Continuiamo con una serie di articoli sulla Grecia e sulla terribile avanzata di Alba Dorata che sembra interessare assai poco i media italiani - e soprattutto i leader europei, interessati solamente a tagli e licenziamenti.
Questa settimana presentiamo un articolo del Guardian - Paura e delirio ad Atene - che ben descrive l'avanzata di Alba Dorata, le sue origini e le sue tattiche squadristiche.
Il secondo pezzo, di El Pais, fornisce un buon riassunto di come la destra greca stia ormai occupando le strade e guadagnando consenso a ritmo frenetico.
Fear and loathing in Athens: the rise of Golden Dawn and the far right
di Maria Margaronis
You can hear it from blocks away: the deafening beat of Pogrom,
Golden Dawn's favourite band, blasting out of huge speakers by a makeshift stage. "
Rock for the fatherland, this is our music, we don't want parasites and foreigners on our land…"
It's
a warm October evening and children on bicycles are riding up and down
among the young men with crew cuts, the sleeves of their black T-shirts
tight over pumped-up biceps, strolling with the stiff swagger of the
muscle-bound. They look relaxed, off-duty. Two of them slap a handshake:
"Hey, fascist! How's it going?"
Trestle tables are stacked with
Golden Dawn merchandise: black T-shirts bearing the party's name in
Greek, Chrysi Avgi, the sigma shaped like the S on SS armbands; mugs
with the party symbol, a Greek meander drawn to resemble a swastika;
Greek flags and black lanyards, lighters and baseball caps. I lean over
to talk to one woman stallholder, dressed in Golden Dawn black with
thickly kohl-rimmed eyes, but as soon as she opens her mouth a man in a
suit strides up: "What are you writing? Are you a journalist? Tear that
page out of your notebook. No, no, you can't talk to anyone."
Tonight
is the opening of the Golden Dawn office in Megara, a once prosperous
farming town between Athens and Corinth. The Greek national socialist
party polled more than 15% here – double the national average – in the
June election, when
it won 18 seats in parliament. (One was taken up by the former bassist with Pogrom, whose hits include Auschwitz and Speak Greek Or Die.)
Legitimised by democracy and by the media, Golden Dawn is opening branches in towns all over
Greece
and regularly coming third in national opinion polls. Its black-shirted
vigilantes have been beating up immigrants for more than three years,
unmolested by the police; lately they've taken to attacking Greeks they
suspect of being gay or on the left. MPs participate proudly in the
violence. In September, three of them led gangs of black-shirted heavies
through street fairs in the towns of Rafina and Messolonghi, smashing
up immigrant traders' stalls with Greek flags on thick poles.
Such
attacks are almost never prosecuted or punished. Ask Kayu Ligopora, of
the Athens Tanzanian Community Association, whose premises were
vandalised by around 80 "local residents" on 25 September after police
walked away. He's lived in Greece for 20 years; for the first time, he
says, he's thinking about leaving. Or Hussain Ahulam, 22, who told me
how four men with dogs and a metal crowbar left him bleeding and
unconscious by the side of the road as he walked home one day. Or
21-year-old HH, a Greek citizen of Egyptian origin, who was beaten on 12
October by three men with chains as he stepped off the trolley bus, and
whose sight may be damaged for good.
Or ask
@manolis, a blogger for
Lifo magazine, who on 11 October went to photograph Golden Dawn's attack on a theatre showing
Terrence McNally's Corpus Christi,
which casts Christ and the apostles as gay men in Texas. He says four
or five people surrounded him in front of the riot police, hit him and
spat on him, and put a lit cigarette in his pocket. "A known Golden Dawn
MP follows me, punches me twice in the face, knocks me down," he
tweeted. "I lose my glasses. The MP kicks me. The police are exactly two
steps away." Another MP, Ilias Panagiotaros, stood on the sidelines
ranting in front of video cameras: "Wrap it up, you little faggots. Wrap
it up, arse-fuckers. You little whores, your time has come. You fucked
Albanian arseholes." A third, Christos Pappas, was filmed releasing a
man from police custody. He is the only one now under police
investigation.
