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Monday, June 26, 2006

Men of letters, to use the old expression have traditionally been held in high esteem by our culture. The inference is that it was due to the efforts of these men that our civilization not only endured the mind-numbing and culture destroying years of the Ottoman occupation and that heir efforts to preserve the Greek language and literature provided the impetus required for the liberation and renaissance of Greece into the modern world. Thus, in the Pantheon of national mythology, scholars such as Gennadios Scholarios, Evgenios Voulgaris and Adamantios Korais rub shoulders with more rough and ready warrior types such as Kolokotronis, who by the way, emphasized in a famous speech to the schoolchildren of Nauplion that education and retention of the Greek language were the keys to their county's future, a sentiment echoing the valiant efforts of St Kosmas the Aetolian to bring culture to the masses and arrest their assimilation, a quarter of a century before him.
While in Greece, men of letters seem increasingly to belong to the world of nationalistic schoolbooks of a bygone era, having absolutely nothing to do with the game-boy and Fifty Cent's visit to Athens, they are of particular relevance to the Greek communities of the Antipodes. For in many respects, we are in exactly the same situation as our ancestors centuries before us, save that it is doubtful whether we will be able to arrest the seemingly terminal decline of our mother tongue usage or our increasing ignorance of the intellectual and literary tradition of our culture.
If men (and women) of letters do exist in our community, then surely they are to be classified as those who strive to ameliorate the abovementioned conditions through the promotion of Greek language and literature. They are many such persons and though they are of late increasingly frustrated and ambivalent about the future, they soldier on, guarding the Thermopylae of gnosis against the coming onslaught of barbarism that will inevitably come.
One such particularly noteworthy man of letters was the recently departed Theodore Tsonis whose personage this column has hosted before. He is worthy of mention because he devoted his whole life to the preservation and promotion of Greek literature and did so in a novel way that could only be paralleled with the endeavours of St Kosmas, traversing the whole of Greece in order to preach a Gospel of Christianity and Hellenism. As a bookseller, there were few Greek houses that Theodore Tsonis had not visited. I remember him one day pulling out an old Melway heavily pockmarked with circles, marking all the homes he had visited around Melbourne. "Have a look," he smiled, "there is not a half a page that hasn't received a Greek book over the years."
Tsonis' personal approach to books was fired by a unique understanding of the tradition of knowledge, as something handed down personally from one person to the next, not to be extracted impersonally from outside sources. He was fired with a zeal to lay the foundations for people of diverse walks of life to educate and improve themselves despite any self-perceived lack of qualifications on their part. Thus, instead of attempting to get rid of old stock or pandering to the quick and cheap sales of sub-standard romances of low quality material, he would more often than not be found convincing his customers why they must read a particularly 'useful' or 'important' book, often of lower value than the initial trash they had cast their eyes upon.
To have a bookseller assume personal responsibility for the quality of the books he purveys is unheard of in our market economy. Yet it is all the more plausible when one considers that Theodore Tsonis' love of Greek literature was so immense that he would take his books to the people, rather than, in the manner of most booksellers, wait for them to come to him. A trademark of the community in his iconic white panel van, he would trawl through the Antipodean streets of Melbourne with a huge smile on his face, books flying off the back seat and into his lap. Lonely, isolated or ill members of the community awaited his visits with great anticipation. A whole generation of migrants entrusted him with the development of their literary aesthetic and he provided them with the spiritual food they so desperately required. A visit to the Greek section of any local library will reveal that most of the books comprising any given collection have originated from him and they have all been lovingly chosen for maximum benefit. Similarly, a visit to almost every single Greek panygyri would reveal Theodore Tsonis and his wife Angela unassumingly purveying the keys to cultural self-preservation, amidst all the sybaritic festivity. Indeed, it was his unassuming and self-deprecatory manner, coupled by a pair of the most piercing and expressive eyes that served to convey his passion as well as his opinion of the most suitable book, to the reader.
