Η Καρέττα στη χώρα του "πότε? ποτέ!"

Κανονικά δεν θα έπρεπε να έχω παράπονο. Στην χώρα, οχι του ποτέ, αλλά του πανταχού παρόντος (που να χτυπιέσαι κάτω σαν το χταπόδι στην αιωνιότητα) πρωτογνώρισα τα Νεφελίμ. Ομολογώ οτι μέχρι την ημέρα εκείνη, ούτε καν είχα ακούσει το όνομα των κάπως ντροπαλών  αυτών οντότητων που, αν και βρίσκουν την τόλμη να παραβρεθούν σε συνάντηση πελάτη – δικηγόρου, γράφοντας το απόρρητο στα παπούτσια που δεν φορούν, παραμένουν άοσμα και αόρατα πλην όμως πανέτοιμα να αναλάβουν την ευθύνη τους για τα δεινά που προκαλούν στους πολύπαθους πιστούς.

Μπορεί να μην τα έβλεπα αλλά αυτα ήταν το δίχως άλλο εκεί. Τα Νεφελίμ φταίγαν για ότι είχε συμβεί. Αλλά ο κατηγορούμενος δεν φοβόταν. Είχε λέει στο πλευρό του την παναγία. Εκτός απο θεομήτωρ η μάνα του δημιουργού του σύμπαντος εκτελεί προφανώς και χρέη υπεράσπισης

Καθώς λοιπον ενημερωνόμουν για τον πραγματικό ένοχο του σκοτωμού και την σκοτεινή του αόρατη υφή, αλλά και για την επι της ουσίας συνήγορο του κατηγορουμένου (εφόσον προφανώς ο δικός μου ο ρόλος, καθότι ανθρώπινος ήτο περιορισμένος και ‘για τα μάτια του κόσμου’), είχα αρχίσει πλέον να συνειδητοποιώ ότι εάν έψαχνα έναν γεωγραφικό τόπο όπου θα μπορούσα να βρώ την δεισιδαιμονία και την παράνοια μιας ολόκληρης χώρας συγκεντρωμένες, η αναζήτησή μου είχε τελειώσει.

Ουρανούπολη Χαλκιδικής.

Όπου όλοι ανεξαιρέτως έχουν βιώσει κάποιο θαύμα. Όπου οι (2 όλοι και όλοι) δρόμοι είναι στην ουσία καλυμμένοι με λογίς λογίς αγιογραφίες (στο χωριό απαντάει κανείς τα εξής: ταβέρνα, χρυσοχοϊο και μαγαζι με εκκλησιαστικά είδη). Όπου οι ιστορίες για το Όρος φέρουν χροιά θρύλου, οι ταπεινοί δέσποτες κυκλοφορούν με 4x4 και οι προσκυνητές καταφτάνουν με συνεχή ροή απο όλο τον ορθόδοξο κόσμο. Όπου αίρεση και δόγμα, ταπεινοφροσύνη και προκλητική πολυτέλεια κυκλοφορούν χέρι χέρι.

Ενα μικροσκοπικό και καθ όλα συμπαθέστατο χωριό, το τελευταίο πριν την αυτοδιοικούμενη θεοκρατική κοινότητα του Αγίου Όρους. Του ‘κρατιδίου’ όπου στο εσωτερικό του δεν ‘περνάει’ ο φιλήδονος διαφθορέας που λέγεται χρήμα αλλά από όπου διακινούνται και διαχειρίζονται περιουσίες, της χερσονήσου που απαγορεύει αυστηρά την είσοδο στους μη διαθέτοντες πέος, ακόμα και εαν πρόκειται για θυλικά ζώα (πάντοτε είχα απορία πώς ελέγχονται οι παραβάτες που ανήκουν στο είδος των νοστιμότατων κατα τα άλλα αγριογούρουνων ή το φύλο των πετούμενων που θα τύχει να ξαποστάσουν στα ‘άγια’ βραχάκια και των ποντικών και λοιπόν ζώων που μέχρι πρότεινος ζούσαν στο πυκνό δάσος γύρω απο τα μοναστήρια – πριν αυτό γίνει αποκαϊδια). Το σπίτι του Εφραίμ και του παππούλη Παϊσίου που στο μέλλον της χώρας μας ‘έβλεπε’ πολέμους και αιματοκυλίσματα με την γειτονική Τουρκία, και περιέγραφε έναν δημιουργό του σύμπαντος στην ουσία ‘ελληναρά’ με εδαφικές αξιώσεις και μια εμμονή με την Αγία Σοφία και το ‘πάλι με χρόνια με καιρούς’. Εκεί που ηρεμεί η ψυχή (των ανδρών) και που πέφτουν μπουνίδια μεταξύ των παλιοημερολογητών της Εσφιγμένου και των πλέον ‘ορθόδοξων’ ορθόδοξων που μηνμονεύουν ορθώς και ζούν σε διαφορετική ημερομηνία.

Το Άγιο Όρος θεωρείται η κοιτίδα της παγκόσμιας ορθοδοξίας. Η αλήθεια είναι ότι κατά καιρους προσελκύει σημαντικούς καλεσμένους. Ο Κάρολος της Αγγλίας, κάνει απο καμια περατζάδα απο τον Άθωνα, συνήθως με θαλαμηγό ή ελικόπτερο (που είναι άλλωστε και συνώνυμα της λέξης-κλειδιού του χριστιανισμού, ‘ταπείνωσης»’) και μοιράζεται στιγμές κατάνυξης με τον Βλαντιμίρ Πούτιν (που σαφώς έχει λόγο να βρίσκεται στο άνδρο της ασπίδας του αδιάντροπου λαϊκισμού μιας Ρωσσίας που, σαν τη δόλια την Ελλάδα έχει καταντήσει να φοβάται περισσότερο τα Νεφελίμ και το κακό το μάτι απο τους άπληστους πολιτικούς που της ρουφάνε το αίμα και της κλέβουν ακομά και αυτές τις βασικές ανθρώπινες ελευθερίες όπως η ελευθερία της έκφρασης).

Και κάπως έτσι, δυνάστες βαπτίζονται ‘ήρωες’ της πίστης και προσωπικά δικαιώματα και ελευθερίες παραδίδονται αμαχητί εν οίδη χρυσοτάματος στην Τήνο. Και ίσως κάνει η γριούλα το ‘σκατό της παξιμάδι’, ίσως μείνει δίχως φάρμακα κι ας πλήρωνε σαν το κορόϊδο τις εισφορές της επί δεκαετίες, αλλά θα σταθεί σθεναρά στο πλάϊ του κλήρου για τα της δικής του τσέπης, και ούτε κάν θα αναλογιστεί ότι τα (αλήθεια πώς?) κεκτημένα που θα παραμείνουν αμείωτα θα βγούν απο την δική της αδειανή τσέπη και απο άλλες που δεν έφταιξαν.

Ανακοινώθηκε το καλοκαίρι (αν και πέρασε στα ψιλά γράμματα μου φαίνεται) ότι περικοπές δεν προβλέπονται για τους μισθούς των κληρικών, δημοσίων υπαλλήλων με ζηλευτά προνόμια και κάθε λογίς (μαύρα) ‘τυχερά’,  τη στιγμή που η Ελλάδα σφαδάζει και που τη νύφη (που φόραγε Armani) καλούνται να πληρώσουν οι ήδη αναποδογυρισμένες στο μεσοπέλαγο βάρκες. Έπειτα το πηραν πίσω και τον Νοέμβριο ανακοινώθηκε ότι προβλέπονται περικοπές και για τις ιερές αγελαδες. Τώρα σιωπή. Και το γεγονός ότι για την πίστη αυτή που κάποιοι επέλεξαν, σε κάποιους επιβλήθηκε και κάποιοι έχουν συνειδητά απορρίψει καλούμαστε να συνεισφέρουμε όλοι μας ανεξαιρέτως, ακόμη και σε καιρούς δύσκολους παραμένει φυσιολογικό στα μάτια των πολλών.

