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SPEAK GREEK SAVVIDIS!

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It is often the case that when businessmen of Greek descent who reside outside of Greece reach a certain level of success, they determine that it becomes appropriate for them to concern themselves with the state of Modern Greece, either via investment or engagement with the Greek political process, such that it is. Georgian-born Ivan Savvidis, a very wealthy and very powerful Russian-Greek parliamentarian and businessman is a case in point. The majority shareholder of Donskoy Tabak, the largest Russian tobacco company, owner of the Rostov-on-Don Football team and appointed Orthodox Knight of the Holy Sepulchre by the Patriarchate of Jerusalem, he also owns within Greece, along with great swathes of real estate, the Greek football team PAOK and his reputed close links with Russian President Vladimir Putin grant his investment endeavours within Greece, along with his public pronouncements in that country, a level of notoriety. 

It was one of Savvidis’ recent pronouncements that caused the ire of many Greeks recently, not because of its content, which was no more or less contentious than any other pronouncement made by a football team owner of his ilk, but rather, because he had the temerity to deliver his speech in Russian, enlisting the assistance of an interpreter in order to make himself understood to his Greek audience. Howls of derision ensued, with some journalists, among them practitioners who have lived and worked in the Diaspora, deriding him firstly for speaking Russian and secondly, for his poor knowledge of Greek. “How dare does this person,” one journalist wrote “not speak Greek when he has been living and investing in Greece for the past six years?” Of course, Savvidis’ background, growing up without Greek language education in the Soviet Union, is completely ignored.
Exploiting a person’s poor knowledge of the Greek language as a means to put them down is a common Greek trait. From time to time, the media loves to pillory Greek Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras for his appalling misuse of the Greek tongue. Owing to the fact that former PM George Papandreou's mother is American, his use of the Greek language was constantly lampooned, as a method of delegitimising him as a worthy leader of the Greek people. Moreover, using a lack of knowledge of the Greek tongue in order to exclude others, has deep historical roots as far as Herodotus, who recorded that all those who do not speak Greek are barbarians. 
We have seen this in our own community, where second-generation would-be participants in organized community affairs historically had their lack of fluency in Greek turned against them by vicious first generation players, in order to portray them as inept, marginalize them and ultimately ensure their exit from a gladiatorial arena maintained exclusively, as it turned out for the first generation. It is only now, that the first generation has entered its terminal decline and English speakers have, in many significant areas, taken control of the Greek-Australian community narrative, that this custom is starting to become obsolete, though it is still prevalent among the suburban brotherhoods, many of which exist cocooned in the omphalocentricity of their leaders’ bile, blissfully unaware of the social developments of the past twenty years. This approach of exclusivity is a mortally sad one, for the manner in which the Greek of our Greek-Australian politicians has improved markedly over the years of their engagement with the Greek community suggests that interaction on the basis of mutual respect does indeed pay linguistic dividends.
I have witnessed the Hellenic “you don’t speak Greek” put down being administered to some august personages. One of these was the late Andrew Athens, the US businessman who was the driving force behind the creation of the Council of Greeks Abroad (SAE). I remember the sniggers of smug Greek public servants every time he opened his mouth to make a speech at sundry SAE conferences. While accompanying him on a fact finding trip to Albania, in order to ascertain the condition of the Greeks of Northern Epirus, he remarked famously at the village of Dervitsiani: «Dεν ήrθαμε να σας υποσχεθούμε πολλά πrάγματα αλλά αν μποrούμε να σας κάνουμε πrάγματα, θα σας κάνουμε τα πrάγματα.» The villagers, who had just spent forty years being persecuted because of their ethnicity and language, were stunned and were barely able to stifle their laughter. The medical clinics, bridges and schools built for the Greek community in Albania as a result of Andrew Athens’ efforts almost twenty years on, places those sniggers in a completely different context.
When I took Andrew Athens aside and asked him whether he felt that his lack of Greek precluded Helladics from taking him seriously, he originally brushed off my question. When prodded however, he remarked characteristically after giving me a brief description of the America he grew up in: “Let them think what they want. I need to get this job done.” From his perspective, his lack of Greek did not preclude him from feeling Greek or acting in what he believed to be the best interests of Hellenism as a whole, a concept which he pioneered in modern times, as transcending the borders of the Hellenic Republic, but which is generally not shared among the inhabitants of that state.
This is interesting, because monolingualism in Greek, and the idea that language is a determinative of identity, as it pertains to Greece is a historical aberration. A multiplicity of languages was spoken in Greece up until modern times, with Arvanite forming a significant and often dominant linguistic bloc in some islands such as Hydra, Corinth and Attica. No one thought to tell Arvanite speaking hero of the Revolution Andreas Miaoulis or those of the Souliotes who were Arvanite speaking that they were lesser Greeks. Similarly, no one thought to tell the Aromanian speaking Vlachs such as Rigas Feraios, who envisaged a free and enlightened Greece, or Greek Prime Minister Ioannis Kolettis, that they were lesser Greeks. Similarly, Kapetan Kotas, the Macedonomach did not speak Greek at all and at his execution, he cried out “Long Live Greece!” in the only language that he knew, the Slavic idiom spoken in Macedonia. Further, when the Greco-Albanian border was delineated, the official Greek policy was that individual consciousness and not language spoken was the primary factor determining ethnic identity because it was correctly understood that a number of factors, including culture, education, religion and association forms one’s understanding of their own affiliations. Modern Greek snobbery against Savvidis language skills and those like him is thus anachronistic as it is nonsensical, yet many of us have been its victims. Dr Vasso Apostolopoulos, who consciously chose to work in Greece in order to lend her expertise to her place of origin is one example that springs to mind.
A Greek-Australian close to Savvidis places another gloss upon language as a means for exclusion in the creation of the modern Greek identity: “Years of insufferable patronizing from the Greeks of Greece has led me to becoming very bitter with them. Even if your Greek is exceptional, at best you will be acknowledged as a very apt imitator, but not as a Greek. If you say quiet and throw money their way, you are an esteemed Greek of the diaspora who is ‘more Greek than the Greeks.’ Have a difference of opinion and power, then you are a pretender who has no idea what he is doing by overstepping the boundaries set up by the keepers of Hellenism. They are the arbiters of how much of a Greek you are. And we are conditioned to seek their approval, even if it causes feelings of self-loathing, that we are second class, wannabe Greeks. I look forward to the day when they can look past the frivolity of an accent and judge a person based on his deeds and commitment.”
The argument that language determines ethnic affiliation is of course farcical and incoherent given that there now exist a multitude of migrants or children of migrants to Greece whose facility in Greek is perfect and who are not accepted as being Greeks by the Greeks of Greece and the diaspora, whose Hellenism these migrants seem to impugn. Perhaps what we are observing then, is the emergence of two separate strands of the Greek identity, one that has its roots in the state of Greece and is BOTH racially and linguistically based and one that has its roots in the diaspora and is also racially but also subjectively based, though for the moment is still psychologically tied to the country of Greece. It will be fascinating to see how this identity will evolve into the future, in the face of the huge social and demographic changes affecting the region.
Being the ethnic exception that proves the linguistic rule, however is this assertion, from a Savvidis insider: “He has stated that the day he learns to speak Greek like the Greeks of Greece, is the day he runs for Greek parliament.” You have been warned oracles of Hellenism. Now burn those dictionaries.


DEAN KALIMNIOU

kalymnios@hotmail.com

First published in NKEE on Saturday 17 June 2017

ΜΕΡΙΚΑ ΛΟΓΙΑ ΓΙΑ ΤΗΝ ΧΘΟΝΙΑ ΓΛΩΣΣΑ ΤΟΥ ΚΩΝΣΤΑΝΤΙΝΟΥ ΚΑΛΥΜΝΙΟΥ

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Η νέα συλλογή του Κωνσταντίνου Καλυμνιού Μητρίδεςθα πρέπει να επιγράφεται Λόγια Πελασγικάαφού αρθρώνεται γύρω από λόγια ασύλληπτα και αδιανόητα που εντοπίζουν το βαθύ χρόνο της εντοπιότητας στην διαχρονική της μνημόνευση. Ο ποιητής όμως προτιμά έναν άλλο τίτλο Μητρίδεςπου ανοίγει και πάλι για τον αναγώστη το διαρκές τραύμα της καταγωγής: η μητρίδα είναι η μητέρα χώρα, themotherland, dasmutterland, ένα μέρος αρχαιογονικό, η χώρα της μητέρας και η μητέρα της χώρας, η θηλυκή αρχή του κοσμικού μυστηρίου που καλύπτει την γενέθλια υποστάση μας. «Μητρςδέ τοι οπατρίς στιν» γράφει κατά έναν περίεργο τρόπο ο Παυσανίας, ενώ στην ύστερη αρχαιότητα ο νεοπλατωνικός Ιάμβλιχος μιλάει για όσους κατέχονται από έκσταση ως ‘μητρίζοντες’. Η λέξη μητρίδα αφορά στο ρήμα είναι, συνιστά την υπαρκτική δήλωση του προσωπικού όντος, αφού είμαστε αυτοί που είμαστε επειδή έχουμε μια μητέρα, μια αρχική εστία. Η ποίηση είναι ο μόνος τόπος όπου το πιστοποιητικό της γεννήσεώς μας υποδεικνύει την οριστική μας οντότητα.
Διαβάζω πολλά χρόνια την ποίηση του Κων. Καλυμνιού. Με εντυπωσίασε η τάση, σχεδόν η ανάγκη του να επεκτείνει τα επιτρεπτά όρια της ελληνικής γλώσσας πέρα από τις συμβάσεις και τις συμβατικότητες της σημερινής γραφής. Από τις πρώτες του συλλογές μέχρι σήμερα ένα γλωσσικό αμάλγαμα συμπιλημένο από λέξεις ετερότροπες και ετερόχρονες, ενσωματωμένες σε μορφές πολύτροπες και ετερολογικές, αρθρωμένες γύρω από αισθητικές πολυειδείς και ετερόρρυθμες, διαμορφώνει ένα καινοφανές γλωσσικό σύμπαν μια παγχρονία του γλωσσικού υποσυνείδητου.
Το γεγονός ότι ο ποιητής είναι άνθρωπος της διασποράς είναι εξίσου σημαντικό αφού απελευθερώνει τον στίχο του από τους γνωστούς συμβιβασμούς των λογοτεχνικών συντεχνιών. Ο ποιητής της διασποράς στέκεται ολομόναχος απέναντι στον απέραντο ωκεανό της ελληνικής και μέσα στο χρόνο που του δίνεται, από τον τόπο που βρίσκεται, προσπαθεί να μετουσιώσει την εμπειρία του σε γλωσσική σημείωση, πολλές φορές χωρίς να ενδιαφέρεται για την προφορικότητα της λαλιάς, του τρόπου δηλαδή που μιλιέται σήμερα στο μητροπολιτικά κέντρα της Ελλάδας.
Ταυτόχρονα, ο Έλληνας ποιητής της Αυστραλίας γράφει διαφορετικά από τον Έλληνα ποιητή της Αμερικής αφού απορροφά ετερρόρυθμες χρονικότητες και γλωσσικές επαφές, ενώ δεν φοβάται να χρησιμοποιήσει διαλεκτισμούς του τόπου καταγωγής του, αφού σε πολλές περιπτώσεις αυτοί έχουν διατηρηθεί ατόφιοι από την πρώτη γενιά της διασποράς και ακούγονται ακόμα και σήμερα στο ακουστικό του βιότοπο.
Κατά έναν ενδιαφέροντα τρόπο, ο Καλυμνιός βρίσκεται σε διαρκή διάλογο με την πολυδιάστατη διαχρονία της ελληνικής: τον ανεξάντλητο θησαυρό της αρχαίας, την πρισματική πολυσυλλαβία της εκκλησιαστικής υμνολογίας, την αρχετυπική τέλος σημειολογία των δημοτικών τραγουδιών. Όλες μαζί οι παραδόσεις συγκλίνουν στα ποιήματά του και δημιουργούν μια γλωσσική ευφορία που παραπέμπει στον Όμηρο, τον Ησίοδο, τους τραγικούς, τον Ρωμανό Μελωδό, τα ακριτικά τραγούδια, τον Ερωτόκριτο, τα δημοτικά τραγούδια της Ηπείρου αλλά και σε σημερινούς ποιητές.
Γενικά ωστόσο αν υπάρχει μια μούσα αρχετύπων αυτή βρίσκεται και ζει στα ποιήματά του: οι στίχοι απλοποιούνται εδώ βρίσκουν την θέση τους μέσα από πυθαγόρειες γεωμετρίες αποκαλύπτοντας ορφικές κοσμολογίες. Η συλλογή αυτή κορυφώνει και σχεδόν ολοκληρώνει μια ποιητική εξερεύνηση του εαυτού μέσα από την πολυεστιακή εκφραστικότητα της ελληνικής. Ο Καλυμνιός επιχειρεί εδώ μια χθόνευσητης γλώσσας του μέσα στην δυναμική πολυφωνία των ηπειρωτικών τραγουδιών, και όπως γνωρίζουμε τα μόνα ελληνικά τραγούδια που είναι πολυφωνικά προέρχονται από την Ήπειρο.
Σαν ιστορικός του πολιτισμού δεν πιστεύω σε ασυνέχειες και ρήξεις. Υπάρχει μια ευδιακριτη μήτρα λόγου σε αυτούς τους πανάρχαιους στίχους
Ζενα Δωδωναε Πελασγικτηλόθι ναίων
Δωδ
ώνης μεδέων δυσχειμέρου, μφδΣελλο
σο
ναίουσποφται νιπτόποδες χαμαιεναι, (Ιλιάδα, Π, 233-236)
Μια μήτρα λόγου που αφού διακλαδωθεί και διυλιστεί μέσα σε νέους ρυθμούς και από διαφορετικές ευαισθησίες επανεμφανίζεται σε παρόμοιους μυστικούς στίχους:
«Στίς ἀγρυπνίες / τῆς ἐσωστρεφοῦς γαλήνης, /  τό ἀνέγγιχτο κληροδότημα / τοῦ ξεριζωμένου δάσους / σταλάζει στ’ἀνάγλυφα / θηλιές ἀπό ρετσίνι. / Σφίγγουν σιωπές ἐκκωφαντικές / γύρω ἀπό τούς λαιμούς / τῶν δακρυσμένων».

Διαβάζοντας αυτούς τους στίχους, λαμβάνεις αμέσως την πρόσκληση να αφομοιωθείς σε ένα λόγο, σε μια σύναξη λέξεων και ψυχών που διαλύουν τις αποστάσεις και συντέμνουν τον χρόνο.  Ανήκουν σε μια ψυχανωδία που θα  μπορούσε κάποιος να την εντοπίσει στην προ-ελληνική πελασγική Ήπειρο, σε μια γλώσσα εξορκισμών και μαγγανείας, που σιγά σιγά φωτοδοτείται και διαυγάζεται από την ιστορική περιπέτεια των ανθρώπων που την κατοίκησαν.
Η γλώσσα είναι η ωκεάνεια διάρκεια, η διάχυση του εαυτού στην πολυμορφία των όντων. Από την προσευχή του Ομήρου μέχρι την Αληπασιάδατου Χατζη-Σεχρέτη μας χωρίζει μόνο μια αυλή, και ένα πηγάδι, όπου αντηχούν οι φωνές και οι ευαισθησίες που έζησαν και μαρτύρησαν στα βράχια και τα γκρεμνά του τόπου:
«Με φέρνει η ζούρλια κι ο σεβδάς δυό λόγους να μιλήσω /Κι αρχίνισα το γράψιμον ολίγον να γλενδίσω./ Παίρνω χαρτί και μιρεκέπ με μια χαράν μεγάλη / Διότ’ έχω πόνους ’ς την καρδιάν και λαύρα ’ς το κεφάλι».
Ο Νίκος Εγγονόπουλος θεωρούσε τον Χατζη-Σεχρέτη τον πρώτο Έλληνα σουρεαλιστή ποιητή  και το αρχηγό μιας σχολής με κέντρο τα Γιάννενα, που συνεχίστηκε με τον Ιωάννη Βηλαρά, τον Γιώργο Ζαλοκώστα τον Κώστα Κρυστάλλη, τον Γιώργο Κοτζιούλα, τον Γιωσέφ Ελιγιά κια πολλούς άλλους.
Το έργο του Καλυμνιού έρχεται να συνδεθεί με αυτήν παράδοση λόγου που παρακολουθεί με περιέργεια την ανθρώπινη παρουσία στην φύση και την ανθρώπινη περιπέτεια στην ιστορία μέσα από μια επίκληση στην χοϊκότητα της ζωής, μιας ζωής που την παρασύρουν τα κύματα των εποχών και οι αναστατώσεις των αντιλήψεων.

Ταυτόχρονα, συνεχίζει την άλλη παράδοση της ελληνικής ποιητικής στην Διασπορά, όπως διαμορφώθηκε με την ολοκλήρωση του έργου των τριών μεγάλων εκφραστών της πρώτης γενιάς, του Δημήτρη Τσαλουμά, της Αντιγόνης Κεφαλά και του Σ.Σ. Χαρκιανάκη. Ο Καλυμνιός παίρνει αυτήν ποιητική και την αναπροσανατολίζει, της ξαναδίνει μια χθόνια εντοπιότητα που συγχωνεύει ευαισθησίες, σύμβολα και ορίζοντες. Διαβάζουμε:

 «Ατοί πού παραμένουν, / θυμονται πάντα / τά λληλοπαθκατευόδια,/ κι ταν τούς πνίγει /βροχή, / κι ταν τούς κυνηγάει / έρας, / κι ταν τούς τυφλώνει / τό φς τοκαντηλιο, / ατοί πού περιμένουν, / πετρώνουν  / σάν τούς τάφους, / πού τούς σπειραν / γιά νά φυτρώσουν σιτάρι / καί νά τούς θυμονται».

Υποθέτω ότι η λέξη ήπειρος πρέπει να προέρχεται από το άπειρο ή το άπερο, το ατέρμονο και χωρίς σύνορο, γιατί πιο πολύ είναι μια στάση του νου και μια υλική πραγματικότητα, μια μνήμη και μια ανάμνηση, μια διαρκής παρουσία επομένως μέσα στο νου, ένα σύμβολο που φέρνει μαζί. Ο μετανάστης ταξιδεύει στο άπειρο γιατί έρχεται από το χωρίς σύνορο τόπο μιας τοπογραφίας γεμάτη από τραγούδια και σκιές, από ευκλεή πάθη και σκοτεινούς εφιάλτες. Ο Καλυμνιός ζωγραφίζει με τους στίχους του την νοσταλγία και την ευφορία, την μελαγχολία και την αγαλλίαση, τον σκεπτικισμό και την χαρά που νιώθει ο άνθρωπος που βρίσκεται σε μια κατάσταση έντασης  σε μια κατάσταση κρίσης καθώς προσπαθεί από την άλλη μεριά της γης να βρει ισορροπίες, να ρυθμίσει τις πράξεις του και να λυτρώσει την αγωνία του.

Τα ποιήματα των Μητρίδων είναι δώρα ανακαίνισης του ποιητικού λόγου και πρέπει να βρουν το κοινό τους στην Ελλάδα, να ακουστούν ως μια καινούργια φωνή χθόνιας συγγένειας. Κορυφώνουν μια περίπλοκη πορεία σύνθεσης και ανασύνθεσης των ποιητικών μέσων και των αισθητικών δηλώσεων που μπορούν να γίνουν μέσα από μια γλώσσα που έχει συνείδηση της καλλιτεχνικής της ιδιοϋφίας. Δεν μιλάνε την αθηναϊκή κοινή όπως έχει διαμορφωθεί από τις εφημερίδες και τα μέσα μαζικής επικοινωνίας. Δεν υποκρίνονται ότι ηχογραφούν την καθημερινή λαλιά ούτε αναπαράγουν τον μεγάλο δαίμονα της σύγχρονης γραφής, την προφορικότητα. Αντίθετα διακρίνονται από μια αγάπη για την μορφή και την μορφοποίηση, πράγμα που υποδεικνύει ένα κλασσικισμό, σχεδόν μια αρχαϊκή αυστηρά αρμονία, όπως θα έγραφε και ο αρχαίος τεχνοκριτικός. Οι σύνθετες λέξεις, οι ασυνήθιστες συνάψεις, οι απροσδόκητοι συνδυασμοί δημιουργούν ένα είδος αισθητικού αιφνιδιασμού που παραξενεύει και εμπνέει τον αναγνώστη.

Ο Καλυμνιός μας δίνει μια ποίηση εθνολογική, δηλαδή  ένα λόγο για το έθνος χωρίς κορδακισμούς και φωνασκίες, γιατί το έθνος είναι η περιπέτεια άρθρωσης συλλογικών συμβόλων, που μοιράζονται και εξατομικεύονται από συγκεκριμένα πρόσωπα σε συγκεκριμένο χώρο.

Στο ποίημα «Μητρικό» διαβάζουμε:
«Λίγο πρίν πό τήν πόρτα σου / ψοφον ονείπωτες λέξεις / πού πουσιάζουν / πό τά μεγάλα λεξικά./ Καθισμένα σταυροπόδι / στίς βραχύβιες γλώσσες, /τά λόγια κενα / πού επώθηκαν
κάποτε, / τώρα μόνο ντηχον / στά πόφωνά τους».
Οι βραχύβιες γλώσσες υπάρχουν εξ αιτίας μιας μακρόβιας γλώσσας, αυτής που ξεκινάει από μια ταπεινή προσευχή των χαμαιεύναι ιερέων και φτάνει σε μας σήμερα στην διασπορά, στην εξακτίνωση του λόγου καθώς αρθρώνει τις ‘ανείπωτες λέξεις’ που κάποια στιγμή αρθρώνουμε όλοι όταν επιθυμούμε να επικοινωνήσουμε μέσα στο χρόνο αλλά και πέρα από αυτόν. Η ποίηση του Καλυμνιού είναι μια ποίηση υπερ-χρονική, μια ποίηση που, όπως πιστεύω, θα νικήσει τον χρόνο και θα λυτρώσει την αγωνία των Ελλήνων της διασποράς, δίνοντας μια ες αεί μαρτυρία της αισθητικής τους συνείδησης.

