Look on the Bright Side of Life
As D-day approaches—that’s “d”
for default—there is a lot of hand-wringing throughout Greece. Here in
Messinia, where there is a greater degree of self-sufficiency than in other
regions, a sense of disbelief reigns. How can we pay off this load of debt? And
yet, how can not continue to be a
part of Europe.
Could Greece really establish the
precedent of a member state leaving the common currency? The debate abot
whether Greece was East or West, European or non-European, goes back centuries
but was firmly settled in the early 1980s, with membership in the EU. Adoption
of the euro, the common currency of the EU, cemented that sense of
“Europeanness”—and with the common currency, a mere 15 years ago, came a
meteoric rise in Greece’s standard of living. And with it, some reckless
borrowing followed, establishing a quality of life arguably beyond this small
nation’s means. The endemic political corruption and cronyism that always
existed, now blossomed into a leviathan of black money. But as they say, it
takes two to tangle: the creditors (mostly foreign) and the Greeks, ordinary
and not so ordinary.
The new government, elected a
mere five months ago, promised to change all of this. In fact, the promises (a
characteristic of politicians the world over) became extravagant after five
years of austerity: they promised that civil servants would be restored,
pensions would maintained at former levels, and the entire mass of debt—more
than 300 billion euros—might be written off through “tough” negotiations. The
new government fancied itself David, going into battle against Goliath.
Regretably, the generous election
promises have collided with reality, fomenting anger, distrust, and radical
thinking on both ends of the political spectrum.
Now, with twelve days until a
massive debt payment comes due, the European Central Bank’s financial pipeline
closed tight, a default seems more likely than ever. So Jonathan was mildly
amused when he turned on his portable radio and heard a Greek rendition of “Look
on the Bright Side of Life,” the darkly humorous Monty Python tune—a happy tune
about pending disaster.
And disaster it will be—perhaps
not just for Greece but for all of Europe and even the entire world. How can
the actions of a nation of 10 million people impact the planet? Your
correspondent will leave that answer to the economists and simply repeat the
fearful message.
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The new leftist government—a
motely collection of hardcore communists, socialists, and hanger-ons—is lead by
Prime Minister Tsipras, the Bolshevik in Chief. Along with his Oxfrod educated
finance minister, the erudite narcisist Veroufakis, the trajectory is clearly
one of utter ruination. This inexperienced team of political-economic theorists
is hell bent on poking their collective fingers into the eyes of their very
best friends in Europe. Reducing a 500 euro pension by 50 euros (in essence,
the European Central Bank and IMF’s partial solution) extends the suffering;
however, some pension is better than no pension, and this is where Greece is
heading. Civil unrest will follow shortly thereafter.
Should Greece default, it will be
plunged into the dark ages, erasing forty years of development and modernity in
order to make a point. The problem is that no one seems capable of articulating
the point.
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The crisis and impending drama
notwithstanding, life goes on in the village. Jonathan was greeted heartily in
his not so grand entrance on Tuesday morning. A group of a dozen men and boys,
all surrounding a café table, saw him approach and hooted and hollered. (Naturally,
the boys asked in one chorus: where is
Lucia!) One friend offered a (breakfast) beer but Jonathan favored a coffee and
some small talk.
The village is quiet, a result of
the ongoing crisis in general and the approaching precipice in particular.
Still, the Greek airforce has sufficient petrol to continue its training
runs—in ancient propeller-powered one-seaters—over our little house and
surrounding villages, an early morning buzz that blends nicely with the rising
tide of cicada song, the blare of passing gypsy fruit/vegetable trucks (“strawberries,
fresh strawberries, 3 euro a kilo….”), and the passing motorbikes whose
occupants are often texting while biking. But by 10 a.m., the little orchard
where this house sits nestled is quiet, but for the cicadas and the
conversation of distant goats and sheep.
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“How will you spend your days
here?” everyone asks. The truth is, Jonathan’s days are full—working on the
house, clearing the ktima (property),
watering last year’s fruit trees. And, fo course, swimming in the cobalt blue
ocean. Earlier today, Jonathan negotiated with a farmer about bringing his
tractor for a shallow plow around the fruit trees.
There is a small cloud in the sky
today: a fleeting puff of white, an abberation in an otherwise spotless
horizon.
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There is no finer—or culturally
meaningful—gift than that of olive oil. A staple food of the Hellenic world for
thousands of years, a primary trading item in the Mediterranean basin, a signal
of prosperity and plenty, this nutritionally complete food is often given to
strangers and friends alike as a offering of welcome.
In the late morning, Jonathan
visited his friend Niko, who has hundreds of olive trees throughout the valley.
The gift of 2 liters of organic olive oil was much appreciated. A few days
earlier, his friend Yiota made a gift of cheese—a one-kilo wheel of hard goat
cheese called mizithra. It is heavily
salted and very dry, perfect for a house without a refridgerator.
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