 ‘Δεν υπάρχουν άθεοι στα χαρακώματα’, είχε δηλώσει ο πρωθυπουργός προεκλογικά. Απο δαύτον δεν περίμενα τίποτα καλύτερο. Τα χρυσά κουτάλια της ορθοδοξίας (που είναι μάλλον το ίδιο ‘ιερά’ με τα χρυσά κουτάλια του δημοσίου) θα πρέπει να προστατευθούν πάσει θυσία. Ώς δικαιολογία, το ‘φιλανθρωπικό έργο της εκκλησίας’.

Και, ίσως να ωρύεται η θείτσα για την κομμένη της σύνταξη και ίσως όντως βλέπει το αδιεξοδο στο οποίο έχουν εισέλθει προ πολλού αναρίθμιτοι συνάνθρωποί της που βλέπουν το επίδομά τους να συρρικνώνεται, αλλά την αναπηρία τους να παραμένει η ίδια (και, εννοείται ότι δεν αναφέρομαι στους πιθηκοανάπηρους και τους πάμπολλους, πλην καθ όλα λειτουργικούς τυφλούς της Ζακύνθου – ένας εκ των οποίων ήταν παπάς, αλήθεια, ποιός τιμωρήθηκε για την κραυγαλέα αυτή ιστορία?) αλλά για το συγκεκριμένο θέμα κάνει τουμπεκί ψιλοκομμένο. Όμως αυτή η σύμπνοια που παρατηρείται αποκλειστικά και μονο στη συγκεκριμένη παραφωνία είναι τουλάχιστον παρανοϊκή.

Σαν το γαλατικό χωριό του Αστερίξ, ο κλήρος εξακολουθεί να αντιστέκεται στην αυτοκρατορία της σκληρής πραγματικότητας, αν και σε τούτο εδώ το κόμικ οι ρόλοι έχουν σαφώς αντιστραφεί. Οι ρασοφόροι του όρους, και όχι μόνο, μας προκαλούν δείχνοντάς μας το δάκτυλο που μας αξίζει, εφησυχασμένοι στην σιγουριά τους ότι όχι μόνο δεν θα υπάρξει αντίσταση, αλλά το ‘ποίμνιο’ θα πάρει το μέρος τους δίχως γιατί και πώς, απλά και μόνο γιατί οι ρόλοι που έχουν διανεμειθεί έδω και αιώνες παραμένουν αναλλοίωτοι. Με τον θεό στο μέρος τους και την περήφανη ορθοδοξια ώς λάβαρο και όπλο συνάμα θα έκαναν και εκείνον ακόμα τον Μακιαβέλλι να αποσυρθεί μες στην ντροπή.

Το κόλπο παλιό και δοκιμασμένο. Η συνταγή στέφεται με επιτυχία εδώ και αιώνες και η θείτσα ρίχνει τον οβολό της στο παγκάρι, πεπεισμένη ότι έχει κάνει το σωστό για την ψυχή της, οτι έχει εξευμενίσει τον δημιουργό που τόσο απρόθυμα προετοιμάζεται να συναντήσει. Και είναι η δική της γενναιοδωρία που καθιστά δυνατή την γενναιοδωρία των μεσάζοντων που σαν βδέλλες προσκωλλούνται στον αρχέγωνο φόβο του θανάτου και εξασφαλίζουν ψήφους και υπακοή. Ο επιννοημένος εχθρός που βαπτίζεται «διάολος», «Νεφελίμ», «βασκανία», «εβραιομασώνοι» και «ανθέλληνες» μεταξύ άλλων πολλών κάνει την δουλειά του άψογα. Ακόμα.

Ο θεός είναι το δίχως άλλο Έλληνας. Ο σκοταδισμός που οδηγεί γονυπετείς πιστούς στα σκαλιά της Τήνου παντρεύτηκε την μεγαλοπρέπεια του ελληνισμού του παρελθόντος. Ο γάμος έγινε με προξενιό και η νύφη δεν ρωτήθηκε. Και κάπου εκεί, στην άκρη του παράλογου, μεταξύ της άθλιας και επιδεικτικής αυτοταπείνωσης και της υπέρμετρης υπερηφάνειας για ένα γεγονός τυχαίο, όπως ειναι ο τόπος καταγωγής γινόμαστε όλοι παιδιά του Πλάτωνα και του Σωκράτη και ταυτοχρόνως ενός εβραϊκού νεκραναστημένου θεού που απαιτεί να κρατήσουμε την αλλοιωμένη ελληνικότητά μας αναλλοίωτη μεσα στους αιώνες και να βλέπουμε παντού εχθρούς. Όσο πιο πολύ ασχολούμαστε με αόρατες και σκοτεινές δυνάμεις που μας ‘ζηλεύουν για την προνομιακή μας υπόσταση’ (η οποία φυσικά δεν προκύπτει απο πουθενά) και ‘θέλουν να μας αφανήσουν’ τόσο πιο ανενόχλητοι παραμένουν στη δράση του οι πραγματικοί εχθροί της κοινωνίας. Τόσο οι δυνάστες βαπτίζονται ήρωες στην κολυμβήθρα του συμφέροντος.

Και η παράνοια δεν κατοικεί μόνο στην πολιτεία του Άθωνα. Σαν κακόβουλο λογισμικό, έχει εξαπλωθεί σε όλη την χώρα και τα φαίνομενα οξύνονται αναλογικά με την κρίση. Απο τον διανομέα της πίτσας που μου διηγότανε για τους εβραιομασώνους που κοντρολάρουν τα μήντια, τον σκοτεινό ρόλο του Γιωργου Παπανδρέου στην παγκόσμια συνομοσία εναντίον του ελληνισμού (πλέον άτοπη τοποθέτηση, καθώς προυποθέτει την ικανότητα σκέψης), τον πραγματικό και αμύθητο πλούτο της χώρας μας με κοιτάσματα πετρελαίου που θα ντρόπιαζαν την Σαουδική Αραβία που μένει ανεκμετάλλευτος και την ορθόδοξη αδερφή Ρωσσία που δεν της επετράπη να βοηθήσει (απο τους σκοτεινούς παράγοντες ντε). Έως και τον ταξιτζή με τα χαϊμαλιά να κρέμονται και την εικονίτσα του γέροντα Παϊσίου που με συμβούλεψε ‘μην τυχόν και πάρεις ξένο εκεί που είσαι’ (για να μην αλλοιωθεί το ελληνικό μου DNA και χάσει η γλυκειά πατρίδα τέτοιο γονιδιακό κελεπούρι).

Η Ελλάδα δεν παύει στιγμή να με πληγώνει, να με διχάζει, να προκαλεί συναισθήματα μέσα μου που θα ήταν πιο ταιριαστά απευθυνόμενα σε αρρωστημένο ερωτικό πάθος για έναν ναρκωμανή. Στην χώρα όπου πρότυπο θεωρείται ένας αγράμματος και πολεμοχαρής γέροντας  και που το ξεμάτιασμα θεωρείται μορφή θεραπείας για πάσαν νόσο (τώρα για να πούμε του στραβού το δίκιο, που λεφτά για γιατρούς και πού χρόνος για το επόμενο available ραντεβού το 2015) δεν θα έπρεπε να εκπλήσσει η ασυλία που δίδεται απο το τσεκούρωμα στις ιερές αγελάδες και τους μισθούς τους απο μια πολιτεία που φαινεται ότι δεν έχει ακόμα καταλάβει την σκληρή πραγματικότητα που την περιβάλλει εδώ και πολύν καιρό και που τιμά την Οργουελική σοφία με ευλάβια σε καιρούς που απλα δεν μας παίρνει να εξακολουθούμε να διατηρούμε τους κάποιους ‘πιό ίσους απο εμάς’ στην απατηλή τους ισότητα. Όμως ο δεσμός μεταξύ ιερατείου και εξουσίας είναι καθώς φαίνεται άρρηκτος και το ποίμνιο εξακολουθεί να εθελοτυφλεί και να αδυνατεί να δεί την αδικία που διαπράττεται εις βάρος αυτών των ιδίων, πρωτίστως και κατ επέκταση εις βάρος μιας κοινωνίας σε σημείο αποσύνθεσης.

