Category Archives: on everything else

I don’t think I’ve ever heard my neighbourhood more quiet than on August 13, 2004. The city was swollen with so much pride that there was no room for loud voices. I don’t know if it was like this in all homes, but in our house, in the few minutes before the Opening Ceremony of the Olympic Games we spoke quietly; if at all.

For weeks, the eyes of the world had been centered on Athens. There were news reports that basic structures weren’t yet finished. Some cynics were placing bets: “Will Greece be able to pull this off?”

It almost felt as if we were at a funeral. We looked at each other across the living room, not daring to make eye contact for too long for fear that the emotion would overflow. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry.

Ancient Greece was passing the torch to Modern Greece and asking all of us: Are you worthy of your history? Are you worthy of us?

And as Modern Greeks, while stubbornly proud of our heritage, we weren’t sure. At least, I wasn’t.

Are we worthy of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle? Are we worthy of the men who defended our country in World War II so valiantly that Churchill declared: “Hence we will not say that Greeks fight like heroes, but that heroes fight like Greeks.”

Are we worthy of all of that? Can we do that legacy justice?

I don’t think these questions were palpable in our collective minds as the countdown started for the 28^th Olympiad. They weren’t in mine. I think that later, once it was over, did I become aware of what had been stake. Sure, I was kind of worried about our standing in the world but I was mostly worried about  our Greek identity, our pride and our spirit.

My eyes glued to the screen, I waited. My breathing slowed but I could hear the sound of my heart speeding up. Before I knew it, my heart and the countdown were in sync.

And then a strong ethereal Greek female voice boomed across the stadium:

“Citizens of the World, welcome to Athens.”

Beat.

“Olympic Games, welcome back home. Welcome back to Greece.”

My legs shook. My hairs stood on edge. When hundreds of drummers and guitarists poured into the stadium, my eyes felt hot.  When the screen flashed scenes of Greece and then traveled 3000 years back to Ancient Olympia, I could hardly catch my breath. Then, when one drummer in Olympia beat almost words back to another drummer in Athens who replied with other almost words, tears began to form in my eyes.

This was Ancient Greece and Modern Greece having a conversation.

Soon, the two drummers began to beat in unison and the audience went crazy and my question was answered.

I guess when we want to, we are worthy of our legacy.

Today, though, as our small country is attacked on all fronts, by it’s own government, by our own brothers and sisters in Europe, by an over-reactive and hyperbolic (and sometimes racist) media, by misleading statistics, by bankers who place bets on the livelihood of Greek people and by fierce debate between the citizens of Greece, I feel the way I felt in those few minutes before the Olympic Games started.

Every day this week (and last week, and the week before that) has felt like I’m at a mass funeral.

It feels like the entire Greek psyche is in mourning. The ground has disappeared from underneath us. Everyone is worried. All the time. We point fingers at each other. “YOU didn’t pull your weight.” “No, YOU didn’t pull your weight.” We criticize everyone and everything. We swing between defending our nationality from the harsh critique of the world and hanging our heads in shame.

And between all of that and MORE, we go on with our lives because that’s what you do after a funeral.

My friends go to work and plaster smiles on their faces, even though they don’t know if they’ll have a job tomorrow. I sing my sentences to my nephews because they’re far too young to understand what’s happening but they’re old enough to feel that the weight of the world sits on their parents’ shoulders. My friends and I encourage each other to go back to the basics. We can build on this. We can learn from this. We can be better because we’ve got so little left to lose, we tell each other.

Like Ancient Greece passed the torch to Modern Greece seven years ago, so can Contemporary Greece pass the torch to a New Greece.

We’ve all hit rock bottom. We all have big decisions to make. We’re all scared and uncertain about the future. We’re tired, we’re anxious, we’re angry and we’re sad.

But, when I listen carefully, I can still hear those drums beating. And lately, it’s the only thing that keeps me moving.

All thought produced proudly  IN GREECE by Eleni Zoe.
All images produced proudly IN GREECE by Dimitra Tzanos.