Soultana Kalligas-rough Sketches Of Athens 27022009

ATHENSPLUS • FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 2009

OPINION

A series of unfortunate events Milestones Footnotes + BY NIKOS KONSTANDARAS

Lemony Snicket’s overblown 13-book saga of sorrow (from which we borrow today’s title) begins with a fire, in which the parents of the Baudelaire siblings are burned to death, abandoning the children to the vagaries of outrageous fortune. It is perhaps no coincidence that the series of unfortunate events that befell this government – and Greece – began with the flames that burned across the country’s forests in the summer of 2007. The trail of destruction has now reached the very heart of our capital city and our politics. The fires of 2007 were partly the result of ill fortune and circumstance, as no one can blame the government or the state machinery for the very hot summer and powerful winds. But the lack of organization at every level that contributed to the death and destruction can be blamed on the slackness of civil defense services, which were overwhelmed by a situation they should have anticipated. Interestingly, the New Democracy government held early elections just a month after the fires and still managed to retain power, albeit with a majority of just two seats in Parliament. This would have appeared to prove that the people approved of a policy centered on a determination to let sleeping dogs lie – in other words, to do nothing to tackle the country’s problems, lest that raise an angry re-

BY ILIAS MAKRIS

Oblivious The government did nothing to prepare for the storm, until our problems became so great that its only policy was to say that things were so bad there was nothing much to be done

action from any interest groups. This policy was aided by the fact that the main opposition party, PASOK, was incapable of capitalizing on the government’s inadequacies. Instead, worried about a resurgent left wing, especially the neo-populist Coalition of the Radical Left (SYRIZA) under Alexis Tsipras, PASOK veered (vainly) to the left. No real left-wingers, however, would succumb to a PASOK charm offensive; at the same time, this policy

alienated voters of the center, leaving them in New Democracy’s embrace. So, the government was governing not because it had a policy but by default – and by reacting belatedly to whatever circumstances arose. In that way, as the ill winds of a global recession began to reach us from across the Atlantic, the government seemed oblivious to the storm, doing nothing to prepare for it, until our problems became so great that its on-

ly policy was to say that things were so bad there was nothing much to be done. As the economy slowed, in December we witnessed a social meltdown as Greece’s youth took to the streets in angry protest at a police officer’s fatal shooting of a 15-year-old boy. Such unfortunate incidents can happen anywhere, but here the same fecklessness was to blame: The anarchy that had been allowed to grip the Exarchia district over the years had seduced everyone into thinking that the routine clashes between youths and police could remain bloodless forever. The other great fault of the government was that, after the shooting, it declared that the police would be “on the defensive.” And so the center of Athens was burned as the police watched. The genuine outrage at the schoolboy’s death and the obvious weakness of the state prompted a resurgence of the nearly dormant urban guerrilla myth, prompting everincreasing attacks. This will have dire consequences if it cannot be stopped soon. Against this dramatic backdrop, the reprise of the escape of Vassilis Palaiocostas and Alket Rizai by helicopter from Korydallos Prison last Sunday – exactly as they had done in 2006 – was welcome relief, giving everyone an opportunity to enjoy a good laugh at the expense of a hapless government so used to doing nothing that it cannot even learn from its mistakes. Laughter is good, even when the ship is adrift on dangerous waters and the story is not over. But the mirth will pass and the danger will remain.

FREEZE FRAME

Rough sketches of Athens BY SOULTANA KALLIGAS

A weekday in February. Location: Riding the Kifissia-Piraeus train, on the way to work. The scene: Two men are sitting across from me, speaking low in Arabic, waving their hands as if arguing. One has a tattoo of three dots in the shape of a triangle between his index finger and thumb, something I know as an indication of some kind of underground, anti-authoritarian activity. He doesn’t care to hide the fact that he’s staring at me and, consequently, I try to avoid eye contact. Despite the safety generally felt on the metro, the Kifissia-Piraeus green line is a whole different story. I turn my attention to the people around us; a young man in a suit is sitting by the other window. We briefly look at each other and I begin to daydream about a conversation between us. The men across from me pause and begin talking again. I realize they are not arguing; it’s merely their style of

conversing. When we stop at Omonia, many board the train and soon there are no vacant seats for an elderly woman who got on too late. No one gets up. Seeing this, I start to stand so she can have my seat. Mr Tattoo, realizing what is happening, motions to me to stay put, says in broken English, “Please, sit, sit,” and quickly vacates his seat for the lady. Mr Suit is conveniently looking out the window. Soon, we arrive at Monastiraki and the chivalrous marked stranger and his friend get off the train. Mr Tattoo doesn’t turn back and I am left to contemplate what just happened.

A hot summer day. Location: Under a bridge between two big office buildings. The scene: I’m on my way to work and, as usual, I must walk under a dark bridge and through the dirt parking lot next to it. The office, a haven of coworkers and office supplies and predictable sounds, is just a few meters away. Alert, I lower my head and pick

up the pace. The imagined sense of danger is abruptly shattered by the sound of music. Parked in the lot by the bridge, taking a break from whatever they were doing all morning, a group of Roma,

the children clothed only from the waist up, dance to the beat of reggaeton playing on the cassette deck in one of their cars. Jealousy pinches me.

A weekday in September. Location: A

back neighborhood of Patissia. The scene: As I get ready for work, and through the usual shrieks of the children at a day-care center next door, the sound of an accordion rises from the street and reaches my ears. Looking from my balcony, I see an old man walking slowly down the street, no rush at all, playing this instrument superbly, as if serenading a lover nearby. He isn’t playing the preferred tunes of most street musicians; rather, he’s going on with pieces that he seems to enjoy himself. Workers on the job in the apartment across the way come out to hear him too, though timidly, pretending to take care of some paint on the railing. The man soon announces his sad story and asks for money. The magic is gone and the children’s yelling returns to the foreground.

HAVE YOUR SAY Send your comments to [email protected].

11