The crisis has many faces – one year later…
This morning the scales fell from my eyes. Fear! He is afraid. Our conversation lingered in my head for a long time last night before I went to sleep.
“The internet is to blame for everything. It’s part of their plan, of capitalism, to keep us all quiet, parked in front of a screen, staring at it, consuming.” The refrigerator in the corner was gurgling softly. “No money, no worries. Everyone sits at home in front of a box and forgets reality.” He carefully lit a home-made cigarette. Maria behind the counter washed the glasses and put wood in the kiln. It was gloomy outside and the cold wind swept the yellow plane tree leaves across the lonely village square.
“No one communicates with the other anymore. Check out our village square! Not a soul around, and it’s only nine o’clock!” He snorted. “Everyone is sitting at home in front of a box. That’s exactly what they want.” “You?” I ask cautiously. “The government, the system, capitalism.” I look at him in disbelief and a little amusement. So this rail. I wouldn’t have thought that he, an experienced man my age, politically critical, three almost grown children, a nice wife and his own business, would come with this KKE Laier. He puffed on his cigarette and took a sip. “This is our time,” I replied laconically. Wasn’t that the case everywhere? “No exchanges, no disagreements… no resistance.” His eyes sparkled. “So they can do whatever they want with us, we don’t even notice!”
“I think television does the same thing,” I replied hopefully. “Television has been around for many years. You sat together, watched a lousy show and laughed about it. But today things are different. Everyone sits alone in front of their own box.” There’s something.
“Kóstas watches football games and Argýris plays the lottery for money, Pétros watches porn, Iríni watches music videos until three in the morning, Eléni documentaries and Athiná feeds animals on a comic farm.” He’s not entirely wrong. All adult people, each in their own reality. “People become sheep.” “Vangélis just sits in his room in the evenings and plays.” María wiped her hands on her jeans and joined us. “Vangélis is fourteen, what are the boys supposed to do? Going out in the evening?” I ask. “No, the boys don’t know anything else. If the power goes out, they are lost. They couldn’t survive without the Internet. But our generation has literally kicked the bucket.”
I read my report from last year and think about what has changed since then. I haven’t seen Dimítri’s wife in Ikaria for a long time, actually only once for a few days in the summer, with a wig and pale skin. Léna’s son has now lost his teaching position in Patras and has also moved in with his parents in Ikaria. Now they are five adults and two small children in the same household, living on their parents’ pension.
People have no money and no longer go outside their front doors. Actually nothing new. But this winter it’s scarier than ever, as if the crisis has only just now truly hit Ikaria.
But why is Stelios so angry at the internet? Internet is everywhere. This is our age. Suddenly it dawns on me. Anger at capitalism, anger at the system that turns us into sheep, anger actually means fear. Fear and hopelessness. That’s the worst. People don’t communicate anymore. That’s what’s scary. They no longer exchange ideas. No words. No opinion. That’s worse than no money! Stelios is kind of right.
It’s so eerily quiet everywhere, as if people are holding out in silence, waiting to see what comes next. A year ago, despite the crisis, everything was loud and lively everywhere. It’s not the lack of money, it’s more the mood, the atmosphere of resignation and hopelessness that has become noticeable, tangible.
Despite “Greek economic growth” being loudly praised everywhere, people’s fears have grown. The ENFIA, the new property and property tax, has brought everyone to their knees. “How am I supposed to pay this tax for a piece of land with an old stone house without a roof and from which I don’t get a penny? What choice do I have but to sell my ancestral land?”
Many have fled to the city over the winter and their houses are locked. Even Thodorís, my neighbor, the film star from “Little Land,” flew to France to spend the winter. And those who remained here have barricaded themselves. The platia has become unreally quiet.
This story, like all my others, is of course a lie and a fabrication. How much I love the art of fiction, interwoven with my ideas and opinions, but as always inspired by the encounters and events with the idiosyncratic, lovable people and the wonderful island that surround me.