ΒΡΑΣΙΔΑΣ ΚΑΡΑΛΗΣ, Καθηγητής Νεοελληνικών Πανεπιστημίου Σύδνεϋ

Το άρθρο πρωτοεκθόδηκε στην εφημερίδα ΝΕΟΣ ΚΟΣΜΟΣ την Πέμπτη 22 Ιουλίου 2017 


TWITTER TWITS

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"But the meanest thing that he ever did 
Was before he left, he went and named me "Sue". 
Well, he must o' thought that is quite a joke 
And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk, 
It seems I had to fight my whole life through. " Johnny Cash "A Boy named Sue."



Not a day goes by where I don’t have a telephone conversation that goes something along these lines:
I: “Hi, I’d like to speak to x”
Interlocutor: “Who is calling?”
I: “Dean Kalimniou.”
Interlocutor: “Kal what?
I: “Kalimniou”
Interlocutor: “How do you spell that?”
I: “K.A.L.I.M.N…”
Interlocutor: “Kalimm?”
I: “No, M.N.”
Interlocutor: “MM?”
I: “No, M for Mary and N for Nelly.”
Interlocutor: “And what did you say your first name was?”
I: “Dean.”
Interlocutor: “Ben?”
I: “No, Dean.”
Interlocutor: “Ian?”
I: “No, Dean.”
Interlocutor: “How do you spell that?”

Six times out of ten, the person I wish to speak to is unavailable and the whole conversation has been for naught, save to irritate me. The irony of it, of course, is that my father changed our surname in English from Kalimnios, or Kalymnios to Kalimniou, on the bizarre grounds that he felt Kalimniou to be more euphonious and infinitely more pronounceable to the Anglo ear than our original name. Apart from spawning more versions of our name in Greek and in English than I have personalities, the abovementioned reform has not contributed in any meaningful way in rendering my new surname any more accessible or articulation-efficient than our previous one. 
I have my mother to thank for my first name Dean. She felt that Konstantinos was too long and that Con had unpleasant connotations, should I ever in the future, enter the class of those who call themselves “professionals.” Sadly, as can be seen above, this Old English name, signifying a valley, is also liable to distortion. This possibly may have to do with the fact that unbeknownst to us, the name Dean is also considered by some to have a Greek derivation: originating from the Greek word «δεκανός» which signifies a monk or dignitary in charge of ten others. Most days, I am barely in control of myself, let along others, which is why I believe that I have borne this name all my life, with great ill-will.
In Supreme Court of Appeal Justice Emilios Kyrou’s autobiography “Call me Emilios,” His Honour outlines the profound psychological reasons that compelled migrants to change their names, including to avoid racism, and as an aid to assimilation. In a recent conversation I had with one particularly sensitive Judge over the bench, he asked me whether migrants felt compelled to change their names in order to “fit in and be accepted” as he put it. “That, and for ease of pronunciation,” I responded, gratified at his nuanced understanding, for I had spent the better part of the morning listening to senior barristers sniggering at what they considered to be the unpronounceability of the majority of the names of the persons involved in the court case we were running, and when they thought I wasn’t listening, my own.
Conversely, in his autobiography, His Honour Justice Kyrou also goes on to show how reclaiming one’s original name can be a profound statement of personal identity. This is the reason why Greek name changers are widely considered with opprobrium by members of our community. Regardless as to how broad one’s knowledge of the Greek language is, or how deep their connection with Greek culture, much of one’s identity seems to hinge upon one’s name and one’s preparedness to bear it, regardless of size. 
And let us face it, in the realm of ethnopolitics, size does matter. In our day and age, name-changers are considered identity denialists and sell-outs, weak individuals who give in to the perceived overwhelming pressure of the dominant culture to assimilate. At the same time that we emulate our Anglo compatriots by stumbling over seemingly unpronounceable Sri Lankan surnames such as Wickramaratne with levity, we also seek to exclude Greeks we possibly do not like, such as Terence Quick or Miltiadis Evert from our own group, on the basis that their names do not conform to our own self-imposed ethnic stereotypes. It should be noted that up until recently, foreign names in the Greek language were generally hellenised in order to make them more intelligible to Greeks and it is only now that foreign names are left intact, though generally rendered in the Latin alphabet, regardless of what the original alphabet the person’s name was written in. We will brook no Cyrillic or Arabic in our patch of the European Union…and the phenomenon of Helladic Geeks retaining the Anglicised versions of the surnames of Greeks Abroad within Greek in order to accentuate their foreignness, (Μαρία Μενούνος instead of Μαρία Μενούνου for example) also should be noted as a reverse phenomenon.

This is what makes Victorian Opposition MP Michael O’ Brien’s recent inexplicable tweet about Victorian Government Minister Jenny Mikakos’ surname even more hurtful. Tweeted he, on his account on 11 June 2017: “I haven’t bothered tweeting Jenny Michalakakos (her name at uni) for a long time but she’s blocked me too. Will respond in kind.” Here O’ Brien appears to be bizarrely emulating the type of reverse nationalism that is usually the preserve of minority ethnopurists, rather than adopting the usual deprecating approach to long names that characterizes increasingly smaller sections of the Anglosphere. The implication of his squawk seems clear: A person who changes their name, thus denying their heritage, is a person who is untrustworthy, for they are concealing their identity, or at odds with themselves and thus not best placed to serve the interests of others. 
Michael O’ Brien’s tweet is particularly cruel, because it mocks the entire Scylla and Charybdis paradigm faced by migrants in Australia, especially post war, compelled to choose between maintaining their original identity and assimilating and in the process, not entirely achieving either. It mocks the harrowing experiences of His Honour Justice Kyrou, who felt compelled to change his name in the face of extreme and violent incidences of racism and only felt comfortable enough to assert his original identity in adulthood, having made remarkable achievements within broader Victorian society. It derides the feelings of embarrassment and frustration caused in migrants and those of ethnic backgrounds when those of the dominant culture mispronounce or make fun or their names, and further pour scorn upon their feelings of guilt and sense that they are betraying their culture when they change their names in order to avoid such incidences. 

In short, this hateful remark has the effect of trivialising and obfuscating a phenomenon of racism whose wounds are still deeply felt down the generations, even when such racism has largely abated in our multicultural society. The roots of the ludicrous change of my family’s surname, for example, lie in the experience of my six year old father seeing his father and entire family ordered off the tram in the late fifties, for having the temerity to speak Greek within it. Thus, when O’ Brien derides Jenny Mikakos for changing her name, he orders me off that tram, again and again and again.
Of course it would be interesting to examine with what credentials O’Brien seeks to abrogate to himself the right to define, compartmentalise and regulate the manner in which members of ethnic minorities in this State, including elected Members of Parliament, define their personal identities, and indeed, dictate the way that this process should evolve over time. Is this Opposition MP’s vision for Victoria one where its citizens inhabit clear, officially drawn categories and stereotypes that are immutable in order to afford easy identification and prevent cultural, racial or other miscegenation? Viewed from this perspective, the implications of O’Brien’s remarks on the multicultural fabric of Victoria are deeply disquieting, indicating why such remarks should not be tolerated.



When I review how many times I try to spell my surname for people daily, or enumerate the number of times modern Greeks misspell my surname as Καλύμνιος instead of Καλυμνιός, or attempt to render Dean Kalimniou in excrescent antipodean as Ντιν Καλυμνίου, I marvel at how each of those misspellings provides a gloss upon my own multifaceted, multicultural existence. I am all of these and more besides. Like Jenny Mikakos and the rest of the members of the Greek community of Melbourne, I both transcend and defy definition. And this, is something that the blinkered and the twittered, will never comprehend, as much as Johnny Cash may sympathise.
DEAN KALIMNIOU

kalymnios@hotmail.com

First published in NKEE on Saturday 24 June 2017

MATRIARCHY IN DEAN KALIMNIOU'S MITRIDES

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"Mitrides," or Motherlands is the latest and perhaps most complex of Dean Kalimniou's collections of poetry. Like all his work, the Mitrides are polyvalent, ambiguous and often-self contradictory. As a result they frame a narrative, continuing on from his earlier collections, drawn largely from the ruptures and fissures in historical temporality and the forced yet seamless looking co-existence of eras. It is this kaleidoscope that he postulates, forms a section of reality. 
The title of the collection itself is problematic. In real terms, one can have no more than one motherland, just as one can have no more than one mother. Almost all the poems in the collection refer to places within Epirus, the place of origin of the poet's mother, yet neither his mother, nor the poet has any tangible connection with most of the places referred to, with a few notable exceptions. Significantly, the poet's native language is the Samian dialect of Greek, which renders his use of idiomatic Epirotic in the first poem of the collection "Ενθύμιον," (Collection) and in the last "Θαυμαστά Φύλα" (Amazing Tribes), noteworthy.  Furthermore, the term "Mitrides" is an obsolete one, referred to in Plato's Republic and Herodotus' Histories but has now fallen out of use. The resuscitation of the term, is in keeping with Kalimniou's diachronic perception of the Greek language, which gives the entire gamut of a 3,000 year old vocabulary a remarkable synchronicity, analogous to Italian poet Gabriele D'Annunzio's appropriation of medieval Italian terms for his own modern Italian work. Is Kalimniou therefore constructing his own language with which to articulate a Greek-Australian reality? 
It is worthwhile to examine other connotations of the term, notably that it is derives from the word "μήτρα" which means womb. Rather than a collection of motherlands, is what we are compelled to look at in this collection, rather, a collection of wombs as the ultimate truth? In the poem: "Μητρικό," which could be translated as "Maternal" but also as "pertaining to the womb," Kalimniou views the womb as the place where words lose their power: "Just before your door/ perish the unsaid words/ that are absent/ from the great dictionaries." Is Kalimniou therefore seeking to deconstruct his own poetics into an elemental form, within a crucible not of his own making but rather, originally utilised to create his own sense of self? 
Kalimniou returns to the womb motif again and again in his poetry, especially in those of his many poems that have to do with Lake Pamvotis in Ioannina, a place that seems to exert a strange fascination upon him and assumes in his work, the archetype of the universal womb. In "Λίμνη" (Lake) he merges local legend with the biblical tradition, speaking of Kyra Frosyni, the hapless concubine of Ali Pasha who was drowned in that same lake, as walking on its surface, supported by the marbled palms of drowned martyrs. However, this menacing mother figure straps nielloed ice to her back (a reference to the traditional art of silver smithing for which Ioannina is famous), in the place where she would carry a child. Furthermore, it is our mobile phones that this Ur-mother is swaddling, and not us, as she ominously calls us to her. In "Παμβώτις Δ'" (Pamvotis IV), Kalimniou describes Lake Pamvotis as a tablecloth laden with geometrical symbols symbolic of the womb, such as an isosceles triangle, equating these "narrow/ like oblivion/ ruthless volcano[s]/ with the stature 
of death." In "Κατακάθια" ("Dregs") he positions himself and the reader, squarely in that womb: "Amidst/ the dregs/ of the Lake/ we also hide..." Here then, amniotic fluid is dark and deadly. 
Other bodies of water also significantly make themselves present in the work. Sagiada, positioned on the westernmost point of mainland Greece, whether the river Thyamis flows into Ionian sea, is not only a place of extremity, but also a "motherland" since the river Thyamis gives its name to the Tsamiko dance, a dance that defines Epirotic and Greek traditional identity in general, but also, its narrow channel is also a place of still-birth. Thus, in Σαγιάδα, all forms of consolation are removed and the reader is offered: "rudimentary and self-serving justifications/ that this is demanded/ by the drowned fairies/ of the marsh." 
On the other hand, the land and seascape at Sorrento, in the homonymous poem, far from being laden with perils, renders any attempt to rationalise the world around us frivolous and hedonistic, regardless as to whether we reference our traditions, or place of ancestry while doing so. Is the poet mocking us, himself and his entire world? The notable absence of any maternal imagery perhaps provides a clue.    
The Freudian aspects of Kalimniou's poetry, which are generally subliminal, and while intrinsic to an understanding of his poetics, have not been considered by scholars in any depth, are in this collection, afforded greater prominence and deserve further scrutiny for these offer a fresh and important perspective into any debate about the modern Greek-Australian identity and its construction. It is in its unique tackling the Freudian aspects of our individual grappling with our  sense of self and making sense of the accretions and centuries of cultural and other baggage bequeathed to us by those who gave us life, that the true value and uniqueness of "Mitrides" lies. 
In keeping with the central motif, the world of Mitrides is a feminist one. Apart from a few references to some historical figures that have to do with Epirus, Kalimniou's "Motherlands" are almost entirely peopled by women, from strong women such as Olympias, the mother of Alexander the Great (he writes in "Olympias:""Your shadow/ and the Molossian/ hound,/ are my most tragic companions.../ your wounds vanish/ along with the canine teeth/ rendering phosphorescent/ the caves of slumber,"), the queen of the medieval Despotate of Epirus Theodora Komnena, who, in the poem "Θεοδώρα Κομνηνή""humbly and unassumingly/ serves out her time/ on the capital of the holy," the poet's own great-grandmother Panagio of whom: "The unity of the circles/ which bear witness/ to the age of destiny/ whisper/ her conjoined orphanhood,/ to terra-cotta sarcophagi," to more archetypal figures such as the tellingly Epirotic Mother Goddess Dione, whose "most secret and vanquished pleasures" are whitewashed  by male priests, in "extracts of domes," in the poem "Bizani", mythological characters such as Circe, the dimensions of whose pelvis we are called upon to time in the poem "Zavali," the hapless Io who awaits: "in the hem of a burial shroud,/the negation of the privations/ of a foustanella-wearing neomatur St George," in the poem: "Τελευταίος Ασπασμός" and, in a clever interpolation of rival matriarchies, the Levantine goddess Astarte, whose "superseded paeans cannot be discerned/ in the car park's road signs," in the poem "Κυρά Βασιλική." That this is an ersatz matriarchy we should steer clear of, is evidenced in 
the fact that the poet places as her chief worshipper, an unfeminised Delilah, replete with a wig, presumably of Samson's hair. Instead, in the poem "Πωγωνιανή," femininity and motherhood, as they apply to the reader, are placed in what appears to be their proper perspective: "On the fluff/ of moth-eaten sengounia/ weigh up these words:/ daughter, sister, woman./ The heaviest: Mother." This is because it is often through the medium of matriarchy that the traditions, memories and cultural norms that the poet is attempting to contextualise, are passed down. 
Mitrides is a complex, labyrinthine work that envelops the reader gently and suggestively at first, only to develop into a roller-coaster ride of emotion, almost Kafka-esque fear and uncertainty that threatens to derail both the reader and the poet, each time the work inverts or alludes to turning upon itself. Except that it doesn't. Whether the reader has chosen to decode the significance of the vast numbers of intertextual references to Epirotic mythology, history and literature, discover in the meter of the poems homage to demotic folk-song and the Byzantine musical tradition or lose themselves in the irony of his word-play the clever way in which each poem is built and also threaded onto the one before it, allows the reader to pace themselves, while considering the larger questions of identity posed in this highly personal work. 
Ultimately, in the final poem, resolution, of a sort is achieved by means of the poet arresting our fears of fluidity by intimating that the corpus of our ancestors' inheritance can be set in stone by their descendants. Maybe. Because as he states, we don't really know where that stone may be. 
GEORGE MOURATIDIS
UNIVERSITY OF MELBOURNE

First published in NKEE on Saturday 24 June 2017

ΤΟ ΜΗΤΡΙΚΟ ΣΤΟΙΧΕΙΟ ΣΤΙΣ ΜΗΤΡΙΔΕΣ ΤΟΥ ΚΩΝΣΤΑΝΤΙΝΟΥ ΚΑΛΥΜΝΙΟΥ

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Οι «Μητρίδες» είναι η πιο πρόσφατη και ίσως η πιο πολύσημη ποιητική συλλογή του Κωνσταντίνου Καλυμνιού. Όπως όλα τα έργα του, οι «Μητρίδες» είναι πολύπτυχες, διφορούμενες και συχνά, αντιφατικές. Ως αποτέλεσμα, πλαισιώνουν έναν κύκλο αφήγησης, συνεχίζοντας από τις παλαιότερες συλλογές του, που προέρχονται κυρίως από τις ρήξεις και τις ρωγμές της ιστορικής διαχρονικότητας και την συνύπαρξη διάφορων εποχών. Αυτό το καλειδοσκόπιο εποχών και γλωσσών αποτελεί σημαντικό τμήμα της ποιητικής πραγματικότητάς του.
Ο τίτλος της συλλογής εγείρει προβληματισμούς. Ουσιαστικά, δεν μπορεί κανείς να έχει περισσότερη από μία πατρίδα, όπως δεν μπορεί κανείς να έχει παρά μόνο μία μητέρα. Η «μητρίδα» βέβαια εδώ είναι η θηλυκή εκδοχή της πατρίδος. Σχεδόν όλα τα ποιήματα της συλλογής αναφέρονται σε μέρη της Ηπείρου, τον τόπο καταγωγής της μητέρας του ποιητή, όμως ούτε η μητέρα του, ούτε ο ίδιος ποιητής έχουν κάποια απτή σχέση με τα περισσότερα από τα αναφερόμενα μέρη, με μερικές αξιοσημείωτες εξαιρέσεις. Θα πρέπει να επισημάνουμε ότι, η πρωταρχική (για να μην πούμε «μητρική») γλώσσα του ποιητή είναι η σαμιακή διάλεκτος της ελληνικής, η οποία καθιστά τη χρήση της ιδιωματικής Ηπειρωτικής στο πρώτο ποίημα της συλλογής «Ενθύμιον» και στο τελευταίο «Θαυμαστά Φύλα», αξιοσημείωτη. Επιπλέον, ο όρος «Μητρίδες» είναι παρωχημένος. Αναφέρεται στην Πολιτεία του Πλάτωνος και στα έργα του Ηρόδοτου και του Ιάμβλιχου, αλλά έχει πλέον πέσει εκτός χρήσης. Έτσι, η αναζωογόνηση του όρου συμβαδίζει με τη διαχρονική αντίληψη της ελληνικής γλώσσας που διατηρεί ο Καλυμνιός, ο οποίος προσδίνει σε ολόκληρο το φάσμα ενός λεξιλογίου 3.000 ετών μια αξιοσημείωτη συγχρονικότητα, ανάλογη με τον ιταλικό ποιητή Gabriele D'Annunzio που αποδίδει μεσαιωνικούς ιταλικούς όρους στη δική του σύγχρονη Ιταλική ποίηση. Είναι λοιπόν ο Καλυμνιός κατασκευαστής δικού του γλωσσικού ιδιώματος, με την οποία αρθρώνει μια ελληνο-αυστραλιανή πραγματικότητα;
Αξίζει να ερευνήσουμε κι άλλες υποδηλώσεις του όρου, ιδιαίτερα ότι οι «μητρίδες» προέρχονται από τη λέξη «μήτρα». Αντί για μια συλλογή μητρίδων, μήπως αυτό που μας υποχρεώνει ο ποιητής να εξετάσουμε σε αυτή τη συλλογή,  να είναι μάλλον, μια συλλογή μήτρων ως την απόλυτη αλήθεια; Στο ποίημα «Μητρικό», το οποίο θα μπορούσε να εννοηθεί όχι μόνον ως κάτι που αφροά την μητέρα αλλά και ως κάτι που αφορά τη μήτρα, ο Καλυμνιός βλέπει τη μήτρα ως τόπο όπου οι λέξεις χάνουν τη δύναμή τους: «Λίγο πρίν ἀπό τήν πόρτα σου/ ψοφοῦν οἱ ἀνείπωτες λέξεις/πού ἀπουσιάζουν/ἀπό τά μεγάλα λεξικά». Επιδιώκει λοιπόν ο Καλυμιός να αποικοδομήσει τη δική του ποιητική, μέσα σε ένα χωνευτήρι που δεν δικό του, αλλά που αρχικά χρησιμοποιήθηκε για να δημιουργήσει τη δική του αυτοσυναίσθηση;
Ο Καλυμνιός επιστρέφει στο μοτίβο της μήτρας επανειλημμένως στην ποίησή του, ειδικά σε εκείνα τα (πολλά) ποιήματα του, που έχουν να κάνουν με τη λίμνη Παμβώτιδα των Ιωαννίνων, ένας τόπος που φαίνεται να ασκεί μια παράξενη γοητεία πάνω του και αναλαμβάνει στο έργο του το αρχέτυπο της καθολική και αρχέγονης μήτρα. Στη «Λίμνη» συγχωνεύει το τοπικό μύθο με τη βιβλική παράδοση, συσχετίζοντας  την Κυρά Φροσύνη, την ατυχή παλλακίδα του Αλή Πασά που πνίγηκε στην Παμβώτιδα, με το περπάτημα στην επιφάνεια του, υποστηριζόμενη από τις μαρμάρινες παλάμες των πνιγμένων μαρτύρων. Ωστόσο, αυτή η απειλητική μητέρα ζαλώνεται «σαβατωμένους πάγους» (μια αναφορά στην παραδοσιακή τέχνη της αργυροχρυσοχοΐας για την οποία είναι γνωστά τα Ιωάννινα), στον τόπο όπου θα κρατούσε ένα παιδί. Επιπλέον, είναι τα κινητά μας τηλέφωνα που αυτή η αρχέτυπη μητέρα φασκιώνει, και όχι εμάς, όταν μας καλεί δυσοίωνα κοντά της. Στο ποίημα «Παμβώτις Δ΄», ο Καλυμνιός περιγράφει τη λίμνη Παμβώτιδα ως τραπεζομάντιλο φορτωμένο με γεωμετρικά σχήματα συμβολικά της μήτρας, όπως ένα ισοσκελές τρίγωνο, εξισώνοντας αυτό το «στενό/ σάν τή λήθη,/ ἀδίστακτο ἡφαίστειο,/ μέ τό παράστημα/ τοῦ θανάτου». Στα «Κατακάθια,» τοποθετεί τον εαυτό του και τον αναγνώστη, εντός αυτής της μήτρας: «Ἀνάμεσα/ στά κατακάθια/ τῆς Λίμνης/ κρυβόμαστε κι ἐμεῖς..» Εδώ λοιπόν, το αμνιακό υγρό είναι σκοτεινό και θανατηφόρο και ο Καλυμνιός σχολιάζει εύστοχα τον τρόπο με τον οποίο εξακολουθούμε (δυσλειτουργικά) να συνδεόμεστε με τη μητρική μας κουλτούρα.
Άλλα υδάτινα σώματα επίσης δίνουν σημαντικό παρόν στη συλλογή. Η Λαψίστα, είναι ο αντίποδας της Παμβώτιδος-μήτρας, ή ίσως η τελική μορφή της δεύτερης, εφόσον είναι αποξηραμένη. Η Σαγιάδα, στο δυτικότερο σημείο της ηπειρωτικής Ελλάδας, όπου ο ποταμός Θυάμης εισρέει στο Ιόνιο πέλαγος, δεν είναι μόνο ακριτική, αλλά και «μητρίδα», δεδομένου του ότι ο ποταμός Θυάμης δίνει το όνομά του στον χορό Τσάμικο, που οριοθετεί την ηπειρωτική και ελληνική παραδοσιακή ταυτότητα γενικότερα. Επίσης το στενό της κανάλι είναι επίσης ένας τόπος θνησιγενής. Έτσι, στη «Σάγιαδα», αφαιρούνται όλες οι μορφές παρηγοριάς και στη θέση τους προσφέρονται στον αναγνώστη: «πρόχειρες/ καί ἰδιοτελεῖς δικαιολογίες,/ ὅτι αὐτά ἀπαιτοῦν/ οἱ πνιγμένες νεραΐδες/τοῦ βάλτου.»
Αντιθέτως, το θαλασσογραφικό τοπίο του Sorrento, στο ομώνυμο ποίημα, δεν είναι φορτωμένο με κινδύνους, καθιστώντας κάθε προσπάθεια εξορθολογισμού του κόσμου γύρω μας φαινομενική και ηδονιστική, ανεξάρτητα από το αν αναφερόμαστε στις παραδόσεις μας ή στον τόπο των προγόνων μας κατά τη διαδικασία. Μήπως μας χλευάζει ο ποιητής, τον εαυτό του και ολόκληρο τον ποιητικό του κόσμο; Η αξιοσημείωτη απουσία οποιασδήποτε μητρικής εικόνας στο ποίημα αυτό, που μοναδικά τοποθετείται στην Αυστραλία, υπαινίσσεται πολλά.
Οι φροϋδικές πτυχές της ποίησης του Καλυμνιού, (οι οποίες είναι γενικά υποσυνείδητες και ενώ είναι εγγενείς σε μια πλήρη κατανόηση της ποιητικής του, δεν έχουν εξεταστεί από μελετητές σε βάθος), προσδίδονται μεγαλύτερη προβολή στη συλλογή αυτή και αξίζουν περισσότερη έρευνα, εφόσον αυτές προσφέρουν μια νέα και σημαντική προοπτική σε οποιαδήποτε συζήτηση σχετικά με τη σύγχρονη ελληνο-αυστραλιανή ταυτότητα και την κατασκευή της. Είναι στην μοναδική αντιμετώπιση των φροϋδικών πτυχών του αγώνα οριοθέτησης μιας προσωπικής ταυτότητας για τον καθένα μας, μία διαδικασία που εντείνεται στους Αντίποδες και στην ανάλυση και κατανόηση του καθοριστικού ρόλου που παίζει η συρροή προαιώνιων πολιτιστικών στοιχείων που κληροδοτήθηκαν σε εμάς από εκείνους που μας έφεραν στη ζωή όπου κείτεται η αληθινή αξία και η μοναδικότητα των «Μητρίδων».