Ας κρατήσουν τον μισθό τους στο ακέραιο οι παπάδες. Επιτελούν έργο. Η κοινωνική ύφη μιας δοκιμασμένης κοινωνίας θα κατέρεε στα σίγουρα δίχως τα συσίτια και τα εμψυχωτικά κυρίγματά τους. Ασε που αν μουλαρώσουν ενδέχεται να πάψουν να προσεύχονται στο αφεντικό και χωρίς τον μεσάζοντα άντε να τον ψήσεις τον ‘μεγάλο’ να αλλάξει τα σχέδια του για την χώρα που έτσι και αλλιώς υποτείθεται ότι αγαπάει. Και ο χαμηλοσυνταξιούχος να πάει να κουρεύεται. Ο ανάπηρος επίσης. Και έαν τυγχάνει και απασχολείσαι στον ιδιωτικό και όχι στον δημόσιο φορέα τότε είναι που την πάτησες. Είσαι παίδι κατώτερου θεού. Αλλά μην ανησυχείς. Έχει ο θεός... (εσύ δεν έχεις)

Πάλι με χρόνια με καιρούς...

Ζούμε σε καιρούς δύσκολους. Πόσο δύσκολούς ίσως δεν είναι δυνατόν να έχουμε μια καθαρή εικόνα αν αναλογιστούμε ότι συνυπάρχουμε με γενιές που εχουν ζήσει πόλεμο και μιζέρια. Πάντως η ανασφάλεια και η αβεβαιότητα για το μέλλον είναι εδώ, μαζί μας, και ακολουθούν τα βήματα μας καθημερινά. Και ίσως να μην έχει τεράστια σημασία επακριβώς πόσο παχύ είναι το μαύρο σύννεφο που μας καλύπτει εφόσον είναι ανμφισβήτητα επάνω απο τα κεφάλια μας. Και πάλι, δεν θα έπρεπε να μας ξενίζει ότι μεσά στην καταιγίδα ο ελληναράς ονειρεύεται Αγίες Σοφίες και μεγαλεία που ο ίδιος δεν έζησε ποτέ – μόνο φαντάζεται. Δεν θα έπρεπε να μας ξενίζει που ο παπούλης Παϊσιος έχει αναδειχθεί σε μείζονα μορφή στο μυαλό του απελπισμένου, που η πεποίθηση ότι είμαστε κάτι ξεχωριστό, κάτι σαφώς ανώτερο απο τον εχθρό που θέλει να μας κατασπαράξει έχει ριζωθεί βαθειά στον ταραγμένο μας ψυχισμό, εκεί, μεταξύ των άγρυπνων νυχτών που το κεφάλι μας γεμίζει με μαθηματικούς υπολογισμούς για το πώς θα πληρωθούν τα κοινόχρηστα. Ούτε καν η προσήλωση στους τηλεοπτικούς δέκτες όσο μιλάνε οι σύγχρωνες ιέριες της αστρολογίας, μπας και γραπωθούμε απο κάτι αμφιλεγόμενα θετικό που θα ειπωθεί είναι κάτι το περίεργο. Η παράνοια που ζούμε είναι προϊόν της απελπισίας. Το θέλουμε το παραμύθι. Τον αποζητάμε τον σκοτεινό εχθρό, γιατί έτσι θα μπορέσουμε να στρεψουμε το βλέμμα μας μακρυά απο το είδωλο του ίδιου μας του εαυτού και τις ευθύνες μας.

Λένε ότι η ελπίδα τουλάχιστον έιναι δωρεάν. Μήπως όμως σε κάποιες περιπτώσεις το οφείλουμε σε αυτήν την ανθρώπινη μας υπόσταση να το ψάξουμε λίγο καλύτερα?

Pastistios and other transgressions

How do we know what we know?

It seems to me, we live in an era of doubt. An era when what we say – I stand corrected, what we think – can and might very well be used against us. Was it always like that? It seems like, for the most boring intervals of history, it has indeed been like that, to the eternal detriment of human race. But when it has been otherwise, wonders did occur.

There was a time when Copernicus asserted that we were not in fact the center of the universe and when he did all hell broke loose. Well, perhaps Copernicus was not really the first to suggest that the math did not really work out in favor of those who preferred a more “traditional” image of the cosmos in which we live in [Aristarchus of Samos was the first to kind of notice that we are not in fact the center of this vast and generally inhospitable universe]. He was also lucky enough to escape the dire consequences of his observations, as he died before all aforementioned hell broke loose. Others were sadly not as lucky. Galileo was forced to renounce his heretic views before the Inquisition and Giordano Bruno perished at the stake for embracing the glaringly obvious, yet deeply heretic conclusion that the sun is but a star, one of millions shining through a vast universe and that other civilizations on world beyond were a possibility. 

The notion that some opinions are best kept under wraps is not a novel one. In fact, censorship has dogged progress like a malignant shadow since the dawn of critical thought. Since the “population” has been defined as a mass, forgiving no deviance and allowing no diversion, efforts have been made to control it, as a whole. Shielding the masses from dangerous information has been deemed a legitimate cause for as long as man has been able to register such instances, even possibly before that. There is no other weapon considered as potent as information. It made sense.

Perhaps one of the earlier attempts to smother views which tended to depart from commonly accepted, perfectly harmless consensus, was the celebrated execution of Greek philosopher and self proclaimed gadfly Socrates. Whether or not Socrates was an actual historical figure is beside the point. For his persona has a lot more to teach even to today’s advanced societies than any other persona in the course of history. Even if one was to place his invaluable teachings – as relayed to us by his student and biographer Plato – aside, his glorified, yet fully unjustified death (perhaps precisely because of the complete lack of necessity of it) contains a lesson humanity simply can not afford to miss out on: the truth is more important than life itself.

Socrates crime was none other than unacceptable things going on inside a brilliant mind. Unstoppable things. Things that simply needed to get out and spill into the world, enriching it, whether one decided to accept their veracity or not. That was well and truly beside the point. The job of the gadfly was – according to his own words as they were relayed to us by Plato – not to dictate what we are supposed to think, but rather to entice us to think. The conclusion was up for grabs, even if in most of the dialogues documented – or even invented, I could not care less – it followed effortlessly, falling like a baby through the birth canal, obvious like the sunrise for any person free enough in the mind to see.

Yet these views were deemed dangerous, unfit for consumption, grave enough to lead a man to the annihilation of his very essence. Another great civilization with the means to not only produce great ideas but also to immortalize them for future use and scrutiny via scripture, the Chinese, introduced “honorable” censorship law as early as 300 AD, and it all boils down to one little concept which is so very hard to pin down: morality.

It seemed, and it seems, everything could be justified when it came to protecting that mindless bulk that constituted the “people”. Especially after the schism between the powerful Churches made sure that the coveted power was adequately distributed. At the time, it seemed, way too many documents had been in circulation, jeopardizing unity and homogeny among the freshly divided kingdoms. The Nicene Creed did all it could to guarantee no trouble would arise, but, at the time, divinely inspired documents were in abundance and thus threatening the entire thread. Once again, those hungry for power had found the way to ensure this power stayed with them. It was called heresy and it stayed with us for a very long time. In fact, the cunning devise to keep power where it supposedly belonged may still be with us to this day, as way too many otherwise modern states still have absurd pieces of legislation embodied within their legal system in a  day and age when science has finally managed to supersede superstition – or so it seems.

Surely, in a modern society, one should never be legally punished merely for the contents of one’s brains, right? Apparently, not so. We are of course always quick – and quite rightfully so, may I add – to condemn totalitarian states which do just that [heaven forbid one has a nasty thing to say about Dear Leader in North Korea] but if we claim to be free of the chains of censorship we are sadly mistaken.

Protecting people. What a noble cause! But is it really?

When I was still a starry eyed idiot, hoping that I could one day be lucky enough to join forces with other starry eyed idiots and actually do something to make this planet of wrath and blood a better place for the children I may or may not have, I had the honor of running into Salman Rushdie. Of course, at the time I had no clue as to who Salman Rushdie was, but I was not thick and the hordes of police officers and out of the ordinary security measures did not go unnoticed. At the time I had not read the “Satanic Verses”. In fact, it would be years before I did, and I freely admit to the fact that I read the Quran way before I got to the novel which started it all. But even during those days of tequila and boys and not much else I managed to get it straight: An actual human being’s life was in mortal danger for the sole crime of writing a book. Was it offensive to some? At the time I did not know. I still do not care. In my life – of being a shameless book-eating nerd – I have read a lot of things that I found offensive. Skin crawling, refusal to remain on this spinning planet type of offensive. The difference is, that people like me do not generally demand other people’s heads severed. Period. No matter what.