In Megara, as the light fades, people are gathering: families,
children, grandmothers. A woman in a long green dress and high-heeled
silver mules is choosing a black T-shirt; another asks the price of a
Greek flag. Suddenly there's shouting, a thunder of boots on asphalt: 50
yards from the stage, a group of braves have pushed a man off a red
motorbike and are kicking and punching him as he lies on the ground. His
arms are protecting his head; I can hear the boots go in. No one stirs
until an older member calls them off: "Come back to our space, fellow
fighters. The Leader is on his way." The Leader, Nikolaos Michaloliakos,
squat in a baggy suit, threads his way through the crowd accompanied by
the party's spokesman, Ilias Kasidiaris, a former commando with five
criminal charges pending, famous abroad
for assaulting two women candidates on TV in June.
On talkshows, Kasidiaris scowls and slouches like a delinquent
teenager, but tonight he looks expansive, almost rock star cool. The
office door is flanked by men in camouflage trousers, with crash helmets
and Greek flags rolled around wooden staves; more stand guard on the
balcony and the roof.
Standing among the citizens of Megara as
Michaloliakos addresses them, I feel as if I've slipped into a parallel
universe. As a Greek, I've known these people all my life: middle-aged
women with coiffed hair and well-upholstered bosoms, men in clean white
shirts and neatly belted trousers. They're the people who run the cafes
and corner shops; who work hard every day, often at two or three jobs;
who pinch children's cheeks and won't let you pay for your coffee; who
were always cynical about politicians' promises. I never thought they
could fall prey to fascist oratory. Yet here they are, applauding
Michaloliakos as he barks and roars, floodlit against a low white
building next to the petrol station. We could almost be back in the
1940s, between the
Axis occupation and the
civil war, when former collaborators whipped up hatred of the left resistance.
Michaloliakos
has his populism down pat. His message is pride, and purity, and power.
He lambasts the other parties for selling out the country, for their
lies and corruption, with special attention to the left party,
Syriza.
Golden Dawn, he says, are the only patriots, the only ones who haven't
dipped their hands in the honeypot. He praises Megara, which used to
supply all of Greece, "before we started eating Egyptian potatoes,
Indian onions and Chilean apples". Then he turns to "the two million
illegal immigrants who are the scourge of this country", who sell heroin
and weapons with impunity. "Voting for us is not enough," he says. "We
want you to join the struggle for Greece. Don't rent your house to
foreigners, don't employ them… We want all illegal foreigners out of our
country, we want the usurers of the troika and the IMF out of our
country for ever."
After the fireworks and the flares and the
national anthem, Efthimia Pipili, 67, gives me her reaction. "Foreigners
have come twice to my house to rob me in the night," she says. "If
I didn't have my rottweiler, I'd be dead by now. I used to vote for
Pasok
[the Panhellenic Socialist Movement]. Last time I voted for Tsipras
[the leader of Syriza] because I thought he was different. But Tsipras
wants to protect the foreigners. I have €100 to last for the next three
weeks. I owe €400 to the electricity company; they're going to cut me
off. Why shouldn't I be for Golden Dawn, my love?"
Golden Dawn is
many things: a party, a movement, a subculture; a vigilante force;
a network inside the police and the judiciary. Vasilis Mastrogiannis of
the Democratic Left, a former senior police officer turned politician,
describes it frankly as "a criminal organisation". New Democracy MP
Dimitrios Kyriazidis, who founded the Greek police union, calls it a
"political excrescence". "Because of my past in the police, I know very
well where these people come from," Kyriazidis says. "Most declare their
profession as 'businessman'. But one has to pause at that."
The
party's founder and leader, Nikolaos Michaloliakos, served time in the
late 1970s for assault and illegal possession of guns and explosives.
While inside, he met members of the
military junta that ruled Greece from 1967 to 1974,
but his political views, as expressed in Golden Dawn, the magazine he
started when he was released, were well to the right of theirs. Breaking
the boundaries of "acceptable" rightwing nationalism, Michaloliakos
published paeans to Adolf Hitler, arguing that Greece should have been
at the side of the Axis in the second world war. The magazine, its
covers periodically adorned with portraits of the Führer and his
acolytes, served up a weird amalgam of Nazi propaganda, antisemitism,
traditional nationalism and pagan fantasy. The party that now courts and
counts on the Orthodox church once advocated a return to "the faith of
the Aryans" – the Olympian gods – claiming that Christianity had
"grafted Jewish obscurantism on to the trunk of European civilisation".
