THE WORDS THAT OUTLIVED THEIR WORLDS

 

A book printed in the sixteenth century seems an unlikely visitor to a Greek Orthodox parish hall in suburban Melbourne. The empires under whose authority its author lived may have collapsed and the particular form of Greek in which it was written may now be largely unintelligible even to those who consider themselves fluent in the language and yet there it lies, its pages still legible, its words awaiting a reader, having survived the political, geographical and linguistic transformations that have overtaken the people for whom it was originally intended.

It was precisely this incongruity that prompted me to organise an exhibition of rare Greek books at the recent panigyri of Saint Dimitrios in Moonee Ponds. I wanted visitors to encounter the physical evidence of a civilisation whose continuity has depended upon an extraordinary capacity for transformation. Dating from the sixteenth to the nineteenth centuries, the volumes of the exhibition reveal a Greek world extending far beyond the boundaries of the modern state, whose intellectual influence travelled across Europe before returning, transformed, to the communities from which it had originated.

For Greeks, the written word possesses a significance that is simultaneously cultural and theological. The opening of the Gospel according to John, «Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ Λόγος», places the Logos at the beginning of existence itself. In Orthodox Christianity, the Divine Logos is Christ, the Word made flesh. The Greek understanding of λόγος encompasses speech, reason, meaning and rational principle, while its theological significance gives the relationship between language and the sacred a particular resonance.  Given this heritage, we are uniquely placed to contemplate the power of language to transmit meaning across generations.

Following the fall of Constantinople in 1453, Byzantine scholars contributed significantly to the development of Renaissance humanism in Western Europe. Scholars such as Manuel Chrysoloras, Cardinal Bessarion and Markos Mousouros helped make Greek learning accessible to Western scholars, while the Venetian printing house of Aldus Manutius revolutionised the circulation of classical literature. Greek philosophical, scientific and literary works entered new intellectual networks, influencing European scholarship and, eventually, the Enlightenment. Ideas developed through this encounter would subsequently return to Greek-speaking communities in the form of educational reform, political philosophy and revolutionary aspiration.

The presence of Lucian of Samosata among the exhibits in a 1535 edition, illustrated the complexity of this exchange. A Syrian-born writer of the second century who composed in Greek, Lucian belonged to a Hellenic literary world defined by cultural participation rather than geographical origin. His irreverent dialogues and extraordinary True History, with its fantastic voyage to the Moon, influenced European satire and imaginative literature, with renaissance humanists including Erasmus and Thomas More drawing upon his techniques of philosophical ridicule and social inversion.

Among the earliest exhibits was a diminutive 1586 edition of the laws of Emperor Justinian. Its modest proportions conceal its importance as a witness to the transmission of Roman jurisprudence into Renaissance legal scholarship. Equally revealing is its typography, belonging to the tradition of the Grecs du Roi, the celebrated sixteenth-century French Greek typefaces modelled upon the handwriting of late Byzantine scribes. Their elaborate ligatures and interlocking characters can bewilder modern readers, yet they demonstrate how the revolutionary technology of printing preserved the visual conventions of manuscript culture. Even the shape of a letter could carry an older civilisation into a new intellectual age.

The ecclesiastical volumes on display tell a more immediate story of survival. During Ottoman rule, Venice became a principal centre of Greek printing, supplying Orthodox communities with Gospels, Psalters and liturgical books. Particularly important were the publishing enterprises of Greeks from Ioannina, including Nikolaos Glykys, Nikolaos Saros and Dimitrios Theodosiou, whose presses sustained networks extending throughout the eastern Mediterranean and the Balkans. Through such volumes, common forms of worship endured despite political fragmentation and the precarious circumstances of many Orthodox communities.

