The Referendum and the Thieves
This is the day of the big
referendum in Greece, the Yes or No vote about which so many have a slightly tortured
conscience—does it mean leaving the EU, abandoning the euro currency, or simply
sending a message to the banksters of Europe that “enough is enough”? Like many
referendums in the West, on a host of subjects, this one is open to debate. The
bottom line is that Greeks have endured five years of misery, and regardless of
the outcome that misery will likely not abate anytime soon.
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Who are these elusive thieves,
the ones that break into people’s homes and cars? Are they Albanians,
Bulgarians, Gypsies? Perhaps Greeks? Maybe even Americans on the prowl? No can
say for sure, but thievery generallly and breaking and entering specifically has
become epidemic in the past few months.
There is a subtext of racism that
exists the world over. In the West it can be discreet, subminal, couched in
neutral language with pointed references. Here in Greece it can be overt and
damning. Jonathan has met (and become friendly with) all of the aforementioned
groups—Gypsies notwithstanding, who are clearly a people apart. A local
resident warned him the other night about the “dark people.” They are “bastards,”
he said, and “cannot be trusted, not a one of them.” Such language, born of
ignorance and malice, along with a deep-seated fear of the Other, grates the
soul, consigning humanity to the most primitive of states.
Fifty years ago, Martin Luther
King Jr. said (to paraphrase poorly) that there may be a day when we can judge a
person by the character of their soul, not the color of their skin. We are
still a long way from reaching that mountaintop.
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Rhythms of Local Life
On the greatest pleasures of
living in rural Messinia is engaging in the traditional rhythm of life, an
essence that is bound up in agricultural cycles, the life of the church
(especially panagyria, or religious
holidays—both fasts and feasts), and the myriad local traditions and folkways:
dance, music, theater. The “real” Greece that Jonathan first witnessed in 1973
is still found here, sometimes right in the open, but often hidden under a rock
or in the shadow of an olive tree. The preference, being alone here for a
spell, is to avoid the φασαρία (fasaria, or hubbub
for no better word) of the tourist haunts and search out the quieter (but not
always!) alternatives.
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The Italians Are Here!
As the height of the summer
season approaches, one is astounded by just how quiet it is. Merchants,
hoteliers, restaurant and café owners are feeling the pinch of reduced tourism—borne
of fear (“will we be able to get money?” “Is there food”?) and a lot bad press
in Europe. Still, many of the Europeans who “discovered” this special place so
many years ago, many with vacation homes on the hillsides with broad views of
the Mediterranean, are trickling in. Some families (Austrian, German, Dutch,
French, Italians) do have long ties to the area. Some, like the Germans in
particular, live isolated existences, in high-walled compounds outside of the towns,
learn little Greek, and barely engage with the local people. Others—the Dutch
come to mind—with multiple generations having resided here, speak Greek, are often
brilliant dancers, and are much loved by the locals.
This morning, in nearby Pylos,
Jonathan came across a large Italian family—highly animated and full of
laughter and smiles, they seem to fit in seamlessly with the local way of life,
with their positively Mediterrranean temperaments and passion for life. They
reminded Jonathan, happily, of his wife’s robust Sicilian family. Hearing them
chatter away and engage in an incredible array of body language made him smile
inside.
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Time to Sleep?
When Jonathan mentions to his
Greek friends about his inability to sleep—bed by 3 a.m., up by 7:30, with a
one-hour siesta—the response is always the same, one of those quintessentially morbid,
but humorous, Greek comments: “Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to sleep
when you’re dead.”
Can’t We All Just Get Along?
Some things here, however, are
not so very different than Downeast
Maine. Jonathan finds himself navigating contrary social camps. Which is to
say, he is caught in the middle of friends and family who can’t stand one
another: the cousin who loathes Uncle Yioryio, the brother who won’t speak to sister
Panayiota, and so on. He is smack in the middle of internecine squabbles, some
going back many years, intersecting neighbors and family members in an arc of
mistrust and backbiting. As at home, he avoids all sides, patiently listening
to one person berate another’s character and demeanor, without uttering a single
word of protest.
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The Final Word on the Referendum
One friend summed it up best this
morning when Jonathan asked him, “Did you vote Yes or No?” The reply
encapsulates the conflict: “I know that I should vote Yes—as a local
businessman it is in my interest to vote Yes. But I will vote No because I have
pride and a sense of dignity. Greeks need to stand up and do the right thing.
Even if the right thing is quite possibly the wong thing.”
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