In the one interview I was allowed with a Golden Dawn official, MP
Panagiotis Iliopoulos told me that, as a young man, the magazine
expressed his ideas completely. Have the party's views changed since
then? "Not at all," he said. "There are no neo-Nazi articles in the
magazine. Only historical ones."
Golden Dawn first drew attention
in the early 1990s, when the dispute over the name of the Former
Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia fuelled an upsurge of Greek nationalism.
It found fertile ground in the anti-immigrant sentiment that spread
through Greece with the first wave of migrants from Albania and eastern
Europe;
it gathered strength as the failures of Greek and European policy
turned Greece into a lobster trap for refugees and migrants coming from
Asia, Africa and the Middle East. As thousands struggled to survive
beside impoverished Greeks in neighbourhoods shattered by the economic
crisis, Golden Dawn vigilantes began to "clear" Athenian squares with
fists and clubs and knives; to storm unofficial mosques; to sell
protection to shopkeepers; to escort old ladies to the supermarket. In
2009 the party polled a mere 0.29% in the national election. In 2010,
Michaloliakos was elected to the Athens city council; he celebrated his
arrival with a fascist salute.
As the crisis deepens –
25% unemployment, and 54% among the young;
a third of the businesses in central Athens closed; savings gone and
faith in the two old mainstream parties lost; violent scenes erupting
even in parliament – there is a smell of fear in Athens, as well as one
of numb depression. In June, many voted for Golden Dawn as a protest
against the parties that brought the country down: "I want them in
parliament to beat the others up." Now they are turning to it because
hope is exhausted; because things are out of control and they want
someone to take charge; because it's "doing something". "It's not that
Greece is going to be saved," one voter said to me. "Greece can't be
saved." What, then?
The Golden Dawn office in downtown Athens is
open three evenings a week. Most of the visitors are middle-aged women
with dull eyes and sunken cheeks, faces too old for their bodies,
hardened, tired expressions. More than 50 come in an hour. Quietly, they
ask the bouncers, "Are they giving out food inside?" "Third floor," the
bouncers say; but most of the women come out empty-handed save for
a mauve piece of paper with the Golden Dawn logo on it. There's only
enough today for voters from this ward; they'll announce the next
distribution on a poster, in the papers, if you phone.
Away from
the door, Maria Kirimi tells me she's been locked out of her flat with
all her things inside since 29 July; the family are crowded at her
mother's now, seven people surviving on €400 a month. "We're the living
dead," she says. Isn't she troubled by Golden Dawn's violence? "The boys
in the black shirts are the only ones I'm not scared of. I feel they'll
protect me." I ask her mother, old enough to remember the junta, what
she thinks of their far-right views. "I heard Michaloliakos say on TV
that their sign isn't Hitler's sign but a patriotic one," she says, and
then looks down at her feet. "It does upset me a bit. But I haven't
heard of anyone else giving out food."
For the young people drawn
into its inner circle, Golden Dawn means much more. Vetta has Celtic
crosses on her collar points, a pack of Stuyvesants and a can of Red
Bull clutched in her left hand. Her kohl-rimmed eyes dart back and forth
as she speaks, but she is open, friendly. The 33-year-old says she
helped to "clear" Aghios Panteleimon square three years ago and was
stunned by people's gratitude. She's a member now, one of 20 chosen each
year for their contribution to the cause and given lessons in ideology
and behaviour: "We have to welcome everybody, to be polite but serious."
There's a dress code for women – no heels, low-cut tops or bare backs –
and a growing Women's Front, which offers training in self-defence.
"But there's no difference between men and women here. We all sweep and
mop. And, yes, the men make coffee."