Σύμφωνα με το κεντρικό μοτίβο, ο κόσμος των «Μήτριδων» είναι μητριαρχικός, αν όχι φεμινιστικός. Εκτός από λίγες αναφορές σε ορισμένες ιστορικές μορφές που αφορούν την Ήπειρο, οι «Μητρίδες» του Καλυμνιού είναι σχεδόν εξ ολοκλήρου κατοικημένες από γυναίκες, από ισχυρές γυναικείες μορφές όπως η Ολυμπιάδα, η μητέρα του Μεγάλου Αλεξάνδρου (γράφει στο ποίημα «Ολυμπιάς: «Ἡ σκιά σου/ κι ὁ σκύλος/ τῶν μολοσσῶν,/ εἶναι/ οἱ πιό τραγικές συντροφιές μου…. οἱ πληγές σου χάνονται/ μαζί μέ τούς κυνόδοντες,/ φωσφορίζοντας/ τα σπήλαια τοῦ ὕπνου,» η βασίλισσα του μεσαιωνικού Δεσποτάτου της Ηπείρου Θεοδώρα Κομνηνή, η οποία, στο ποίημα «Θεοδώρα Κομνηνή» «ταπεινά κι ἀγόγγυστα,/ ὑπηρετ[εῖ] τ[ήν] θητεί[α] της/ στό κιονόκρανο τοῦ θείου», η προγιαγιά του ποιητή Παναγιώ, όπου: «Σέ πήλινους σαρκοφάγους/ ψιθυρίζει/ τήν συζευγμένη της ὀρφάνια,/ ἡ ἑνότητα τῶν κύκλων/ πού μαρτυροῦν/ τήν ἠλικία τῶν πετρωμένων»,  σε πιο αρχέγονες μορφές όπως η ηπειρωτική Μητέρα Θεά Διόνη, «τίς πιο ἀπόκρυφες/καί ἡττημένες ἡδονές», της οποίας, «ἀσβεστώνουν οἱ ἱερομάντεις/ στο ἐκχύλισμα τῶν θόλων», στο ποίημα, «Μπιζάνι», μυθολογικές μορφές όπως η Κίρκη, οι διαστάσεις της λεκάνης της οποίας μας καλέι ο ποιητής να χρονομετρήσουμε στο ποίημα «Ζαβάλι», η άτυχη Ιώ που προσμένει στο ποίημα «Τελευταίος Ασπασμός»: «Μέσα στό στρίφωμα τῶν σάβανων,/ μέ τά ἀποφόρια τῶν κατσάβραχων,/ τήν ἄρνηση τῆς στερήσεως,/ τοῦ φουστανελοφόρου νεομάρτυρος Γεωργίου»,  και σε μια έξυπνη παρεμβολή αντιμαχόμενων θεοτήτων, η Λεβαντίνα θεά Αστάρτη, όπου στο ποίημα «Κυρά Βασιλική»: «Κανένας μοναχός δέν μπορεῖ/ νά διακρίνει τίς πινακίδες/ στόν χῶρο στάθμευσης/ τῶν ἀντικατεστημένων ἐγκωμίων/ τῆς Ἀστάρτης,/ κι ἄς ὀσμίζονται ἀντίστροφά/ οἱ πέστροφες,/ τήν ἀνυπακοή τους». Το γεγονός ότι η συγκεκριμένη πρόκειται για μια νοθευμένη μητριαρχία που θα πρέπει να αποφύγουμε, αποδεικνύεται από το γεγονός ότι ο ποιητής τοποθετεί ως επικεφαλής της λατρείας της Αστάρτης, μια ανδροπρεπής Δαλιδά με περούκα, πιθανώς από τα μαλλιά του Σαμψώντος. Αντίθετα, στο ποίημα «Πωγωνιανή», η θηλυκότητα και η μητρότητα, όπως τις αντιλαμβάνεται ο αναγνώστης, τοποθετούνται σε πιο γνώριμο πλαίσιο: «Στά χνούδια/ τῶν σκωροφαγωμένων σεγκουνιῶν/ ζύγιαζε λοιπόν τά λόγια:/ θυγατέρα, ἀδελφή, γυναίκα./ Τό βαρύτερο: Μάνα». Αυτό οφείλεται στο γεγονός ότι οι παραδόσεις, οι μνήμες και τα πολιτισμικά πρότυπα που ο ποιητής επιχειρεί να αιτιολογήσει μεταδίδονται συνήθως μέσω της μητριαρχίας.
Οι «Μητρίδες» είναι ένα περίπλοκο, λαβυρινθώδες έργο που περιβάλλει τον αναγνώστη απαλά και δελεαστικά αρχικά, μόνο για να εξελιχθεί σε μια περιπέτεια με συγκινήσεις, φοβίες και αβεβαιότητες τύπου Κάφκα, απειλώντας ανά πάσα στιγμή να εκτροχιάσει τόσο τον αναγνώστη όσο και τον ποιητή τον ίδιο, κάθε φορά που η συλλογή συστρέφεται ή αντιστρέφεται στον εαυτό της. Αλλά ποτέ δεν το κάνει, διότι το έργο είναι συγκροτημένο και η περιπέτεια άψογα σκηνοθετημένη. Είτε ο αναγνώστης έχει επιλέξει να αποκωδικοποιήσει τη σημασία του τεράστιου αριθμού των διακειμενικών παραπομπών στην Ηπειρωτική μυθολογία, την ιστορία και τη λογοτεχνία, ή να ανακαλύψει στους στίχους των ποιημάτων, αναφορές στο δημοτικό τραγούδι και τη βυζαντινή μουσική παράδοση είτε παραδοθεί τελείως στην ειρωνεία και στα λογοπαίγνια του ποιητή, ο έξυπνος τρόπος με τον οποίο κάθε ποίημα έχει δημιουργηθεί και επίσης έχει τοποθετηθεί στο σύνολο του έργου, επιτρέπει στον αναγνώστη να ρυθμίσει τον διείσδυση του σε αυτό, λαμβάνοντας υπόψη του τα μεγαλύτερα ερωτήματα της ταυτότητας που τίθενται σε αυτό το άκρως προσωπικό έργο.
Στο τελικό ποίημα, κάποια επίλυση των ζητημάτων που απασχολούν το έργο επιτυγχάνεται μέσω του ποιητή που συλλαμβάνει τους φόβους μας για τη ρευστότητα, υπονοώντας ότι ολόκληρη η  κληρονομιά των προγόνων μας μπορεί να πετρωθεί από τους απογόνους τους. Ίσως να έχει δίκιο. Όμως, όπως δηλώνει, δεν γνωρίζουμε πού βρίσκονται τα πετρώματα αυτά. Η έμμεση αναφορά εδώ στη γέννηση του Δία και την απάτη του Κρόνου, από τη μητριάρχη Ρέα έχει σημασία….
ΓΙΩΡΓΟΣ ΜΟΥΡΑΤΙΔΗΣ
Φιλόλογος

Πανεπιστήμιο Μελβούρνης.

Το άρθρο πρωτοεκδόθηκε στην εφημερίδα ΝΕΟΣ ΚΟΣΜΟΣ την Πέμπτη, 29 Ιουνίου 2017

REFLECTIONS ON PRESCENCE: A STUDY IN MOVEMENTS

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Although Antonio Vivaldi’s “Le quattro stagioni” is supposed to be a collection of concerti, each of which gives a musical expression to a season of the year, what it is in fact, is a thinly disguised love tone-poem, intricately fashioned in order to confound and to seduce. In his instructions to his Autumnal Allegro, Vivaldi writes: “The hunters emerge at the new dawn,/ And with horns and dogs and guns depart upon their hunting/ The beast flees and they follow its trail;/ Terrified and tired of the great noise/ Of guns and dogs, the beast, wounded, threatens/ Languidly to flee, but harried, dies.”
On the Last Day of Vrasidas Karalis’  Reflections on Presence, an analogous Mithraic sacrifice, soaked in sexual tension is also made, in order to recreate the world anew: Wild Beasts dismantle the sky, ferocious fish devour the sun, carnivorous birds tear oceans apart, bringing about silent implosions, noisy movements, presence in zero beginning, presence in infinite ending.”
In antiquity, both Hesiod and Ovid offered accounts of the successive ages of humanity, progress from an original, by-gone age in which humans enjoyed a nearly divine existence to the current age of the writers, one in which humans are much fallen from what they were, beset by innumerable pains and evils. In these accounts this degradation of the human condition over time is indicated symbolically with metals of successively decreasing value, ranging from Gold to Iron.
In “Reflections on Presence,” Vrasidas Karalis appears to reverse this progression. His Ages of Man are Creator God-like in Scale, in that they are measured by means of tightly constructed aphorisms that explore the conundrums of contemporary existence, in days, starting from Day One: “Clearing the Way,” a process that recalls the aerial toll houses of Orthodox tradition and the Ladder of Divine Ascent of Saint John Climacus.  Like Hesiod, Karalis’ progression is five-staged, commencing with a Gnostic or Tolkien-esque aural cosmogony of creative dissonance that exemplifies contemporary disillusion: In difference, there is beginning. When tunes collide, we happen. In the beginning there as dissonance.”
The studied progression of aphorisms recall Marcus Aurelius:  "You have the power to strip away many superfluous troubles located wholly in your judgment, and to possess a large room for yourself embracing in thought the whole cosmos, to consider everlasting time, to think of the rapid change in the parts of each thing, of how short it is from birth until dissolution, and how the void before birth and that after dissolution are equally infinite". As with Aurelius, who advocates finding one's place in the universe, seeing that everything came from nature, and so everything shall return to it in due time, Karalis’ spiritual exercises, also gradually investigate  the interconnected nature of reality and imagination, and the affirmation of the individual presence and the ethics born out of such presence. 
Unlike Aurelius though, there is an internal logic to Karalis’ idiosyncratic, jewel-like aphorisms which binds together even the most contradictory and inconsistent of these to the narrative, (take for example the inverted Ouroboric: “The snake that gave birth to history is our ideal self. Absolute outwradness – energetic ideas that evolve, devolve, re-evolve. Relentless outwardness”) rendering them quietly moving and in no way, evidencing a "tired age" where "even real goods lose their savour," as Bertrand Russel would have it. Instead, overcoming Hegel’s critique in his ‘Phenomenology of Spirit’ of  the preoccupation with the inner self as a severing, fatalistic barrier to consciousness, Vrasidas’ Aurelianisms, commencing with the winter of nihilism, moving on to the summer of surrender and then to an autumn of creative imitations, culminate in a vision of existential transparency that links poetry, philosophy and religion through the impure materiality of the everyday being, in a chthonic subversion of Pauline teleology, thus pointing to the reader who is to traverse his Ages of Man, via the “Reflections” to answer the question posed in the Epistle to the Philippians: “Who shall fashion anew the body of our humiliation, that it may be conformed to the body of his glory,” and postulating a novel refashioning of the resurrected body-spirit, wherein: “Truth was, knowledge was, faith was, love was – now only presence is.”
We arrive at the enlightened point of Presence, via Lao Tzu-like aphorisms that are simply expressed and thus have great emotive power. They can be read solemnly, passed through a sieve and caught through the other side, weighed and evaluated. They inculcate in us a feeling of trust, a confidence that we have here the final, absolute truth. When Karalis tells us not to question, we suspend our inclination to do so: “Search for answers: don’t be seduced by questions,” he tells us. ““Faith that excludes is faithlessness./ The faithful must justify the faithless./ Faith acts against being./ If you distrust the faithless, you deny the mystery./ I am the presence, the bridge-make over worlds.”Apparently, he is the Way.
Yet arriving, via our “centripetal sun above epochs of semantic famine” to Presence  in five days, does not appear to be an end in and of itself, and it is in the reduction of the material world and readers to their constituent parts in the crucible (“Let all compounds be dissolved!) of the Five Days, that Karalis’ new man can be distinguished from the elemental heroes created by Kazantzakis. For in gaining the necessary understanding of the material world through the noetic exercises, that will enable us to transcend it and inhabit it anew, Karalis, an ambivalent demiurge, firstly appears to raise our creative and reproductive hopes while dexterously promising nothing but the promise of promise itself: “Plunder all lush lands because fertility never ends; seize all exits because borders cannot be controlled.  As all paths are lost, fresh promises can be given,” only to reveal at the very end that by its very nature, the process of creation and re-creation, the process of existence and the being of Presence itself is flawed and subject to decline: “Succumb, submit, capitulate – but think rebelliously, think erroneously and fail again, go astray, and fall, fall, fall.” 
Here, the author communes with Vivaldi, whose progression is from Spring to Winter, and in whose final movement, a similar fall is prefigured, one that is portrayed as much inevitable as it is anodyne: “Then turn abruptly, slip, crash on the ground and,/ rising, hasten on across the ice lest it cracks up./We feel the chill north winds course through the home/despite the locked and bolted doors.../ this is winter, which nonetheless/ brings its own delights.”
We do not know whether there is any moksha to be gained from Karalis’ samsara, or whether there is anything to be gained from the awareness of the articulation of Presence within it, save as to postulate as Byron did in Don Juan, that, "Not even a sprightly blunder's spark can blaze / From that Ixion grindstone's ceaseless toil, / That turns and turns to give the world a notion / Of endless torments and perpetual motion." Viewed from that perspective, the “Reflections” are as consolatory but also as unable as the rest of the corpus of the religions, philosophies and ideologies that Karalis’ refers to and seemingly vanquishes throughout his ‘Seasons,’ to provide us with an aiteology that would contextualize our Presence within it. He does however hint at this, at the end of his final season, in the tradition of Aramaic literature, whereby the central messages are embedded within the text and not to be found at their end. Whereas Lao Tzu states: “When I let go of who I am, I become what I might be,” the author points to an immutable Presence throughout his world of transformation:  “Through the thorns, and the thistles of presence I am where I am.”
In Reflections on Presence, therefore, we are neither Ixion, nor its wheel, and moksha is rendered redundant. We, if we are to become the author, are its axis, the fundamental point of Presence from which to view    the entire cosmos. It is only once we arrive at this point that it is safe to say: “Commit a crime as long as you know why.” This then, marks the apogee of our aphoristic being.
 DEAN KALIMNIOU
kalymnios@hotmail.com

First published in NKEE on Saturday 1 July 2017

LION OF JUDAH: A CHAT WITH PRINCE ERMIAS SAHLE-SELASSIE HAILE-SELASSIE OF ETHIOPIA.

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In the minds of most Australians, Ethiopia is the land of famine, drought and war. For Greek-Australians, the country evokes more complex connotations, given historical ties between Ethiopia and Greece that stem from ancient times and the presence of a consequential Greek community within that country. When 57 year old Prince Ermias Sahle-Selassie Haile-Selassie, president of the Crown Council of Ethiopia enters the room, he smiles disarmingly and grasps my hand. He is in Melbourne, having come from Canberra, where he met with Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, attended a special parliamentary reception hosted by Defence Industry Minister Christopher Pyne, laid a wreath at the Australian War Memorial in the company of Dr Brendan Nelson and met with a host of other senior political figures. All I can think of is that the hand that I am grasping, once grasped the hand of his grandfather, the Emperor Haile Selassie, known as the Lion of Judah, one of the most significant African leaders in history. He sits down and we begin to chat.

Welcome to Australia. What is the purpose of your visit?
It is great to be here. I am here commemorating the fiftieth anniversary of my grandfather, Emperor Haile Selassie’s official visit to Australia. I am also exploring closer investment ties with Australian mining companies who operate in Africa. Furthermore, I am delighted to be connecting with the remarkable Ethiopian-Australian community here.

In the minds of many, Ethiopia and Australia are poles apart….
And yet we are connected in so many ways. I was astounded, arriving here to notice that the light is extremely similar to that we have in Ethiopia. Of course, eucalyptus trees are native to Australia and Addis Ababa is ringed with them. The broad flat plains also remind me of Ethiopia. Then there are the “Waler” horses that were used to provide mounts for the ceremonial guard during Imperial times – these also came from Australia. Our soldiers fought alongside each other during the Korean War. My understanding is that cricket, which is a popular sport among some Ethiopians, was introduced by Australians. And of course, I am very proud of and grateful for Hamlin Fistula Ethiopia, an obstetric fistula hospital which has been founded and run by Australians. Finally, Australia is the land of the fair go. For much of its modern history Ethiopia led the struggle for a fair go for African people, though my grandfather’s campaign for African decolonialisation.

Ethiopia is as polyethnic and as religiously diverse as Australia. How would you compare its experience in managing social cohesion, as compared with that of Australia?
You have to understand that each society developed under different conditions, though there are some superficial similarities. For much of its history, Ethiopia developed in isolation and Australia too has been seen historically to be an isolated country. As a result, each country is able to form unique societies that reflect the aspirations of its people. The process of Ethiopia forming as a conglomeration of peoples of diverse languages and faiths that espouse an Ethiopian identity has evolved over millennia. Australia’s multicultural society is a more recent phenomenon. That it is one which works can be evidenced by the way in which the Ethiopian community has been welcomed here and the extent to which it has been interwoven into Australian society so successfully, something for which I am extremely grateful.

