalities that flow from that. In emphasizing these elements, the necessary relationships of cooperation can begin to be re-forged, that are necessary if Greece is according to Palamas, regain the "great and bright wings" of her past.

Tsoukalas and his party have provided no such leadership. Instead, they have contributed further to the fragmentation of what little sense of unity and trust the Greek people have for their society. Inept and amateurish posturings, such as Greek Education Minister Filis' denial of the Pontian Genocide, again without impunity, and this regardless of the fact that denial of the Pontian Genocide by a public figure is a criminal offence, show that the current government, (which has also taken no effective steps to curb or address the violence and damage to public and private property that recently was visited upon Athens on the anniversary of the death of Alexandros Grigoropoulos - a death that took place seven years ago and is still used as an excuse for a descent into anarchy by certain sections of the political spectrum)  is not running the country, or even superintending the chaos that it is contributing to.  If we did not know better, we would be forgiven for thinking that the SYRIZA government does not exist, but rather, are lords of misrule, appointed to preside over a bizarre Hellenic Saturnalia.

When Tsoukalas, who as a financial services union representative sported, expensive blazers, Italian jeans, and designer cowboy makes a parody of the death of a nameless Moroccan who happened to trespass upon Greek borders in order to seek a better life elsewhere, he makes a parody of the Greek people and the last vestiges of faith they have in their country. Sadly, his parody assumes more the form of a sick joke played upon the hopes and aspirations of all of those who desperately seek a way out of the current malaise but instead are subjected to political apparatchiks and hacks who thrive upon their unaccountability in the face of an anarchic political and social discourse. This makes the smugness of his inhumanity ever the more hurtful.

The most patriotic act that the current "government "could perform for the Greek people is to resign for it has become brutally clear that it exists only for the sake of itself. Its own Prime Minister until recently did not know that the islands of Lesvos and Mytilene are one and the same. Prior to its resignation, the "government" must fire Tsoukalas for his contemptibly racist actions and then compel him to face the poor Moroccan man's family, in order to get them to appreciate, the cleverness of his joke.

DEAN KALIMNIOU

kalymnios@Hotmail.com

 

First published in NKEE on Saturday 19 December 2015

ΤΟΥ ΚΟΥΤΑΛΙΟΥ

The inner city terrace houses of my youth were constantly wreathed in darkness. In winter, their denizens would sit out the cold and darkness in woolen jumpers, their unheated living rooms illuminated only by the flickering light of the television set, for it was by contrivances such as these that they purported to save enough money to pay for their daughter's wedding and first home.  This was a mouldy darkness, of foreboding and ancestral memories of far harsher winters that they did their best not to remember and never to relate.

Enter one of these homes in the summer however, with the pitiless sun burning down upon inexorably upon their brick exterior and the ensuing darkness, created by a confluence of the windowless design of the hallway and the blinds sheathing the few sash windows, would immediately envelop you with coolness, coaxing and caressing you in the manner of a corpulent aged aunt, into the "good room," where it was incumbent upon the youthful visitor to insinuate himself into an inconspicuous position at a respectful distance from the carved coffee table, having care not to disturb in any way, the anti-macassars and doilies shrouding the inordinately hard couches, or the glass ashtrays, enclosing lovingly rendered tapestries of roses on the adjoining side tables.

I remember the first two times various terrace dwelling οικοδέσποινες  emerged from their cavernous kitchens bearing upon their impeccably balanced silver trays, long glass tumblers into which had been dipped a spoon, whose bowl seemed to be incased in a luminous white substance. Not knowing the identity of this mysterious conglomeration of artifacts the first time and seeking to quench my summer thirst, I drank the water in one gulp. Denuded of water, the white substance became sticky and I found it impossible to remove it from my lips and my teeth.  Convinced that this substance was a form of edible putty, designed to ensure that little boys are seen but not heard and in considerable distress, since my hands and face were by now covered with minute shreds of the serviette I had employed in vain to assist me in divesting myself of my viscous nemesis, I interposed myself between the cadences of my aunt's monologue on village news: "What is this?"

