Following the Current

March to Athens
Day 179-CV, from Δάφνι to Περιστέρι, 6 km.

Peristeri, May 4

Dear people,

In Dafni field marshall Mimo had subtracted a pipe from one of the newcomers, and he used it as the symbol of his position as supreme commander. From early on in the morning he walked around with the pipe and with a mug of whisky, making sure that everything was under control, inciting his generals to do a good job on the route.

The members of the junta elaborated various proposals for our entry into the city. As the day advanced, the supreme commander accepted every one of them as the best option and kept requesting more routes and more whisky.

Within the group, people shrugged their shoulders. But finally Mami decided that she had enough of it, and she seized the map. Initially the field marshall nominated Mami as one of his generals and ordered her to advice him on a new route, but she wouldn’t have anything of it.

“Hijos de puta! We have our entry into Athens to prepare, damned! Time to play is over!”

So the junta came to fall, and it was mamicracia again.

Mami

 

Washing dishes

Mami verbally maltreats anyone for any reason all day long. But if you know how to close your ears, you will have no problems with her. She usually goes ahead to prepare the square, and once we arrive she supervises the food collection and distribution. She is a driving force of the group, and she always complains that people don’t appreciate her.

This time she moderated the assembly, something which she hadn’t done before as far as I can remember. She showed a lot of patience. It surprised me, because I didn’t know she had any. But nevertheless it was obvious that the assembly wasn’t going anywhere.

We are one day away from our arrival in Athens and we don’t know yet where we will camp, how we will enter the city, if we pass by Syntagma, etc. After hours of discussion the only thing we tried to decide on was if we should decide right away, or the day after.

Both options were blocked. There is going to be no decision. We are on a ship and we pretend to decide together where we’ll go, but in practice it’s the current that guides us.

Comrade Max

 

Comrade José Miguel

Today we march into the city. More people have joined us, from France, from Spain, from Canada. And from Athens, the comrades that took their distance from the attack on José Miguel. Still we aren’t many, just over thirty, but we keep growing.

It takes less than two hours, we walk through the suburb of Chaidari to the central square of Peristeri, guided by one of the locals. Police escort us with one vehicle. When we arrive, they let us take the square without problems.

Walking into town

 

On the square of Peristeri

 

Dinner

The square was abbandoned to the hot sun. Only in the early evening it starts to fill with people old and young, and with the participants in the popular assembly of Peristeri. They gave us a warm welcome and they brought us a wide variety of delicious home made food. We improvised a little assembly with them and they shared their knowledge about Athens city center and their advice on where to camp.

It didn’t help us reach a decision however. Until late at night we held an assembly of the march to decide on our primary destination. Syntagma, Exarchia, or Thisio, the site of the ancient agora.

Once again all three options were blocked. Tomorrow we march for the last time, we don’t know where we’re going and we don’t know how to get there. But I’m not worried. This is our way of doing things. And besides, Jesus Christ has joined us for the last leg. Now we only need to have faith, and everything is going to be alright.

 

Late night assembly in Peristeri

“Golpe”

March to Athens
Day 177-CIII, from Ελευσίνα to Δάφνι, 14 km.
Day 178-CIV, Δαφνί.

Monastery of Dafni, May 3

Dear people,

In Eleusis three of our French comrades took control of the Route commission. I ceded them the maps, I gave them all requested clarifications, and I was actually relieved that it was out of my hands.

We had crossed the hills in two legs to be at Eleusis on the 30th, hoping that our comrades from Athens would be there, so that we could decide on our entry in assembly all together. They didn’t show up, and what’s more, some of them insulted one of our comrades.

‘If you touch one of us, you touch us all,’ is what we sing to police. And the same goes for anyone who betrays us. It left a scar on the march.

Waiting to leave Eleusis

In this situation, with no first hand information to go on, one route or another doesn’t matter. It was going to be a surprise for everyone.

There were two important reasons for the junta to stage a coup. One was the desire to take a day off in nature before entering. We didn’t do so in the mountains, so this would be the last opportunity. The other reason was to counter certain ‘manipulations’ of the march by people who had accepted an invitation of the assembly of Peristeri to go there as our last stop, without discussing it in assembly.

The junta consists of comrades Nicolas, Mimo and Ollie, of which Ollie is one of the two persons who did the entire march from Nice. As far as I know they never made the route before.

Yesterday they would have guided us to a lake, or to a place on the coast where we could take a holiday. Nicolas and Mary departed as vanguard in the morning to localise the place. In the afternoon, the group would follow.

It became an infernal day. We marched along the highway under the hot sun to a rendez-vous spot without any shadow. All along the way we had to bear the stench of the refineries. No place here to camp in the green.