In fact, some of the most skin curling, vomit inducing passages I have ever had the displeasure to read were the exact same ones cited each time a group of people I do not know attempt to make sure I never read or hear something they arbitrarily baptize as detrimental to my morality and attempt to make sure it never gets to me.

I consider myself a fairly moral person, yet the thought of executing my neighbor for working on a given day (Sabbath anyone?) has seriously never occurred to me. I find the notion of “putting” homosexuals “to death” as an “abomination”, abominable (ironically) and I fail to this day to comprehend the notion of any kind of loving between human beings as anything less than beautiful. I have no offspring, but if I had, I can assure anyone that I would kick anyone’s behind should they even suggest that there is a force which may demand their sacrifice as a playful token. And yet, the texts that are blatantly – and may I add, quite unapologetically –  advocating for slavery, sexism, homophobia, genocide and self loathing are precisely the ones I am not at liberty to criticize, the ones who impose morals where they are clearly in no position to do so.

But this goes way beyond criticism. One must never be fooled as to assume the authenticity of a mildness that is forced by the unstoppable progress of society. One must always seek the truth in history, during the times when the authority now seeking to withhold information and quench opinions “for our shake” had the upper hand. For censorship goes way past the usual “heretic view” or “offence” to an established belief shielded from healthy criticism by its arbitrary claims of “divinity” alone. Claims which have never been, nor will they ever be substantiated or scrutinized the way all other bold claims have been.

I could of course invoke countless of instances where the self proclaimed “holy” has claimed and received innocent human blood. From the Crusades to the witch burning aspirations, that which can not be criticized has done a lot more than to verbally challenge its opponents. It has done its best to eliminate them.

So, are we free yet? The answer is sadly and unequivocally no. as long as legislation still exists in Europe and worldwide, making it a crime to admit having thoughts inside your brain which may contradict the established opinions of those who would have you stoning your gay neighbors and murdering your own child, should that child disobey you if they could, we are certainly not free. Norway, Britain, Greece, the Netherlands, Denmark, Austria, Poland, all have laws making it dangerous for a person like me, an intelligent human being, fairly educated and with access to all the information which is available nowadays at the time of the Higgs boson and other marvelous discoveries – where all excuses for ignorance can be discarded – to have an opinion about the cosmos and what may or may not lay behind its existence, which contradicts that of an uneducated, illiterate desert monger in the region of Israel back in the time when the earth was the center of the universe, bats were considered birds and germs were unheard of.

Consider the source.

Are all opinions valid and worthy? Clearly not. There is enough bat shit crazy stuff floating around as it is. Stuff which does not strictly fall under the untouchable holy mantle. But who is to say what should be heard and what should be suppressed? Who is to say there is only one version of the truth out there? It is precisely those opinions we consider abhorrent which should be given the greatest level of protection. It is precisely those who can be most dangerous if suppressed, and it is those which can be shot down before being allowed to claim the position of an unlikely martyr for an unworthy cause. Freedom of speech means freedom of all opinions. Not just the pretty ones.

In this day and age of the internet and the constant flow of information surrounding us like cascades of water we are running out of excuses. Are we really willing to hand over responsibility to someone other than ourselves when it comes to evaluating what comes our way? And if so who would be an appropriate “authority” to do so? How do we really know what we know if there is only one version of the “truth” available? Are we really that shallow that we can not tell black from white unless assisted?  Would we not know baloney if it stared at us in the face? Perhaps some of us would not. But is that really a problem in a modern society where arguments can be shot down on merit?

Consider the source.

If you are in doubt as to who is oppressing you just take a moment to realize who it is you are not allowed to criticize, said Voltaire. Pastitsio is one of my favorite pasta recipes. It is also becoming a living example of the absurdity that surrounds us, of the freedom we have handed over without so much as a single complaint. A satirical age pointing out the obvious. The elephant in the room if you may. In a country ravaged by scandal and incompetence it took a day after a question had been posed in the Greek Parliament by the openly racist party of Golden Dawn (as if there were not enough actually serious issues to occupy our limited resources in) for the young man administering a satirical page to get arrested in the land which gave birth to satire and which prides itself of giving birth to all those ideals it no longer respects.

Did the page pose a danger to delicate minds? You can be the judge of that assuming of course you may be allowed to. Did the page pose a threat to national security? Did it incite hatred? I can honestly say it didn’t. I have been a fan of the page since the beginning (would you like to arrest me too?) and the only pure, unadulterated hatred I have seen was coming from those who claimed to speak for the “Christian love” front.  On the contrary, the monk the page was spoofing was not as subtle. Direct in his hatred of Turkish people, unapologetic in his stance, he advocated war and spoke to lizards. But he is not on the witness stand, now, is he?

Bottom lime is, do we really want someone else deciding what is available for us, to read, to examine, to demolish if we must? Who is to decide what is harmful and what is not? Do you want someone else deciding for you what you may become aware of or not? Does a doctrine which spills so much hatred for so many different groups of our fellow human beings have a moral standing to demand selective silencing? Should I be expecting the police? Oh well, at least I have an awesome lawyer…

Rotten Eggs

I knew it. I could play shocked and indignant but that would be just plain lying. It was just a matter of numbers and not really a matter of fact. The fact had already been decided. It had been brewing for a very long time and not only did we not do anything to make sure decisions that may stigmatize our already wounded image and divide our already shattered people, were at least not taken lightly, but we also reached for the hammer to smack our own fingers with and then complained loudly that it really hurt.

I am of course speaking of the rise of Nazi friendly extremist party Golden Dawn and its entrance in the Greek parliament.

I confess. On election night I got a measly two hours’ worth of sleep. It was not so much the breathtaking anticipation for a result more or less expected, nor was it the “surprising turn of events” which, if we are to be brutally honest, were to the only ones possible under the circumstances and thus not as much a surprise as the media made it out to be. It wasn’t even the completely human reaction of frustration as I watched dangerous and, quite frankly embarrassing extremes triumphantly gaining access to the Parliament (and all benefits stemming from this, such as immunity and, yes, a stand from which hatred and fascism may propagate right in the heart of the country which boasts to have invented democracy but has done very little ever since).

I already knew the Golden Dawn (or as some – unaffiliated to me – parties call them the Golden Eggs, due to the unintentionally hilarious resemblance of the Greek word for “dawn” and that for “eggs”) was here to stay. We nourished them. We made sure they gained support. I could not remove myself from my monitor any more than one can turn away from a nasty car wreck.

I must admit that 7% was indeed hard to swallow. The optimist in me – whom I am trying very hard to suppress – refused to take it in. People have reached their limit, I thought. Somehow they needed to revolt. And since an actual revolution is neither feasible nor desirable at the moment, the folk has decided to punish those they saw as shameless ‘pimps’ (and not without justification may I add) the only way they knew how: with their vote.

The rotten system made it possible, I thought/hoped, for votes of punishment, votes of rage to manifest themselves in such a forceful manner and not the fact that Greek people had turned racist overnight. But who is this system exactly? The system, for me, is nothing strange, nothing detached from us all. It is not the New World Order and it is not the (externally and maliciously controlled) media all on their lonesome. It is not just the corrupt politicians sucking our blood for decades with our consent, with out vote which we have in the past squandered without hint of consideration of what our choices du jour may one day mean, not for our children – because the dagger had already fallen – but for ourselves in ten, twenty years time.

We are the system. We are the ones who fed the Golden snake in our own bosoms and now we have to live with the consequences. For the first time in years voting has become what it has always been, or at least what it was supposed to be: the token of our responsibility regarding our future. And for the first time in decades, the future is not some kind of an abstract concept, it is not about how many ‘favors’ we may secure for ourselves within a few months. It is not about squeezing into an unmovable position within the – already overwhelmed – public sector and it is not about ideology. It is about survival. It is about truth or lie.

We are still new to this [disclaimer: there is of course a portion of the people who carefully consider their vote, aware as they had always been of the weight it carries. I am not referring to those, whether we agree politically or not]. It may take a while to get the hang of it. But, if there is a single positive thing that I may keep out of this debacle, is that for the very first time, the realization that accountability is not a foreign country has finally hit home and the people decided to show the two major parties ruling the country for the past thirty something years at least the door.