How do you view the Ethiopian community in Australia?
I am in awe of the way that the Ethiopian community here is maintaining its sense of family, faith, culture and language and passing it on to the next generation.

I’m interested in your choice of order of those words…
One completes and fulfils the other. A family is network of people who share a common vision and care about each other. That vision is underlined by a belief system, whatever that may be. What emerges from the process of caring for each other in furthering that vision is culture and language is what articulates it. As such, the family is the microcosm of the entire nation. And the faith is so important.

You are referring here to the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. Why is it so important?
It provides continuity. The Church has been present in Ethiopia since at least 330AD. It provides a common narrative of identity for all its adherents. Of course, people to people relations are so important. Since the 1974 Revolution, a concerted effort was made to efface certain aspects of Ethiopia’s history and identity. Some of these, including our faith, were lovingly maintained and protected by the people, something I was moved to see here in Australia. Wherever I went, I was treated with great friendliness and enthusiasm. I was moved to be approached by one elderly gentleman, who served as interpreter to my grandfather, Emperor Haile Selassie, on his State visit to Australia. He was Pastor Sir Douglas Nicholls’ son in law, an important and inspirational man and a role model for the Aboriginal community, which was proof to me as to how intrinsic the Ethiopian community is, to multicultural Australia. One thing I stressed to the young Ethiopian-Australians I met was this: “Never forget the sacrifices your parents have made to get you here. And never forget that you are Australians. Next time I see you, I want you to be able to tell me: I am a doctor, I am a scientist, I am a builder. Make something special of yourselves.” In this process, I think the Greek community of Australia is a sound role model.

You would, of course, be aware that in our community there are many Greeks who were born or lived in Ethiopia, or who are married to Ethiopians. How do you view the relations between Ethiopia and Greece?
Where do I begin? We are kindred spirits. We go so far back in history. I don’t need to tell you how prominently Ethiopia is featured in Greek mythology, or the works of the ancient Greek historians. Nor that the first Ethiopian coins were minted with Greek inscriptions, with Greek being an important language of the Ethiopian court for a long time. It was a Greek, Saint Frumentius, who became the first bishop of Ethiopia and our common faith has been the cornerstone of our relationship. During Byzantine times, both our empires were in constant alliance and they were considered the north and south poles of civilization itself. Between them, they forged policies of collective security as sophisticated as those we see in place in the modern world. Both of them were isolated and had to fight for survival. As you stated, in modern times, Ethiopia has played host to a Greek migrant community, with silversmiths from northern Greece settling in the country as early as the 1750s.
I should mention that my grandfather, the Emperor Haile Selassie loved Greece. He first visited it as regent in 1924, where he met the president of the Republic, Admiral Paul Kountouriotis and Archbishop Chrsyostom of Athens. He also saw an ancient Greek tragedy at the Herodeion and this had a profound impression on him. As emperor, he returned to Greece in 1954, where he funded the reconstruction of a hospital in Liksouri, Kefallonia, which had been damaged by the 1953 earthquake. There was personal connection here, as my grandfather’s personal physician, Jacob Zervos, was from there. You may also be interested to know that my grandfather was given an honorary doctorate by the University of Thessaloniki in 1965. 
On a personal note, I would say this: I fell in love with Greece the moment I stepped foot there. The light, the land, the friendliness of the people… I felt the bond between our two nations very deeply. How can I not love that country? Apart from the age old ties we have, how could I not be eternally grateful to Greece for taking in so many Ethiopians after the Dergue came to power in 1974, including members of my own family? Greece for me will always be light and freedom. Visiting this country, and having met so many lovely Greek Australians here only further cements that love. Of course my dream is to visit Mount Athos, one which I hope I realise in the near future.

I suppose one of the things we have in common is that we are both members of a diaspora. What effect have the political developments in Ethiopia since the 1974 Revolution, causing you to leave your country, had in shaping your ethnic and cultural identity?
I learned that the world is a much larger place than first I thought. That there are a multiplicity of perspectives through which things can be viewed and that respecting and celebrating difference, while at the same time focusing on those things that we have in common. In many ways, when you are away from your country, you are compelled to look at it from the outside in a way you wouldn’t do had you remained. The sense of family and history also becomes extremely important, especially when you live away from home and are subject to innumerable other influences. Of course, since obtaining my Ethiopian passport ten years ago, I have been back many times.

Continuity and history are manifestly important to you. The Ethiopian Imperial dynasty has one of the longest lineages in the world. Yet this is a world that is constantly changing. Can the Monarchy still be relevant to Ethiopia?
I believe that the longevity of the dynasty means that as an institution it is a part of the nation’s psyche. My family traces its history to the union of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. The monarchy can provide unity, stability, tolerance and a rallying point for Ethiopians of diverse languages and faiths. Ultimately though, that decision belongs to the people. They will decide what is good for them. The important thing is for Ethiopia to remain alive.
Do you fear that Ethiopia’s existence is threatened in any way?
No. Ethiopia has been through a lot over the course of the past few centuries and we have managed to survive. We are a resilient people. We need to safeguard that survival and create an Ethiopia that is peaceful, prosperous and able to afford opportunities for a good life to all its citizens. In order to do that, we need to foster the socio-economic development of the country, and heal the traumas caused by the Revolution and the Civil War.

Almost half of the population of Ethiopia is Muslim. ISIS is raging in Libya, there is a porous border with Somalia where a number of Islamic militant groups operate, Boko Haram in West Africa and of course, ISIS terrorism in Egypt. Is religious fundamentalism one of the factors that you believe, threaten the existence of Ethiopia?
No. Both Christianity and Islam are indigenous religions of Ethiopia. As a result, they have developed side by side and have had centuries to work out an equilibrium, so you don’t see religious clashes or terrorism in Ethiopia to anywhere near the extent of other countries in the broader region.

Yet, five years ago, Syria was being held up as a similar example of religious tolerance…
The difference is this. You need to give each sector of society, each faith, a stake in the country, a feeling that they are part of the country and the country is part of them. Where you persecute, fence in, or restrict minorities, you create a weak society and a vulnerable one. These vulnerabilities can be exploited and cause societies to implode. This is what I believe, happened in Syria. I do not believe it will happen in Ethiopia because I say, there, members of all faiths partake in all aspects of governance and have done so since Imperial times. This is something my grandfather the Emperor felt very strongly about. We need to work in maintaining and broadening this approach as there is increase tribalism in Ethiopia.

With that in mind, how do you evaluate the political and social developments of Ethiopia  since the Mengistu era?
Ethiopia has changed markedly. When I left, it was a country with a population of that of Australia and now it has a population of 100 million. Ethiopia is rapidly developing and it is my opinion that there is great potential of sustainable growth as a dynamic part of a broader Indian Ocean economic market. We are still not self-sufficient in food production, and 85 percent of the population is still involved in subsistence farming, but that situation is improving. Job-creation is of vital importance. African nations need to create opportunities for their people, and not see them all leave to seek those opportunities elsewhere. Finally, we need government that is open and stable in order to secure appropriate long-term investment. There needs to be a move away from strong political personalities, towards strong institutions that will provide Ethiopia with the good governance it needs in order to attract investment.

In that context, how do you view the significant Chinese investment in Ethiopia and the African region in general?
I am eternally grateful for the investment of the Chinese in our infrastructure. They invested at a time when no one else was willing to do so. However, a prudent development plan must be one of balanced diversification, where no one investor dominates. During my grandfather, the Emperor’s time, we had investment from both the West and the Eastern bloc and that was in my opinion, appropriate. Ideal investment will create jobs for the people and create technology and skills exchange. I am convinced that diversity of investment and investors will best facilitate this. I also believe that a greater cooperation between African states will cement stability and economic development.

What does it mean to you to be a Prince of the Ethiopian House?
To try to be exemplary, a role-model. To facilitate the creation of a strong identity and instill a sense of pride in people of African descent. Ultimately, to provide them with a sense of destiny, and equality, based on a native tradition. In this I am privileged because I have so many examples of members of my family I can draw from, over a protracted period of time.

What is your most enduring memory of your grandfather, the Emperor Haile Selassie?
On a personal level it is this: His kindness and love of animals. He was extremely tender towards small children and kind to animals. He derived immense pleasure from his pets, and had an affinity from nature that I feel can only come from a true understanding of Africa.

How do you view his legacy? What examples can you personally draw from such a legacy?
It was one of courage, definitely. My grandfather was betrayed many times during his life, yet he was tenacious and never gave up. He had an extraordinary capacity for forgiveness that I still draw upon. He constantly stood up for the underprivileged and the vulnerable. It is no small thing for the leader of an African nation to denounce the League of Nations as ineffectual, when Italy invaded Ethiopia, nor for him after the war, to challenge the World Powers of the day to afford dignity to African peoples by granting their colonies independence. Collegiality and collectivism, certainly. My grandfather was a driving force behind the creation of the Organization for African Unity, whose foundation conference took place in Addis Ababa. He also believed in theological unity and sponsored the Addis Ababa conference where talks were held exploring the unity of the Eastern and Oriental Orthodox churches. His championship of the United Nations was based on his firm belief that all nations had to band together in order to guarantee collective security. At his initiative, Ethiopia participated in collective security operations, including in Korea and Congo, creating a precedent as being a trustworthy African mediator that modern Ethiopia can build upon.  He was not afraid to speak out for the sufferings, calling for the Vietnam War to end on several occasions. At the same time he was an outspoken proponent of African Americans' Civil Rights legislation in the 1950s and 1960s. As such he gave hope to millions. Finally, generosity. My grandfather was constantly involved in charitable works In 1959, my grandfather left his home in exile during the Second World War, Fairfield House, Bath, to the City of Bath for the use of the Aged. My grandfather’s legacy is thus a multifaceted but ultimately, an inspiring one, based on selflessness. He was often compelled to make difficult decisions, which he believed were for the benefit of his country, at great personal cost.

I wish you all the best for the rest of your stay in Australia

I am so inspired to have been given the opportunity to visit this remarkable country and to have met so many outstanding and welcoming Australians, including members of the Greek-Australian community. You are the yardstick by which the success of Australia’s multicultural society is to be measured and an exemplar of the successful integration of minority groups within the broader melting pot. I wish you every success.

DEAN KALIMNIOU
First published in NKEE on Saturday 1 July 2017

FLYING NORTH FOR WINTER

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It is June in Melbourne and the sky is grey. During this month, Greek Melbournians dispense with their usual greeting customs. There is no «Γεια σας,» or «τι κάνετε;» to be heard among them when they meet each other. There is no «Χαβαγιού λαβ; Γκουντ;» or even a «Χάλαου,» to be offered. Instead, in the month of June, Greek Melbournians of a certain age greet each other urgently with a question: «Πότε φεύγετε;» or «Τι κανονίσατε;» Most of them will ask: «Πότε θα πάτε απάνω;» whereas Peloponnesians will betray their place of origin by asking instead, «Πότε θα πάτε κάτω;» providing an interesting commentary on their conception of their geographic position.
«Την άλλη εβδομάδα,» «αυτό το ουίκεντ,» are some of the most common responses and then they all make plans to meet each other, somewhere, if possible, but only after an important event, referred to with furrowed brow as «να τακτοποιήσω τα χαρτιά,» comes to pass. Upon hearing the words «τα χαρτιά» they shrug their shoulders in sympathy, as for each of them, those terrible words have their own personal meaning and it is partially for the sake of those dreaded «χαρτιά,» be these tax returns, gifts of land in specie, powers of attorney or innumerable other incomprehensible forms, that they are attempting their flight in the first place.
On the odd occasion, their interlocutor will answer their question with a disconsolate: «Δεν θα πάμε φέτος.» Only just managing to suppress the expression of incredulous horror that invariably floods their faces, the original questioners provide the response that was once generally employed only when hearing the news that someone’s offspring were marrying outside the ethnos: «Νταζιμάτα. Καλά νά’στε.» Once in a while, especially in my neck of the woods, the questioner will be assailed with the response: «Δεν πάω εγώ σ’αυτή τη σκατόχωρα.» Such uttered blasphemies barely rate response and it is customary to back away from the ranter slowly while muttering: «καλά τρελάθηκε τελείως.»
Come July, the morning frost broods upon the roof tiles of Melbournians like a burgeoning tax debt. In the great meeting places of the Greeks, our compatriots are thin on the ground. During this month, Greek Melbournians dispense with their usual greeting customs. There is no «Γεια σας,» or «τι κάνετε;» to be heard among them when they meet each other. There is no «Χαβαγιού λαβ; Γκουντ;» or even a «Χάλαου,» to be offered. Instead, in the month of July Greek Melbournians of a certain age greet each other anxiously with the question: «Καλά, ακόμα εδώ είσαι;» «Δεν έφυγες ακόμη;» «Τι περιμένεις;» They then regale each other with stories of the woe of unremitting exile: So and so couldn’t leave because at the last minute they discovered they had a heart condition, someone else couldn’t leave because the money they had earmarked for their travel had to be transformed into an emergency loan for their children, someone else had a death in the family… They shake their heads sadly and intone in unison, both in consolation and pious hope: «Δεν πειράζει...Του χρόνου πια, του χρόνου.....»
Such customs do not pass the second generation by, except that it is those who have left us who continue to taunt us, via the social media, posting impossibly impeccably constructed scenes of luxurious languor amidst deep blue seas and pebbled beaches, or photographs of Wellness Centres purveying “Ancient Greek Massage” captioned thusly: “Omg. Santorini is to DIE for. I can’t believe you’re not here.” Here the customary response in this instance, is an optional choice between: “You deserve it koukla/koukle” or, “Omg. Zileuw bad.” I once considered forging a new custom by posting by way of response, a photograph of me standing in line at my grandmother’s local IKA in Pallene, waiting to collect her pension but she has now migrated to places celestial and eternal and all my thoughts of flight are now invariably connected with an understanding that I no longer have a home to go to. I thus execrate and excoriate Santorini and all its ersatz connotations, massages and mud-masks included, out of the vilest of motives: sour grapes.
Come September, and the organised Greek community emerges from its hibernation, as all of its presidents return one by one to resume control of their organisations’ affairs, for perish the thought that these could run independently of their leaders’ will. The coffee and cake shops, the clubhouses and the nightclubs of Greek Melbourne are brimming with life again. Asked how they fared in the Motherland, the elderly shake their heads and launch into detailed analyses of all the bureaucratic faults of the state of Greece, the degeneration in the moral fibre of its citizens, and most notably, the absence of a “system.” They also seem to be bemused by modern Greek summer holiday customs, whereby modern Greeks, while on vacation, dispense with ordinary greetings and instead ask each other: «Πόσα μπάνια έκανες φέτος;», attaching special significance to the exact amount of times one has immersion themselves within the briny waters of the Aegean. But most of all, they rail against what they perceive to be a lack of reciprocity in hospitality. As one elderly returnee once remarked to me: «Τι να πεις γιαυτούς τους αχαΐρευτους; Όταν έρχονται εδώ τους μπαμπακίζουμε, (this is a Greek-Australian verb that denotes the act of barbequeing) τους «δώνουμε ξερά καρπιά» κι αυτοί το μόνο που μας ρωτάνε είναι: «΄Ηρθες; Πότε φεύγεις;» Άχρηστοι άνθρωποι οι έλληνες.» Of course, the fact that said gentleman was attempting for the fifth time to obtain what he beeived to be an equitable division of his family’s agricultural property, may account for the somewhat chilly reception he may have received.
Scathing assessment of Greece and Greeks notwithstanding, the aforementioned gentleman’s ire invariably begins to wane towards the end of the Australian Summer, (at which time he is secretly researching the cost of tickets to Greece) to be completely dissipated at the coming of Autumn at which time he, like so many others of his ilk, develops vacation negativity amnesia and having once more been lured by the call of the homeland, attends his local travel agent to once more enact his escape from his exile. From this moment on, until the month of June, it is customary for him to greet all those that he meets with these words: Τό ’κλεισα το «τικέτο». Σε τρεις μήνες φεύγω.»
This then is the month of the Greek Melbournians as antipodean migratory birds, flying north for the Winter. Whether we remain in exile awaiting our Winter of discontent to be made glorious Summer, or not, one thing is certain. Our antipodean hypostasis, is one of constant physical and mental travel between our place of abode and our place of origin. And each voyage, is one of return.

A chilling, fell wind sweeps across the ashen paving stones. Pedestrians raise their collars and clutch at their jackets in order to entrap the last vestige of warmth within them. It is so cold that the smell of the hecatombs of meat sizzling within the restaurants flanking the square barely keeps pace with the speed of travel of the sound of piped Greek music permeating their walls, instead, expiring at their threshold.
DEAN KALIMNIOU
 
First published in NKEE on Saturday 8 July 2017

THE WIDOWS AND THE DEAR DEPARTED

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Rarely is a book offered to the community that is so deceptively simple in style, so disarmingly charming in its imagery and yet so infinitely subversive. Yet Ekaterini Balouka’s ῾Οι Χήρες και οι Μακαρίτες,᾽ translated into English by Konstandina Dounis as ‘The Widows and the Dear Departed is truly outstanding both in scope, the references in employs and the way in which its meta-narrative teasingly gyrates upon our sense of aesthetic.
It is important to note from the outset that Konstandina Dounis’ translation, though painstakingly accurate is no substitute for the original Greek and thus forms a counterpart to a work of duality. The conondrum can be seen in the title: Μακαρίτες, literally means the beatified ones, if Jesus’ μακαρισμοί on the Mount, are translated as the blessings… And truly blessed are those who are departed for the reasons Ekaterini Baloukas will set out throughout her clever narrative, yet to translate the title as the Widows and the Blessed would not only be too obvious but also deny it the mortal connotation inherent in the Greek. Conversely, to render the title as the Widows and the Blessed Dead, has all the makings of a decent horror film, though I do not believe that is the authors intention.
Similarly, Mrs Balouka has chosen to write in a light from of her native Pierian Macedonian dialect, a dialect whose distinguishable features, such as an almost indiscriminate massacre of consonants and endearingly, the use of the feminine article where a masculine one is properly employed ie. (“ι καϊμένους” instead of ὁ καημένος῾), cannot be rendered into Australian English in any way. The cultural and linguistic worlds are just too diverse and Australian is too young an idiom to have developed equivalent peasant dialect forms. Konstandina Dounis’ prose overcomes this obstacle by rendering the tone, the rhythm and the cadences of the original, if not its idiomorphy. Mrs Balouka’s endeavour in rendering her native patois is praiseworthy, especially at a time when these are dying out in her homeland, thanks to an onslaught of Athenian centralized prejudice and extremely bad daytime television. Historians and sociologists of the future may well want to study the significance of why she, and a few other diasporan authors such as Haris Siamaris, whose book Τα Τραούδια του Χωρκάτη, is written in the Cypriot dialect, have penned works in dialects for which not much real literature is extant.
The structure of the short book is delightfully tight and well comported. The narrator is visiting Greece (she takes pains to point out that she is with her husband, a clever juxtaposition of the scene that is to follow from her own reality) when she spies five widows making their way to the cemetery in order to tend their husbands’ graves. They invite her to accompany them and then, a scene reminiscent of an ancient Greek chorus unfolds. Konsandina Dounis renders it thus: “Huddled around, they lit their candles and then, to cool down, lifted their skirts and each one sat on their husband’s grave. I asked each widow to tell me her story…”
The five vignettes that follow are heavily laced with chthonic sexual tension, and this not just because the widow’s husbands are buried beneath them, while they lift their skirts and straddle them. When she meets them, the narrator makes sure that the reader understands that the widows, in stark contrast to their mouldering husbands, are fecund and full of life: “You’re all so vivacious and attractive, how did you get rid of your husbands…while you now visit them for solace?” 
The first storyteller, is the widow Kalliopi. The choice of name is significant as in times ancient, Calliope was the muse who presided over eloquence and epic poetry; so called from the ecstatic harmony of her voice. Her husband, by consequence, was a drunkard who, having overindulged, would sing loud and not so tuneful lyrics. Furthermore, when in that state, “when he tried to put the key into the keyhole, it wouldn’t stand still!” a powerful metaphor for coitus while over the .05 limit if there ever was one.
Interestingly enough, having a drink with Kalliopi seemed to restore his key-mastery and Kalliopi’s appreciation of him. “How could I ever forget him? He was insatiable. If only he were still alive. I couldn’t care less how much he drank…. Sometimes I even sit on my grave, in case he rises out of it!” 
Ourania, the second narrator, finds her counterpart in her namesake, the muse of astronomy and also of love and philosophy. Her story takes place by the fireplace, where the tickle of her departed’s moustache would lead to other “fun and games.” As the celestial orbs dance in heaven, so too did this muse, albeit for a brief time, for the music has now been stilled: “How can I dance, now that there’s no clarinet player?” It goes without saying that the long, columnar organ referred to therein is a powerful metaphor indeed. Significantly, alone of the widows, she does not name the owner of that instrument.
Demetra the third narrator, is like her deity namesake, a restorer of harmony and order. Order she achieves by sitting on her husband’s grave not out of yearning or for pleasure but rather, to prevent him from rising up to service the local womens’ plumbing (her words, not mine, I hasten to assure the reader), and harmony, by burying him with his wrench, (Konstandina Dounis employs the term ‘plumbing tool’ proving that she can be as equally cheeky as the author) an act of supreme emasculation or its opposite, depending on which side of the casket one happens to be.
Maria’s story is the inverse of that contained in the Gospel tradition. Being possessed of a feckless husband, rather than being led in safety to her own Bethlehem, it is she who is forced to traverse strange lands, astride a donkey and on her own, in order to make a living. Yet her solace lies in her own capabilities, her slender waist and her ability to arouse her husband, a red velvet dress a relic of an enduring, albeit dysfunctional passion.
Antigone, like her namesake, is torn between passion and duty. In the face of her husbands gross disrespect she makes a supreme act of emancipation, taking possession of what traditionally belonged to a husband: “Are you going to come home and sow your own field or should I give it away before it grasses over?”
Upon the conclusion of the stories, the widows are invited by the narrator for coffee. This is not mere hospitality for there is polysemy in the Greek conception of that beverage. It is associated with consolation, whose original Greek word παραμύθι, has now come to signify a story. It is also associated with confession, since one can discern in the dregs of the cup, traces of all things withheld, voluntarily or otherwise.
All these women are monolithic forces of nature. There is none of the ennui, self-doubt or insecurity that characterizes the modern day psyche about them. Rather than seeking the causes of their fate, or to blame others, these women endure their lot and transform it into a life-giving force. They are in fact, elementals, titanesses and all the more seductive because of it.
Christos Avramoudas’ ostensibly understated illustrations accompanying the text are truly remarkable. Just as Armenian painter Arshile Gorky blotted out his mother’s hands (the only aspect of her which he remembered in the aftermath of the Armenian genocide) in his portrait of her, so too has Avramoudas portrayed the veil clad widows without furrows or wrinkles. Their pain, anguish and unfulfilled desires lay deep within and cannot be revealed unless their owners choose to do so. By focusing on this salient feature of the widows, Avramoudas has lent their portrayal immense dignity, ably complementing the rendering by Mrs Baloukas/Konstandina Dounis.
There would not be many first-generation female authors in our community who would be brave enough to address the issue of senior sexuality, let alone link it so expertly, seamlessly and unselfconsciously to the elemental forces of life and death, as Mrs Baloukas. In the frustratingly few pages of “The Widows and the Dear Departed” which leave us frustrated, unfulfilled, aching and crying our for more, we have a feminist counterpart to Kazantzakis’ Zorba, at least as far as sexuality is concerned. It truly is a remarkable achievement.
In his illustrator’s note, Christos Avramoudas laments the loss of a genteel life via a process which Pasolini termed: ‘scomparsa delle luccione,’ the disappearance of the fireflies. In her masterful text, with the dexterity of a true illuminatus, Mrs Baloukas suffuses us with just enough light within the darkness of modern artificiality to revel in things basic, bounteous and beautiful, as bittersweet as these may be.
 