Theodore Tsonis was no conservative, bent on retaining an idealized and ultimately time-frozen conception of Greek literary culture, without this having any relevance to our place of temporal transplantation. Instead, he constantly championed the need for the development of local Greek-Australian literature. To achieve this aim, he formed his own publishing entity "Εκδόσεις Τσώνη," which over the years published over one hundred books by members of the community. It was Tsonis' gentle encouragement of writers who were ashamed at their lack of formal education, unsure of their capabilities or the relevance of their message to break the eggshell of self-doubt and emerge triumphant upon the literary scene. Despite the fact that the publication of books in the Greek language in Australia is largely an unprofitable venture, he also single-handedly was responsible for the distribution of these books within the wider community, convinced as he was that the efforts of such writers deserved maximum recognition. He even went to the extent of regularly traveling to Greece to exhibiting Greek-Australian books there as well as organizing the various exhibitions of Greek-Australian books throughout Australia in order to ensure such recognition.
The breadth of Tsonis' vision was not limited to the first generation however. He proved instrumental in encouraging writers of the younger generation to publish their works. In my case, he became my mentor, plying me with books he felt I should read, causing me to compare the works of other Greek-Australian authors and seek the deep psychological reasons that compelled them to write, to criticize my own work and despite my initial reservations, publish it. In doing so, Tsonis wished to inculcate an appreciation and respect for the first generation among the latter generations, as he considered this instrumental if Greek-Australian literature was to have an unbroken and derivative lineage not only from the mother literature but from its founders as well.
Realising, despite his best efforts and with great pain that Greek-language literature in Australia will not enjoy an unlimited sojourn therein, and in order to maintain the link of cultural continuity he felt so passionately about, Tsonis championed the translation of first generation Greek-Australian writers' works into English by second generation writers. In this way, he felt that the communication gap that had given rise to the so-called generation gap could be bridged, this leading to a new level of understanding and ensuring that Greek literature would not, in the coming years be restricted to a Greek-speaking 'elite', but instead would be accessible for all to partake and rejoice in. Under his watchful eyes, several translations of pivotal works, especially in the genre of migrant autobiography were published, to the delight of English speakers who in turning the pages of his publications, found a whole world hitherto only alluded to by their parents, opening up before their very eyes.
Sadly, fate intervened to divert Theodore Tsonis from his work. Instead, it cast him upon another perilous path, that of fighting against a cancer that surreptitiously took hold of him. He applied himself to fighting it with the same gusto he had for life and Greek literature and he slipped away after an intense battle against it for six months, surrounded by those that he loved the most, his wife Angela and his children Antonis and Rita. I remember sitting with him earlier in the year while he told me: "It is imperative that Greek literature survives here. You need to go out and encourage people to write. When the first generation cannot or doesn't want to write, take down the details of their lives and make them known. There are some remarkable stories to be had there. And never forget who you are or what sacrifices have been made for you." When I laughingly remarked that there was plenty of time for that and we are not going anywhere in a hurry, his grip on my arm tightened and his eyes narrowed. Leaning close to my ear he whispered urgently in tones reminiscent of Father Seraphim Rose: "Do it now. It's later than you think."When national poet Kostis Palamas died during the German Occupation, his funeral served as a rallying cry for the Greek people to manifest their resistance against the fascist regime. Another poet, Angelos Sikelianos, moved by how just one man could embody the conscience of an entire people uttered the famous words: "The whole of Greece leans upon this coffin." It could easily be said that not only the Greek-Australian literary community but also the entire Greek-Australian community leans upon the coffin of Theodore Tsonis. For he was more than a fulcrum or a hub in the wheel of community life. He was and still is for that matter, the embodiment of the aspirations and conscience of a people as well as a worthy and sure signpost into the future. Αιωνία του η μνήμη.
First published in NKEE on 26 June 2006

Monday, June 19, 2006

"A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, and bitter weeping; Rahel weeping for her children refused to be comforted for her children, because they were not." Jeremiah 31:15

The recent murder of young Alex Mekhishvilli in the northern Greek city of Veroea by five of his classmates has shocked the Greek nation to its very core, though not so much as one would expect, given that the Veroea municipal council has refused to endorse a silent vigil held by some of the city's inhabitants, in protest at such a heinous and unnatural crime.
The murder of children by children is horrifying. Its prospect is as bewildering as if the natural order of the world was turned upon its head. This is especially so when one considers that the Greek word for child, «παιδί» shares the same root as the word «παιδεία» (education) or «εκπαίδευση» (training). Thus, at least etymologically, the Greek conception of the child is of a living being whose essence is finite but whose nature is still developing. It needs to be trained, educated and formed before it can properly call itself by its name.