Of course, this novelty, just like all others, has the side effect of exposing rotting wounds. Wounds that had always been there but had never seen the light before because they simply never had to, comfortably covered as they were under the blanket of more ‘acceptable’ domains. Whether these wounds will ever get a chance to heal remains to be seen, but as I woke up, to a different era it seemed, the next day, and I watched the video with the bald (not bold) and puffed up ‘Aryan’ barking military orders to the press, forcing them to a standing ovation for the arrival of the Führer (oops, I meant to say leader) I had the most peculiar feeling of my blood boiling with rage while at the same time laughing out loud at the absurdity of it all. Had it not been dead serious, the short clip would be just the kind of material first class stand up comedy comes from.

But it was. Serious that is. It seems that the blanket exclusion policy which had been so dear to the media, along with all the blatant lies by those who fancied themselves the “one responsible solution” (the same ones who drove the country to desperation in the first place) and who did get all the available air time, had backfired. All that was accomplished was the slap in the face delivered on Sunday night by people who clearly lack in understanding of politics but more than make up for that shortcoming with a surplus of rage and a convenient outlet.

Ostracized and kept out of the spotlight deliberately, the Golden Dawn flourished within its mystery. And, without being given the chance to publically embarrass themselves – as they no doubt would have done – or show their true ugly colors, their appeal grew. It grew among the young and the old alike. It grew among those feeling like virtual prisoners in the center of Athens, those who watched as the neighborhoods turned into vicious ghettos and the buildings into depositories of lost souls.

Xenophobia was cultivated out of the fear and the failure for measures to be taken in order to control the phenomenon. It found fertile ground where even the hint that there was a problem was attacked as racist and politically incorrect. The conditions were ideal for Golden Dawn to step right in and play those fears for their political benefit, become the batman of a dark and hostile Gotham city, marginally still within the law, sometimes well outside of it.  Old ladies who otherwise felt (and actually were) well and utterly abandoned, acquired escort to the ATMs and anyone resembling anything other than Greek (though I must admit I am not sure about the criteria used, other than the obvious skin color) ran the risk of being trampled upon and beaten up. Fear ruled the country. And fear can produce some pretty faulty logic.

With unemployment climbing to a staggering 21.8% from 9.43% which had been the average rate between 1985 and 2010, and suicide rate increasing by 40% for the country which had previously held the record for less suicides in Europe, every unemployed youth watching their benefits shrink, their expenses catapulting through the roof and their chances of employment slim, becomes a soldier, and every pensioner shooting themselves in the head or jumping off a bridge a martyr. The world can only be seen through a distorted filter of fear and bitterness. The need to blame someone, to do something.

I doubt that the little old lady, standing proudly in front of the cameras and stating that she is a supporter of the Golden Dawn is a Hitler sympathizer or a holocaust denier for that matter. I doubt she even knows what her vote represented. To her, all that is real is the tragedy of her situation and her anger. Depression breeds misery, misery breeds paranoia and paranoia breeds extremism. Just a fleeting look at history will prove that. People don’t suddenly begin to hate other people because they are bored in their abundance any more than people may decide to blow themselves up in the middle of a crowded square because they were having too much good sex.

And it is not just Greece. People are ‘revolting everywhere it seems. When France went to the ballot, it was not just Sarkozy they were giving the middle finger to. It was a policy of unbearable austerity they were reacting to. So it was out with the old, tested and failed formula and in with the new, the perceived ‘radical’, the much dreaded left side. And esteemed spines of bankers, euro supporters and conservative government officials felt the chill. Marine Le Pen gathered 17% of the vote stepping on the very same ‘principles’ and tactics which made the Golden Dawn into a topic of conversation: the ‘bad’ foreigners and the ‘holy’ patriotism. A sustainable solution for a real problem not even discussed. When frustrated voters got their moment it was a case of hand hurts, hand cut off.

But how does the people’s wrath, as expressed by the election results wherever the austerity policy had been offered for judgment, affect stability, not only for the Eurozone but also for the European Union itself, after the spectacular failure of the Lisbon Treaty to create a political union with centralized functions and the subsequent attempts to go about it through the back door?

Opinions not only vary dramatically, but ‘experts’ of all kinds express views diametrically different from one another and extremely polarized. The only common ground? The future appears bleak. Whether Greece is forced to leave the monetary union (even under ‘radical’ left leadership a voluntary retreat is not considered an option and is not supported by the vast majority of people) or not, the Euro as a currency is on shaky ground, and Giscard D Estaing’s dream of a United States of Europe drifts further and further away. Amidst chaos and stern warnings that voting according to sentimental foolishness instead of much needed logic and level headedness will signal complete and utter annihilation for Greece – and possibly irreversible adverse effects upon the rest of the Union – on the one hand and praise for the courage to vote down the two main parties responsible for the current desperate situation as a sign that there is yet some wiggling room for the alteration of the heavy burden most of the people simply can not bare on the other, Golden Dawns all over Europe gain power by the minute.

          Such opportunistic organizations find breeding ground in turmoil. And not just at the heart of the storm either. Countries such as Germany or Austria have been doing great. In fact, it is safe to assert that Germany has not only managed to recover completely from total devastation after World War II, but it has managed to become the leading power of Europe. It makes sense to brand the Greeks as the unruly fools, lazy and stubborn and set to create problems instead of feeling gratitude towards their benefactors. Public opinion in Germany and Austria has grown impatient. And as the Nazi sympathizers hold a candle lit vigil by Vienna’s Hofburg and the National Democratic Party (NPD) in Germany getting 9.8% in elections, a very alarming trend is becoming evident. An us versus them

          To be fair, it does appear that Germany and Austria have indeed learned from history and have emerged wiser for it. The mere existence of such phenomena doesn’t characterize those countries any more than Golden Dawn’s success characterizes Greece. Human hatred and stupidity knows no borders and where there is a depression some degree of polarization is to be expected. Germany has tried to declare the NPD illegal (although the case was thrown out by the Constitutional Court) and in Austria openly expressing Nazi affiliated views and denying the Holocaust may lead to a lengthy prison sentence.

The vast majority of the people feel very passionate when it comes to such damaging ideologies and are very vocal about it. More than 2000 people gathered for a counter protest last week in Vienna as the sympathizers with the candles had to be protected by a sizeable police force and Nazi sympathizer and Holocaust denier Gottfried Küssel, up for trial by jury next Monday, is facing up to ten years imprisonment, for doing and saying pretty much the same things as Golden Dawn’s leader Michaloliakos in Greece.

          But what does all this mean in practical terms? Are we headed for a head on collision with each other, blinded by carefully cultivated hatred and pushed to the limit by countries falling apart? I believe the rise of the Golden Dawn is a tragic but fully understandable phenomenon, something between an oversized bubble with no real essence and a real problem we, as a society (and I do not mean just the Greek society) need to keep a very close eye on. It should serve as a warning. One we need to take very seriously. We can no longer afford to ignore real problems of real people and to brush genuine desperation under the carpet of political necessity, no matter how pristine we want it to look.

          I personally disagree with Austria’s approach even though I understand fully well where it all stems from. I disagree because I see the results such a policy had when it was applied to the Greek reality – albeit unofficially. Michaloliakos had no legal consequences to fear as among other equally infuriating things, he saluted Nazi style on his first day as a local representative, as he denied being a Nazi while openly idolizing Hitler, “the great Leader” and dismissed the number of Jewish people (77.377 of which of Greek origin, 50.000 members of the Jewish community in Thessaloniki, practically the entire community) as an overestimate, denied gas chambers existed and claimed that in a war atrocities happen on all sides and are nothing vile or unusual.

He was, however, pretty much gagged, banned from all media. Marginalized. He was never given the opportunity to embarrass himself. Instead, he became the oppressed hero of the oppressed Greek people who felt betrayed by their own country. When a small local television channel accepted to host one of the Golden Dawn candidates, they were attacked on air with eggs and yoghourt (to show, among other things we are not starving). The result: Michaloliakos became the valiant underdog. He appealed to fear and rage. And he won. Instead of focusing on the very real criminal actions attributed to members of the group, investigating and establishing the connection and making sure criminal actions are brought to justice, society focused on words. Words that might have never gained momentum had they been allowed to be heard.