"Υποβρύχιο είναι," my aunt-tormenter replied absent-mindedly, before re-absorbing herself in her narration. This meant nothing to me whatsoever. "Τι είναι υποβρύχιο;" I asked again. To interrupt one's aged aunt at the height of their physical and intellectual powers in the eighties was tantamount to inviting the four horsemen of the Apocalypse to run the Melbourne Cup upon your personage. Her eyes grew wide, her brow furrowed and finally, pointing an oversized fungus covered nail in the direction of my glass, she spluttered, "Αυτό είναι υποβρύχιο," before exploding into paroxysms of laughter, the various folds of her torso rippling in timed succession as she did so.

The second time this questionable dessert was imposed upon me was at the home of a well to do, intellectual couple. Unlike the rest of us, they did not Greek souvenir objects d' art upon their walls and there was not a doily in sight.  They had never heard of Stratos Dionysiou and instead, would at Greek dances, remain conspicuously seated while everyone else danced the kalamatiano and tsamiko, rising only to dance what was referred to as the "tango," though it bore no resemblance to the Argentinian dance of the same name, to the affected strains of what were known as "Ελαφρά Λαϊκά".  They had no garden, did not own a barbeque and instead indulged in mysterious pastimes such as discussing literature and politics.

"Have an υποβρύχιο, my boy," our bespectacled hostess offered. "You do know what means don't you? It's a submarine." I found the provision of this information more hurtful than my aunt's joke at my expense a few weeks before. According to the song we had just learnt at school, submarines were yellow and people lived in them.  This substance on the other hand, was a potential harbinger of ultimate doom given that it bore an uncanny resemblance to the "stuff," a seemingly innocuous but thoroughly dangerous material that threatened to envelop mankind in the eponymous film my morbidly sadistic cousins had made me watch the night before.

Seeking to neutralize the "stuff" and remembering my previous clumsy attempts to consume it, I earnestly took up the spoon and placed it in my mouth, slowly teasing its contents into my throat with my tongue. Having completed my task, I made another error of judgment, emptying the glass of water in one gulp. This meant that after the next "γλυκό του κουταλιού" was served, a deceptively innocuous looking cluster of sour cherries in an intricate glass bowl, (which our hostess identified mysteriously as being "μποχιμιακρίσταλ" and which days later became the villain in a story I was writing,)  I developed a vicious thirst that was impossible to slake, for my allotted glass of water had been misused and in those days of haute etiquette, to have the temerity to ask for another glass was tantamount to implying that the hosts' hospitality was somehow deficient, inviting social Armageddon. I suffered in silence, politely refusing my hosts' subsequent offer of an ice cream the requisite the three times, for to accept after consuming so many previously proffered comestibles was to imply that I was not adequately fed at home.

My early misadventures notwithstanding, I grew to love my ypovrykhio, also known as vanilla, though it is in actual fact made industrially by beating mastic resin with table sugar. With claims that it is the official dessert of the Ecumenical Patriarchate and verifiable evidence that it has been successfully introduced into Japan, though my attempts to have same in a martini glass (stirred, not shaken), have found a largely unappreciative audience, it is difficult for me to understand why the Hellenic submarine does not have global appeal.

The same goes for all of the so-called "spoon sweets." Sitting in a grandmother's kitchen, slowly and gently boiling kumquats in water and sugar over several hours or days, until the divine oracle with whom the matriarchal progenitor was communing would reveal that the syrup had set, being inducted into the more macrifluvious mysteries of the arcane art: (ie adding some lemon juice can preserve the fruit's original color, as the citric acid prevents oxidation, a small quantity of blanched almonds, added to baby eggplants, apples or grapes provides a satisfying crunch, and the addition while boiling of a quill of cinnamon bark, a mint bouquet, or the green, fragrant leaves of apple geranium add some astringency and a slight aroma of frankincense which is particularly prized), truly was a Greek-Australian rite of passage.

With summer approaching, I already have procured the requisite stocks of spoon sweets. On particularly fine days, I prepare my ypovrykhio and venture out into my back yard. Seated under the verandah, as I lovingly cajole the mastic from the spoon, into my mouth, I see before me the verdant paradise that was my grandparents' garden. We are seated upon milk crates underneath an immense grapevine and my grandmother is peeling the cucumbers she has just picked, as I hastily down my glass of water before the mastic seals my mouth. My grandfather looks down and smiles. There are preserved figs, quinces, walnuts and prunes all within arms reach. It is twilight, yet the sun will never go down. As I pick the remaining obstinate remnants of mastic from my teeth, I drink my water slowly, giving thanks for the eternal Greek-Australian summer and the liturgical vessels sacred to its memory: the tumbler, the spoon and the bohemia crystal serving dish.