 

 

Deciding where to go

 

Comrade Max, one of the supposed ‘manipulators’, was enraged with the Route commission for not doing a good job, but it would have been hard anyway. They took control of the route at the most difficult moment. I wouldn’t have done a better job myself.

In the end, after frying for hours on the contaminated coast we decided to move inland to the Byzantine monastery of Dafni. We found a park, hills and fresh water. The place is in a gorge along the main artery leading into Athens, and it’s located exactly at the entrance of the metropolis. On the one side, there is nature, on the other side the first houses.

We put up camp, we start cooking and exploring the surroundings. It’s already dark when four jackals on motorbikes arrive. Police. They ask what we’re doing here. We’re camping, we come walking from France and we go to Athens.

They go, and fifteen minutes later they return with reinforcements. Four bikes, eight officers this time. They say it’s illegal to camp, we have to show id, and we have to go immediately.

We explain who we are, and that we have been camping all over Greece.

“This isn’t Greece. This is Athens. Things are different here. You must go, now.”

So we put up our little piece of theater. We call an assembly, and we start with lengthy translations into four different languages to speak about what to do and put their patience to the test. All the while some of us keep calmly discussing with the officers. Police make phone calls to head quarters, and they go.

Frying potatoes next to the monastery

The tension remained. They could have come back to arrest all of us, and here we don’t have the advantage of the square. No-one will see us. We have to know how to act.

I stand in the middle of camp with comrade Mimo.

Mimo has emerged as the strong man of the junta. He has his history of carjacking, violence and schizophrenic tendencies, but he has joined the revolution with all his inphantile enthusiasm and he was miraculously cured at Easter in the church of Eratini. At this crucial moment, to protect our principles of horizontality, Mimo has adopted the title of ‘supreme commander’ and the rank of field marshall.

Among all the other things, he has also done the military.

As we are waiting for the cops to return, he explains the situation to me.

“We have to retreat to the edge of the forest. We form a first line of strong people. With four or five of them we immobilise one of the flicks and we take his gun. Then we fire a shot in the air. The other cops will be running like rabbits to get reinforcements. At that point we take the hills. We will dominate the battlefield from above, and we will start a guerilla.”

“With one gun?”

“Gun? What gun? No, no, no. We are non violent. Taking the hills would be a strategic error. Look, there are two paths that connect the monastery to the road. When police arrive, we have to secure at least one of them. We would take the highway and block the entrance of all traffic into the city.”

Field Marshall Mimo is in charge of all the maps. To avoid any further manipulations, they are only accessible to the members of the junta. And even though I knew about these ‘manipulations’, Mimo has appointed me his ‘first councillor’ with the rank of general. My task is to advice him on our advance to the center of the city.

It’s going to be fun. But contrary to what I said before, we will not be alone. We don’t need the support of our former vanguard, we have the support of all the Greeks we met along the way. From Preveza, from Agrinio, from Misolonghi, from Patras, from Itea, from Thebes, from Kriekouki. They made us feel at home when we arrived, and after we left they have come to visit us when morale was low, they brought us gas when we couldn’t cook, they brought us food, drink and joy. I’m sure that many of them will come to meet us in Athens.

They are more than comrades, they are friends.

Internal assembly in Dafni

 

 

 

Friends.

Counterrevolution

March to Athens

Day 176-CII, Ελευσίνα.

'Falling down is permitted. Getting up is a must.'

Eleusis, May 1

Dear people,

The day started off great. With a small group we went to see the ancient town of Eleusis. The site was closed for May day, but one of the locals knew how to get in and gave us a clandestine tour.

The site is on a hill in the center of town. It’s an oasis of tranquility. There are bushes, trees, ancient rocks and buzzing insects. We sit down in the shadow, looking out to fair Salamis while our guide tells us about the Mysteries of Eleusis.

This place was probably the most important center of ancient Greek religion. From all over Greece, and from all over the Mediterranean, the faithful came here to be introduced into the secrets of life and resurrection.

Participation in the Mysteries was open to all people, to kings and slaves. But no-one was allowed to reveal anything of the rites, under penalty of death.

It’s a testimony to the force of the Mysteries that they lasted throughout antiquity, and that during all that time nobody ever said a word. Mysteries they were and Mysteries they will remain.

Entering ancient Eleusis

All we know is that they were based on the story of Demeter and Persephone, and infernal Hades.

Demeter was the godess of the grain. She sowed the land and brought abbundance to man kind all year long. Her daughter Persephone was a happy girl who used to trot around in the meadows picking flowers. While doing so, one day she was abducted by Hades, god of the Underworld.

Her mother looked all over for her daughter, she was so sad that she forgot to sow the land, and so great famine was the result.