          Whether we like it or not (clue: we don’t really) Golden Dawn was elected. It represents the people who voted for them and, regardless of the reasons which led them to this absurd choice, they are too many to ignore. Perhaps the wisest thing to do is to let the ‘Pure blooded Greeks’ show us who they are (as they did on election night) instead of letting those who voted for them out of disillusionment alone imagine what they might be. Demand clear, public answers on their exact beliefs, position and aspirations. Perhaps then the bubble will burst. But, sadly, even when it inevitably does, the gangrene has already spread far enough. And for as long as we find ourselves in the middle of the perfect storm, not knowing whether we will survive the next day or not, phenomena like the Golden Dawn will unfortunately accompany our painful journey. 

on sluts

I was at my local bar the other day. I had been writing all day and needed a break. I do that sometimes. It is very practical since I know most people there and live around the corner. I ran into a male acquaintance of mine and we had a rather pleasant chat. We happened to leave the bar at the same time at around midnight. As I was returning from having retrieved my coat I caught the bartender – whom I also know – winking to the guy. “I see you got lucky.” he said.

“Can you believe that?” I asked the guy as soon as we were out the door.

“I know. Silly.” he said, “Don't give it another thought.”

Well, I obviously did, mostly because I couldn't understand why I had been so disproportionally bothered with a silly comment like that until I realized it wasn't about that at all.

In my life I have been called a whore. And a feminist. On numerous occasions. Both assertions are rather misleading and excruciatingly tedious as a) I do not consider myself either and b) I do not regard either as a bona fide derogatory term to begin with. So, usually, after the proverbial shrugging of the shoulders I never gave such conclusions about me or more accurately said women like myself another thought.

I have been called a whore and a feminist. The “blows” were delivered directly and indirectly alike. Harsh language was sometimes deployed and then on other occasions a subtle, sneakier approach was used. But the message as to what I was – or what I could potentially be perceived as if I wasn't smart enough to play by the “rules” – was loud and clear.

It pays to be the good girl. Let stagnant waters rest. Embrace what has never been challenged and thank society for protecting you from your evil self. Ignore the standards we have set for you without your consent and you will be branded with a scarlet letter the size of your head, ostracized, ridiculed. Speak against the Rules and you can go about the rest of your days branded as a man hating caricature with hairy armpits and a few spare bras to burn for no particular reason.

It seems to me that there is nothing I can say – which doesn't make me sound like a pathetic little pushover – and no decision I can make regarding my own body which wouldn't have me doomed.

I was born in Greece. This is where I spent my early childhood. For those who are not that familiar with the land of gyros, eternal sunshine and clueless economics, Greece is a strictly Orthodox land. It says so explicitly in our Constitution. The land basking in pride of past magnificence, the same which gave the world democracy has been failing to protect its own ideals and values for centuries. Amidst pompous yet all the same unfounded reassurances that freedom of religion (never from, by the way) and the secular nature of the state “in all ways that really matter” the core issue remains.

There is no separation between state and church and, indeed, some are “more equal than others”, namely the Greek Orthodox Church. Blasphemy is still a punishable offense according to the Greek Penal Code (even though it is doubtful whether anyone has been punished under Articles 198 and 199 lately, given that the injured party has been notoriously silent for the last 2000 years at least, and the rest of the believers are just as guilty as each other when it comes to everyday cursing of all that can be cursed, Mediterranean style, and yes, deity included as a casual stroll down a busy avenue will quickly demonstrate).

The church is directly subsidized by the state, never properly taxed, with the education and salary of its clergy paid by tax money – a sizable portion of which stems from people of no faith like myself. And of course women are especially “cherished”. There is an entire peninsula up north with a clear border and special police to guard it from dirty little things with a vagina. Mount Athos it is called and it is delightfully welcoming to all those who wish to visit and possess a penis.

As a child of a secular family I nevertheless had to endure years of forced and rather shameless catechism at school where I got to be told under no uncertain terms that I was a curse. A potential harlot. Of course the word was never used and the fat bellied priest commissioned to teach us how we are all flawed - boys and girls alike – and lead us safely into servitude did his best to appear kind, unassuming even.

God loved both boys and girls, I was told. But girls had been especially naughty and let god down. It was called the “forbidden fruit”, the apple that symbolized our greed and ungratefulness towards the kind creator (or indeed perhaps something as tedious as the much dreaded sexual act). And Eve just couldn't help herself. Like Pandora before her, her true female nature got the better of her. Curiosity, lust, manipulation. All female traits. This we were actually told explicitly. Female nature, traits hopelessly engraved into our very being. Destined to be equal to someone a lot more equal than ourselves. The perfect harmony... man is the head of the woman as god is the head of the church. The travesty of the notion that the first man begot the first woman and not the other way around. God loved both boys and girls. But Eve had let him down. And we all have been paying dearly ever since.

And that is just the innocent part. The rosy image thrust forward into our faces early enough so that it may be imprinted deeply enough to quench any doubt that might arise in the process between being children and relying on what we are being told and adults in a world of rapidly shared information which can no longer be controlled or censored. The really dirty stuff is kept a well guarded secret, reserved just for the highest level of brainwashing for those who are so hooked by the drug freely served to them while the state lays idly on its back, violated by those one has no option to elect and no choice but to accept as major influencing forces. Ironically, the “secret” is kept by the most powerful method of concealment. Hidden in plain light. Available to anyone who wishes to read what we are not told at school, what is never brought up in the loving sermons, “god's” opinion of women is stripped naked and looking uglier than my ex. Only no one bothers to look. Reading takes effort. Thinking even more so. And with “salvation” in the bag why bother?

For those who do make it to the highest level of devotion verses such as the following “women submit to your husbands as to the Lord” [Ephesians 5.22] “For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior” [Ephesians 5.23] and an astounding plethora of purely misogynistic passages in holy books and religious commentaries alike would fail to shock them. They have already been convinced of the impossible.

So, let's get back to the part where I get to be the slut shall we? Once we accept that I not only descent from that treacherous Eve, but also have to carry god's stamp of disapproval through the centuries, the slippery slope is not that subtle.

Virginity. Is there anything else praised in the Bible more explicitly than a stretch of skin between our legs? Used to arbitrarily reenforce the divine nature of the alleged offspring of a Jewish girl some 2000 years ago, the absolute absence of sexual experience has been praised like no other thing has ever been praised before or since. Society has since evolved and most people in the Western world today have managed to finally reject virginity as a means for measuring another human being's worth in today's society but are we really free from this “requirement” in a real sense of the word?

Truth be told, the vast majority of people do not hold any unrealistic expectations about a woman's past. It is short of a given that people can and will derive pleasure from the voluntary disposition of their bodies in ways that would have the most conservative among us blush in shame and curse instead of joining in, but the double standard is alive and well and messing with us all, making sure those who favor pleasure never do so without a persistent thorn in our sides and those who don't have a ready and respectable alibi and a legitimate outlet for emotions varying in value from the classic sour grapes to a more complicated human yearning to somehow find an avenue traveling upon which would validate one's moral supremacy over another. For, if a person can be summarily discredited according to something as mundane as sexual activity no additional effort needs to be made. Case established. There are sluts and there is us. Line drawn. Distinction made. Nothing more to ponder upon, and there is thousands of years' worth of lore just to make it easier.

Challenging what so called figures of authority, such as church leaders and the like, have to say about our sexuality is a relatively recent privilege. The best we women could hope for in the not so distant past was a good old burning at the stake (ratio of women witches tortured and murdered for their supposed alliance to the devil in the New World alone 20 to 1) But are we really in a position where we can genuinely claim to be free from medieval prejudices? Can we claim to be enlightened in an era that – granted – we may not be stoned for speaking in favor of premarital sexual relations (let alone engaging in them), but when all the same we participate in what seems to be a perfectly sociably accepted practice of slut shaming?

Women were considered to be a man'sproperty in many societies. The vessel through which children come into the world. And in the pre Maury era it was let's say not uncommon for the heir of the father's wealth to resemble, say the milkman. There can never be any doubt as a child's mother but the father is yet another issue.