DEAN KALIMNIOU

kalymnios@hotmail.com

First published in NKEE on Saturday, 12 December 2015

RIKA AND THE BANK IN THE SKY

It is not often that one gets to behold their idols in the flesh. Greek journalist and media personality Rika Vagianni entered my pantheon when, at an early age, I saw her play the young neglected wife of a rembeti in the classic “To Minore tis Avgis.” The fire and tension she infused into her role was palpable. Years later I would be enthralled by the manner in which she could, in her popular current affairs program on ERT, plunge the entire show into chaos, via her frequent fits of laughter, providing a much needed human element to the telescreen. Her stint as a candidate with the “Potami” party in the recent elections left me bemused but ardent enough to welcome her arrival, along with her husband, Professor Nikos Stefanis, Professor of Psychiatry at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, at the University Melbourne, in order to launch two Greek-Australian Fellowships in Neuropsychiatry, by co-presenting a public lecture entitled: “The Psychological Impact of the Economic Crisis on the Greek Population.”

Professor Nikos Stefanis’ brief talk focused mainly on data between 2008 to 2013 that linked depression to suicide, tracking both how the suicide rate increased as the economic crisis worsened, but also how such rates defied general trends, with depression and suicide rates of males in the so-called productive years of 35-45, being on par with those of females. Alluding to the research undertaken to collate such statistics, Professor Stefanis mentioned that most of this is done without funding by the Greek state. In fact, a catastrophic collapse of infrastructure and services has seen a dramatic increase in cases of HIV/AIDS afflict Greece and even diseases such as tuberculosis and malaria, which one would have thought had been previously eradicated, are making a concerning return, while other mosquito-borne viruses, such as West Nile River Virus, are also making themselves manifest. Clearly then, there is a direct link between the economic crisis/collapse of the Greek state and the physical and mental well being of the Greek people.

Professor Stefanis’ insightful talk was valuable in that it gave rise to pertinent questions and future possible areas of research. In particular, it would be pertinent to discover whether one can trace the psychological impacts of previous crises afflicting the Greek nation upon its inhabitants, and tracing how this affected the development of Greek society. It may, for example, be of value to see if data exists about the suicide rates and other psychological problems faced by survivors of the Asia Minor catastrophe and genocide, or the German Occupation and Civil War, in which it is well known that suicide rates were high. Having obtained this information, it may then be of use to compare it with the data gleaned from the current crisis in order to see exactly which factors create psychological trauma in people and whether any parallels can be drawn.One does not of course need to deal only with suicide rates. General violence, fear, uncertainty and social dislocation all can create traumas that mutate the manner in which people relate to one another and chase the course of a society. Furthermore, psychological traumas or at least their effects can be passed on, or inherited.

Professor Stefanis, who has a close relationship with Australia having taught in Perth in recent years could also provide the inspiration for a study closer to home: researching the psychological impact of previous Greek crises upon Greek migrants in Australia and tracing how their reaction to such crises shaped or warped the development of the Greek community therein. Behaviour patterns such as aggression, paranoia, excessive rudeness, could all thus be traced to specific traumas and their after-effects analyzed, for there exist in Melbourne, at least, many psychologically damaged elderly people. I have come across not a few of them who enjoy torturing animals, an unhappy mode of behaviour that appears to derive from harrowing childhood experiences involving seeing their relatives kill others during the Greek Civil War. Even such seemingly innocuous modes of behaviour such as excessive parsimony can be linked to the austerity of the Occupation era and interesting parallels or juxtapositions could be drawn with corresponding behavioural patterns arising out of the current economic crisis.