She finally found her daughter in the abysses of hell, and pretended to take her back up to the light. But Persephone had eaten the fruits of the Underworld, which meant she forever had to stay with Hades.

The case was brought before the Council of the Gods. To satisfy all it was decided that Persephone would spend half the time of the year in the Underworld, and the rest of the year on earth.

During the time she is down with Hades, Demeter weaps her daughter’s absence, and to express her grief, the land doesn’t bear fruit. Then when Persephone returns to the light, her mother’s joy brings spring, and the circle of life starts again.

Looking out over modern Eleusis

When we descend back into the modern town of Eleusis, we see that our comrades who went to Athens yesterday night have returned. The expression on their faces spell tempest. Especially José Miguel.

It’s a long story. I can only tell it from the perspective of the march, and it goes something like this.

In Delphi two of our liaison comrades came to say that we shouldn’t expect anything from Athens.

That was fair enough. I’m sure it’s difficult to get something off the ground in Athens, so I didn’t blame them.

But even with no agora at all I was convinced that they would give us all possible support for our entry in Athens. It turned out that I was wrong.

We would have expected them to be at Eleusis yesterday and today, to share with us all useful information on the entry into the metropolis and the space where to camp. We shouldn’t even have to ask for that. But we did. I sent a message, strongly urging them to be here with details on various specific matters, especially the existence of a plan B in case our entry turns into a full scale catastrophe.

The answer came soon. It said more or less to fuck off. There is no plan B, there is no plan A. There is no nothing.

They have given up. It seems the only person who keeps on trying to make something out of this damned Agora, with unabiding revolutionary spirit, is comrade Marianne.

So while people are dropping in one by one from all over Europe and Greece to join us, the only ones we’re missing are the people of our own vanguard in Athens, a 30 minute bus ride away.

I was deeply disappointed. But the worst was still to come. This afternoon, José Miguel, Chino, Mami and others who were there told me what happened in Athens yesterday evening.

Maybe it’s the oppressing atmosphere of the big city, maybe it’s the continuous and intimidating police presence, maybe it’s simply contagious paranoia, but as I understand it, our comrades in Athens have gone out of their mind.

A small scale event was organised in the anarchist quarter of Exarchia to support the agora. Upon arrival comrade Chino was welcomed by someone from Spain he didn’t even know. “You have a problem. Because your friend is with the police.” He indicated José Miguel.

The guy was lucky that Chino didn’t chop him up. But they were serious. They asked José Miguel for his identification. I repeat: they asked José Miguel for his identification.

Usually only police themselves ask for ID.

That was the end of it. We are alone. With this gesture, our former vanguard in Athens hasn’t only insulted José Miguel, but also Max, Nicholas, myself, and pretty much the entire march.

On the other hand, maybe they are right. Maybe police did come to José Miguel to say to him: “Listen, why don’t you go walking along with these hippies and try to speak to people about self determination and revolution, try to organise popular assemblies, try to raise moral when people are down, and for heaven’s sake make sure you always leave a clean square and a good image. If you do so, you be will doing us, the police, a great favour.”

Maybe this is the truth, but I have a very hard time to believe it.

Not only José Miguel was suspected of infiltration and manipulation. The names of comrade Leonidas and myself were mentioned as well.

During the march, Leonidas has been our liaison comrade with popular movements of the lands we crossed, most notably the No-Tav rebels in Italy. He speaks good Greek, and he did his best to make use of it by trying to establish a connection with the locals.

As for me, of course I’m an infiltrado. It’s as obvious as can be. I’m spewing information almost every day. All the shit is out in the open. If police want to know anything at all about our march, they read my blog.

There are many more things I didn’t talk about. Maybe I can sell all that info to the Mossad, or the CIA, or MI5, and finally make a profit out of all this marching and writing. But the sad fact of the matter is that no-one would buy…

If we are really convinced that police would infiltrate a band of hippie gipsies or a bunch of frustrated foreigners in a squat in Athens, then we are thinking much too highly of ourselves and our revolutionary importance. And if we let this conviction influence our behaviour, then we are just plain paranoid.

So that’s the welcome we got from our own comrades after six months of marching. A stab in the back.

I sit under a tree on the hilltop of old Eleusis, and I think back to the early days of the revolution in Puerta del Sol. It was all a big cloud of love. Nobody did anything for him- or herself, we all worked together for the common good, and it made everyone incredibly happy. Those first few weeks were spent in a state of collective revolutionary drunkenness.

It was magic, and I went along with it completely. Only in a few rare occasions I had a moment of clarity, and I thought: ‘This can’t last. Every revolution has its life cycle. I wonder when this one will begin to degenerate by itself.’

In our case, I fear it has begun.

Internal assembly in Eleusis