My Greek Odyssey

Aera!

Excerpt from Ten Days of Destiny: The Battle for Crete, 1941 by G.C.Kiriakopoulos:

On May 26, 1941, one week after the German airborne invasion of Crete began, the commander of German invasion forces, General Kurt Student, received a cable from Adolf Hitler. It read:

"FRANCE FELL IN EIGHT DAYS,  WHY IS CRETE STILL RESISTING?"

Part of the reason was because of small hard fought engagements throughout the island such as the one on Cemetery Hill, a key defensive position manned by the New Zealand Nineteenth Batalion and elements of the Sixth Greek Regiment. It become the focus of German attempts to breakout out of the area around Maleme airfield:

"Captain H.M. Smith, whose men had just repulsed the first assault, warned his men to remain on the alert, his intuition telling him that the Germans would attack again. If they attacked on his front, he held no fears: the earlier attack had cost him only a few casualties and the rest were in good spirits. But Smith did have one concern, his right flank.

That section of the hill defense was protected by the remnants of the Sixth Greek regiment. Many of the poorly armed Greeks had been scattered by the earlier German attacks but the Sixth company was still holding its own on the rise of ground to the right of Smith's 19th Battalion. If the Germans pressed their attack on the Greek position and succeeded in penetrating their defenses the New Zealand flank would be turned and the whole hill defense would be lost.

When the men of Major Derpas' 2nd Parachute Batallion aimed the thrust of their second attack at the Greek positions,  Smith's worst fears were realized.  He had no men to spare and the New Zealander's ammunition did not fit the Greeks pre-war Styr rifles. All he could do was to send an officer to the Greek company commander, Capt. Athanasios Emorfopoulos beseeching him to "hold the line at all costs."

"We shall," replied Capt "E."

From behind the olive trees, the Germans emerged at a trot, charging directly up the slope toward the positions of the Greek company. Capt Smith ordered his men to commence firing into the attacker's flank but realizing that the undulating terrain sent the New Zelander's fire well over the heads of the charging paratroopers, he had to rescind the order.  

The Germans gathered momentum as they charged up and over the crest of Cemetery Hill, pressing the attack as they approached the village cemetery wall at the top of the rise. Above the crack of rifles and the rattle of machine guns there now arose a new sound from the Greek position, a heart stopping human cry going over the defense positions as it passed from man-to-man, each Greek repeating it louder and louder as it crescendoed over the hillside, smothering the roar of the German attack.  The New Zealanders had heard the call before. It was "Aera," the rallying battle cry of the immortal Evzones and to the Greeks it had one meaning: "Attack!"

The New Zealanders watched in awe.  Capt. Smith uttered to no one in particular, "Why those bloody crazy Greeks!"  They had no more bullets, but they still had their bayonets. and down the hill they charged screaming "Aera" at the top of their lungs, the gleam of their bayonets reflecting the midday sun.

For a moment the Germans, froze in disbelief.

With snarling fury, the Greeks met the Germans head on, halfway down the rise. They slashed and butted, and they bayoneted, German after German falling to their piercing stabs. In the lead, Capt "E" and Lieutenait Kritakis. at his side.

There was a brief moment when the two forces swayed in furious hand to hand combat and then the Germans broke and ran, the Greeks in hot pursuit.

Capt Smith shook his head, admiring the heroism with which these gallant Greek soldiers had shattered the German attack. The Second Paratroop Batalion had ceased to exist as a fighting force."

Κώστας Μουντάκης-Η μάχη της Κρήτης

Poverty and Filotimo

He was a diminutive figure of a man looking very much alone. I was washing dishes in the monastery kitchen with my son when we saw him standing in the courtyard holding a small bag.  Father Panteleimon dried his hands and went out to talk to him.  When he returned he said winking with a smile: "Christ has brought us another lost lamb. He is staying the night. I'm going to give him a bowl of lentil soup and some bread to eat in the Trapeza but I've gotta go fill the oil lamps in church. Could you keep him entertained until I get back then I'll show him where he will be sleeping tonight."  I finished up my work in the kicthen took off my apron and walked into the trapeza.  "Kalispera," he looked up at me from his meal through tired eyes and stubby white beard. "Kalispera my boy, my name Haramlambos but everyone calls me Lambi.  I mused to myself on the meaning of his name, "shine from happiness," noting that he seemed anything but happy nor shining.  

"What do they call you?"  "Stavros," I replied. "And where are you from Stavros?" perhaps noticing that I was out of place in a Greek monastery.  "From Ameriki. The monk you spoke with is my son."  "Ameriki" he said rubbing the stubble on his chin, so far away from your son? He had within a few minutes of meeting me understood what troubled me. "What a good boy he is,"  he followed up as if to salve my pain, "I can tell these things at my age. I can size people up quickly. It's a gift and a burden at times."  