So chastity was:

"upon t h a t all t h e

property in t h e world depends." 54 As for adultery, "confusion of

progeny constitutes t h e essence of t h e crime; and therefore a woman

who breaks her marriage vows is much more criminal t h a n a man who

does i t . A man, to be sure, is criminal in t h e sight of God; b u t he

does not do his wife a very material injury, if he does not insult h e r ;

if, for instance, from mere wantonness of appetite, h e steals privately

t o her chambermaid. Sir, a wife ought not greatly to resent this. I

would not receive home a daughter who had run away from her hus-

band on t h a t account.55 . . . Wise married women don't trouble them-

selves about infidelity in their husbands . . . . T h e man imposes no

bastards upon his wife."

… says a much celebrated ethograph of British Society and morals and recent research from the Liverpool John Moors University suggesting that 1 in 25 fathers are blisfull in their ignorance while raising another man's offspring, gives him at least some credit. Kingdoms and castles depended upon the authenticity of the heir, so sex was something women were not supposed to even like, but rather endure.

Good women were never perceived to be sexual beings. We were rather conquered, seduced, somehow persuaded by the wreched creatures with a penis into “giving ourselves” to them. This was the way things were programmed. Men were supposed to be the only party to benefit from the sexual act while good women were supposed to endure it – and always within the marital bed. And phrases like “why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free” have since gained mementum and are regarded as words of utter wisdom by many people even to this day. Powerful men, from Henry the I to George IV were expected to have multiple mistresses while women were expected to remain either virgins or chaste within marriage (there was of course a third “option”, the actual prostitution but let's not go down that road just yet)

Things are of course different now. Greece remains a deeply religious country but the “acceptable morals” of the land have drastically changed. Virginity is no longer a vital requirement for marriage and people are free to enjoy pre marital sex, to have access to contraception and abortion services. We all like to think of ourselves as modern citizens of the civilized world and none of us feels comfortable even thinking how scary it is that within our lifetime phenomena still persisted such as the celebratory display of the bloodstained matrimonial sheet the morning after the wedding in the villages (for the honor of which many a rooster have met their gruesome end) and which continues to this day in modern day Greece in the Roma communities (the analysis of which deserves a whole different article) but are we really as free as we think?

Sometimes I get the feeling that ours is a generation of confusion. A time of no clear identity, no proper beliefs. Caught between the past and the future we embrace the benefits we can get and celebrate our new found freedom but at the same time we seem very reluctant to let go of the one weapon we had upon which we can emerge the better person. The better Christian. The better mom. The gauge against which most people will and do fail. The product of dual morality one reserved for ourselves, equipped with all shorts of allowances and excuses we don't actually need, and one for all the rest. Of course people are having sex. They may even choose to boast about it in their young and drunken years of vanity. But good women are still mongoamous and prefer stable affairs. They don't change their partners like they change their shoes. Whether those liaisons would eventually lead to marriage or not is besides the point. Women exhibiting a casual sexual behavior are still “sluts”.

Which brings me to the second “accusation”. No, I am not a feminist. I never identified myself as such – even though I must admit I find it rather baffling that the notion should attract such volatile negativity. I am not one, not because I do not hold the core issue of the movement to heart [which by the way is not to castrate all men, but to ask for equal rights for both sexes in all aspects]. Far from it. I demand equal rights for everyone. That includes homosexuals, people of a different color, whether their boobs are big or their nose is funny, I don't care. I identify more with the notion of a human being. I do not hate men. I am not afraid of men. I do not wish to wage war with men. I do not believe value and intelligence have anything to do with sex. The reason why I am not a feminist is because my greatest hero in the world – that would the coolest father of the universe – also happens to embrace the same values and he made sure to pass them along. For my father, there is nothing I couldn't accomplish regardless of my sex and he made sure I knew it. So I guess I never had to be one.

I was not even made aware that my having a vagina might be an issue in any aspect of my life. The first time I came across sexist remarks was at school when one of the boys told me “I should go back to the kitchen where I belong” and I told him to suck it (I did get much better with my comebacks in time though). But as I said not for a minute did I take any of this seriously. People could either accept an inequality or not and I have always lived my life as an equal. There was no debating and no fighting. Perhaps it was wrong. But that was the reasoning.

Of course, I had difficulties as a small blond woman in a male dominated profession of criminal defense. Of course I felt intimidated at times and yes, in some cases even scolded, but I never made it out to be about my gender. People seek other people's weaknesses by which they can attack in an environment like the criminal court. And when they don't find a legitimate one they will make sure to create one. What I did instead was try to turn my “disadvantage” into an advantage. And it worked. My opponents were too quick to underestimate me and they did so always to their detriment. The police officers were polite to a “lady” and never complained when a prison visit lasted a bit longer than visiting hours. My clients trusted me. It worked fine. I thought we shape the world we live in by vewing it one way or the other and I wasn't prepared to view it as a place where I had to struggle for recognition.

So why am I writing about sluts again?

I guess a time comes when some issues become harder and harder to ignore.

When the Bishop of Thessaloniki, a ruthless taliban of Orthodoxy with a bad habit to stick his nose where it doesn't belong (namely my bedroom or politics for instance) made his – now infamous – sermon about how we are all whores, people laughed. Including me. So, according to Anthimos any sexual relationship outside the Orthodox marriage is whoredom and those engaging in such activities are whores. Couples opting for a civil matrimony and followers of other faiths worldwide included. Of course no one can take this lunatic seriously, only problem is a lot do. Still. And when Rush Limbaugh launched his disgusting attack on Sandra Fluke, the courageous law student who testified about contraception he echoed our own looney toon. The world was accordingly appalled but not everyone. A very big portion of the people in America of today backed this man's vile stream of vomit as the chose to stand against their country's moral downfall, (which of course would be inevitably be brough about by women controlling their own reproduction). Countless documentaries spring out of nowhere to attack the notion of feminism and the preposterous premise that women may wish to enjoy a sex life the same way a man does instead of bringing children she has not wished for into this world. And the fact that to this day small girls are held down in order to have their clitoris mutilated by other women so that sex could never be an enjoyable experience for them – as demanded by the good girl doctrine which knows no borders makes the issue even more serious. It concerns us not as women but as human beings.

Feminism is bad we are told. It promotes the sneaky agenda of the supremacy of the female gender over the male. It destroyes the family unit (just like gay marriage will) and feminists are ugly, men hating zealots or lesbians for that matter. A woman becomes enslaved through her liberation and unhappy in a miserable existence of being exploited by men for sexual reasons (because as I mentioned before, women give sex to men, something like a favor). They are objectified through their revealing clothing (adorned for the benefit of men of course, never for our own enjoyment) and inviting – practically begging for – rape.

And this nonsense has been drilled so deep into our minds it has become an instinct. It is perfectly acceptable to advise a woman to not go out unescorted. To not dress provocatively. To not drink. As if any of these things will make rape less likely. As if any of these things were to ever attribute some form of contributory negligence burden to the victim of a crime. Instead of teaching men not to rape we still teach women not to get raped, and we should know by now that this simply isn't possible.

I believe the turning point which led me to the active defense of logic and reason against deeply rooted superstition poisoning our lives was an evening spent in the company of some young Maroccan activists (otherwise educated and softly spoken) in Brussels. It was a summer night and I had to listen to them calling me a whore. Not to my face of course. They were talking in general about how western women – like myself – are such an insult to them with their uncovered arms and vanity and how they – we – all deserve humilating rape as a “punishment” for not submitting.

“It's not as if they haven't been fucked before.” added one of them.

So. yes. It matters.

Because just how can a slut be defined? Is it the way she dresses? Is it her job? Is it the way she thinks? Is it the number of her lovers? And if so how does one get the appropriate number to fit the definition? Through bartering (because I am sure 72 was not the initial number of the virgins offered in the islamic afterlife)? And who is the authority to decide that? And what should her punishement be? Degradation? A swift drop in her value as a marriable comodity? Rape? Stoning? Where does it stop?