Among the most intriguing exhibits was a Gospel book dated 1756, associated with Moschopolis, in present-day Albania. During the following century, this largely Vlach-speaking town became a remarkable centre of commerce, education and Greek-language scholarship, establishing a printing press in 1731. Its inhabitants demonstrate the inadequacy of projecting modern national categories backwards onto the Ottoman Balkans. Greek functioned as a language of education, religion and wider intellectual communication among people whose everyday speech was largely Vlach. The attacks beginning in 1769, amid the disturbances associated with Russian-backed revolutionary agitation, contributed to the town's decline and the dispersal of its population. Moschopolis lost its prominence, yet the learning cultivated there travelled with those who departed. The city’s fate thus encapsulates the recurring displacement of Greek cultural centres, whose disappearance seldom entailed the extinction of the traditions they sustained.

Another remarkable volume was the 1638 Greek translation of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, undertaken by Elias Petley and published in London. Its existence reflected the interest of English ecclesiastical circles in the Orthodox East and the possibilities of theological communication through the language of the New Testament and the Greek Fathers. An English religious text thus assumed Greek form in order to participate in an international conversation about Christianity. The language thus served purposes extending beyond the communities that spoke it, acquiring authority among scholars and churchmen whose theological convictions sometimes differed substantially from those of their Orthodox interlocutors.

The bilingual Greek-Russian edition of Catherine the Great's Nakaz, published in Saint Petersburg in 1771, reveals yet another dimension of this intellectual traffic. Catherine's legislative instruction, intended to guide consideration of a new Russian law code, drew extensively upon European Enlightenment philosophy. The eminent Greek scholar Eugenios Voulgaris translated it into Greek from its French text, helping introduce contemporary political and legal ideas to a wider Orthodox readership. Voulgaris, who later became Archbishop of Slaviansk and Kherson, exemplified the mobility of Greek intellectuals whose activities crossed imperial and cultural boundaries. Here, Western European political thought, itself partly indebted to classical traditions, passed through Russian imperial institutions and returned to the Greek-speaking world in translation.

Perhaps the most affecting exhibit was an altogether more prosaic volume: an algebra textbook by Manuel Christaris of Ioannina, published in Vienna in 1804. Its frontispiece records that members of the Greek diaspora commissioned the work for use in Greek schools, so that young people might receive an education. Merchants living far from their ancestral communities had financed a mathematics textbook for children they might never meet, their generosity expressing a conviction that collective advancement depended upon the cultivation of knowledge.

The book belongs to the intellectual atmosphere of the Modern Greek Enlightenment, when education increasingly became associated with the prospect of national regeneration. Before political independence could be achieved, a generation had to acquire the resources with which to imagine and sustain it. In that modest textbook one senses the anticipation of a future whose precise form remained uncertain. By the time of the also on display 1829 French-language Histoire de la Révolution grecque, associated with Alexandros Soutsos, the struggle for Greek independence had become a subject of European political and literary debate. The language of publication itself reveals how Greek aspirations were articulated within an international intellectual environment.

Yet the exhibition also raised a more difficult question concerning the historical boundaries of Hellenism. An 1824 Greek-Albanian New Testament printed in Corfu employed Greek characters to represent Albanian, in a period pre-dating the emergence of lbanian nationalism and a standardised script, while a Psalter in Karamanlidika presented Turkish in Greek script for Turkish-speaking Orthodox Christians of Asia Minor. Such books demonstrate that language, religion, ethnicity and national identity have seldom coincided as neatly as later national narratives suggest. Greek letters could retain religious and cultural significance among communities whose everyday language was entirely different. The alphabet itself became a means of expressing affiliation, even where the spoken word had changed.

These examples have particular relevance in Australia, where the future of the Greek language is frequently discussed in terms of decline. We lament the diminishing number of children who speak Greek at home, the difficulties confronting community schools and the growing distance separating younger generations from the literary and religious language of their ancestors. Such concerns are legitimate, although the history of Greek printing suggests that cultural continuity has always involved changes in language, educational practice and the institutions through which knowledge is transmitted.