DEAN KALIMNIOU
 
First published in NKEE on Saturday 15 July 2017

INJUSTICE FOR CYPRUS

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 Slowly they wind their way up upper Bourke Street. It is a cold, wintry day and the street, especially this far up from the Bourke Street Mall, is deserted. Still, they shuffle, shouting to the closed windows, crying to the brooding shadows of the empty buildings: “Justice for Cyprus, Justice for Cyprus,” over and over again, as if these words, coupled with “Turkish Troops out of Cyprus” are a magic mantra that require repetition a prescribed but undisclosed amount of times or need to be intoned in a particular way in order to unleash the magic entrapped within them and bring about by spell and incantation, the elusive resolution of the Cyprus Issue.
The stragglers reach the Victorian Parliament building. They are few and their hair is generally gray in hue. As they listen to self-appointed dignitaries mouth platitudes, they purse their lips and shake their heads. Once in a while, someone will interpose a desultory “Justice for Cyprus,” and the rest of the small gathering will repeat it half-heatedly, one or twice, but they soon fall silent. Some of the dignitaries will attempt to punctuate their addresses with words such as «Ζήτω» which the crowd repeats like automatons, but with growing indifference and a sense of melancholy. All of them remember with bitterness and nostalgia, the days of old, when a sea of Greek people, a veritable «λαοθάλασσα» would surge through the city centre, spraying its righteous anger upon the rest of the populace. Now THAT was a protest. Whereas this….this miniscule gathering takes the form of a living wake, one in which we mourn the passage into impotence and oblivion of our own community, wondering when the inevitable and ever imminent day of our demise shall come, marveling that we are still alive, in any event. Viewed from this perspective, (and there are many others, for the Justice for Cyprus Committee has over the course of four decades tirelessly compaigned on many fronts for the restitution of justice on the island, notably recently with one of the best websites around) the annual Justice for Cyprus March appears now to many of its participants as having more to do with justifying our own continued existence to ourselves than in substantively seeking redress for a heinous crime. In the Cypro-Cartesian we employ: “I protest, therefore I am.”
The young ladies who once wore black and carried the photos of their missing loved ones at the head of the protest march have now grown old. Large furrows have been carved down their cheeks by the descent of countless tears. They still wear black, they still carry the same photos and they still have no idea what became of their loved ones, though their suspicions can be discerned clearly in their eyes. They have been at the forefront of this demonstration for over four decades. They have heard, over the course of those decades, sundry Australian, Helladic and Cypriot politicians vow that they will fight for the freedom of Cyprus. Over the years, that oath has turned into a pledge that they will support a just “solution” to the “problem,” for both sides implying that victimhood is not only annoying and inconvenient but also, ambivalent. Now, they just don’t bother turning up at all, neither they, nor the hierarchs with aspirations of ethnarchy, nor the majority of the community presidents of organizations with pretentions to leadership save for a few key ones such as the GOCMV, and nor indeed, the Hellenic facebook warriors, those who behind their computer screens emphatically type maledictions against the “lesser races” who have caused the Greek people’s woes. So intent are they upon fighting the battle for reclaiming Greece’s greatness in cyberspace by accusing those of moderate and nuanced views of being traitors and posting racially abusive memes, that they refuse to budge from their virtual trenches for even a moment, to make the trip down to the city, pick up a flag and march down the empty streets, in order to protest against the continued occupation of Cyprus before an empty and mute Parliament, to the clouds and the skies and whatever celestial being inhabits them. Mingling with the remnants of the masses, is quite beneath them.
Also notably absent is the Melbourne-Cypriot community, almost in its entirety. For weeks prior to the protest march, the diverse forms of Greek media beg and cajole the populace to descend to the city and support our Cypriot brethren, only to discover when those few heeding their call arrive, that those same Cypriot brethren are largely nowhere to be seen. Thus, while the few chant: “Justice for Cyprus,” not a few chant: “Where are the Cypriots?” The answer, of course is as simple as it is sad: those who would maintain the rage are either infirm or dead and their descendants lack the immediacy of that rage in order to rouse themselves to fervour suffient for participation. Time, as always, is the enemy, and the Enemy knows this.
In a community that measures success by empty and often quixotic gestures than by substantive results, the indifference shown by the community to what ostensibly is, the key event in the yearly campaign to obtain justice for their homeland, is mystifying. Yet it need not be so and the community’s decision to abjure public protest is completely understandable, as regrettable as it is. Turkish troops brutally invaded and have occupied Cyprus for over four decades. Tens of thousands of Cypriots lost their homes, their livelihoods and their loved ones. Only the other day, a mass grave of Cypriot prisoners of war, massacred by the Turks, was discovered in the port of Kyrenia. Yet save for a few face-saving United Nations resolutions, the International Community has displayed a blatant unwillingness to punish Turkey for its crimes, or uphold International Law. Instead, it has, through conduct and omission, given us to understand that the only International Law that exists, is that which the World Powers are willing to enforce. As long as a country is powerful, is willing to hang on long enough and its services are required by others, it can invade, violate international sovereignty and commit almost any crime with impunity. To add insult to injury, the International Community has legitimized and rewarded Turkey for its invasion of Cyprus, by compelling the Cypriots to accept the presence of the invaders on the island as a condition precedent to the “issue’s solution,” and condemning the Cypriots for refusing to accept the manifestly unjust Annan Plan in 2004. All the while, silently yet indefatigably, the Justic for Cuprus Co-ordinating Comittee has benn lobbying, informing, praying and hoping.
It is no wonder then that the community largely no longer participates in the Justice for Cyprus March. For protesting against the invasion and occupation of Cyprus to those who tacitly uphold the entire International Legal System and who are by their inactivity, complicit in Turkey’s occupation, is tantamount to protesting to the Commintern against Stalin’s purges. It is demeaning, humiliating, hypocritical and ultimately counter-productive. Furthermore, it could be argued that the fact that after four decades, we insist upon following the same threadbare and worn modes of protest, despite the fact that they a) have not worked b) fail to inform public opinion as there is no one in the city to witness them, c) do not take into account the fact that demonstrations on issues that are marginal to the mainstream are no longer effective ways of influencing government policy and d) take up energy that could be best utilised in finding other more contemporary and effective means to get the message about the injustice visited upon Cyprus across, highlights the plight of a community that is as tired, broken, bereft of energy and new ideas, as those who would solve the Cyprus problem themselves, broken by the passage of time and the impunity of the aggressor. Yet it is no fault of our own that our efforts over the past four decades have been rendered impotent, and the march, even in the form it has assumed, has become enshrined in our community calendar as a sacred day.
It is for the the sacredness of this ritual, that I will attend the Justice for Cyprus March next Sunday, as I have always done. I will do so because the valiant efforts and hard work of the Justice for Cyprus Co-ordinating Committee over four decades need to be appreciated and supported. I will do so because there is something inordinately wicked in hearing speechifiers repeat for the forty third time, their pious hope that next year, there will be no need to protest, especially given the failure of the latest round of talks aimed at resolving the ”Issue,” owing to a Turkish refusal to remove its troops from the island. I will stride up a chilly, empty Bourke Street, meeting the gazes of the few bemused Asian shoppers that will cross my path with a stern countenance and assume an air of grim determination as they raise their iphones to entrap me within their photo gallery for eternity. I will chant the mantra “Justice for Cyprus,” and maybe mouth a few platitudes of my own because it is the voice crying in the wilderness that often prepares the way of the lord, save that, I have absolutely no idea which lord that may be. I will repeat the Justice for Cyprus incantation: «Δεν ξεχνώ, » because more than anything, it serves as a cursory warning to all those who look to hollow international and man-made political structures for safety and believe, in that need for safety, in human progress. But most of all, I will hold the hands of those sorrowful women, whose grief cannot be diminished by time, and for whom there is no balm in Gilead. The violation of Cyprus teaches us never to forget how precarious, how vulnerable, our existence actually may be and it is mostly for this reason, put in Orwell's Nineteen Eight-Four so eloquently: "We didn't ought to 'ave trusted the buggers," that all of us, the entire community, should attend the Justice for Cyprus march, hopefully, for the last time.

DEAN KALIMNIOU
kalymnios@hotmail.com

First published in NKEE on Saturday 27 July 2017

NOT QUITE READY FOR SCHOOL

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“It’s quite simple,” the kindergarten teacher commented nonchalantly. “Your daughter should repeat kindergarten. She isn’t quite ready for school.”

“Really. On what basis do you make that assessment?” the shocked mother asked.

“Well she doesn’t relate to other kids and she doesn’t follow instructions…”

“She doesn’t speak English. How do you expect her to follow instructions if she doesn’t understand what you are saying?” the mother countered.

“That’s my point. She isn’t ready for school,” the teacher crowed triumphantly.

“What type of language support has my daughter been provided?” the mother continued, undaunted.

“Well, we are under-resourced…”

“Have you undertaken a skills analysis? Are you aware that she is literate in another two languages?”

“Yes but for the purposes of school next year… ” the teacher stuttered, flummoxed. “Anyway, I think that maybe the fact she speaks other languages is making her confused. Maybe you should just concentrate on English.”

“Are you aware of Dr Priscilla Clarke’s paper on “Supporting Children learning English as a Second Language in the Early Years?”” the mother persisted.

“I’m not…”

“In that paper, Dr Priscilla Clarke says the following: “Evidence shows that young children can learn more than one language with ease, as long as they are exposed to good language models and have plenty of exposure to both languages. Maintaining the first language does not interfere with the learning of English. Research suggests the opposite – that knowing one language can help the child understand how other languages work. The maintenance of the first or home language is particularly important for the child’s development of a positive self-concept and well-being.

Children who have the opportunity to maintain their first language can extend their cognitive development, while learning English as a second language. Their level of competence in the second language will be related to the level of competence they have achieved in their first language.” Are you aware of that?” the mother asked, handing the paper to the teacher.

“Yes but, for the purposes of school next year…,” the teacher interjected.

“Furthermore,” the mother interrupted, turning over the pages of the paper, “Dr Priscilla Clarke has this to say about knowledge of the English language as a pre-requisite to readiness for school:  “Some early childhood professionals and parents believe that children who have limited English may not be ready to start school. They feel that the children’s level of English will be insufficient to cope with the school environment. While it is an advantage for children to speak some English and be able to communicate their needs and wishes, some children do begin school without having been exposed to English, and schools have programs to support these new learners.

For children who have already attended in a children’s service, the ability to speak English is an important asset that they can use within the school environment. However, children’s readiness for school is shown in many ways. For example, children need to demonstrate an awareness of other children around them and be able to relate to others in a social context. Being able to take a risk and talk to a peer or adult even with only a few words in English is an indicator that a child is ‘socially’ ready for school. Other skills include self-confidence, positive social skills and an interest in learning. In the pre-school years early childhood professionals work with children to develop their social skills so that they are able to interact with others without much spoken English. It is important to remember that children’s comprehension of English always exceeds their ability to speak fluent English and that the ability to communicate is not measured by grammatical competence.”

“Oh,” the teacher gasped.

“Does my child demonstrate an awareness of other children around her and is she able to relate to others in a social context?” the mother enquired.

“I suppose so.”

“Does she take risks and talk to peers or adults even with only a few words in English?” the mother continued.

“Yes, she is speaking more and more English these past weeks,” the teacher admitted.

“Does my child display self-confidence, positive social skills and an interest in learning?” the mother rejoined.

“Yes,” the teacher responded.

“Then can you please tell me in what way you believe my child is not ready for school next year, given that it is July and we have another six months of pre-school to go?” the mother concluded.

Silence.

            The above conversation is, unbeknownst to many of us, currently being played out, albeit with small variations, in pre-schools all around Melbourne, with the only difference being that many Greek-Australian parents, who choose to bring up their children with Greek as their first language, are usually not aware of leading educator Dr Priscilla Clarke’s research and are generally unable to counter their children’s pre-school teachers assertions that their offspring should repeat kindergarten, or that teaching them Greek is harmful, as it retards  their acquisition of English.

            Instead, confused and highly concerned parents, who seem to remember that they did not have much trouble in mastering English when they first went to school, either accept the teacher’s usually baseless contention and either a) make their children unnecessarily repeat preschool or b) stop speaking to their children in Greek altogether. On the odd occasion, savvy parents will insist upon having their child’s readiness for school assessed by an external professional. Invariably, lack of English is not considered by them to be an impediment to their starting school, though other behavioural problems may be. As a result, parental confidence in their offspring’s preschool teacher and their ability to support English language learning is greatly diminished.

            In one glaring example, a mother was horrified to be informed by her son’s pre-school teacher that he was, in her opinion, dyslexic. When asked for evidence to support her contention, the teacher pointed to the child’s ‘distorted’ way of writing his name, even though his other classmates had not yet mastered the art of writing their own names. The mother glanced at the page and burst out laughing. The child had written his name perfectly, in the only language in which he was literate: Greek.

            The fact that as a community, we have gone from being New Australians, to well established has seen an erosion in resources, with regard to supporting English learning as a second language. Gone are the enlightened multicultural programmes of the eighties, the Greek language readers commissioned by the Victorian and South Australian State Governments to ease Greek speakers into English literacy. Three decades on, it is assumed that we have all become linguistically assimilated, with mother tongue Greek speaking children considered to be an aberration by teachers and parent-peers alike, an unjustifiable drain on classroom resources, taking away the focus from those who have the ‘right’ to language support: recent arrivals, for the current multicultural paradigm does not seem to allow for the retention of a first language other than English, beyond one generation. The complexity of the situation is of course compounded in cases, such as that of my own children, whose family context has brought about them being conversant in two languages other than English, prior to their learning that language.

            Although pre-school education is of vital importance as a pathway to further formal learning, our community is yet to articulate a unitary approach to it, or assess how it impacts upon Greek language learning, something that is surprising given the historic emphasis given to Greek language learning in the primary and secondary learning tiers. This is of concern not only because lack of training in supporting English as a second language (even though proper research exists to facilitate this) is resulting in educators providing faulty or incorrect advice to parents, making them feel bad about or undermining their language choices and ultimately contributing not only to monolingualism but also to a diminished preschool experience.

            Ultimately, it is incumbent upon us to defend and justify our choices in the face of ignorance, but only when we have come together to work out what exactly it is we want from our pre-school education system. When asked by my daughter’s prospective headmistress as to whether extreme patriotism was the main reason behind our choice in introducing her to her own ancestral languages prior to learning English, I responded as follows: “It is because growing up in Melbourne, I was only introduced to the works of world literature, Hans Christian Andersen, Miguel Cervantes, Maxim Gorky, Anton Chekhov and the like, in the Greek translations I was provided at Greek school. I never did encounter, or was taught, the great works of European literature in the English system. I do not want to deprive her of the same opportunity to enjoy a holistic education.”

            Smiling, the foreign educated headmistress gave me the thumbs up. “Good thinking,” she beamed.

 

DEAN KALIMNIOU
 
First published in NKEE on Saturday 29 July 2017

ETERNAL SUBVERSIVES

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“So, if there was a war between Greece and Australia, who would you fight for?” my freckled classmate asked.
“No one,” I responded.
“Come on, you would have to fight for someone. Who would you fight for?” he pressed.
“No one. I am against war. I would refuse to fight on the grounds that I am a pacifist,” I qualified.
“Well,” my grade six teacher cut in, “who would you support?”
“What do you mean by support?” I asked.
“Well, who you barrack for?” my grade school teacher enquired.
“It depends,” I answered.
“On what?” my freckled classmate questioned.
“On who is right,” I rejoined.
“So you wouldn’t fight for Greece?” my teacher took over.
“No.”
“You wouldn’t support Greece?” he continued.
“Depends on the situation.”
“Say if Greece invaded Australia?”
“Is that even possible?” I asked.
“Well just say it happened. Would you support Greece.”
“No.”
“What if Australia invaded Greece. Would you support Australia?” my freckled friend continued the cross-examination.
“No, because then Australia would be an aggressor,” I replied.
“Garbage. You need to choose one. Who do you support. Greece or Australia?” my friend spat exasperatedly.
“Both.”
“You’re just a poustamalaka,” he retorted, walking away. It’s either one or the other. And we all know who you really support.”
My teacher stifled a snigger.
 
Rendered breathless by the artful playground conflation of the Greek terms for homosexual and onanist into a beautiful Australian compound word, it took me a while to process my grade six social studies discussion. When finally each word was distilled, I was puzzled at both my classmates’ and teacher’s insistence that I ‘choose a side,’ albeit supposedly hypothetical, or indeed their assumption that my decision making processes, such as they were in grade six, were determined solely by my ethnic background. The inference was clear, by virtue of that background, I was at least potentially, a subversive element whose loyalty to Australia could be questioned.
 
In their seminal Greek language study, “From Foreigner to Citizen: Greek Migrants and Social Change in White Australia 1897-2000” University Philosophy Lecturer George Vassilacopoulos and Tina Nicolacopoulou postulate that despite the veneer of formal equality characterizing race relations in this country, there lurks within the substratum, a fundamental concept of the ‘perpetual foreigner.’ Whereas Australian law is founded upon respect for proprietary rights and the individual, when it comes to foreigners, these tend to be lumped together as a ‘group’ by those who obtain legitimisation of their rule and presence in this country by conferring upon such foreigners, citizenship and residency rights. Nonetheless, these foreigners are not automatically subsumed into the liberal democratic individualist paradigm. They remain a distinct ‘group,’ which is expected to provide appropriate declarations and exhibitions of loyalty to the ruling culture, or face the fear of being labelled suspect.

Vassilacopoulos and Nicolacopoulou point to various examples of such an attitude being applied to the early pre-Second World War Greek community. They point to Greek newspapers being closely monitored by ASIO, Greek-Australian citizens being compensated as foreign nationals in various race riots and Greeks being interned as politically suspect in camps prior to Greece’s entry into the First World War on the side of the Allies, regardless of their citizenship status. They especially point to the Lord Mayor of Melbourne’s speech at the opening of the first Greek Orthodox Church in Melbourne as exemplifying the official attitude towards ‘foreigners.’. The Lord Mayor in that instance praised the Greek community not for establishing itself under difficult circumstances or retaining their culture but for being among the most hard-working and law-abiding, proving that they are a trustworthy, loyal and obedient ‘group.’

Despite the advent of multiculturalism which attempted to alter the paradigm of Australian society as Anglo-Celtic ruled but tolerant of other foreign groups, to a mosaic or melting pot depending upon various interpretations, the archetypal model seems to have remained the same. Try as they might, ethnic communities have not ever been able to be accepted either in the popular consciousness or the ruling classes as ‘Australian,’ a term, that everywhere outside bureaucrat speak, refers to Anglo-Celts. (Even the native inhabitants of this country don’t seem to qualify as Australians in the public discourse. Increasingly, they are referred to as “First Peoples,” quite possibly so as not to be confused with ‘real Australians’…) Instead, they have been constantly called upon to prove their loyalist credentials at every turn. This phenomenon, Vassilacopoulos and Nicolacopoulou term as the plight of the ‘eternal subversives.’
 
