Profiles of Greece
Nicholas Econopouly
1963-1964

November 30, 1999

The shock is beginning to disappear. Athena is slowly coming back to normal, although "Kennedy" is still heard coming out of every conversation, whether on the corner, in a cafenion or on the bus. For almost a week it was a stunned incredulous, distressed populations. Stores closed again Tuesday morning for a special religious service. I met my teachers at the Vervakion on Tuesday afternoon (no school Monday_ - they were dressed in dark suits. A representative from each class asked for permission to speak - they gave short, extemporaneous (and very moving) tributes. Students at the university told me that they had cried at the news and that they still found it difficult to believe. People stopped me on the street, asked if I was an American, extended sympathy. Grief was everywhere and it was genuine … and in a way, moving. The horror of last week's terrible events generated a kind of bond between Greeks (and others) and Americans that signified a deep realization in all of us: in the final analysis we're all human beings struggling to survive on this planet. Kennedy's death made us more clearly aware of this common interest and of the desperate need for new leadership.

Never underestimate the power and influence of the President of the U.S. in other countries. And Greeks have repeatedly said that no one in their memory had caught the popular imagination in Europe the way Kennedy had caught it.

Johnson's speech was like a shot of adrenaline here in Athens - it was magnificent. It was carried by the Voice of America and the commentary immediately after (particularly by Raymond Graham Swing) was superb. The delivery had a Roosevelt quality and the appeal, the drama, were all Kennedy. It was brilliantly persuasive and it helped pull this city of the depths of despair.

There is another side to the Greek personality. What has happened in the U.S. to a greatly loved American President, has convinced him that there was a plot, a huge one, that it penetrated the inner reaches of government and nothing now will convince him otherwise. My students at the Varvakion - all intelligent men and women in their 30s, 40s and 50s - are convinced that the assassination was more than the work of a single assassin. They wag their fingers, smile condescendingly when I suggest it was the act of a fanatic and that Ruby was temporarily insane. They just don't believe any of this and neither do their newspapers, left, right and center. (The performance of the Greek press has been absolutely dreadful - they have been pouring on fuel - the headline on one front page read: "One Bullet and Oswald's Mouth Is Closed Forever.") "Why did the police allow Oswald to escape from the building?" "How do they know he murdered a policeman?" "How is it that a man with a police record (Ruby) is permitted free access to a police station, particularly at such a crucial moment?" "The President's life was threatened when he entered Texas - why was he allowed to travel without the bubbletop?" "How many bullets were fired? How many bullets struck Kennedy? The Governor?"

It has been an unforgettable week - we have been horrified, then wonderfully proud to be Americans. We read with pride how Americans had reacted with quiet dignity to the terrible events. But to get back to an earlier point, the description of what happened in Northport, the reactions of ordinary citizens, could have been said with equal accuracy about the reactions of people here in this foreign capitol and we're told, in other cities throughout the world. It's a measure not only of Kennedy's appeal but of the influence of American and Americans throughout the world - our actions are watched, our efforts discussed … and our leadership is expected. Like it or not, we're not an island - there's nothing "domestic" about anything that happens in the U.S., whether it's a piece of civil rights legislation, a lynching or a Mexican Fiesta or books to poverty-stricken Greek children. It's an awful responsibility for a country to bear but it's ours and there's nothing we can do about it but try to meet its demands. Our survival depends on whether or not we're able to do so.

* * * * * *

The problems we've (the U.S.) solved or are on the way to solving. The insane - their treatment here is so primitive (at best) or entirely non-existent. A man walks past the house each day shouting and howling; a boy was in the center of Athens banging the side of his head with his fist. This kind of thing is not uncommon; it is an everyday part of life in the city. Blind men on street corners begging; people without limbs everywhere, begging. Children in rags, barefoot, begging - they're faces pale and their limbs protruding from their clothing like sticks. Awful, horrible - and all a testament to how far this civilization needs to go to achieve even the minimal decencies. No one notices - it is accepted as part of life.

* * * * * *

We are awed by the Greeks' fascination for conversation, discussion, and argument. People seem to revel in talk -- and the louder and more enthusiastic, the better. If the talk has a practical purpose, fine; if it is in some way related to the REAL world, fine -- but these things really aren't necessary. (A New York Times article several years ago described a discussion between three Greeks as three separate arguments in which each participant constructs his own column of logical, irrefutable evidence -- but the three columns need not and usually do not come in contact at any point.) Sometimes it takes place in fascinating forms. On the bus ride down to Sparta several of the passengers asked the driver if the bus stopped at Tripoli for the passengers to have lunch. The driver replied that it did. Why? Because, he explained, his voice full of confidence growing out of his authority, the bus is SCHEDULED to stop at Tripoli. Nonsense! Came the quick reply -- why stop at Tripoli for lunch when we could be in Sparta in two hours? The inevitable argument, of course, followed, with the bus driver in the thick of it (and occasionally catching a glimpse of the road), defending authority, the schedule, the rules and regulations of the company, his sense of duty -- and all to no avail. After approximately a half-hour, it was the driver himself who called for a vote ; the majority opposed the stop at Tripoli and we moved directly on to Sparta. (Has such a thing ever happened on a Greyhound or Trailways bus?)