"Where are you from? I asked. "I grew up in Karditsa but now I live in Pireaus with my son.  He doesn't much care for me but his wife does. She has a good heart.  I have six other children, not that it ever did me much good after my wife died, poor woman. Since then I prefer to wander here and there as long as these wretched legs hold out. When I outwear my welcome I move on." I surveyed his furrowed brow, the weather worn skin on his face and his rough hands, the products of a lifetime of hard work.  

It wasn't long before he got to the question every Greek asks of another Greek, as if searching for some connection. "Where are your parents from?"  I smiled because I sensed the question would come sooner rather than later, "From Northern Epirus and Constantinople.  "And you grew up in Ameriki. Your Greek is very good for an Amerikanaki,"  he winked playfully. "That's because my Greek wife makes me speak Greek," I said.   He smiled, "A Greek wife is a blessing and a curse, like most women, I should know, having lived with one for fifty years. She died a few years ago and I miss her terribly." He seemed pensive returning to his meal for awhile, eating an olive and spitting the pit in his hand, then taking a bite of crusty bread. He looked up, "What I would have done for meal like this when I was a little boy during the Occupation. God provides, my boy, even for an old wretch like me. I have had a hard life, war, poverty. I spent ten years in Germany working in a kitchen, after I had enough of that I came back to Greece, got married and my brother in law got me a job working for the railroad. Raised a family and now I am blessed with grandchildren. I've got a small pension but it's not enough to live on, so I scrape by as best I can.  I don't want to be a burden on my children. The most valuable thing I own right now is my freedom, once you lose that and the use of your legs, life becomes misery. My son calls me 'alitis,' a bum, because I won't stay in one place and wait to die.  What kind of life is that I ask you, waiting to die.  So I wander when begin to feel suffocated." He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag on it exhaling through his nose. "All the money in the world is worthless if you lose your sense of filotimo. There are worse things than poverty."

We both sat there in silence thinking our private thoughts.

I left for Athens the next day after the liturgy but couldn't get Lambi out of my mind. His life was an allegory of sorts representing what was happening to the country as a whole. As I surveyed the wreckage about me and felt the deep malaise of so many Greeks, many of them people I know and love, I couldn't help but feel that Greece too was like a wandering old man. She was exhausted, moving from one catastrophe to the next, with little hope for the future. The Greek word for poverty is "ftoxia" and one hears it alot these days in Greece. It is a country where people wake up to a nightmare and not from one. The generation that grew up during hard times, the stone years, when war and poverty took their toll, still remember. The same fears and worries are once again their lot in life. The younger generation who once hoped for a better tomorrow now find themselves similarly bereft of hope for the future and fighting for survival. They however, never saw it coming.

Everyone asks "How did we get to this point?" faced by the debris of decades of government mismanagement, corruption, over-reach and utopian fantasies. Who is responsible for the collective misery of the Greek people? Was it the banks and the greedy capitalists, the politicians trolling for votes and willing to sell the future for their own purposes or was it the Greek everyman voting for those who promised the most. In the present conflagartion no one is guilty and everyone is guilty. The Athenian landscape is dotted by For Sale signs, empty storefronts and downtrodden citizens hoping for better days while they scurry to survive the current ones. The IMF representatives and the dreaded Troika come and go issuing their edicts and threats.  The old demagogues have been replaced by new ones of the left and right, Tspiras and Mihaloliakos. Once again Greeks are mesmerized by the empty promises, scapegoating and boastful oratory.  How ironic that the Germans, who were bankrupted by the victors of World War I, are now imposing a similar fate upon the Greeks. One which which has strengthened the extremists, very much the way it did in Weimar Germany. 

Austerity is a dirty word in Greece.  The austerity imposed on Greece is long overdue however the manner in which it has been hoisted on the Greek people is draconian. It is destroying the engine that will eventually put things right again, the Greek economy. More importantly it is destroying people and the little hope they have. Most Greeks support staying in Europe. Maybe they see it as a chance to become another Denmark, then again who wants to be Danish? I am just a wannabe Greek of the diaspora, with a different perspective and mindset. Maybe I should keep my mouth shut but it pains me to see Greeks give up their sovereignty. A sovereignty so many fought and died for just so they can now beg for some crumbs from the master's table. 

The security promised by the European project, whether it is economic or military, is in the end, illusory.  If Turkey attacked Greece tomorrow, the rest of Europe would not lift a finger to help the Greeks. As usual Greeks put their trust in allies who will always let them down when push comes to shove. Anyone with a knowledge of Greek history will understand that history only repeats itself time and again.

I am in no way absolving Greeks for their present misery. They blame the capitalist system when in fact they have a soviet style economy. They blame Wall Street and the Banks when they should be blaming the corrupt political class of both the Left and Right that has looted the treasury for decades to line their own pockets and those of their supporters. They decry the destruction of the Greek economy then go on strike to chase away the last few tourists still willing to spend their hard earned money in Greece. Now they want to unionize the armed forces, one of the pillars of the nation. Madness.