Indeed, many of the books displayed would appear almost as incomprehensible to contemporary Greek Australians as the textbooks imported from Greece during the migration decades of the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s now appear to their grandchildren. Those once indispensable instruments of cultural preservation lie neglected in the cupboards of community schools and parish libraries, their illustrations, vocabulary and assumptions belonging to a society that has since transformed itself. Like the venerable volumes in my collection, they represent deliberate attempts to transmit an inheritance to future generations, undertaken by people who believed that education was essential to the survival of their community.

Historian Benedict Anderson famously described nations as imagined communities, sustained partly through the circulation of printed language. The Greek experience both illuminates and complicates his argument. Long before the establishment of a modern Greek nation-state, books connected communities scattered across different empires, speaking different languages and possessing varied understandings of their collective identity. Their relationships were religious, educational and commercial as well as national. Consequently, the boundaries of the community imagined through print were therefore continually negotiated, rather than permanently fixed.

This history invites us to reconsider the meaning of preservation. The institutions established by Greek migrants in Australia reflect the circumstances, priorities and educational assumptions of their generation. However, their future relevance depends upon their ability to engage with descendants whose experiences differ substantially from those of their founders. The challenge lies in discerning which elements of the inheritance remain essential and how they might find expression in forms meaningful to contemporary society.

Returning to that small edition of Justinian, with its Byzantine ligatures painstakingly reproduced in Renaissance metal type, I find an image of our own predicament. Its printers employed a new technology while retaining the appearance of an older tradition. They could scarcely have imagined that, more than four centuries later, their work would be displayed in a Greek church hall in Melbourne, before descendants of migrants whose language and cultural habits would have seemed equally unfamiliar to them.

Yet the letters remain, awaiting interpretation. Their survival offers neither a guarantee of our own nor a prescription for achieving it. It reminds us that the history of Hellenism has been written through successive acts of imaginative reconstruction, and that its future will depend upon our willingness to undertake the same labour.

DEAN KALIMNIOU

kalymnios@hotmail.com

Firat published in NKEE on Saturday 7 November 2026

DIALECTICS OF THE GREEK-AUSTRALIAN BRIDAL SHOWER

There comes a moment in the life of every Greek-Australian man when he discovers that history is neither linear nor dialectical. Instead, it is pastel. He has spent his adult life cultivating a wardrobe based upon the reassuring principles of black, navy and a slightly different navy. Then, without warning, he receives instructions from his significant other that on Sunday afternoon he must present himself at a bridal shower wearing “something sage.” He has no idea what sage is. He knows it as a herb and has possibly encountered it in lamb. Never has he previously understood it as a political demand.

The bridal shower itself remains, from the Greek-Australian male perspective, one of the more mysterious institutions produced by Western civilisation. In its original suburban manifestation, as adopted by our tribe, it was an exclusively female preserve, a species of domestic Eleusis whose mysteries were guarded with a ferocity that would have impressed the priestesses of Demeter. Behind the drawn curtains of the saloni, Bessemer cookware was unveiled with a solemnity ordinarily reserved for the revelation of divine truths, while initiates contemplated the salvific properties of non-stick surfaces and the possibility of acquiring enlightenment through matching crockpots that fit into each other like Babushka dolls. Elsewhere, games of an unmistakably Bacchic character were conducted with phallic implements whose appearance and intended use would have caused considerable embarrassment to the archaeological department of any respectable university. The proceedings were governed by an inviolable prohibition against male attendance. Pentheus, who made the elementary mistake of attempting to observe the rites of Dionysus without an invitation, provided the relevant cautionary precedent. Any Greek-Australian husband sufficiently imprudent to enter the kitchen during these ceremonies could expect a similarly comprehensive dismantling, although the principal instruments of his destruction would be his mother-in-law and a wooden spoon.

