“Ultimate Art of Self Defense when crossing the street under sniper fire”

I moved back to Greece in September 1973 with my parents after living in Canada for 7 years. I was looking forward to returning to my country of origin... But first a bit of levity...
A few weeks before our departure for Canada in 1966, my grandfather took me aside and gave me some words of advice that I will always remember: "You are going to a country where there are English people.(he had spent some time in the company of English soldiers during the 1st world war, so he knew of what he spoke) There are 2 things that you must remember. 1. When you sit down to eat with them do not burp; they will think that you are a barbarian.(in Middle eastern/Mediterranean culture, burping is considered a form of compliment for a good meal) 2. At the end of the meal when they start farting, pretend you do not smell it." Words of wisdom to a 9 year old for sure!!! We landed in Athens in the early morning. Of course there was no way I could sleep the first day. My father and I went downtown to have a coffee at the Syntagma Square in front of the Parliament building. Suddenly we heard some yelling and singing coming from one of the streets. We got up to see what was going on and walked right into a demonstration against the Junta governing Greece at the time. Whoa! what a way to be welcomed!

I had a keen interest in the anti-war demonstrations in America from a very young age. I was very aware of political protest and violence. I saw the shootings in Kent State and the riots surrounding the '68 Democratic Party convention in Chicago on television. So here I was in the middle of this spontaneous eruption of protest in my own country. Tear gas, baton wielding police and demostrations right before my eyes. I found it exhilarating. From that moment I knew that I wanted to be involved. On Nov.14 1973 the students at the Polytechnic Institute in Greece began a sit in to protest against some academic issues.

It was quickly transformed into a full blown take over and popular revolt against the ruling military Junta. People began to gather from all over Athens and the surrounding areas. A radio station was set up to transmit and call out for everyone to participate, and openly broadcasting Theodorakis' music. He was a left leaning composer banned by the Junta. His music has a very deep resonance in the Greek psyche. He synthesized byzantine ecclesiastical musical rhythms with traditional folk and classical with pop over/undertones into songs of freedom and political action. By Nov. 17th 8pm, there were more than one million people in the streets surrounding the university. Emboldened by our success and drunk with enthusiasm, we began our march towards the Parliament buildings. We did not get very far before there was a full blown police assault with tear gas and bullets flying all around us. I stood behind a pillar as people trampled over each other all around me trying to flee. I took a very circuitous route and made it back to the Polytechnic Institute by 10 o'clock. The students had barricaded themselves inside the university and chained the gates shut. They would not allow me inside. There were maybe 50 people left on the outside by this time; everyone had scattered. There were rumors that the tanks were coming. My father arrived. He had been searching for me for a few hours. He knew where to find me. Everyday as this event unfolded I would leave in the morning and not return until very late in the night. He tried to convince me that there was nothing more to be done here and we better go home. It took a while before I saw the futility of my actions and the sight of him pleading with me was too much to bear. I was getting prepared by gathering bricks ready to fight the tanks and the army that was on its way...Finally I agreed. As we went to cross the street, a man yelled out to us to stop. He said there was a sniper that was shooting anyone that tried to cross. At this point I was so enraged at the violence and bloodshed I had witnessed that there was no sense of fear. So I turned around and asked: "is this a Greek sniper?" The man responded: "Of course! He is perched on top of the Police station at the end of the street". I grabbed my fathers arm, placing my body between the sniper's position and him and said: "Well I'd like to see for myself how a Greek can shoot a Greek!" With that I pulled my father forward into the sniper's fire. We began to walk across... my father kept trying to tell me something but there was no way I would listen to anything he had to say at this point. I kept pulling him along. As we reached the other side and we stepped on the side walk, I heard a shot... We made it across safely. Unfortunately, two men that had just witnessed our crossing also attempted to cross. Two shots rang out in quick succession. I turned just in time to see their lifeless bodies fall to the ground. Within seconds, an ambulance showed up and took them away... After a long walk with sounds of gunfire in the background, we finally made it home. In the days that followed, every time the news would mention the events I would start to tremble uncontrollably. Soon I realised that I had to go back to that street. I felt that I missed something... I felt guilty for having caused the death of 2 people that followed my lead and tried to cross as I did. One week later I decided to go back. By this time they were arresting young people with long hair(mine was down to just above my waist) so I had my Aunt cut it. I convinced my father that we go back to the Polytechnic Institute. The streets by this time were cleaned up, and there was police guarding the entrance to the University. The front gate was gone. The tanks had come, just after midnight... one of them drove right into the gate as the students were singing the Greek national anthem.

The tank crushed a number of students that refused to budge. I took my fathers' arm again and proceeded to cross the same street. I began to tremble again. We walked across. As I stepped on the other side on to the sidewalk, I remembered hearing the shot... I turned in the direction of the sniper's position and saw the steel post of the stop light in front of me. At eye level, there was an outwardly facing bump on it. I moved around it to see the other side of the post. Suddenly the trembling stopped as I saw the bullet hole on the other side of the steel post. The sniper did take the shot. The bullet was aimed straight for my head. The stop sign had stopped the bullet... The two other pedestrians had no such luck... I write this as a tribute to them... I scoured the newspapers after... death notices... nobody was reported dead on that street corner...I have no names for them...they, like many others simply disappeared... I on the other hand have lived on, and have tried to live my life to the fullest... I can say that I have lived enough to fill at least three lives with experience... and will continue to do so till I die... In this blog I will document some of those experiences... it is my tribute for the two unknown pedestrians on that fateful night where the simple act of walking would somehow justify in the unknown sniper's mind the use of deadly force... This entry is dedicated to the two unknown pedestrians... their death is my life. If the bullet that was meant for me was not stopped... they would be telling their own story... they would not have crossed... to the other side... in that moment...