No matter how deep your research goes, no matter how good your ability is to navigate the sensationalized and manipulated media perspectives on any given issue, there is no preparation you can make that will prepare you for the visceral reality of experiencing something for yourself.
I was in Athens with a film crew to capture video for my upcoming feature, ANARCHISM, this past weekend. It was the December 6th, 7 year memorial for Alexis Grigoropoulos, the 15 year-old boy shot down in cold-blood by two police officers, in the Exarchia neighborhood of Athens.
Before the planned marches, in which I witnessed more than 5,000 participants (the international media reported hundreds), we visited a small memorial marking the spot of his death, in the graffiti covered Exarchia neighborhood.
What struck me right away was how safe and calm the neighborhood, which is widely hyped as being one of Athens most dangerous, actually is, especially as it is basically a no-police zone. For the police, on the other hand, it is a very dangerous place, they barricade off their one neighborhood station and don't venture into the heart of the neighborhood at all.
This hands-off, let them fend for themselves, don't enter, except under the cover of clouds of tear gas, attitude, is portrayed by the news media, as a clear indication that it is a neighborhood of chaos and high crime. The reality of what I experienced and what residents conveyed to me, was quite the opposite.The clear absence of police presence gave a palpable lightness to the streets. I felt like I was in an alternative universe, or alternative nation, at the very least. And while there is definitely a bohemian student vibe that dominates, there are people of all ages, walking the streets and sitting typically(for Greeks) at sidewalk cafes. There is a palpable friendliness and camaraderie on the streets, that I have never experienced in a city before.
Of course, police weren't the only notable absent force of the neighborhood. There were also no high end fashion or electronic stores, the banks were long closed and there was no mega corporate presence in coffee shops or retail stores. Sorry kids, no malls.
By nighttime, the neighborhood would be under siege.
The peaceful, but very vocal memorial marches, which were supported by an alliance of left-oriented organizations, men and women of all ages circled the closed off main streets of central Athens, and were all the time sealed off and contained by 6,000 police officers(more than one per protester), dressed in military gear, who lined the sidewalks, basically fencing in the marchers from every side.
The feeling for me, when inside with the protesters, was one of being herded, like sheep. It was a very suffocating feeling, as if there was no escape, and no control, should something...erupt. And as the 2 hour march came full circle, back to the starting point, something did. There was a loud explosion and a big flash of fire, ahead of the marching crowds. No one was injured, but the intensity of the explosion sent the marchers desperately running away, for their lives. I stopped, to try and catch some video of the stampeding people, elders, youth, men and women. But before I could set my camera, I saw a forty-something woman running and at the same time from the line of police, a policeman, as she passed him, stepped off of the curb and blindsided her with his shield, sending her flying into the street and at the feet of the running masses.
No, I didn't get a photo, of the insanely cheap shot, and no I can't explain the feeling of powerlessness I felt in the face of such a cowardly act of injustice, paralyzed by the intensity of a virtual armed military capable of such unprovoked violence, cut off from my film crew and suddenly unable to see as tear gas filled the air.
I wandered upwind, away from the gas, behind the police lines, not knowing who the enemy was, or what safety looked like, wishing I had a gas mask, and feeling a sense of helplessness amidst the chaos, like none I have ever experienced.
Was that helplessness, somehow at the root of everything? Was that the outcome or the source of the confrontation?
Away from the front lines, away from the sheep herding, for a moment, behind the masks, and from under the helmets, I caught a glimpse of humanity.
But the night was just barely beginning, and if helplessness, or hopelessness was the source, the core anarchists were determined to not allow it to become the outcome. The battle shifted fronts and began in earnest. The Anarchists dug into their Exarchia fortress. And they raged against the dying of the light.
I had been seeking the answer to a question all day, which was this: What was the victory the Anarchists were seeking?
I asked many people, and every time my question was answered with a smile and a kind understanding of my obvious naiviety. They weren't after victory. They didn't expect to win anything. When the day began, I couldn't wrap my understanding around that answer, Surely there had to be a marker, a goal, an objective?
But as the night burned on, as molotov cocktails shattered and flared and lit up the streets, my research, programmed pre-conceptions and logic finally began to burn away as well, and I began to understand not with my mind, but to feel with my racing heart.That helplessness, I had felt in every pore of my body, during the fleeting moments of initiation through the fire of experience. they weren't going to feel that, not for a moment.
For the anarchists of Exarchia, victory might be a far away, inconceivable concept...but defeat, was even more so.
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