The concept of Greek society having to come to terms with such beings, not yet formed, assuming the energies of that which they will become long before they are ready comes in direct parallel with the biblical story of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden. They too lived in a blissful state, they too ate of what they were not ready or permitted to eat and as a result, they brought upon themselves a loss of innocence and ultimately death.
We have all been living in a Garden of Eden of our own vis a vis Greek society. The myth that we have constructed around ourselves is of a cohesive, generous society, founded upon a sound moral basis and humanitarian precepts. According to that discourse, the Greek is infinitely more attentive to his neighbour, generous to strangers, possessed of a strong social conscience based not upon abstract western liberal principles of utilitarian law and order but rather, upon one to one social interaction and experience. While in the interests of the exception proving the rule allowance has to be made for the existence of crime, such crimes are usually of a benign nature, or they are hushed up or otherwise explained away.
Thus, one of the most common perceptions, at least in the eyes of the public is that extrinsic factors are to blame for any perceived increase in crimes or their severity. This gloss upon the discourse propagates the myth that prior to the arrival of immigrants in Greece, people enjoyed security and a low crime rate. The other, is that even though the crime rate may have increased, the nature of Greek society is infinitely more cohesive and inclusive as to preclude the incidence of such extreme crimes as the Columbine massacre, which is held as evidence in chief of the breakdown of the much reviled American society.
Whereas behaviour in Greek society was traditionally predicated upon and limited by the vigilance and criticism of others to enforce social norms, western society is based upon each person excerising self-restraint. The increasing mindless adoption of superficial accoutrments of western culture without their ideological basis results in people unused to self-restraint and liberated from traditional extrinsically imposed compliance that once regulated their behaviour, facing a moral vacuum. Alex’s murder is the most extreme example of this.
Now that we have supped upon the fruit from the tree of knowledge, our eyes have opened. We see ourselves naked and our innocence is lost forever. No longer can we propagate the myth of our own social superiority. Instead, we stand face to face with that which we have known all long but feared desperately to admit: Who we are and who we say or think we are, are as disparate now, as the poles. The cultural, historical and traditional underpinnings of our 'great' society are exposed as eroded or discarded a long time ago and despite our reliance on those deceased underpinnings in order to inflate our sense of self-importance, all we see in our portrait of Dorian Gray, is an Anti-society, a coarse, vulgar and decontextualised parody of the Western society that we on the one hand reject but on the other hand so slavishly subconsciously follow. In truth, despite ours being a civilization of remarkable tenacity and longevity and despite our boasting of its superiority, since the time of Adamantios Korais, we are unhappy and insecure about who we are. The first act of this tragedy therefore, is that a young child was brutally killed by his peers. The second is that our society fostered the dysfunctional environment in which this act occurred. And the final tragedy is that given our illusory conception of the nature of our society coupled with the rejection of the society that we emulate, does this not mean that conceptually at least, we have cancelled the concept of society out all together?
And then again, maybe this is not a tragedy for us after all. Aristotle theorized in his Poetics that tragedy results in a catharsis of healing for the audience through their experience of the main characters' emotions in response to their suffering in the drama. He considered it superior when a character passed from good fortune to bad rather than the reverse. Only time will tell if the passions of the main protagonists can provide such a cleansing for us. I doubt it, if the conduct of the Veroea municiapl authorities is anything to go by. For it is unclear whether we are actually the audience of this drama or rather, the main protagonists. If this is so, then the plot of our own suffering is only just developing as Act One, Scene One and it is unfolding, not for our benefit but for the instruction of others.
In his Poetics, Aristotle spoke of the main protagonist in a tragedy being possessed of «αμαρτία,» in its character, usually translated as a 'fatal flaw.' This translation implies that the character makes one fatal mistake based on incomplete self knowledge, which will bring about its doom. In our case, is it not our own hubris in convincing ourselves that we are something which we are not that is resulitng in the stripping of the bandages of self-delusion from the sarcophagus of mummified ideals?
