Rambopoulos
I assure you readers not familiar with Greece: more things happen there other than protests, mobs and activism. But I’ve logged two years living there and these are the first ones coming to mind as good to share.
While odysseying through Greece, let’s talk elections-civic participation in democracy. Obama was the closest phenomenon I’ve witnessed and participated in here in the US that approached participatory democracy, which occurs in lots of other places, Greece included. (Actually, Alexis Stamatis, author of American Fuge might disagree with that statement). Greeks discuss their choices with vigor, vote with passion, and will continue to give you an earful after the fact. (My theory is Frappés help stimulate this charge).
My first days in Athens as a full time student landed me smack dead in the middle of a national election. PASOK versus Nea Demokratia, versus KKE the community party, versus… I loose count. Three is a stretch for someone used to a two party system. My neighborhood was thick with mobs of people draped in green and white, cheering as they blessed the streets with confetti. PASOK had won, their crew was happy, and they took their evening parade from neighborhood to neighborhood. Much like walking with with the anti-NATO, anti-Kosovo crowd, I got caught up in it, but this time more so by choice and peer pressure, and joined the tail end of the little green and white fog creeping through the streets of Athens.
“Hooray!” I shouted, really excited to be a part of excitement.
“Hooray!” excited PASOKers shouted back.
I eyed some communist party posters with the coolest activist art I’d seen, ripped them off the poles and rolled them up as a keepsake, certain I’d be arrested for vandalism.
The crowd snaked around the National Gardens. Those who’ve visited Greece know that this garden is where the national guards (Evzones) march around in their pleated skirts and erect rifles. Look closer into the bushes of the gated garden and you’ll also see Rambo camping out, eyeing you from the shadows in fatigues.
I saw him, he saw me, and as our little parade wound his corner, Rambo had just enough time to purse his lips, caress his crotch and blow me a kiss before disappearing into the sniper shadows.
Every comic girl’s fantasy.