For generations, bridal showers were understood to be secret women's business, conducted beyond the knowledge and jurisdiction of men. Their proceedings were neither witnessed nor discussed, and no Greek-Australian husband of sound mind would have contemplated crossing the threshold, let alone asking for an account of the activities within. The prohibition was absolute, universally understood and, unusually for a Greek institution, entirely uncontested. Men accepted their exclusion with a unanimity seldom achieved on matters of religion, politics or the ownership of a disputed boundary fence.

The arrangement might have endured indefinitely had the advent of social media not introduced an unforeseen complication. A bridal shower could still be conducted in the complete absence of men, but its photographic record now apparently required their presence, preferably in colours suggestive of a particularly expensive selection of bathroom tiles. Consequently, the ancient prohibition was modified to permit a brief male visitation towards the conclusion of the proceedings, rather as medieval monasteries occasionally admitted distinguished lay visitors, although the monks were seldom instructed to wear dusty rose. The men, who had never agitated for admission, accepted this concession with the suspicion ordinarily reserved for unsolicited improvements to their working conditions.

Thus the Greek-Australian male found himself the beneficiary of an emancipation he had never sought, from a prohibition he had never resented, into an institution whose principal demand was that he purchase a lilac shirt. The history of human liberation contains few comparable reversals.

For several hours the men remain absent, as tradition and common-sense dictate. They arrange their Sunday according to the established masculine economy of avoidance. Some go for coffee, while others mysteriously discover an urgent obligation at Bunnings. The more experienced remain within a fifteen-minute radius because they know that history is approaching and that eventually the message will arrive on their phones: “Come now. We’re doing photos.”

And so they come. From every direction appear Greek-Australian men who have spent the afternoon happily dressed as themselves and have now been transformed into decorative accessories. One wears pale pink. Another has been placed in beige. A third, ordinarily a cousin who considers a pocket square evidence of moral decline, has somehow been persuaded into a mint-green linen shirt. They assemble beneath the balloon arch, smile obediently, are photographed from six different angles and, their historical function completed, await permission to leave.

Marx, had he lived long enough to witness this phenomenon, would surely have recognised the bridal shower as the culminating contradiction of bourgeois production. Under capitalism, he might have observed, the worker becomes alienated from the product of his labour. Under the bridal shower, the Greek man becomes alienated from the colour of his own shirt. His labour possesses no intrinsic value because he has contributed nothing to the grazing table, did not select the flowers and remains incapable of explaining why there are tiny bottles of prosecco tied with ribbons beside every place setting. His sole function is representational. He exists because the photographer has announced: “Now one with the boys.” Thus the Greek-Australian male enters the bridal shower at precisely the moment when everyone else is preparing to leave.

Lenin naturally radicalises Marx. For Lenin, the pastel shirt represents the transition from spontaneous consciousness to revolutionary consciousness. At first the Greek man believes his predicament to be personal. “Why do I have to wear this?” he asks, thereby revealing the limitations of false consciousness. Only when he arrives and sees twelve other crestfallen Greek-Australian men standing beneath the same balloon arch in various shades of peach does class consciousness become possible. He looks at them. They look at him. Nobody needs to speak because the material conditions of their oppression are immediately visible.

The revolutionary potential of this moment, however, is rapidly neutralised when somebody’s aunt shouts, “Boys, closer together!” Lenin therefore identifies the aunt as the decisive instrument of bourgeois coercion. She possesses neither elected office nor formal authority, yet nobody dares resist her. One command and fourteen adult men, several of whom employ other people and spend their weekdays giving orders, shuffle obediently towards one another until their shoulders touch.

Gramsci offers a subtler interpretation because nobody physically forces the Greek-Australian man to attend. There are no police at the door and no bridal shower secret service dragging reluctant husbands from Oakleigh cafés. He comes willingly because power has already become cultural common sense. “You have to come for the photos” requires no legislation, provides no reasons and admits no right of appeal. The genius of the system lies in its capacity to make participation appear voluntary while ensuring that every Greek-Australian man instinctively understands the consequences of asking, “Do I really have to?”