A favorite theatrical device of many ancient Greek tragedians was the «εκκύκλημα», a cart hidden behind the scenery which could be rolled out to display the aftermath of some event which had happened out of sight of the audience. This event was frequently a brutal murder of some sort, an act of violence which could not be effectively portrayed visually, but an action of which the other characters must see the effects in order for it to have meaning and emotional resonance. A prime example of the use of the ekkyklêma is after the murder of Agamemnon in the first play of Aeschylus' Oresteia when the king's butchered body is wheeled out in a grand display for all to see.
Perhaps our «εκκύκλημα» is the seemingly senseless murder of poor Alex Mekhishvilli. It has great meaning and emotional resonance, but that in itself will not obstruct us as protagonists (which literally means the primary sufferers) from careering along our path to self-destruction, due to our own willful blindness not only to ourselves but to our past and thebeliefs it hasengendered..
Rene Guenon, a French thinker of the early twentieth century postulated that the reason why western society had become so dysfunctional was because it had consciously let go of its traditional roots and embraced concepts not only alien to its way of thinking, but also, destructive of a society that was the product of centuries of their manifestation. Characteristically, he wrote: "It is as if an organism with its head cut off were to go on living," and then went on to rather pedantically define a set of criteria to distinguish orthodox and regular traditions from their 'counterfeiting' and 'satanic' caricatures.
But is the answer to go return to the traditional basis of our society? Herein lies the greatest, most final tragedy. In Greek tragedy, a μηχανή was employed to hoist a god or goddess on stage when they were supposed to arrive flying. This device gave origin to the phrase "deus ex machina" (god out of a machine), that is, the surprise intervention of an unforeseen external factor that changes the outcome of an event.
For the final act comes as a deus ex machina telling us that our tragedy is not that in our loss of innocence, we can no longer perceive or find value in, or return to those 'traditional roots' as a panacea for all our ills. Rather it is the nihilistic belief that those traditional values were ever adhered to at all. If there never was a Golden Age, then there can be no excuse for our 'fall' and subsequently, no predetermined chance of elevation and redemption.
The word tragedy literally means "goat-song" and this is fitting considering the animalistic attributes that in our carelessness we have adopted. It is high time that protagonists and audiences alike acquire the gnosis needed to correct their terminal decline before they lose all conception of themlselves for eternity. We leave you for this week, with the particularly apt George Orwell's conclusion from Animal Farm: "Twelve voices were shouting in anger, and they were all alike. No question, now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which."

Fist published in NKEE on 19 June 2006

Monday, June 12, 2006

"The Poseidonians forgot the Greek language/ after so many centuries of mingling/ with Tyrrhenians, Latins, and other foreigners./ The only thing surviving from their ancestors/ was a Greek festival, with beautiful rites,/ with lyres and flutes, contests and wreaths./ And it was their habit toward the festival's end/ to tell each other about their ancient customs/ and once again to speak Greek names/ that only few of them still recognized./ And so their festival always had a melancholy ending/ because they remembered that they too were Greeks, /they too once upon a time were citizens of Magna Graecia; /and how low they'd fallen now, /what they'd become, /living and speaking like barbarians,/ cut off so disastrously from Hellenism." Cavafy, Poseidoniatae.
It appears from the above that there are two types of festivals that pertain to our discourse. The first is the no holds barred, no beg your pardons panygyri which stems from an innate desire to kick back and revel in being, well, ourselves in all of our gastronomical manifestations, whether that take the form of a fasolada festival, sardine festival, or wine festival. These festivals, though derived from the grass roots of a generation that has had intimate contact with and thus is a witness of an ancestral pre-migration society, generally tend to be poorly attended by latter generations and even by the target generation itself, indicating that their relevance to the current zeitgeist of our community is becoming increasingly slight. Nonetheless, they exist and it is comforting to know that in this plastic world of silicon implants, silicone tears and silicon sealed marble bench tops that memories of a time when one could delight in the simple act of devouring a sardine are soul-salving.
The second type of festival is that which is referred to by Cavafy above. Though the Poseidonians, inhabitants of a Greek colony in southern Italy gradually became latinised, they could not ever conceive of a reality divorced from their Greek heritage, even though this was increasingly a burden upon them. Consequently, their adherence to the rubrics of a Greek festival with dancing and singing was not merely going through the motions or attempting to resuscitate a dead culture. Rather, it was an expression of a desperate need to remind themselves of who they were at a time when the very identity they were clinging on to so desperately was finally eluding their grasp.