Rika Vagianni on the other hand commenced her talk about the social aspects of the Greek economic crisis by citing Greek composer Manos Hatzidakis’ famous allusion to the “bank in the sky” where he stored the deposits that he felt, made him rich: his artistic journey. According to Rika, the Greek people also have a bank in the sky, that is their civilization. To prove this point, Rika attempted to contrast the fees payable for the rights to put on a show such as ‘Mammia Mia’ ($200,000 apparently) with those payable by those who put on a Sophoclean tragedy (nil). While the parallel was not particularly instructive, especially since Sophoclean tragedies are over two millennia old and Shakespeare too, is free, she went on to suggest that while others put a price tag in various inventions or phenomena, such ‘Greek’ developments as democracy or the Olympic flame are not withheld for profit but rather, are freely bestowed upon the world by Greece, even though the Olympic flame has no Greek precedent, having been introduced at the 1928 Olympics in Amsterdam, while the torch relay also has no ancient precedent, being introduced by Carl Diem at the Nazi 1936 Olympics in Berlin. 

The aforementioned notwithstanding, Rika made an important point, that is, that in times of crisis, symbols can become important and people rally around them. Recent migrants from Greece for example, relate that while living Greece, they felt that such things as Independence Day marches, flying the Greek flag or attending religious ceremonies seemed to them to be kitsch but have now taken on a special significance for them as a link to an identity. An exposition of those symbols deposited in the vaults of Greece’s “bank in the sky,” that are deemed to be of importance to those enduring the current crisis and how these are used, would have been fascinating but unfortunately Rika did not appear to provide insights in this regard. Instead, she provided case studies of Greeks who, despite the crisis have managed to make a success of themselves: a fashion designer, a taxi app designer, and the executive of an NGO that is so efficient in assisting refugees that it has been able to donate its surplus funds and provisions to other welfare organsiations. According to Rika, any multinational company should be privileged to have them. The purpose behind citing these examples appears to be unclear, unless Rika intended achieving success according to the market values of the haute bourgeoisie to be valuable interest bearing deposits in her celestial bank. Even if such examples are to be held up as symbols of future hope for success in the form of material happiness, to a downtrodden and frustrated general populace with a 25% unemployment rate, it is easily foreseeable that they can easily also become symbols of alienation and frustration, especially given that felicity eerily seems to lie in espousing forms of western capitalism. A quick perusal of Professor Vrasidas Karalis’ recently published book “Demons of Athens” is indicative of how pervasive despondency is and how seemingly irredeemable, the psychologically damaged of Greece appear to be.

While presenting her audience with a Pandora’s Box of symbolic deposits, Pandora like, the effervescent Rika left hope for last, emphasizing the importance of giving dreams wings so that they may soar. At this point, it would have been instructive for Rika to have pointed out incidents of altruism, which, if extrapolated and celebrated, could lead to increased social cohesion, such as the many Greeks who are involved in charitable works such as organizing soup kitchens or who are visiting the lonely and the isolated. Further than this, it would have been of assistance if she could have mentioned, from her point of view as a journalist, which, if any role, the Greek media could play in exercising the necessary critiques of the Greek political sphere to ensure much needed reform that will permit citizens to play a more organic role in the society in which they life, liberated from the all pervasive current structure of the client supplicating the patron for favour.

Bizarrely, in my view, Rika then interposed within her talk, the following extract from a poem by Nobel Prize winning poet Odysseas Elytis, (she made much of Greece's two Nobel Prize winners, Elytis and Seferis, though it is important to note by way of parallel, that of the fifteen Australian Nobel laureates, two have been awarded this honour for services to literature): "Whenever evil finds you, whenever your mind is clouded, remember Solomos and Alexandros Papdiamandis." Stirring stuff but arguably of small consolation to a victim of child abuse (an increasing problem in a disintegrating community, the psychological effects of which did not rate a mention in both speakers' talks), domestic violence (again ignored), or the evicted (ignored). Perhaps there was an ulterior motive here: to exemplify the grand disconnect between the rhetorical flourishes that so characterize what purports to be modern Greek discourse and bitter reality. Ultimately, the problem with the "bank in the sky" analogy appears to be, that our account within it, appears to have been grossly overdrawn and now, the world is foreclosing upon the myths that have sustained it for so many years.

Professor Stefanis’ and Rika Vagianni’s insights into the psychological impact of the Greek crisis are nonetheless deeply felt and thought-provoking. Their presence here, marking the commencement of a partnership between Greece and Australia in the field of Neuropsychiatry is deeply exciting. It is hoped that it proves the catalyst for a deep scientific analysis of the traumas that have shaped our own understanding of who we are and how we relate to one another.

DEAN KALIMNIOU
kalymnios@hotmail.com

First published in NKEE on Saturday 5 December 2015