Foucault, meanwhile, would be fascinated by the photographer, whose authority extends beyond the regulation of clothing to the minute administration of the human body. Heads must be tilted, shoulders aligned, hands removed from pockets and expressions adjusted to convey a degree of spontaneous happiness that the participants have been instructed to reproduce on command. “Just act natural,” the photographer announces, having spent the preceding seven minutes eliminating every recognisable manifestation of natural behaviour. Here the disciplinary ambitions of modernity achieve their most complete expression. The docile body has finally been perfected, and it is wearing linen.

Yanis Varoufakis, on the other hand, departs sharply from the orthodox Marxist tradition. The bridal shower, he argues, can no longer be understood adequately through the old categories of capital and labour because the pastel shirt has ceased to be a commodity in the conventional sense. It has become a financial instrument whose value derives neither from its material composition nor from its usefulness after the event, since the Greek man will never wear it again. Its value arises entirely from its anticipated appearance on Instagram. We have therefore entered a new economic order in which the photograph becomes the asset, the bridal shower becomes the platform and the Greek husband becomes human collateral. There is no Plan B.

At this point an uncle called Con, recently divorced, arrives wearing a black polo shirt and acid-wash jeans because nobody told him about the colour scheme, and the entire theoretical edifice begins to tremble. He stands among the lilac, blush, sage and champagne like Albania at a NATO summit. Every photograph reveals him, and every attempt to reposition him merely strengthens the subversiveness of his presence. Someone whispers that they should have told Uncle Con, while someone else insists that they did. Con remains unmoved. His divorce has conferred upon him a degree of ideological independence that Marx could theorise, Lenin could organise and Gramsci could only dream of attaining without considerable personal expense.

Varoufakis would require seventeen minutes, three diagrams and an account of the European Central Bank before explaining that the balloon arch represents techno-feudalism. Uncle Con, surveying the assembled ranks of Greek-Australian masculinity in blush, peach and eucalyptus, has a more immediate concern. “Why are all youse wearing pink, re?”

A nephew, a bank loan specialist who has spent the morning at the gym, explains that his shirt is actually puce. Con regards him with an expression of profound genealogical disappointment. Around them, the photographer is arranging the men according to a chromatic hierarchy that would have baffled Newton. A cousin is moved three places to the left because his shirt clashes with the hydrangeas. Another is instructed to remove his sunglasses from his head. Con, whose black polo shirt has survived three decades of christenings, weddings and arguments about the correct way to secure a lamb to a spit, is asked whether he might stand behind the others. He obliges. From there, he notices that somebody has left the barbecue uncovered in the rain. He considers mentioning it, then decides that certain knowledge is best allowed to perish with its custodians.

DEAN KALIMNIOU

kalymnios@hotmail.com

First published in NKEE on Saturday 31 October 2026

OFFICIAL STATEMENT OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE PANIMIAN FEDERATION OF THOSE PARTS OF THE WATERS OUTSIDE THE MAVİ VATAN

 

It is with profound sorrow, considerable bewilderment and an urgent request for clarification from the United States State Department that the Panimian Federation of Those Parts of the Waters Outside the Mavi Vatan has received reports of the removal of Her Excellency Kimberly Guilfoyle from her position as United States Ambassador to Greece.

Our Federation, which represents the historic, cultural and hydrographic interests of Hellenism in those portions of the Aegean that have yet to be incorporated into the Turkish Blue Homeland, considers this development a grievous blow to Greek American relations and, more importantly, to the social calendars of several hundred distinguished compatriots.

Since her arrival, Her Excellency has demonstrated an extraordinary capacity to unite the Greek nation. Shipowners, politicians, television personalities, aspiring influencers, Mr Argyros, hereditary presidents of cultural associations and individuals whose precise occupations remain a matter of considerable mystery have all found common purpose in their determination to stand within three metres of her at official functions. In a country historically divided by civil wars, ideological antagonisms and disagreements over the ownership of a plot of land overlooking a dead-end, such unanimity represents a diplomatic achievement of the highest order.