Our community's major festival here in Melbourne, is aptly named the Antipodes Festival, given that we are, compared to our ancestral homeland, at the opposite end of the earth. If indeed antipodes means opposite, then we find ourselves in a Lewis Carrol-like looking-glass world where the further we progress therein, the further social norms and logic is inverted, leaving us damned if we act but equally damned through our own inaction. This is a world where we are free to construct our own reality, yet according to the Alice in Wonderland paradigm, a certain amount of perception is required in order to identify whether we have, in the manner of French philosopher Jean-Bernard Klus constructed a myth to obscure our own art, and whether our house of cards will come crashing down after the first breath of wind.
The reality is that the Antipodes Festival ceased to be an organic and spontaneous gathering of our community years ago. This is evidenced by the iconoclastic and often scandalous manner in which it is referred to in the cesspools of community gossip-groups, the relative readiness in which your average community member will accept that moneys pertaining to the festival are being laundered and the fact that however successful or popular the overseas acts may be with the crowd that squeezes its way down Lonsdale Street like cancer cells coursing through a terminally ill body year after year, it commands attendance, but neither reverence or awe.
Indeed, much like the Poseidonian Festival, the focus, at least in the minds of the public is less upon enjoyment and more upon "showcasing our culture" to the mainstream. As a society for whom what is seen to be is infinitely more important than what actually is, we are obsessed with the face we will present to those who will define us because of it, simply because they lack the perspicacity or even still, the benign interest to attempt to look beyond that face. Surely then we are adherents of the Klusian maxim that "the artist is who he says he is."
Yet given the minimal participation and attendance of members of the mainstream culture in our festival of self-definition, surely such a focus is deluded. For the deep meaning of the festival is that it is not held in order for us to have fun, nor is it organized «για τα μάτια του κόσμου.» Rather, the reason for its existence is our sub-conscious resolve that this festival serves to remind us of who we are, regardless of whether our own self-imposed stereotype accords with reality or not. If we tell enough people our names today, they will succour us with a long-forgotten identity in the dementia-stricken pain of tomorrow.
It is amazing to perceive how many parallels exist between us and our Poseidonian ancestors. We too uphold our own dancing and songs as a method of retaining even the most tenuous of links with a mother culture that has evolved just as ours has into a proto-disparate form. We too recite old names or hold cultural exhibitions in order to remind ourselves of who we are even though that which we exhibit no longer exists anywhere within our wider discourse. And we go home satisfied and yet troubled, because in our looking-glass world, our best efforts seem to bring about the opposite of what they intended and we are hurt and bewildered in our intellectual and temporal isolation.
The Greek Community of Melbourne and Victoria's decision to hold the Antipodes Festival late in order to coincide with the coming of the Greek National Football team was therefore a consistent, sensitive and highly symbolic one. For to conceive of a year without an Antipodes Festival is for us, tantamount to not celebrating Christmas and a harbinger of the inevitable consequence of all the work of our hands. Instead of taking it easy, the GOCMV has realized just how important it is for us that the links between us and our mother culture are maintained, knowing that even if cultural manifestations are no longer spontaneous, at least in their contrived and manufactured form, they act as a palliative for the pain of what is to come and attempt to stave that off as long as possible.
Thus it was us who needed to bask in the glory of the Greek Football Players and not vice versa. We needed to know that we are still Greek enough to be considered such by the inhabitants of our country of origin. Our deep-seated and hysterical feeling of the inadequacy of the hybrid, which does not permit us to enjoy or highly-regard the most excellent talents and class acts of our own home-grown musicians demanded that we lavish attention upon Stelios Dionysiou for his presence confers the legitimacy upon us that we so crave. It is to the journalists, notably Maria Alyfanti of Antenna to gloss over disparities though the twinkle in the eye of her own expressionless mask is enough to permit the more perceptive to understand that the disparity and indeed the hysterically Poseidonian nature of the festival is understood.