The latest controversy over dual citizenship and/or the entitlement of Australian Federal members of Parliament to the citizenship of another country by virtue of their ethnic origin, something that is currently proscribed by the Constitution of Australia, is a case in point.  Section 44(i) states that “any person who is under any acknowledgement of allegiance, obedience or adherence to a foreign power, or is a subject or a citizen or entitled to the rights or privileges of a subject or a citizen of a foreign power” cannot enter Parliament. Second-generation Australians can be affected: many nations, such as Greece recognise as citizens not just their native-born who migrated to Australia, but potentially, those migrants’ children and grandchildren as well.
 
It is worth mentioning that ethnic community skepticism currently revolves around a belief that the political sphere and the media have only just discovered the relevant clause in the Constitution and have only just determined to enforce it. However, as early as 1992, Swiss-born John Delacretaz, a naturalized Australian since 1960 was ruled by the High Court as ineligible to stand for the Federal Seat of Wills and told he would have to renounce all connection to Switzerland if he wished to stand again. In response, he wrote a letter to the High Court renouncing his Australian citizenship. Similarly, Bill Kardamitsis, who ran for the same seat, was also found ineligible to run, by virtue of his Greek birth. Further, long serving Labor Federal Member of Parliament Andrew Theophanous’s eligibility to hold his seat was also placed under scrutiny, until it was discovered that he had emigrated to Australia while Cyprus was still a British colony and therefore his position was safe.
 
That section 44(i) has always been considered to be problematic can be evidenced by the fact that in the 1980s the Senate standing committee on legal and constitutional affairs recommended that the provision be abolished and replaced with a statutory requirement that candidates make a declaration about whether they held dual citizenship and what steps they had taken to renounce it. It was the committee’s belief that a candidate that did not want to undergo such a procedure should not be automatically barred from office, but rather, that ordinary voters should decide at the polls.  Nonetheless, any change to the Constitution, requires a referendum and apart from naming and shaming potential subversives, the public discourse does not seem to be overwhelmingly clamouring for such a referendum at this stage.
 
Considering that migrants and the children of migrants appear to be currently enshrined in the Constitution as eternal subversives, it is not surprising that ethnic members of Parliament are scurrying to prove their “Aussie” credentials. Responding to questions about her eligibility to enter Parliament by virtue of her Greek ethnic origin, Australian-born Julia Banks scrambled to assure her interlocutors that she is a “true blue” Australian. Nick Xenophon went further, claiming that he neither had Cypriot citizenship, nor never wanted it. It is to these sad lengths then, that the constitutionally enshrined concept of the migrant (or descendant of the migrant) as the eternal subversive, compels politicians to go. It is not enough to require them to choose, in a larger extrapolation of my own classroom experience, forcing them to renounce a citizenship most of them didn’t even know they had, on the grounds of legality. They must also be further compelled to make humiliating and ridiculous affirmations of loyalty, uncalled for from other politicians, for in these increasingly nebulous times, any foreign connotation or hint at a foreign tie, makes one automatically a potential subversive element. For someone like Julia Banks, who has in the past spoken about her ordeal of enduring racial slurs in the course of her previous employment, the experience must be harrowing indeed.
 
The irony of our predicament of course, is that while our Constitution bars entry to Federal Parliament, to people who have or are entitled to dual citizenship, our Head of State was born overseas, and is also the head of state of another fifteen countries, without this incongruity raising any eyebrow, constitutional or paranoid whatsoever. Yet what if there was ever a war between the UK and Australia? Which side would be chosen? Perhaps George Washington has the answer…. In the meantime, let us hasten to assure each other that we are dinky di, you beaut, as we, possessed of the Greek passports that allow us cue-free entry to summers in Mykonos, subvert the system from within…..until the inevitable Greco-Australian war that is.
 

DEAN KALIMNIOU
First published in NKEE on Saturday, 5 August 2017
 
 
 
 
 
 

SPLASH!

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“What are you doing with that hose?” I asked. “It has just rained. There is no need to water anything.”
I should have known then that something was wrong. By way of response, my wife turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. At that moment, time dragged itself to a halt. As if caught within a hiccupping freeze frame, I observed her, in increasing horror, frame by terrible frame, turn inexorably towards me and point the garden hose in my direction.
For reasons that I confess I do not comprehend, I am not a fan of water at the best of times. Heraclitus may have opined that “water makes the soul go moist” believing that it is death to fire to become water, considering that souls are made out of fire - in common with the λόγος, which is why we are all here in the first place. I, on the other hand, having been assured by means of my triple immersion in water, of the immortality of my own soul regardless of prevailing weather conditions, merely do not enjoy the sensation of being wet, which is not only why I howled in indignation at my baptism, but also consider the wet trauma of that event to be my earliest memory, dripping down my consciousness ever since.
Seconds later, the torrent reached me, penetrating every weave in my clothes and discharging its wetness upon me. It was the middle of Winter and it was inordinately cold. In rage at my saturated violation, I strode forth, whipped the garden hose out of my laughing wife’s hands and proceeded to douse her vigorously. Yet she met my aqueous assault with continued laughter, once more assuming custody of the hose and subjecting me to saturation again.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked suddenly, as she perceived my face turning a shade of porphyry that would have been considered lèse-majesté in polite Byzantine society: “Don’t you guys celebrate Nusardel? I thought you did.”
I responded with the growl of a deranged Greek water sprite that has been disturbed in its slumber by yet another Hollywood portrayal of Greek mythological characters as leather-clad Vikings. But then again, as Bob Marley opined, prior to his conversion to Ethiopian Orthodoxy: "Some people feel the rain, others just get wet."
Around about the month of July, the Assyrian people celebrate Nusardel, a water festival. During this time, it pleases them to walk around the neighbourhoods of their natural habitat, bearing buckets and splashing each other with water. In other urban areas, family picnics are organised so that the like-minded may congregate and drench each other to their hearts’ content. Religious sources ascribe the practice of Nusardel to an event in the life of the Apostle Thomas, who, it is said, passed through Urmiya, an important homeland of the Assyrian people in Iran, on his way to India. Such was the power of Christianity in that town that many came to be baptized by the Apostle, who performed the rite by splashing water on the crowd and spawning as a result, an exponential number of re-enactments.
Nusardel occurs on the seventh Sunday after Ascension, so that it falls, depending on when Easter falls, generally in midsummer in the Northern Hemisphere. Scholars tend to agree that it is a ritual that in pre-Christian times, must have been connected with the summer solstice, perhaps linked to the concept of the resurrection of plants and trees by the ancient Assyrian god of the underworld, Tammuz or Dumuzi, who sprinkles water on sown fields and gardens to hasten their growth. As such, the Assyrian kings of antiquity would traditionally sprinkle holy water on people and crops during the hot summer months as a blessing. 
Also around about the same time, the Armenian people celebrate Vardavar, a water festival, where they too go around splashing each other, celebrating the transfiguration of Jesus Christ. The festival is generally celebrated 14 weeks after Easter, so that it too, like its Armenian counterpart falls in the Northern Hemisphere’s midsummer.
The festival of Vardavar also dates back to pagan times. It is traditionally associated with the goddess Astghik, who was for the ancient Armenians, the goddess of water, beauty, love and fertility. The festivities associated with this religious observance of Astghik were named “Vartavar” because Armenians offered her roses as a celebration and in Armenian, “vart” means "rose" and var means "rise." While we, situated in the West consider a sunrise romantic, nothing can be more calculated to make one swoon that a rose-rise, coupled with a ritual drenching. In this, the Armenians truly can be said to be the architects of fecundity.
Armenian organized and collective splashing assumes means more technologically advanced than their Assyrian brethren. In California, where large expatriate communities of them thrive, it is not unknown for the more enterprising among them to hire fire trucks and turn their hoses upon a gleeful populace, in celebration of Vardavar. It is at times like these, that even though the theory is that Armenians are our closest linguistic relatives, that I am not counted among them.
Sadly, and as valiantly as I tried, I could not justify my paroxysm of fury, on the basis of being violated by precedents unknown. For as it turns out, our own people do not exist independently of water sprinkling proclivities. Thus, I was incensed to learn that traditionally in Kastellorizo, and on the Asia Minor coast of Lycia prior to 1922, in preparation for the feast of St Elias (20 July so largely contemporaneous with the Armenian and Assyrian water festivals), a protracted amount of reciprocal drenching would take place. For days before St Elias' feast, local children would roam the streets, dragging each other into the sea, or drenching each other with buckets while yelling: «Τ᾽άϊ Λιά!» Scholars speculate that the custom, known in modern Greek as «μπουγέλωμα,» enacted on Kastellorizo even now, is a remnant of a pagan rain-making ritual, considering that Saint Elias, at least in the popular consciousness, was widely held to have power over rain.
The knowledge that our aquatic customs are equally enshrined in hallowed antiquity, in my spouse’s casuistic argument, (for whom Nusardel is a reminder of better, kinder, more peaceful times before she was forced to leave her homeland) precludes me from exhibiting any symptoms of apoplexy. At the root of all these festivals are pagan rain-making or fertility rituals and it is amazing that they are celebrated, with differing justifications, at roughly the same time by the three native cultures of Anatolia. Nonetheless, as I towel off and attend to making myself a garlic tea, for my inadvertent participation in Nusardel and «του Άϊ λιος» has resulted in a rather severe case of the flu, I marvel at how tied to place and time many of our customs are, and how disjointed and strange they appear when removed from their original context and aped in the Antipodes. Just as we can never hope to truly appreciate the aesthetics of the resurrection of nature accompanying the resurrection of Christ, unless we spend a springtime Easter in Greece, or relish in the carnality of a Spring Mardi Gras, amidst the lushness of an awakening landscape, at a time when our own is darkening and becoming ever more frigid, the idea of drenching each other in the middle of Winter, when rain is plentiful, and water translates to pain, is inexplicable as it is untenable. And herein, lies the paradox, of our Antipodean existence.

DEAN KALIMNIOU
kalymnios@hotmail.com
First published in NKEE on Saturday 12 August 2017

TRAMSPOTTING

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My most favoured pastime, during the years I took the tram into university, was playing ‘Spot the Greek.’ This was a game of my own invention, whose sole aim was to identify which of my fellow passengers was Greek. Spiky haired, sideburns Greek, who would rush into the tram sporting a harried, perpetually persecuted visage, was an easy guess, simply because after ten minutes, he would invariably receive a telephone call from a woman with a high pitched voice. Her end of the conversation was garbled, but his responses, delivered at the top of his voice, resonated throughout the carriage:
“Yes, mum.”
“Alright mum.”
“Mum, alright, είπα.”
“I will mum.”
“Mum, I’ve got my μπλούζα.”
“I’m not going to κρυώσει.”
“Seriously mum.”
Upon the conclusion of this discourse, he would roll his eyes, reach into his backpack, remove from within it what appeared to be an impossibly long, lovingly hand-knitted jumper and proceed to wear it, all the while exclaiming “Mothers!” as he tried, unsuccessfully, to tuck its various folds above his pant-line.
I applied the sobriquet “Greek ferret” to Spiky haired, sideburns Greek, because his bizarre daily conversations with his mother (“no mum, I’m not going to χύσει the φασολάδα,” “no mum, I’ve got the κουτάλι in my τσέπη, wrapped”) – which I am convinced was actually code for a high-level international arms deal) elicited barely concealed smirks from other passengers that I had marked tentatively as Greek but was unsure, until their mirth betrayed them.
The Greek ferret was thus the reason for me being able to ascertain the Hellenic provenance of Bouffant hair man, whose uncanny resemblance to Robert De Niro threw me off for a few months. Bouffant hair man has been a constant presence in my life, though I have never exchanged words with him. I have witnessed him, as a single man: studiously attend to the grooming of the vegetation of his ample nostrils, on days when the tram seemed barely able to drag itself into the city and then as an attached man, being chased by the clearly excited object of his affection on to the tram, and observed his profile as he exchanged long, lingering glances with her waiting at the stop, as the tram slowly but dramatically, pulled away, film-noir style, causing all the ladies in the carriage to sigh. I see him around my local area still, his hair as bouffant and luxurious as it ever was that many decades ago, whereas mine has paled and wasted away, with usually a child or two in tow. I offer him the smile that only veterans who have traversed the weary road of life in tandem can give one another but I am met with a look of chilled steel indifference. I am convinced he thinks I am weird. I am also convinced his ancestors derive from Peloponnesus.
Though the Greek ferret was good, he was not an infallible method for catching all Greeks. Take Greek Amazon woman, for instance. Impossibly tall and svelte, impeccably dressed in non-ethnic specific clothes and possessed of hair so long, black and lustrous that it rendered the verses of the Song of Songs: “Your hair is like flock of goats bounding down Mount Gilead” completely redundant, her ethnic provenance remained an enigma for many months. It was her eyes, which were of a speckled grey hue that caused confusion. Though there is, as I considered at the time, historic precedent for grey-eyed Greeks, after all, my grandmother was one, as was the goddess Athena, these were the serene, self-confident, at complete ease and peace with the world eyes of a confident beautiful woman, and they betrayed none of the inner turmoil of the stereotypical Greek. As a result, I remained irresolute in my judgment until I determined that something about her mouth was slightly over-proportioned, this causing me to adjudicate in favour of a Greek derivation.
In this case my judgment was tested in the final court of appeal for ‘Spot the Greek’ – Good Friday in my local Orthodox church, when invariably all my hard cases could be identified out the front, holding candles and looking for their relatives. Sure enough, there she was, Grey-eyed GreekAmazon woman, to the left of the Epitaphios, immaculately dressed in dolorous shades, gazing serenely at the crowd milling around her, her eyebrows creasing not once into a frown as her personage was buffeted by the frantic peregrinations of the shorter parishioners.
Our eyes met and her slightly over-proportioned mouth widened into a beaming smile. Walking towards me she asked with manifest delight:
“Hey are you Greek?”
“Evidently.”
“Ha! You’re the guy from the tram yeah?”
“I am he.”
“I’ve been wondering whether you are Greek or not for months now.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, I play this game where I look at everyone on the tram and try to guess whether they are Greek or not.”
“No way, so do I! I’ve been wondering whether you are Greek for months as well. I am pleased that I got it right.”
“Well actually, I’m Italian. I’m married to a Greek.”
“Bugger.”
“For what? The fact I’m Italian, or the fact I’m married to a Greek?”……
We forged a tacit agreement then and there that we would continue to play our game, having devised an intricate point scoring arrangement. Some of our targets were dead easy. Consider the hirsute (a decade before the invention of the hipster) Ελληνάρες, who in the company of a girl self-identifying as Παρθένα, (pronounced Par-theyna) and wearing probably the last “Greeks do it better” t-shirt before they became extinct, strode onto the tram on our evening commute, singing: «Ο αετός πεθαίνει στον αέρα,» their arms outstretched as they executed faux zeimbekiko moves. I wanted to take them by the hand and point them in the general direction of Oakleigh, for they seemed lost, but this was against the rules of the game. Instead, I looked on, as Partheyna attached herself to the powerful forearm of hirsute Greek No 1.
“Oh my Gowd Γιάννη,” she gurgled, exaggerating every single syllable in staccato fashion, “your μπράτσα are huuuge ρε.”
“It’s not the size of the μπράτσο, it’s how you κουνήσει it Partheyna,” hirsute Greek No 2, riposted.
“Oh my Gowd that’s like so funny,” Partheyna guffawed. “But that’s π…τσο, not μπράτσο isn’t it?”
An orgy of mutual groping, thinly disguised as friendly wrestling ensued.
Some cases were not so obvious. Take chatty Aussie tram lady for example. Possessed of mousy blonde hair, blue eyes and freckles, she would be constantly on the phone, throughout the duration of her tram ride, punctuating her discourse with Australian diminutives and expressions of affection such as “darl” and “girlie.” Something about her fell within my radar however, and for a few weeks I scanned her speech of evidence of an unaspirated t, or a voiceless alveolar retracted sibilant s, for sure signs of a suppressed Greekness. Having identified none of these, I resigned myself to scoring zero points, when, totally unexpectedly, I chanced upon her at a function organized by the brotherhood whence I derive my paternal ancestry.
“Oh, no way!” she chortled.
“I could say the same thing about you,” I responded.
“I’ve been wondering whether you’re Greek for ages, and here you are. And not only are you Greek but also from the same place as I,” she laughed.
“What can I say, we come in all shapes and sizes. If I hadn’t seen you here, I would never have guessed you were a Greek though.”
“Yeah, I had a hard time picking you out too. You don’t really look the type. But I figured it out in the end.”
“So what gave me away?” I had to ask.
“Two things. Firstly, every time you sit down, you let out a long sigh like this: «ουυυυφ». Then when you get up to leave, you make another sound «ωωωωωωχ». That was my first clue. But the second clue was the real giveaway.”
“Do tell…”
“Well do you remember, it would have been last year, when you were busted by the inspector for not validating your ticket? As he walked away, you whispered under your breath: «Τη φάρα σου…» It was almost inaudible, but I was sitting behind you. And that’s how I knew.”
I rode a tram into town for the first time in many years a few weeks ago. Lost in a reverie of games once played, I barely noticed someone tugging on my arm.
«Συγγνώμη, Έλληνας είστε; Μήπως ξέρετε σε ποια στάσάση να κατέβω για το νοσοκομείο;» a young woman asked. Based on the clothes she was wearing, and of course the fact she was speaking in Greek without prefacing each word by “um” which is a unique Greek Australian identifier, I formed the impression she was a recent arrival to these shores.
«Πώς με καταλάβατε;» I asked, enthralled at how quickly my game had manifestly been adopted among the newly arrived migrant classes. In that split second, my thoughts turned to international play-offs, syndicates and global trophies.
«Μα από τον Νέο Κόσμο που κρατάτε στα χέρια σας. Δεν ήθελε και πολύ σκέψη,» came the simple reply.
Game, Set, Match.

DEAN KALIMNIOU
kalymnios@hotmail.com
First published in NKEE on 19 August 2017

BREAKING THE SEAL

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Recent debate over whether Parliament should legislate to ensure mandatory reporting for crimes such as child abuse revealed to priests during confession has centered around the two main Christian sects in this country: the Catholic and Anglican Church. Nonetheless, the perspective of the Orthodox Church, the second largest Christian denomination in the world and arguably the most venerable, has of yet, not achieved any prominence in the public discourse.

 The debate has its origins in the revelations of terrible abuses transpiring primarily within the Catholic Church, the implication being that 1. abusers, mainly priests, could obtain ‘forgiveness’ by confessing their crimes, 2. They could do so with impunity, knowing that their confessor could not reveal their confession to anyone, 3. As a result, having been ‘absolved’ of their crimes spiritually, they feel free to commit the same crime again, knowing they will once more receive ‘absolution.’
 
Such a view of confession, where one merely needs to confess their sins in order to obtain absolution of them, a type of “automatic forgiveness” is alien to the thinking of the Orthodox Church, whose main perspective is that of God’s love for Humanity and in which forgiveness is a process that has to be worked through. In the rite of confession, emphasis is therefore placed upon the need for the penitent to make a full and frank accounting of their transgressions. It is then incumbent upon the confessor-priest to work with the penitent to make them understand why the acts they have confessed to are wrong, and ensure that the penitent truly repents those actions and if necessary, work with the penitent to ensure those actions are not repeated again. In those cases, the priest calls upon God to confer absolution stating: “May God Who pardoned David through Nathan the Prophet when he confessed his sins, Peter who wept bitterly for his denial, the Harlot weeping at His feet, the Publican and the Prodigal; May our same Merciful God forgive you all things, through me a sinner, both in this world and in the world to come, and set you uncondemned before His terrible Judgment Seat.”

Central to the rite of confession is its secrecy. Only the priest can be a witness of the confession before God. The reason for this is that in the Orthodox tradition, it is held that one cannot expect a sincere and complete confession if the penitent has doubts regarding the practice of confidentiality. Consequently, betrayal of the secrecy of confession will lead to canonical punishment of the priest. Thus, the Byzantine Nomocanon states, in Canon 120:
"A spiritual father, if he reveals to anyone a sin of one who had confessed receives a penance: he shall be suspended [from serving] for three years, being able to receive Communion only once a month, and must do 100 prostrations every day."

In like manner, Saint John Climacus views confession as an inviolable communication between man and God: "At no time do we find God revealing the sins which have been confessed to Him, lest by making these public knowledge, He should impede those who would confess and so make them incurably sick."

Saint Nicodemus the Hagiorite also exhorts the Spiritual Father to keep confessions confidential, stating:
"Nothing else remains after confession, Spiritual Father, except to keep the sins you hear a secret, and to never reveal them, either by word, or by letter, or by a bodily gesture, or by any other sign, even if you are in danger of death, for that which the wise Sirach says applies to you: "Have you heard a word? Let it die with you" meaning, if you heard a secret word, let the word also die along with you, and do not tell it to either a friend of yours or an enemy of yours, for as long as you live.”
The emphasis here is on providing a confidential environment wherein a transgressor can be healed and rehabilitated spiritually, a process that can be compromised if their crimes are made public knowledge and subject to the judgment of the populace at large, especially when they don’t have a stake in the trangressor’s rehabilitation.

Yet what if, for argument’s sake, a person confesses to their priest, that they are abusing children? Can an Orthodox priest break the seal of confession in order to report them to the authorities, thus protecting the children in question from further harm? Some Orthodox priests in Australia, noting how few of their parishioners participate in the rite of confession, feel that this eventuality is so remote as to render the question purely academic, yet are concerned at the implications of any legislation, causing conflict with the canons of the Church.