Greeks are still not willing to change, they are not willing to transform their society in fundamental ways. In order to do that there has to be a dialogue and right now Greeks are too busy shouting at each other to hear what the other side is saying. Only when Greeks put their abundant talents to the task of making Greece better instead of  protecting their own piece of the diminishing pie will Greece prosper.  

May the Theotokos keep the wolves at bay long enough for Greeks to awaken once again.

Eξω φτώχεια (Δημ. Ρουμελιώτης)

Φτώχεια που με κουρέλιασες

Standing Against the Mob

September is always a popular month for atrocities.  It doesn't take much for the haters to get riled up and unfortunately they seem to be the one's with the loudest voices in the muslim world, not to mention the one's with blood on their hands. What I find appalling is the seemingly complete collapse of the West in the face of the constant onslaught by people intent on making the rest of us conform to their religious beliefs.

So we apologize when they murder us, make nice when they desecrate our churches, invite them into our countries despite the fact that they hate us, allow them to worship freely in our countries even when they refuse to allow us to do so in their countries, give them money when they spit in our face, and worst of all abandon our values to avoid any perceived slights. It's bad enough that Western nations have systematically secularized their societies and most Westerners believe in nothing, now they increasingly kowtow to fundamenatlist muslim extremists who are bent on transforming those very same societies. To be sure there is much that I don't like about western societies but I fear that they will be replaced with something much worse. Societies where women will be relegated to second class citizenship. Free speech and religious tolerance will disappear. In this new world order the gay and lesbian community will not have to worry about whether governments will marry them, they will instead worry about governments killing them.

The flames of hate among muslims are fanned by failed governments desperate to detract attention away from the desperate poverty, hopelessness and their own glaring failures. Scapegoats are always easy to find whether they happen to be Jews, Christians, Hinus or Buddhists. Turkish Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erodgan, who just days ago said a movie that “insults religions” and “prophets” is not protected by freedom of speech, now is insisting that international bodies pass laws making criticism of Islam a crime. This coming from the leader of a nation that has perpetrated some of the greatest hate crimes of the century, crimes for which there has never been even so much as an attempt to render an apology let alone justice. Now forgotten are the events of another September, fifty-seven years ago when fanatical muslim Turks organized by a supposedly secular government attacked the Greek community of Constantinople. In so doing they perpetrated heinous atrocities against Christians and their religious houses of worship. Atrocities that insult religion much more than any cartoon and YouTube video ever could.  Professor Spyros Vryonis meticulously documented the events of the Sepetember Pogrom in his book Mechanism of Catastrophe. He writes about the systemic desecration perpetrated against the Greek Orthodox Church:

 "Altars, icons, pews, candelabra, the buidings themselves, chandeliers, Crucifixes, in particular, engaged the vandals attention. Not far behind was the desecration of the cemeteries, and the corpses buried therin and the bones in the ossuaries.  Along with the abuse of corpses, defecation was particularly marked in the cemeteries although altars also seemed to have been systemactically polluted with urine and feces. The photographs taken by Dimitrios Kaloumenos bear horrible testimony to this sadder aspect of human behavior and confirm the debt and fury of rioters religious fanaticism." 

Another chronicler of the events of the pogrom, Despina Portokalis writes: "In the district of Vefa they took out from the Church, the large Crucifix and as they were parading it about, from behind they were beating it and throwing stones at it. They did this as they sang lewd songs and mocked it."

In this brave new world of the coming calipahte, "moderate" muslims have been silenced and either look on with indifference or grudging support as the radicals transform their religion. Intolerance and violence are the bedrock on which their faith will be built on. A religion whose followers are afraid to compete in the marketplace of free ideas, and who insist on silencing anyone they disagree with. Violence is condoned, glorified and encouraged among the young. They are the future. Their martyrdom is not about sacrificing oneself as a testament to faith in God but rather about the murder of other human beings considered non-believers. Throughout the Middle East, the Jews have been swept into a small strip of land called Israel with their backs to the sea.  They have nowhere else to flee.  Now the Christians are being targeted. The Orthodox in Syria and Palestine, the Maronites of Lebanon, the Copts in Egypt. All scheduled for extinction. In its very birthplace, Christianity is on life support. 

During the pogrom of 1955, the vast majority of Turks were not part of the mob but they looked the other way as their Greek neighbors and friends were targeted.  In a few instances, some brave souls stood against the mob and saved lives.  Half a century later the civilized world once again, stands on the sidelines. Some cheer on the criminals, others avert their eyes from the horror, bending over backwards to appease them thinking that in so doing they can save themselves.

Only when all decent people, regardless of creed, stand against the mob, will we be able to live in a better world. 

Αγιώρ Αγιώρ αφέντη μου St. George and the dragon Greek Cappadocian song