This year, albeit in a small way, I assisted in the preparation of the Festival, especially the most Poseidonian exhibition of old Epirotan handicrafts. I was quite literally taken aback by the passion and enthusiasm of its organizers, for whom the Festival takes on a monolithic ideology, all of its own. The amount of goodwill shared among those organizing and assisting in various aspects of the Festival was phenomenal and indeed rarely to be otherwise found within the confines of our community's organized endeavour. These are persons so committed to the survival of the Festival and its importance as a landmark in our community that they refuse to consider life or our community without it and rightly so. For in as much as the Poseidonians have been immortalized for the futility of their efforts, they persisted nonetheless and it is as much to their romantic example as to their logical conclusion that Cavafy points. Notably, the critics and the stay-at-homers get no such delicate treatment from the master of caustic verse. Our distant past, which is always with us, has a way of providing us with the consolation, strength, but also foresight that we so desperately need, if we are only astute enough to see it. Till next year then we leave you the scent of lotus and the sybaritic pennings of a modern day master: «Γιορτάζω, γιορτάζω/ ακούστε που το φωνάζω θα διασκεδάζω, ως το πρωί....»
First published in NKEE on 12 June 2006

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Move over Pontian Genocide activists, step aside Justice for Cyprus protesters and all you proponents of human rights for Constantinopolitan Greeks get out of the way. A new furor has erupted to jeopardize relations between Greece, Cyprus and Turkey and it doesn't look pretty. In the present case, all three suitors are inextricably locked in a bizarre love triangle, united but also consumed by their passion for possession of prestigious provender. And the object of their ardent affection? None other than the most delicious sweet and mainstay of all Greek cake shops, the baklava.
For some time now, Greek Cypriot baklava makers have been loudly proclaiming to all who would hear that the baklava was in fact invented by them. Prima facie, this is a justifiable claim, since it is common knowledge that the Greeks invented everything except for edible underwear. However, things came to a head when in preparing to celebrate Europe Day in May, the European Union published a poster claiming the baklava as a Greek-Cypriot national dessert. Predictably enough, this ignited infuriated protests by Turkish baklava producers who claim baklava as their own, with the support of State Minister and EU Chief Negotiator Ali Babacan in the EU General Secretariat.
While the rumour that there were plans for incensed protesters to invade the poster and establish their sovereignty over one third of its expanse, setting up a rival poster in that corner is most probably apocryphal, a protest in which banners proclaiming "Baklava is Turkish, we will not allow the Greek Cypriots to feed it to the world" were held in Constantinople. The owner of renowned baklava producer "Haci Sayid Baklava," Halil Dincerler fervently pronounced: "Baklava is Turkish, what the Greek Cypriots are presenting is just a copy. We will go all the way to Brussels, and we will let the EU ministers taste real baklava."
Pouring oil on the frying pan of this international food fight, President of the Baklava and Dessert Producers Foundation, Mehmet Yildirim stated that it was time for Turkey to stand up and claim its national treasures, and recalled that the Turks had brought baklava with them all the way from Central Asia. Yildirim also said that there were documents in existence which proved that baklava belonged rightfully to the Turks.
Interestingly enough, this conflict has been simmering for a very long time, not on the computer screens and chat-rooms of dorky ultra-nationalists but within the respectable circles of international academia. Vryonis (1971) for example, identifies the ancient gastris, kopte, kopton, or koptoplakous, mentioned in the Deipnosophistae of Athenaeus as baklava, and calls it a 'Byzantine favorite'. However, Perry (1994) shows that, though gastris contained a filling of nuts and honey, it did not include any dough; instead, it involved a honey and ground sesame mixture similar to modern pasteli or halva (kopte means 'pounded sesame').
Perry then assembles evidence to show that layered breads were created by Turks in Central Asia and argues that the 'missing link' between the Central Asian folded or layered breads (which did not include nuts) and modern phyllo-based pastries like baklava is the dish Baki pakhlavası. Further development would have occurred in the kitchens of the Ottoman Sultans, where the Janissaries had an annual celebration called Baklava Alayı.
On the other hand, Buell (in Christian, 1999) argues that the word "baklava" is of Mongolian origin, and mentions a recipe in a Chinese cookbook written in 1330, under the Yuan dynasty.
While this inter-ethnic strife is being played out in ethnic kitchens throughout the world and the main protagonists are oblivious to all else but their own self-righteousness, further suitors have arrived in the middle of the night as it were to claim the bride as their own. For the truth of the matter is that just like the baklava itself which is a composite dish comprised not of singular but several ingredients, so too have many nations taken the baklava to the boudoir of their hearts, indulged in it and left it changed forever.