Father George Morelli, an Orthodox priest in America who has written widely on the subject of confession recognizes the difficult position mandatory reporting places on priests. He states: “The priest must act out of love and the purity and clarity of his heart, for both the victim or potential victim and the abuser. If the abuser comes to the priest, the priest must attempt to convince the abuser to accept the fact that they have as serious problem and must seek the help that is needed. This may involve emergency hospitalization or perhaps incarceration.”Regardless of this, the common consensus is that the contents of a confession cannot be revealed. In this circumstance, Orthodox priests, are still under a duty to protect victims from harm in any way they can and this gives rise to complexities and ambiguities in the manner in which the inviolability of confession is balanced with the duty to protect others from such harm.

Some priests try to skirt the issue by discerning what the transgressor is about to confess and informing the alleged abuser that they cannot hear their confession at that time. The ensuing discussion would therefore not be a confession and thus not under the seal.

Father George Morelli comments: “If someone slipped by my "intuitive anticipation" and disclosed abuse in Holy Confession, I would withhold absolution and tell the person they are "without absolution" until they report the abuse to the authorities. As a follow up, since the Seal of Confession still holds, I would try and contact the abused and, without violating the confession, do all I can do to protect and guide him to safety.”

This of course gives rise to further difficulties of nuance. How much and what information provided to the abused and/or their parents is substantive enough to protect them from harm and yet still does not constitute a violation of the seal of confession? Is it enough to intimate a belief that they are in danger of being abused, without revealing the identity of the abuser? If through the provision of vague information, the person who the priest contacts is able to logically deduce the identity of the abuser, is this a violation of the seal of confession? These questions are all moot at Canon Law. Furthermore, what if all the priest’s efforts are ineffective at protecting the victim from harm? Additionally, what happens in a person confesses to a crime of abuse and then returns to confess of a repeat of the crime, again and again?

Ultimately, Father George Morelli views a priest’s close relationship with his parishioners as paramount in being able to discern problems of this nature, prior to confession:
“If abuse is anticipated, it is actually easier for a priest-licensed mental health practitioner to treat because the disclosure rules can be cited up front before a "session" or a communication begins. I want to be perfectly clear however, that once Holy Confession has begun, no law…can contravene the Seal -even to the imprisonment or death of the priest.”

Some Orthodox priests, concerned that strict adherence to the Canons fails to protect the vulnerable, have argued around the issue by stating that the imposition of a penance is an intrinsic part of the rite of Confession. Consequently, if an abuser confesses his abuse, the priest imposes upon him as penance, the obligation to go to the authorities and turn himself in. If he does not do so, then the rite of Confession has not been fully performed and therefore the Seal does not hold, allowing the priest to report him to the authorities. From a canonical point of view, though motivated by the best intentions, this approach is problematic, because it scholastically pre-supposes that the penitent’s completion of the act of penance completes the rite. Instead, in the Orthodox tradition the completion of penance, though of intrinsic importance to the healing of the sinner, is left up to his own conscience and does not invalidate the rite which gave rise to it.

An articulation of the Orthodox perspective on confession and the difficulties Orthodox priests face in reconciling any mandatory reporting laws with Church Canons is of vital importance if legislators are to assess the effectiveness of the implementation of such laws across the board and will assist in the drafting of laws that will not only respect millennia old religious rites but also will, in collaboration with the churches that hold to the seal of confession, develop sound strategies for the protection of victims of child abuse. In this public process, the voice of the Orthodox and other churches, must be heard and seriously considered.

"Acquire the spirit of peace in the heart and a thousand souls will be saved around you,"wrote St. Seraphim of Sarov. A Church that through the rite of confession, aspires to bring peace to the abuser and abused, allowing both, through love and in the case of the perpetrator, self-examination, to be healed, offers such a process of reconciliation and rehabilitation that is often beyond the punitive organs of the state. Nonetheless, in addressing the important issue of mandatory reporting, such a perspective must be reconciled with the importance of protecting the most vulnerable members of our society, from harm.

DEAN KALIMNIOU
First published in NKEE on Saturday 26 August 2017

GREEKS CONTRA GREEKS

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“When we arrived here, the Greeks who had come here before the war thought that we were the scum of the earth. They laughed at our accents and considered our way of acting and doing things backward. My parents were working on a farm for their cousins. They wouldn’t let us stay with them in the house because we were “filthy Greeks.” I was a baby at the time and my cradle was a wooden milk crate, in one of the sheds.” Greek-Australian who arrived in Australia in 1951.

“When we got here, the young Greeks who had arrived in the fifties looked down at us. They called us wogs and made fun of our clothes and the way we spoke. We thought they were strange. What kind of Greeks were these? They ate differently and spoke differently and they did not have the same sense of obligation towards each other that we had. They were barely Greeks at all.” Greek-Australian who arrived in Australia in 1963.

“The Greeks of Greece are lazy, selfish, ungrateful and untrustworthy. All they do is demand things. They have destroyed Greece and now they are going to destroy Australia.” Elderly Greek-Australian resident of Oakleigh, who arrived here in 1966.

Μπουρτζόβλαχοι trapped in the traditions of their κωλοχωριά in the 1950s. Harbouring a vast hatred towards all Greeks, their idea of being Greek is confined to souvlakia, loukoumades and the tsamiko. If the migration and repatriation of true Greeks continues, they will become an endangered species. They have a chance to learn from the young Greeks and divest themselves of their vlach tendencies. Let them do it to save their children who they have made them in their own sorry image. They blindly hate Greeks without having an understanding of the prevailing conditions in the country.” Newly arrived Greek-Australian, on the already established Greek-Australian migrant community.

 The recent publication of researcher Nikos Golfinopoulos’ report on newly arrived Greek migrants in Melbourne, based on research he conducted in this city in 2014 contains findings that should come as no surprise. According to him, newly arrived Greeks report that they are exploited by the Greek-Australian businesses they work in. Furthermore, the same newly arrived Greek report that on the whole, there exists within the Greek community in Melbourne a deeply seated prejudice against new arrivals, who are widely considered to be subversive, lazy, ungrateful and untrustworthy. Of course, Nikos Golfinopoulos’ findings would benefit from a comparative study of those prejudices in order to ascertain the reason for their existence. Interviewing Greek-Australian business owners who have experienced difficulties with newly arrived migrants they have employed, consulting with elderly couples who provided rooms in their homes to newly arrived boarders only to see them trashed and of course, recording the various disparaging comments made by newly arrived migrants about the cultural level of the already established Greek community, in which the quality of its Hellenism is called into question, would assist in a holistic appreciation of this historical phenomenon.

 While it is important to point out that while prejudices do exist, the vast majority of older and newer migrants care for and enjoy each other’s esteem. However, a proper understanding of the acculturating friction, such that it is, between the older and newer Greek migrants of Australia must be placed in its historic context for there is precedent for such friction in our past. A cursory examination of that past suggests that successive waves of Greek migrants have always been looked down upon by those of previous migration generations. Hugh Gilchrist and other historians have written extensively on how the Greek restauranteurs of the early 1900s would often employ illegal Greek immigrants from their homeland, pay them a pittance and house them in parlous conditions, threatening to expose their illegal status if met with resistance. Compounding their plight was the knowledge that in the prevailing labour market, their ability to obtain a job elsewhere, based on race as it was, was next to impossible. Furthermore, earlier migrants tended to assist only those new migrants who came from their specific place of origin, for whom a sense of obligation was felt that did not extend to migrants from other parts of Greece. As those earlier migrants became more integrated within Australian society, anecdotal evidence suggests they also began to view the successive waves of migrants of the thirties and fifties disparagingly. They, in turn, viewed the older generations snobbery, and propensity to attend debutante balls, with contempt. The more politically aware among them, also viewed their predecessors injunctions to be subservient and accept their inferior place within Australian society without agitating for change, also with contempt, which is why multiculturalism exists today.

 In 1957, the inexplicably forgotten but incredibly important polyglot author Yiannis Lillis published an article entitled Self-Defence or Self-Abnegation? in the London journal «Κρίκος.» In it, Lillis, who arrived in Australia from Albania in 1948, made unique and thought-provoking observations about the differences in the pre-war and post-war Greek migrants, linking these to class conflict, globalisation and the latest political currents of thought, which are refreshingly relevant to our own times:

“The new migrants, without being superior to the old ones in general, display the attributes of modernisation, the consequence of the last social fermentation, the rise of the masses in almost all of Europe. Superficial gold-plating, with a mimetic thirst for cosmopolitanism. The majority has no greater intellectual depth than that provided by a knowledge of the latest world events [an understanding of the broader world as a result of the World War], and sporadic class conflicts.
The new migrants are from the same homeland. They are the offspring, siblings, distant relatives of our predecessors. But in terms of values, spiritually, they have little affinity. The former are the children of the 1900’s era of strict morality, the sons of complete adherence tradition that derives directly from the patriarchal principles of renascent Greece.

 The latter is the fruit of our age of speed, the generation that emerged from the smoke and the ruins with the incontinent thirst of life created by deprivation and the sense of ash. It emerges forcefully, breaking the rusty shackles of the past and the legacy of the terrible war and a horrific occupation. Thus, the horizons of this generation have become broadened unimaginably, regardless as to whether or not it is still opaque, and not yet accompanied by any real spiritual or intellectual insight. There world view is built upon a foundation of Greek tradition that is more flexible and more modern than that of the previous generations. Will this second stream of migrants encounter the same ethical difficulties in orientation as the first one? Does it have a better capacity to ground itself?”

Lillis’ astute questions can be answered not only by the collective experience of the post war generation, the community which it created in its image and the manner of its inevitable unravelling but also in the way in which it sees itself in connection to the new wave of Greek migrants that either enters its ranks or stands outside them. A resort to history and an analysis such as that postulated by Lillis can also possibly permit the current new wave of Greek migrants to predict and plot its own fate vis a vis any further wave of Greek migrants that might arrive in the future.

 Any ill treatment of newly arrived migrants by established older migrants (again they ae a minority) has much to do with their own vexed relationship with Greece: One the one hand, they love Greece and have an idealised view of it based on their childhood and an internalised understanding of what Greece should look like to mainstream Australia, which in their opinion new migrants do not represent, and on the other hand, they constantly need reassurance that they made the right decision in coming here. The newly arrived migrant, coming from crisis ridden Greece, provides that reassurance. Then, one must consider the simple proposition that exploitation, greed and the fact that some Greeks by nature, harbour xenophobic tendencies towards other Greeks, the treatment of Asia Minor refugees by many mainland Greeks in 1922 being a case in point, forms a part of our identity. In this regard, Nikos Golfinopoulos also points to similar phenomena within the Italian-Australian and other ethnic communities.

 On the same token, the phenomenon of some newly arrived Greeks considering the established Greeks as quaint, backward, greedy and of questionable authenticity, is also nothing new and, when viewed within the context of historical precedent is to be expected, something that any researcher must take pains to comprehend.  

 Unfortunately, because we appear not to have established firm traditions of our own in this land as a community, despite our hundred year sojourn herein, we have no consciousness of a collective history. As a result, we are unaware of those incidences of our Australian past that would assist us to understand or interpret the social tendencies of our community beyond the living memory of our parents. As an ahistorical community, one that is not able to articulate a native Greek-Australian perspective without a constant cultural cringe of reference back to a homeland who in culture and ethos has markedly diverged from our collective own, we thus lack an obvious framework from which to understand our evolution or rather, revolution, for it is through the comparison of our early pre-war social history with our current reality that the Sisyphean nature of our communal existence becomes apparent. The repercussions assume dimensions far greater and more important than any perceived friction between both blinkered sets of migratory generations, suggesting that lived experience and geography is more determinative of identity than we care to admit.
 
DEAN KALIMNIOU
 
First published in NKEE on Saturday 2 September 2017

WRITING GREEKS ON OLD SHOES

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“Next time you decide to come to my island, I will cut your legs off…” “I wouldn’t spit on her if she was on fire! Σκύλα!» … «H μαλάκω…» These are some of the comments unloaded upon social media by some, judging from the tone of their abuse, rather piqued neohellenes. Reading them, one would plausibly form the opinion that they are directed at some disreputable character, one whose nefarious deeds and purposes have rightfully warranted receiving disapprobation in the most strident of tones.
Except that the recipient of this abuse just happens to be Helen Zahos, the Gold Coast nurse who, moved by the plight of the masses displaced by the various conflicts in the Middle East, travelled to Greece in order to provide those arriving there with assistance. Helen Zahos, a 2016 recipient of the Hellenic Australian Chamber of Commerce and Industry’s prestigious Community Service Award and a nominee for the 2017 International Hellenic Women's Award, also travelled to the Middle East, notably to Iraq, in order to gauge the situation on the ground and gain a full appreciation of the trials and travails associated with war and its ancillary demographic dislocation.
As a people, we generally tend to laud and applaud those who not only accomplish great things, but also are seen to accomplish great things, especially if they are appreciated by others, for this reinforces our own myths about the nature of the “Hellenic Character.” What we often perceive when we look in the mirror, is thus our image, distorted by the lens and conditioned by the prism of self-created stereotype, with a good dose of wishful thinking thrown in. The Greek is thus inventive and ingenious like Odysseus. The Greek is courageous and invincible like Alexander. The Greek is generous, welcoming and compassionate like the Homeric Heroes. And if Facebook is to be believed, the Greek is as gorgeous as Jennifer Aniston and as proud to be Greek as Tom Hanks…
Entire social media pages have sprouted of late, whose sole purpose seems to be to extol the superior attributes of the modern Greek, without criticism or analysis, the emphasis being on instilling “Greek Pride” or a feeling of “One Greece,” as a panacea to all the evils that bedevil or are seen to beleaguer the Greek people. In a bizarre adaption of “The Secret,” all that the postulant to Hellenic greatness has to do, is to believe that Greece and the Greeks are better than everyone else in order to ensure that this is so.
To gain full use out of such pages, it is incumbent upon the postulant to establish their Hellenic credentials not only by mindlessly praising everything that is Greek but also by emphatically denigrating everything that is not. Furthermore, there is no room for any of the banter or persiflage that usually accompanies social media posts here. Instead, a rite of antiphons of heated and uncompromising invective must be performed, akin to the Orwellian “Two Minute Hate,” as practised in “1984,” directed to all of those who, in the guiding minds of the Administrators, are unhellenic or display disturbing unhellenic tendencies. This is because, as everyone knows, Hellenism is under threat. Its enemies, who would destroy it, are omnipresent and they are legion. Of course, the reason for their malevolence, lies in their inability to accept that our superiority is a proprietary right belonging to us alone. Consequently, the extinguishment of our existence is considered a condition precedent for a re-distribution of brilliance. Sundry Uber-hellenic social media page administrators are thus tasked with the high and noble pursuit of safeguarding the race from harm and miscegenation.
Recently on one of the aforementioned pages, the unsuspecting populace at large was subjected to a meme, posted by the Administrator, which read as follows: “Makedonia is Hellas. So Fuck of Slavs!!” Graced by more likes than could be counted, (for it is by these mandated signs of approbation that one affirms their Hellenism), the meme was also accompanied by the following explanatory caption: “I am sick of their lies. I am sick of their propaganda! I am sick of their pseudo and fictitious history! I am sick to death of these maniac brain washed goat herders who are countryless! You are Slavic whether you like it or not, there's no choice........MAKEDONIA IS GREEK AND ALWAYS WILL BE! LEAVE HELLAS ALONE!”
This time around, I intruded upon the mandated two minute hate, commenting: “This is racist and ignorant, even for your standards. I remind you that using the terms “Slavs” refers to the largest Indo-European ethno-linguistic group in Europe, comprised of some 360 million people, including Russians, Ukrainians, Belarussians, Poles, Sorbs, Czechs, Slovakians, Slovenians, Serbs, Montenegrins, Bosnians, Croatians, Rusyns, Lemkos, Bulgarians and of course the Skopjans. And it is with the Skopjians that we have an issue, not anyone else. In fact, Serbs have historically been our allies and we constantly look to Russia for help. So when you whinge about being sick of the falsification of history, learn some facts because it is the clumsy and unintelligent way in which you blunder around trying to articulate an argument that loses us the battle time and time again - a mode of behaviour which, eerily resembles the tactics of the people you so deride.”
The result of my heretical intrusion? Instant excommunication, accompanied by group vitriol from a multitude possessed of surprisingly scant spelling skills but a great deal of herd mentality when it comes to those who question the wisdom (and syntax) of their Administor’s words.
Helen Zahos, on the other hand, being of a considerate and tactful disposition, did not intrude upon anyone’s two minute hate. Her only crime, was to have her philanthropy written about by the Greek City Times. An uber-hellenic administrator of a typical “I’m more Hellene than you,” social media page saw fit, unsolicited, to post the article on their page with the comment, translated from Greek: “Ok, Helen…so you’ve assisted the illegal immigrants. What did you do for the Greeks? Tell us, we are listening. The Greeks, our brothers who have gone hungry for years now. The kids who beg on the streets. Have you gone there in the past six years to help them? We held our family first and then everyone else. This is not philotimo. It’s unfair!” The post concludes grandiloquently: «Γτ τους Έλληνες τους έγραψες στα παλιά σου τα παπούτσια, άχρηστη!»
What followed was the barrage of the aforementioned abuse from sundry uber-Hellenes, including such examples of verbal excrement as these: “Sorry, but I’m not praising this imbecile,…where the Hell was she when our Homeless Greeks passed the worst winter on the streets…” and “Helping your own people doesn’t get you on the news…helping the current fashionable minority does.”
For Helen Zahos, who has courted no publicity and has merely sought to follow her own humanitarian and philanthropic convictions, inadvertent exposure to this base bile has been a harrowing experience especially considering her tireless work in improving the health of those in her ancestral homeland. It is common knowledge that she has devoted a good deal of time both in her village and the local hospital in Katerini, to improving health outcomes. She has assisted the local rescue volunteer group to obtain a defibrillator and facilitated first aid courses in her village. She has also devoted a couple of weeks during one of her holidays at the peak of the financial crisis, to volunteer at a clinic for pensioners and the underprivileged, who could not afford medication or medical treatment.
Unquestionably, Helen Zahos’ work speaks for itself. She has not the need to justify herself or refer to the sterling work she has done for Greeks within Greece in order to legitimize her choice to make an awe-inspiring and selfless contribution to the lives of refugees. There is no need to emphasise, in these dark times of xenophobia and discrimination, the importance of basic human acts to cement our common bond. It is significant however, to point out that none of her keyboard-warrior detractors, ensconced slovenly before their screens, therefrom to dispense bile and slander upon people of initiative and moral integrity, seem to be able to advance even a tenth of Helen Zahos’ curriculum vitae as a means of establishing a basis for which to express themselves in such a vile manner about her choices. Yet this is symptomatic of another of the uber-Hellene’s attributes: Prone to volubly declaring their love for all things Hellenic and abrogating to themselves the right to determine other’s life choices for them, they are markedly absent from community and other cultural or charitable endeavours. Needless to say, none of the detractors in question, appear to have sacrificed any of their time, in order to travel to their beloved homeland in order to assist the people for whom such love they proclaim.
It is trite to mention that in times of crisis, the true measure of a person or nation’s character is revealed. In our own crisis-ridden times, it is the raw polarities of the Hellene that are exposed. At one pole, the nuanced, compassionate, life-affirming, cosmopolitan, inclusive and positive outlook of Helen Zahos, actively assisting Greeks and non-Greeks alike and, literally poles apart, the frigid, seething paranoia of the passively-aggressive incompetent, the bigoted, the hateful and the negative. We ignore either pole at our peril for both subsist within our dialectic. It is only by examining those undesirable accretions to our “character” such that it is, identifying them and divesting ourselves of their pernicious effects that we can aspire to any form of the greatness the smug and the unexamined believe they are already possessed of, online or otherwise. Recording their puerile writings on our old shoes, as the Greek expression literally goes, is perhaps, the most fitting fate for them.
DEAN KALIMNIOU
 