The Golden Dawn office in
industrial Aspropyrgos is in a flat above an empty garage, next to the
old elevated motorway. The stairs are lined with crash helmets, black
shields and Greek flags rolled on to wooden staves, ready to snatch up
at a moment's notice. The walls are hung with the slogans of Greek
nationalism – "Macedonia is Greek soil" – and a blown-up photograph of
Golden Dawn supporters fighting the riot police. Arete Demestika – six
months pregnant, ponytail down to her waist, earrings like black roses –
waxes lyrical in praise of the party: "It's an attitude, a way of life,
it's what's called Greece. It awakens new parts of you and makes you
stronger, it arms you with knowledge, it's a secret school. We learn our
true history, the lore of the nation, because the Greeks are a superior
race. And it's given me my family – I met my husband here – and made me
feel I'm not alone in the struggle for our country."
But outside,
as the sun goes down, 27-year-old Costas, a black-booted Golden Dawn
cadre, slips out from under the rhetoric and speaks in his own words.
He's an inspector now in the Eleusis oil refineries, but that's not his
vocation. He's a craftsman, a marble carver; he used to work at
the Acropolis,
but the pay was terrible and you couldn't get a decent contract if you
weren't in the right party. His face softens and sweetens as he talks
about working the marble, learning the craft as a boy, and I realise
that he comes from a village I know well. Suddenly we're two people –
two Greeks – talking about a place we love, a place full of memories,
almost as if things were normal.
Deliberately, inexorably, Golden
Dawn is moving into the gaps left open by the crippled Greek state. Its
strategy is a blend of seduction and extortion, the exploitation of need
backed by the threat of violence. To its existing "solidarity projects"
– "Food for Greeks only" and "Blood for Greeks only" – the party has
now added a third: "Jobs for Greeks only". Golden Dawn members are
visiting workshops and factories, counting and publicising the number of
foreign workers there, "encouraging" employers to hire Greeks instead.
But its biggest success has been the provision of "security", with the
collusion of the authorities: the intimidation of migrants, protection
of Greek shops, vigilante patrols.
Adept at spectacle, the party
claims new territory with a show of black-shirted strength, fireworks
and flares and fanfare, masculine energy. Physical fitness is a big part
of its culture. There are Golden Dawn gyms that don't admit foreigners;
Golden Dawn security firms. MP Panagiotaros owns a shop called Phalanga
that sells military memorabilia; bovver boots and black gloves; ultra
football shirts; kit by Pit Bull and Hooligan. Members of the military
junta beam from photos on the wall. The heavy stuff is said to be kept
in a back room.
Yianna Kourtovik acts for victims of racial attacks. Photograph: Eirini Vourloumis for the Guardian
As middle-class Greeks have fled the centre of Athens, immigrants
have moved into their empty properties. It's common knowledge that if
you want to get squatters out of your flat, you call Golden Dawn, not
the police, who at best will quietly pass you a Golden Dawn telephone
number. The story has become a staple of dinner-party conversation; in
the version I heard from unemployed journalist Julia Iliakopoulou, the
Golden Dawn heavies who cleared the Pakistanis out of her friend's flat
by "beating them black and blue" made them clean it up and paint it
afterwards. "Don't upset yourself," they said. "We're Greeks helping
Greeks."
It's hard to measure just
how deeply Golden Dawn has penetrated the police.
In Athens wards where the police vote in large numbers, the party
polled 19-24% last summer; Panagiotaros crows that 50-60% of the force
is now with the movement. What's obvious is that rightwing violence
almost always goes unchecked, even when it happens under officers' noses
or on camera. Early in October, anti-fascist protesters told me they
had been tortured in the Athens police headquarters: burned with a
cigarette lighter; forced to strip naked, bend over and spread their
buttocks; filmed by officers who said they'd give the pictures to Golden
Dawn. As I tried to interview some of them in a public lobby of the
Athens courthouse, an officer grabbed me by the arm and pulled me
roughly away. A police spokesperson denied the protesters' allegations.A senior police officer claims successive governments in Greece
allowed the ultra-nationalist Golden Dawn party to infiltrate the
country's police force.
Lawyer Yianna Kourtovik is familiar with Athens' most notorious
police station, Aghios Panteleimon, which in 2010 was censured by
a United Nations special rapporteur. She tells me that migrants trying
to bring complaints of racist violence are routinely threatened with
counter-charges and held in the cells; that local supporters of Golden
Dawn wander freely in and out of rooms where complainants are giving
statements; that she has had to prevent a friend of accused attackers
from removing evidence. "If that isn't giving cover to Golden Dawn,
I don't know what is," she says. A few weeks ago, she was egged by
Golden Dawn outside the station while the police looked on. Then: "The
other day, as I was walking down the road, two uniformed officers behind
me started chanting, just loud enough for me to hear, 'Blood! Honour!