Such has been the enthusiasm of Her Excellency's Greek admirers that comparisons with the great women of antiquity have become almost inevitable. Among her more devoted admirers, she has been likened to Helen of Troy for her beauty, Aspasia for her influence upon powerful men, and Athena for her presumed wisdom in matters of state. Our Federation understands that certain particularly enthusiastic compatriots consider her to combine the attributes of all three, although the precise implications for Greek mythology and American foreign policy remain under investigation. One member of our Executive Committee has suggested that she surpasses Aphrodite herself, a proposition we have referred to our Ecclesiastical Affairs Subcommittee owing to its potentially pagan implications, given that she has been slated to be awarded the inaugural medal of the Order of St Byzas the Melon-keeper by our leading parochial hierophant.

Certain compatriots have gone further, insisting that Her Excellency possesses an essentially Hellenic temperament, citing her appreciation of Mediterranean hospitality and an indefinable quality which, upon closer examination, appears to consist principally of being photographed in Greece. Representatives of several regional associations have already advanced competing claims to her spiritual ancestry, while our Federation has commissioned a genealogical investigation into the possibility that she descends from an Ionian princess. Should this hypothesis be substantiated, we intend to invoke it in support of our maritime claims, since the discovery of a distinguished American relative is generally regarded as stronger evidence of Greek sovereignty than several centuries of continuous habitation.

Our Federation also applauds the generosity of the distinguished Greek American businessman who conveyed Her Excellency to Athens aboard his private aircraft. This noble gesture recalls the ancient Athenian institution of the leitourgia, under which wealthy citizens financed enterprises of public importance. The principal difference is that in antiquity the benefactor was expected to demonstrate his devotion to the city, whereas nowadays the city is expected to demonstrate its devotion to the benefactor. We regard this reversal as a significant advance in democratic efficiency, and have referred the matter to our Committee for the Restoration of Classical Institutions, which has already requested quotations for a presidential aircraft.

The spectacle has been especially moving among those distinguished defenders of Hellenic sovereignty who, having spent decades denouncing foreign interference in Greek affairs, have discovered that American influence becomes considerably more agreeable when exercised by an attractive woman. Our Federation regards this as an important development in the evolution of Greek political thought, provisionally designated the Guilfoyle Doctrine, according to which national independence remains inviolable except where an invitation to an ambassadorial reception is forthcoming.

We have accordingly followed with astonishment the controversy surrounding reports of Her Excellency's alleged remarks concerning Washington's ability to change Greek governments. Our Federation deplores this sudden outbreak of constitutional fastidiousness. Ever since the establishment of the modern Greek state, the Great Powers have taken a paternal interest in the composition of its governments, and it would be churlish to reject two centuries of international cooperation merely because the arrangements have occasionally dispensed with the electorate. We respectfully suggest that the matter be referred to the Council of State, subject, naturally, to Washington's approval of its composition.

Equally gratifying has been the long-awaited recognition of Greece's contribution to Western civilisation. For generations, our scholars have struggled to impress upon the Americans their intellectual indebtedness to ancient Athens. Her Excellency's expressions of appreciation for Greek hospitality have finally settled the matter. A favourable remark concerning a plate of grilled octopus has been interpreted by several commentators as an acknowledgement of Aristotle's influence upon the American Constitution, while her attendance at a social function has been hailed as the restoration of Greece to its rightful place at the centre of world affairs.

We particularly commend Her Excellency's contribution to the resolution of the Aegean question. Although the precise details of her position on maritime delimitation remain unknown to our Executive Committee, her appearances at official receptions have generated considerably more public excitement than forty years of conferences on the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. Indeed, several of our members have expressed the view that had she been present at the Fall of Constantinople, the defenders would have abandoned the walls in order to secure invitations to her farewell reception.