I am a liberal person. I treasure freedom, especially now when I read enough and I have seen enough to know not to take it for granted. That of course alone automatically makes me a whore (and a feminist). People assume that because I condone any sexual behavior between consenting adults that I also indulge. That, of course would be nobody's business but my own. I am not about to embark upon an analysis of my sexual habits. Just like most women I know, no, I do not sleep with every man I am seen speaking to at a bar. No, just because I slept with someone in the past doesn't mean I will automatically sleep with you as well. The fact that I am not a virgin doesn't make me fair game. If you see me sitting alone it is not an invitation. It seems I can hardly ever win. If I call you I am a stalker. If I don't call you I am a lesbian. If I don't sleep with you I am a prude. If I sleep with you I am a slut who will sleep with everyone. If I use contraception I am apparently trying to destroy society's fabric and if I don't and happen to get pregnant then I am idiot and have to deal with that but of course abortion is evil (and that should cover both liberal and conseravtive audiences)

Society is evolving and one of my greatest wishes right now is for people to stop obsessing about what is found between our legs and concentrate on what is between our ears. Much more more happiness will come to us if we treat each other like human beings and not like potential players to our innermost fantasies. Sluts are dead. Get used to it. 

fairwell to a gadfly

     This isn't the way I imagined my first post to come about. Nor would this morbid topic parade anywhere near the top choices list. But true to its cynical love for the unexpected, life has thrown something worthy of discussion my way this morning. Something which jolted me into action in the most unpleasant of ways. I was awoken to the terrible news of the passing of one of the most influential atheist intellectuals to ever walk this planet.

      Harsh at times, always unapologetic, Christopher Hitchens died the same way he lived. Giving absurdity the much deserved middle finger a lot have contemplated but few had the guts to deliver.

      Christopher Hitchens did not change my worldview. Far from it, for me it was more of a case of preaching to the choir. In fact, every so often, his tireless polemic and charming arrogance made me wonder whether the overtly militant – if I may use the term even though in the light of recent events in our globe it is blatantly wrong and could be misleading – confrontational rhetoric, the superficial cruelty concealed the very same bitter truth it sought to reveal (at least from the eyes of those not yet too familiar with the process we call thinking).

“You can catch more flies with honey rather than with vinegar”, used to say my late great grandmother. She was a simple woman growing up in impossible times, enduring inconceivable hardships, gathering tons of that abstract stuff we like to refer to as 'experience' only in times of real lack and danger. But did she have a point?

   As expected, Hitchen's death made me ponder upon his personality. He inspired me more than anyone else to soberly look at the world as the imperfect system that it is and still wish to change it, to detest mental slavery and to desire for fellow human beings a swift escape from the chains a they imposed on themselves as a matter of priority. At times I wish the amount of people touched by his fierce logical arguments was the maximum possible. But as I look at Hitchens as a person instead of an idea I have to wonder. Was it really flies Hitchens was after?

     Hitchens could be twice as unpleasant as he could be charming. Mincing words was not the quality that led him to become one of the four horsemen of atheism. But where did subtlety really get anyone?

     I found myself disagreeing with him equally passionately as I agreed with him at times. I often tried to decode my own fury over extreme positions which not only were diametrically opposite to mine, but also bizarrely inappropriate, unfitting, it seemed, to the image I had of him. How is it even possible for such a brilliant brain to come up with any plausible justification for violent war? How could those specific patterns of thought lead to such blatant disregard of the notion of sovereignty and the fallacy of justice – surely as easy to determine as other fellow fallacies he was so keen to point out? Dressing his arguments with the urgency of emotion (which he so passionately claimed to despise) seemed redundant and the ideology of a superhero country never went down that well with me in the first place.

    I am of course guilty of fallacious reasoning myself. Having literally devoured each piece of writing this brilliant thinker has produced that I could get my hands on, I became victim to my own thinking process. It has been so often said about Christopher Hitchens that his deeply personal, almost conversational style of writing, has created a bond between him and his readers, in the context of which one may almost believe that they know the man. But in reality none of us knew Christopher Hitchens. Not unless we belonged to his close circle of friends or his family. We simply knew what the guy thought about a restricted number of topics (which is of course not to suggest that his contribution was negligible – far from it, the man tackled issues ranging in diversity from Mother Theresa to women and humor, to drinking advice. But a man's personality is comprised as much by what he chooses to conceal as it does by what becomes public domain.)

So who was Christopher Hitchens? And did he catch any flies?

     He was a man capable of provoking passion. He was either loved or hated with passion. The mild, diplomatic middle way and my great grandmother's advice were of no interest to him and this is precisely why I feel so compelled to write about him. Even beyond the grave Hitchens has not ceased to provoke. And as for the flies... I happen to be convinced that nothing Hitchens or Dawkins or God himself for that matter can say will ever be enough to shake anyone out of a position of absolute conviction. The devout pride themselves in their inflexibility as if it was an asset. When asked if there is a single piece of evidence that may convince them their position is erroneous they would probably spit in your face. Both honey and vinegar would certainly prove highly ineffective for those allergic to thought.

Hitchens was clearly not addressing them.

     Nor was he interested in catching any flies or converting anyone at all for that matter. He was merely advocating away from the illusion that the truth may hide in numbers or that facts may give a donkey's behind for people's feelings. He was fighting an invisible, yet very real war, against those seeking to oppose their questionable morality – as filtered through centuries of rigid oppression to conveniently fit their own convictions – upon everyone. He objected as people justified bigotry as part of doctrine and defied those who tried to keep these issues immune from criticism.

      Perhaps the time was already ripe and perhaps if Hitchens had not chosen or bothered to go down that frustrating path (anyone who has ever debated on the subject of religion knows what I mean) someone else would have, but the fact still remains that he did. And because he challenged dusty ancient nonsense still affecting our lives and littering our conscious and unconscious with useless garbage and misplaced guilt, (subjects previously considered taboo) the path has now opened for the rest of us to live by his example and fight for mental freedom as if our lives depend upon it.

     Pragmatic ethics is not a novel concept. In fact some argue that it has been around as early as ancient Athens, with Socrates assuming the role of the annoying gadfly Athenian society (likened to an idle and lazy horse) badly needed in order to be provoked into taking action. His servitude to the human intellect didn't earn Socrates any friends among those he criticized either and the only flies he managed to get were to be born millenia later. Instead he received a 'thank you and goodbye' shot of hemlock for his trouble, a fate that no doubt would have awaited Christopher Hitchens and the likes of him had he dared to be himself in a less tolerant century or a less tolerant 'republic'.

     But this time around things were different. Society was ripe and the man was allowed to slip away surrounded by friends and family, prompting snide remarks and perverse, albeit void satisfaction at the completely ludicrous assumption that he is now rotting in an imaginary place called hell, thus proving his point on morality.

   The venomous post-mortem insults, the war on trending titles on twitter, the endless streams dominating social media pages and blogs, it looks like the flies have indeed been caught. But those are a different kind of flies, the kind that are now joining in the fun to be had stinging idle horses out of apathy. One fly is easy to get squashed but when the flies become an army there is no ignoring them.

    To credit Christopher Hitchens with the revolution against absurdity may be unfair to the overall picture. He is one of many loud voices. Social evolution was achieved painfully and gradually on the toils, blood and ashes of universal great thinkers such as Galileo, John Huss, Socrates, Spinoza and many more silent heroes, whose names we will never learn and many more who are still as we speak suffering, being mutilated, beheaded and otherwise silenced for 'crimes' against an invisible oppressor who supposedly created a faulty world and yet demands for it to repair the irreparable. Hitchens is a part of the bigger picture.

    So, on the aftermath of the death of the one persona who has managed to challenge, infuriate and inspire me, all at the same time, I am led to the conclusion that as far as Christopher Hitchens is concerned I wouldn't change a damn thing. It was about time we had a Hitchens in our world. He may be forever gone but the closest to an afterlife that he did manage to secure for himself is the legacy he has left behind.

     And we have a responsibility to learn from the life and times of this cheekily irreverent, magnificently bright human being. We have to appreciate the rare glimpse we have been privileged to witness inside a beautiful mind. We have to learn to love our species and to accept the responsibility that comes along with a functioning brain. I will be having a double scotch on the rocks tonight in order to celebrate the life of a bona fide gadfly who used neither honey, nor vinegar to catch anyone at all for it had a powerful sting and that's all he needed to get this lazy horse moving.