Golden Dawn!'"
Why are such allegations never investigated? The
usual response from those on the left is that Golden Dawn is "the long
arm of the state" – that the government tolerates it to discourage
immigration and keep people in a passive state of terror. But Golden
Dawn is now much more of a threat to public order than protesters
against austerity. There is also the fear of further alienating a
desperately underfunded, underpaid and demoralised police force. New
Democracy's Kyriazidis has led efforts to isolate Golden Dawn in
parliament and, as a veteran union organiser, has intimate knowledge of
the old militarised, post-junta police. But when I put the question to
him, he hesitates: "Now that Golden Dawn is a legal party in parliament,
we can't do anything… If there is an investigation, it has to be done
internally, to remove individuals who act in this way but not weaken the
police as a whole."
Through some lethal cocktail of intention,
incompetence and inertia, the state has let a violent, anti-democratic
force take control of law enforcement.
Greece has bitter experience of what can happen when
the far right
infiltrates the security services. But the Democratic Left's
Mastrogiannis thinks what is happening now is more dangerous than
a coup. "With the junta, you knew the enemy," he says. "But these people
are acting inside society, undermining the system from within. People
doubt that democracy is alive. They see it as something that works only
for the few, who exploit it to make money. And the circumstances are not
transient. This situation could go on for 15, 20 years."
Already
Golden Dawn's success has moved the agenda to the right. Speaking in
Paris last month, prime minister Antonis Samaras compared his country to
1930s Weimar. Trying to win back ground before the last election, he
launched an ill-thought-out campaign (Xenios Zeus, or Zeus the Host) to
round up illegal migrants, and spoke of taking back Greece's city
centres. "I try to tell myself that he meant from criminals," says Dr
Yunus Mohammadi of the Greek Forum of Refugees, "but really he meant
from migrants."
People quickly become inured to hate speech and
violence. Panagiotaros now speaks openly of a "new kind of civil war"
between Greeks and "invaders", nationalists and leftists. Two years ago,
a friend who sits on the Athens city council came in late to find only
one empty seat, beside Michaloliakos. He hesitated, but the Golden Dawn
leader waved him over. "Do sit down," he said. "Fascism isn't
contagious." At the time, we thought it funny.
Son las seis y media de la tarde del miércoles. Las oficinas abren a
las siete pero en la puerta hay al menos 20 personas. Muchos ancianos.
Una mujer de pelo blanco con un carrito de la compra. Una pareja de
mediana edad y un señor de unos 70 años bien trajeado que lleva una
pequeña chapa en el cuello de la chaqueta. Es un meandro, una especie de
esvástica, y es el símbolo del partido
El edificio frente al que estas personas esperan es su sede central en
Atenas. Todos los días, durante dos horas, está abierta para atender al
público. Es aquí donde, día tras día, Aurora Dorada construye el apoyo
popular sobre las ruinas económicas y políticas del país.
Thomas dice que la relación con la policía “no es ni buena ni mala”.
“Creo en todo caso que el 50% de los policías nos apoya”, añade. Lo
mismo dijo a la
el diputado de Aurora Dorada Ilias Panagiotaros. En septiembre,
detenidos después de un enfrentamiento con miembros de Aurora Dorada,
que denunciaban torturas en comisaría por agentes simpatizantes del
movimiento. El ministro del Interior, Nikos Dendias, ha anunciado una
demanda contra el periódico británico. Pero las críticas a las fuerzas
policiales por las actuaciones durante las acciones de Aurora Dorada son
cada vez más frecuentes. Una de las últimas ocasiones fue el 11 de
octubre: la violenta protesta de un grupo de fanáticos cristianos
apoyados por miembros del partido impidió la representación de la obra
de teatro Corpus Christi, en la que los apóstoles son homosexuales. A
Thomas le parece justo: “Uno no puede decir lo que quiere y pensar que
no pasa nada por ello”. Desde el piso de arriba se oyen aplausos. “Hoy
hay una conferencia sobre el imperio bizantino”.