The Federation recalls with particular emotion the countless photographs in which prominent Greeks have stood beside Her Excellency, smiling with the serene satisfaction of men who believe that proximity to American power constitutes a personal diplomatic achievement. Several such photographs have already been framed and installed in association clubrooms, immediately beneath portraits of Kolokotronis and, where space permits, the Ecumenical Patriarch. One association president is understood to have requested that his photograph be enlarged to life size, explaining that future generations should be able to appreciate the full extent of his contribution to bilateral relations.

We have also followed with considerable concern the recent reports concerning Her Excellency's American Express account. Although our Federation operates upon the sacred principle that money should flow exclusively from government agencies into our coffers, never in the opposite direction, we are prepared to make an exception of historic proportions. We have already identified several patriotic Greek businessmen who would be delighted to settle any outstanding balance, provided that the expenditure can be recovered through the award of a modest government contract, a casino licence or the rezoning of a small portion of the Attic coastline. Our Treasurer has further advised that, should American Express prove unwilling to accept payment in the form of commemorative plaques, honorary memberships or promises of future political influence, we may be compelled to establish a charitable foundation, apply for a substantial government grant and retain ninety per cent of the proceeds for administration. A wreath-laying ceremony will also be held outside the nearest American Express office, in solemn remembrance of those who have sacrificed so much in the service of Greek-American friendship, with the wreath itself to be purchased using public funds. Our Treasurer has reminded us that the ancient Greeks understood the distinction between public and private expenditure, a distinction which their modern descendants have devoted considerable ingenuity to overcoming.

At an emergency meeting of our Executive Committee, held at a waterfront restaurant whose precise location we are unable to disclose pending clarification of the continental shelf, it was unanimously resolved that Her Excellency be proclaimed an Honorary Panimian, Protector of the Unallocated Waters and Eternal Muse of the Exclusive Economic Zone. A proposal to confer upon her the title of Mother of the Nation was deferred after several members observed that this might create constitutional difficulties with the existing Mother of the Nation, whose identity varies according to the political affiliation of the speaker.

We further call upon the Greek Government to consider naming an uninhabited islet in her honour, preferably one sufficiently distant from the Turkish coast to avoid provoking an international incident, yet sufficiently accessible by luxury yacht to accommodate an appropriate inauguration ceremony. Our Federation would be delighted to organise the proceedings, provided that the guest list is approved in advance and that its President is seated at the principal table.

Our Federation remains confident that the bonds between Greece and the United States will endure. Nevertheless, we respectfully remind Washington that the appointment of an ambassador to Athens carries responsibilities extending considerably beyond the ordinary conduct of diplomacy. The Greek political and social establishment has invested substantial resources in evening wear, cosmetic dentistry and cultivating the appearance of intimate friendship with Her Excellency. These investments deserve protection. Any future ambassadorial appointment should therefore take into consideration the emotional requirements of Greek society, particularly those of middle-aged association presidents who have already purchased new dinner jackets.

In closing, we assure Her Excellency of the undying affection of our members, particularly those who have met her, those who claim to have met her and those who possess photographs suggesting that they might conceivably have occupied the same building. We also respectfully request that Her Excellency consider attending our forthcoming annual dinner, at which she will be presented with a commemorative plaque depicting the Aegean Sea as it existed before the invention of Turkish cartography. The President wishes to emphasise that his repeated requests for an invitation to the American Embassy were motivated exclusively by considerations of national interest, and that the unfortunate incident in which he attempted to enter a private reception through the catering entrance has been grossly misrepresented.

ΖΗΤΩ Η ΕΛΛΑΣ. ΖΗΤΩ Η ΚΙΜΠΕΡΛΥ. ΖΗΤΩ ΤΑ ΥΔΑΤΑ ΠΟΥ ΜΑΣ ΑΠΕΜΕΙΝΑΝ.

DEAN KALIMNIOU

kalymnios@hotmail.com

First published in NKEE on Saturday 24 October 2026