First published in NKEE on Saturday 16 September 2017

YOUR MONEY OR YOUR LIFE

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As the old woman with the careworn face shuffled painfully the room, I immediately recalled her, seven years earlier, striding into my office confidently. 
“I want to transfer my properties to my child,” she stated. “I want to get the pension.”
“But why do you want to get the pension when you can live off the rental income?” I asked. 
“I worked for forty years,” came the response. “Non-stop. Over-time and even weekends. Other bludgers who did no work at all are getting the pension. Why shouldn’t I? I’m entitled to it.”
I tried to dissuade her from her chosen course of action:
 “Even if you go down this path, the deeming provision don’t consider you have made a transfer of assets for another five years. And besides, what happens if for whatever reason your child’s marriage breaks up, they go bankrupt, or your relationship with your child deteriorates?”
“That will never happen,” she snapped. “And my child can do with the extra cash. I’m your client. Do as I say.” 
I drafted a letter outlining the pitfalls of such a course of action. I asked her to sign it to indicate that she understood the risks she was assuming. She was insulted, walked out of my office and consulted another lawyer. My boss at the time, reprimanded me severely, for losing a client.
Now she looked at me, tears in her eyes. Her child, she assured me, is a good person who loves her, but their partner is evil incarnate. Apparently, soon after the properties were transferred into the child’s name, the child became abusive and curt with her. Gradually, visits to her become sparse, occasioned only by a demand that she provide some meager funds from her bank account. Then, as a complete shock , the family home, built by her and her husband after only a few years in Australia, a testament to their hard work and dreams was put up for sale and she was coldly informed by her child’s partner that she had to vacate. No provision was made for her welfare by her child, who from the moment the property was sold completely cut off contact. Now, bereft of any assets save for her pension and cared for by relatives, she wanted to know what course of action she had, not against her errant offspring, but their evil partner, for surely they were the root of this sorry situation.
Sadly, the above, with some cosmetic variations has become a "common" story for members of the Greek community. Whereas in the eighties, elderly Greeks would gather together to gossip sensationally about which couple had divorced, in the nineties about whose offspring had entered into a mixed marriage, now they congregate to discuss in hushed tones, which of their peers is being bullied, browbeaten and disabused of property, by their offspring. 
Liana Papoutsis, a member of the Victorian State Government's Victim Survivor Advisory Council and a human rights and family violence advisor, confirms this: “Elder abuse is an issue I consult on rather frequently. This type of family violence is extensive across all cultural groups in Australia. Of course, at the centre of such conduct is power and control of the elderly person. In the Greek community it is widespread. A disturbing trend in the Greek community is that adult grandchildren are abusing their grandparents for money, assets, etc. The emotional, psychological and physical abuse is abhorrent. Often elders are combatting their children and grandchildren simultaneously. Sad beyond belief.”
There is a disturbing sense of entitlement among Greeks both in Australia and abroad when it comes to real property. Unlike Anglo-Saxon perceptions of property, for whom property is personal and inviolable and the foundation of their legal system, the traditional Greek conception of property is more fluid in that it verges on the communal. As such, there is an attitude that those who own property merely do so as custodians of it for the next generation. According to this view, property is seldom alienated, unless there are compelling reasons and it is held in trust for the good of the family. It is when this traditional view of property ownership is juxtaposed against the Anglo-Saxon view of property encountered in Australia, that a clash of values arises.
As a result, our community appears to be witnessing more and more cases of offspring of all generations demanding property from their elderly parents, because they feel they are entitled to it, often engaging in violence, bullying and verbal abuse in order to obtain what they desire. In doing so, the justifications they offer range between: “Give it to me, you’re old, you don’t need it,” to “You’re going to give it to me anyway, so you might as well give it to me now.” These attitudes stem from the Greek legal concept of the «νόμιμη μοίρα» according to which, (and unlike Australian law) both offspring and a bereaved spouse are automatically entitled to inherit from the deceased spouse/parent’s estate. Of course, in many disturbing cases, the bullying and manipulation, tacit or overt, is perpetrated by one sibling, not necessarily to disadvantage parents, but rather, other siblings who expect or are entitled to inherit property from their parents. Greek Welfare Society Employees and priests who are often called upon to assist victims of elder abuse and are often the first port of call for victims, also state that gambling, drug addiction and financial pressures also need to be taken into account.
As, according to traditional Greek custom, the corollary to any such entitlement to property, is the residual obligation of looking after one's parents, many rapacious offspring seek to gain financial advantage by reassuring their parents, that their “gift” will ensure that their offspring will “look after them,” which in customary-speak denotes, being cared for in the family home . In an increasing number of cases, however, that obligation is forgotten or deliberately ignored, in the face of greed and one would venture to suggest, ingratitude.
Federal Member of Parliament Maria Vamvakinou comments on the disconnect between traditional and received values that lead to property alienation and the marginalization of the elderly, specifically in our community: “I have always held as a better value, that of the "collective and the communal" which is the basis of the extended family and parental support to children and grandchildren. It's the "Greek " way. Are we now seeing a case of, "once was?" At a time when things are getting harder for everybody, the support of our family is more important than ever, but it appears that selfishness and entitlement has its own "rewards".”
Delving deeper, property acquisition is one of the founding ideologies and values of the Greek community in Australia. How we relate to it, seems to determine how we relate to each other, on various levels. According to some community commentators, the current incidences of property-based elder abuse seem to stem from an inherited over-emphasis on property acquisition and the propensity to cultivate a world view based primarily on monetary terms, instilled in the latter generations by their parents. They point to parents using their initial ascendancy in wealth in the early stages in order to manipulate their offsprings’ life choices, for example who their life partner will be, where they will live and how they will bring up their children. As a result, these infantilised offspring, reared without the capacity for initiative or responsibility, are conditioned to view to their parents only in relation to the amount of money that is necessary to procure their compliance. When they become old and vulnerable, the tables turn. 
Of course this theory does not take into account the fact that most of the victims of elder abuse in our community are not affluent members of the first generation, who remain well informed of their legal and other rights and cling on to their property, a) because it is a reflection of who they are and b) because it is the best form of “insurance” in securing their offspring’s compliance to several core expectations with regard to the manner in which their children relate to them. Instead, it is usually the isolated, the lonely, the ill-informed and thus the most vulnerable who are the most at risk of the form of elder abuse we are increasingly witnessing within our community.
The break-down of the structure of our community as we know it, can also be held to facilitate bouts of elder abuse. While latter generations have complained for decades about the intrusiveness of members of their parents’ social and family circles upon their own lives, a phenomenon that contrasts with the emphasis upon individual choice in modern western societies, the disapprobation of that social and family circle once operated as a powerful deterrent to the flouting of one’s filial obligations. In a society where individual choices are sacrosanct and no justification of them needs to be provided to anyone, traditional pressure groups are rendered impotent and the fear of shame or loss of reputation no longer exists.
The above notwithstanding, it cannot be doubted that parents are revered and are still largely at the centre of the Greek-Australian way of life and the “Greek way,” as outlined by MP Maria Vamvakinou still informs the manner in which the relationship between child and parent is defined. However, in a constantly evolving and diversifying community, old certainties begin to unravel prior to us having an opportunity to evaluate that change. Consequently, a significant proportion of elderly and vulnerable members of our community are at risk of abuse, without the possibility of effective peer intervention. While the laws pertaining to undue influence provide a modicum of redress, but cannot assist in cases where parents still refuse to take legal action against their offspring it is incumbent upon us, as a community, to develop strategies to address the issue and provide succour and moral support to afflicted parties, through a) pressing for legal reform on this issue and b) creating or supporting structures within the community that support/house/counsel victims. After all, when all property is alienated and lost, the importance of our community, such that it is, is that we still have, each other.
DEAN KALIMNIOU

kalymnios@hotmail.com

First published in NKEE on Saturday 23 September 2017

SIDNEY NOLAN: THE GREEK SERIES

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As a child, Sidney Nolan’s Ned Kelly often gave me nightmares. In my feverish hallucinations, the stark, black, absolute Ned Kelly of his canvas, would loom over my bed, against a background of Santorini blue. Moments later, he would metamorphose into a menacing parody of my own black-veiled grandmother, in the dream, a snarling crone, firing maledictions from a mouth that could not be seen. Inevitably, she would adjust her veil and, glimpsing at her pallid skin, I would notice that she had no eyes. Seconds later, the sinister figure would once again change, this time into a sort of veiled, helmeted minotaur, an unnatural conflation of Ned Kelly, my grandmother-parody and the denizen of the labyrinth. It was always at the precise moment when horns could be discerned beneath the veiled helmet, that I would wake up, terrified.

 Sidney Nolan never met me, or my grandmother, though he was a regular patron of GOCMV secretary Costas Markos’ fish shop. Yet in my mind, we are all inextricably linked. In November 1955, having completed his iconic Ned Kelly and Burke and Wills series, Sidney Nolan travelled to Hydra. His sojourn there, served as inspiration of a remarkable series of images exploring both the contemporary and mythological world. That series, a singular coup for the Greek community, given that Sidney Nolan is one of Australia’s greatest artists, is currently on display at the Hellenic Museum’s exhibition: “Sidney Nolan, the Greek Series.”

One approaches the series, through the neo-classical vestibule of the former Royal Mint building, fringed with reproductions of classical sculpture. Entering the exhibition space is like abandoning the formulaic certainties of the world as we understand it, and entering a labyrinth. The exhibition space is small and dark, punctuated with overhanging bulbs that appear to illuminate only that which they wish you to see, by some inscrutable yet omnipresent demiurge. As such, the Nolan paintings that stud the murky walls in multitudes, on top, below and beside each other, mimicking a mosaic as well as an iconostasis, provide the only ostensible means of escape into another world, the only glimpse into another possible reality, or a multiplicity of these, as manipulated by the artist or the curator. Placing Sidney Nolan's images of Hydra in claustrophobic proximity to each other, thus creates a kaleidoscope of cacophonous images.

 If the viewer is to resolve some kind of melodic narrative to this cacophony, it must be through an interpretation of the paintings themselves. A series of priests adorn the walls, all of whom seem to assume the form of a remarkable prototype of our own Father Lefteris of Red Hill. This priest is the antithesis of Nolan’s Ned Kelly. Instead of the black of Kelly’s armour, Nolan’s priest wears white. Where the only thing that is not black in Nolan’s Ned Kelly is the empty space in the helmet where Kelly’s eyes should be, the priest’s eyes in each painting, are obscured by black sunglasses. In this way, white, a symbol in western culture of purity and innocence, becomes subverted. This Greek Orthodox priest is the negative image of Ned Kelly and he works as much as a symbol of the ambivalence of the positive and negative in Greek culture as Ned Kelly does for Australians. In one particularly remarkable portrait of the priest, he presumably stares at us nonchalantly through his impenetrable sunglasses, while a flayed skin bearing a time-piece, hangs next to him. Does this incongruous depiction refer us to the myth of Marsyas, who was flayed alive for having the temerity to challenge a god? Is the viewer Marsyas, or is it indeed the priest, with his pretensions of mediating the divine? Or rather, is it contemporary culture itself, in the form of time that is our god and is being slain, in a sacrifice whose temporality and meaning, we whose existence is as finite as it is infinite, given that we exist within and outside the frame of the painting’s existence, and are thus gold-like, are unable to appreciate? Tempus Fugit indeed.

 I proceed along the walls, assailed by the images. The experience of being in the darkened close room for more than fifteen minutes is unbearable, existential agony in practice. I have no idea whether this is what Sidney Nolan intended, but to me it aptly symbolises the way in which stereotype, myth and imagined memory transform from thought bytes and clichés, to rediscovered primeval burdens that flood the consciousness, often with incomprehensible meanings and a good dash of inherited guilt.

 Finally, I stand before the embodiment of my childhood nightmares. There on the wall, the image that somehow, I have always known, would invade by waking moments. In ochre, the colour of earth, wherever one comes from, is the paradoxical approximation of a Minotaur that, depicted like an Egyptian pharaoh or a pre-classical kouros on a vase-painting, with head tilted to one side, also looks like a kangaroo. Moreover, this quintessentially Australian version of the Minotaur appears to be engaged in the process of assuming the form of Ned Kelly, or is the opposite process taking place, with Ned Kelly finally being placed into context as the personification of the Minotaur? After all, in order to make our civilisations safe, both Minotaur and Ned Kelly must die. Evidently, the need, for any society to foster myths about monsters that lurk beneath the bed which both horrify and fascinate, is key to an understanding of Nolan’s symbolic palette.

 Although it probably was not the artists’ intention, Greek emigration to Australia still being in its infancy at that time, Nolan’s Kelly-Minotaur could also be employed as a telling paradigm of acculturation, pin-pointing the manner in which our community has negotiated, adopted, discarded, absorbed or accreted the values, symbols and myths it found in this country, to those which has inherited, to the extent that it expresses and thinks of itself in an equivocal hybrid manner, one in which it cannot in itself discern its constituent parts from the amalgam it has become. Tellingly, Nolan’s mastery of image, symbolism and form permits him to portray a Kelly-Minotaur that kangaroo-like, also resembles Anubis, the jackal headed Egyptian god, known as the Guardian of the Scales. Thus, as we gaze upon him incomprehensibly, unable to define him, we are being judged. I long to escape this image. Yet as I turn away, I see the parody-grandmother of my nightmares again, assuming the form of Hecuba, the Trojan Queen, who, given to Odysseus as a slave, snarled and cursed at him, moving the gods sufficiently to turned her into a dog, allowing her to escape. Her ferocity, in the face of her grief and loss, is her and our, salvation. Finally, I can embrace my nightmare for what it is: An inherited disposition for a mythology of anguish, not yet sated.

 Many of Nolan’s Hydran landscapes on display seem at first glance innocuous and stereotypical, with their whitewashed houses juxtaposed against the blue. The viewer may well form the view that Nolan’s foray into the Greek world constitutes merely a conglomeration of superficial motifs acquired while on a western-colonialist holiday to a country just emerging from a brutal Civil War. They would be wrong to do so. Rather than being idyllic, these landscapes have a claustrophobic, surreal, unnervingly paranoid quality to them, deftly addressing the social and political fault lines underlying the utopian pleasure-grounds of the western tourist. Displaying these next to the more obvious depictions of aggressive mythological figures, while disconcerting, constitutes a true icon of the multifaceted and dissonant nature of modern civilization, its fundamental myths and delusions included.

 Nolan’s Greek Series, assisted Nolan in contexualising the mythological baggage acquired via his reading of Homer’s Iliad and the Robert Grave’s Seminal: “The Greek Myths,” with one of Australia’s own founding myths, that of the Gallipoli campaign. Coming to view the Gallipoli campaign as an epic Homeric struggle, the Greek Series therefore constitutes a notebook, or a prelude to his seminal and subsequent Gallipoli series. As such, Nolan’s Greek Series, comprised of sixty one works on loan from the Estate of Lady Nolan, which have never before been exhibited in Australia as a single body of work, provides a powerful insight into the intellectual and symbolic world of a truly great artist, whilst also suggesting, to a Greek-Australian audience, the manner in which motifs, symbols and myths can be employed to create a particularly unique and authentic Greek-Australian mode of artistic expression. As such, it is an exhibition not to be missed.

 DEAN KALIMNIOU


First published in NKEE on Saturday 30 September 2017

ΖΑΧΑΡΟΠΛΑΣΤΕΙΟΝ

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Saturday night at a Greek καφεζαχαροπλαστείον. I generally do not haunt such establishments because I have been born without a sweet tooth and for some perverse reason, prefer to make my own coffee. Furthermore, if one visits the cake shops of Cairo, resplendent in their pink granite bench tops, intricately designed cornices and offering a multitude of delectables, (infinitely exceeding the generally limited imagination of the most feverish of antipodean Greek pastry chefs), none of which are swimming in syrup, as is the case with their Hellenic counterparts, then one's appreciation of the Greek-Australian coffee-cake shop is somewhat diminished, though never, it should be added, quite extinguished.

 It would be prudent not to overgeneralise however, for Greek-Australian cake shops vary as to character and clientele according to their geographic distribution. One memorable visit I made to a Greek cake shop in the eastern suburbs was with a client. He was battling cancer, going through a particularly messy divorce and was in a bad way. As we sat sipping coffee, we overheard two sandblasted local ladies remark nonchalantly to each other:

 "I wonder if I should get my face lasered."

 "Oh you should you know, I got it done last month. Couldn't live with out it. Soooo terrible."

 My client looked up, tears streaming down his face and started laughing. "I'm going to be alright, aren't I?"

 As a matter of fact, he was and it is moments like this that unsuspectingly reveal to us the mystic, ridiculous majesty of life.

At Medallion of blessed Lonsdale memory however, I have, over a cup of Greek coffee, had the most bizarre but ultimately enlightening conversations with apologists for the Maoist regime, in which it was contended that the deaths of millions of Chinese during the Great Leap Forward was a mere fantasy and that the purge of the Chinese sparrows was a figment of the West's imagination. A few tables down, a depressed theology student downing his fourth touloumba as he delved into the dregs of my coffee cup, once revealed to me one of the most amazing compound words in the Greek language: "Ἀκτιστοσυμπλαστουργοσύνθρονον" meaning the uncreated, co-throne of the co-creator.... an attribute of the Holy Spirit, as described in the fifth ode of the service of the Saturday after Pentecost, or at least of the world's first and best Barrista. I vowed then and there to use it once a week in a sentence but have not remained faithful to that vow.

Theology students have a special affinity with Greek-Australian coffee-cake shops. On one memorable occasion, at Axilleon in Coburg, noted for the Greek misspelling of its name on its upper storey thus: ΖΑΧΑΡΟΠΛΑΖΤΕΙΟΝ, a particular dextrous group of would-be theologians, having downed impossible quantities of galaktoboureko, assigned Christian heresies to diverse forms of coffee:

 Decaf is Docetic because it only appears to be coffee.

•Instant is Apollinarian because it’s had its soul removed and replaced.

•Frappuccinos are essentially a form of Monophysitism, having their coffee nature swallowed up in milkshake.

•Chicory is Arian, not truly coffee at all but a separate creation.

•Irish coffee is Nestorian, being two natures conjoined solely by good will.

•Affogato is Adoptionist, being merely topped with espresso.

•The Café Bombón is Sabellian, appearing at some points to be foam, at others coffee and at others sweetened condensed milk.

•The Café miel violates Canon 57 of the Council in Trullo, “for it is not right to offer honey and milk” in one’s coffee.

•The Cafe Mocha (espresso + steamed milk + chocolate) is syncretic and polytheist, for it presumes to adulterate coffee with another nation’s gods.

•The Doppio (espresso + espresso) is Monothelite, permitting only one will to dominate.

 My own contribution qua coffee and faith, was to recite the old Epirot adage about Greek coffee: Καφέ χωρίς τσιγάρο, Τούρκος χωρίς πίστη.᾽ It was met with a polar silence.

 I suppose you just had to be there.

On this particular Sabbath however, the cake shop is packed with a multitude of Greek-Australian faces, from young Greek girls dressed uniformly in black yoga pants and hoop earings glaring at each other emphatically when not engrossed in an intense examination of their telephones, to ladies in their forties laughing uproariously as they ask each other over and over again: " I had a coq,""how big is your coq,""how many coq's did you have?" and the ultimate Lorena Bobbitt crowd pleaser: "I've cut this coq in half." They take a photo of the emasculated coq with their telephones, for posting to social media.

 

Late fifties couples with heavy arm jewellery lispingly mispronounce Greek place-names as they show each other photos from their telephones of their holidays in Santorini, while logging into facebook to show each other what their friends', (also recently returned holidayers), cellulite looks like in their bikinis. In the centre of the premises, one witnesses cross generational family outings comprised of bored and unhappy kids, frustrated parents and a yiayia who is perpetually signing and whose expression, if it could be rendered into words would read: "Γιατί με φέρατε εδώ πέρα, καλά δεν ήμουν στο σπίτι, και θα γλιτώναμε τα λεφτά για τον καφέ."

A well to do family sits opposite. The mother, wearing leopard print leggings,a matching leopard print headband and criminally matching leopard print shoes, opens her Gucci bag and pulls out her mobile phone and starts going through it. Her bored husband, his protruding belly barely covered by an incredibly stretched Ralph Lauren polo shirt, struggling under the pressure of his impossibly tight pants, is already immersed in his phone. Next to him, his daughter, approximately ten years old and resplendent in leopard print exactly like her mother, fiddles with her phone, while her younger brother, his hair painstakingly peaked into an installation of the Matterhorn, picks his nose and also fumbles with his phone. I watch them for three quarters of an hour, mesmerised. When the waiter arrives, the mother snaps out her order, not once taking her eyes away from her phone. Indeed, not once does the family look up from their individual phones, even as they eat and drink. There is no communication, nor interaction. It is as if they are completely and blissfuly unaware of each other's presence.

 

Inside, barely a word of Greek is heard except from the lips of the polite "off the boat" waiters. Yet my ears pick up on conversation between two Northern Greek ladies commenting on a younger member of the clan's offensive tweet: "Τα χαστάγια την μάραιναν, την πούρλα. Γιατί είχενε κι η μάνα τς χαστάγια στου χουριό τς."Χαστάγια, apparently is good Epirot-Australian for the plural of hashtag.

 On the wall, a flat screen television relays the latest cricket match. Patrons gaze in boredom. Outside, however is the domain of the older men and is thus Hellenic in speech. They line the street, examining passersby appraisingly, their faces fixed in sneers, snarls or expressions of extreme boredom - that is until one of the yoga panted girls, young enough to be their grand-daughter walks past them, at which time they become animated as they share each other the known glances of the would-be veteran connoisseurs. On the furthest table from the entrance, a couple of old men animatedly discuss politics, oblivious to the presence of yoga-pants, for they are idealists. From them, we learn that the Greek-Australian term for Tony Abbott is ο μπατζησμάγκλας. Imperceptibly and without realising it, I am drawn into a conversation about the state of Modern Greece. The old men are incensed that I appreciate the historical role of EAM in the Greek resistance and seem ready to flick their Mille-feuille at me, that is until I advise them that this stands for a new party I intend to found in order to save the Greek state, this being the Hellenic Goat Liberation Front (Ελλαδικό Αιγοπροβατικό Απελευθερωτικό Μέτωπο).

I make a hasty getaway just as a former local councillor of Greek descent, besuited, sweeps into the premises, and makes the equivalent of a model's strut upon the catwalk. No gaze catches his steely eye and without losing momentum, he steps out, unnoticed. Proceeding to the counter to pay for a surprisingly brilliant βαρύγλυκο, I notice a sign on one of the cakes proclaiming "Yeniotiko," which is good Greek-Australian for Γιαννιώτικο. I pay heartened, that there was not a decaf in sight, revealing to the Slav-Macedonian girl at the counter, slowly and methodically giving me change in ten cent pieces, my retirement dream of opening up a shop in Oakleigh selling Γιαννιώτκες πίτες. With effusive enthusiasm, I advise her that I have even thought up a name: La Dolce Pita. Sweet!

Her response, when it comes, is poetry itself: "To paraphrase Nietzsche: "If sober you present such bliss, what would your representation be when your personae are in ecstasy?" I leave mute, my taste buds and much more besides, satiated in reverence and in awe at the extent of such glorious sarcasm and in praise and panegyric for one of the most important of Greek Australian institutions ever to uphold our communal edifice.

DEAN KALIMNIOU


First published in NKEE on Saturday 7 October 2017
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