Thus it was the Assyrians at around 8th century B.C. who were the first people that put together a few layers of thin bread dough, with chopped nuts in between those layers, added some honey and baked it in their primitive wood burning ovens. This earliest known version of baklava was baked only on special occasions. In fact, baklava was historically considered a food for the rich until the mid-19th century. In Turkey, to this day one can hear a common expression often used by the poor, or even by the middle class, saying: "I am not rich enough to eat baklava and burek every day".
The Lebanese claim that Greek seamen and merchants traveling east to Mesopotamia soon discovered the delights of Baklava. It mesmerized their taste buds and they brought the recipe back home. Our major contribution to the development of this pastry is the creation of a dough technique that made it possible to roll it as thin as a leaf, compared to the rough, bread-like texture of the Assyrian dough, hence the name "Phyllo" meaning leaf in Greek. In a relatively short time, in every kitchen of wealthy households in the region, trays of baklava were being baked for all kinds of special occasions from the 3rd Century B.C. onwards. The Armenians, their kingdom being located on ancient Spice and Silk Routes, were supposedly the first to integrate cinnamon and cloves into the texture of baklava. The Arabs introduced rose-water and cardamon. The recipe changed in subtle nuances as it started to cross borders. To the north of its birthplace, baklava was being baked and served in the palaces of the Sassanid Persian kingdom. To the west, it was baked in the kitchens of the wealthy Roman mansions, and then in the kitchens of the Byzantine Empire until its fall.
After the fall of Byzantium, until the decline of Ottoman Empire in 19th Century, the kitchens of Imperial Ottoman Palace in Constantinople became the ultimate culinary hub of the empire.
The bakers, cooks and pastry chefs who worked in the Ottoman palaces, were recruited from various ethnic groups that composed the empire. Armenian, Greek, Persian, Egyptian, Assyrian and occasionally Serbian, Hungarian or even French chefs were brought to Constantinople, to be employed at the kitchens of the wealthy. These chefs contributed enormously to the interaction and to the refinement of the art of cooking and pastry-making of an Empire that covered a vast region of Southern Europe, the middle East and North Africa. Towards the end of 19th Century, small pastry-shops started to appear in Constantinople and in major provincial capitals, to cater to the middle class, but the Ottoman Saray always remained premier culinary center of the Empire, until its demise in 1923.
One can understand why baklava was of key significance to the house of Othman. Two principal ingredients of the exquisite dish, pistachio and honey, were believed to be aphrodisiacs when taken regularly. Certain spices added to baklava, have also helped to fine-tune and to augment the aphrodisiac characteristics of the pastry, depending on the sex of the consumer. Cinnamon for females, and cardamon for males were held to be beneficial, while cloves are unisex. We therefore have baklava to thank for the longevity of the Ottoman line.
From the 18th century on, there was not much one could do to improve upon the baklava's already perfected taste and texture. There were however, some cosmetic modifications in shaping and in the presentation of it on a baking tray (called Sinii). The Phyllo (called Youfka) which was traditionally layered and cut into squares or triangles, was given a "French touch" in late the 18th century. As the Empire began opening itself to Western cultural influences, the Kahyabaşi of the Imperial Kitchens hired Monsieur Guillaume, a former pastry chef of Marie Antoinette, who in exile at the Ottoman Turkish Palace after learning how to bake baklava, created the "dome" technique of cutting and folding of the baklava squares which was named "Baklava Francaise" after the nationality of its creator.
So which suitor earns the bride? One is astounded to learn that it could be the outside favourite, the Lebanese. Lebanon has been a leader in promoting baklava throughout the world. Lebanese baklava bakers such as Samedi were the first to Franchise it in the Gulf region, Europe and throughout the Middle East. In the United States the most famous Baklava is made by Shatila in Michigan. If Lebanon continues to promote this dessert it will be able to claim that it is the rightful owner of the baklava. As one Lebanese baklava maker told me: "Turkey and Greece therefore should stop this crazy Baklava war, because they both copied the dessert, but Lebanon did a better job at copying." Further they Lebanese maintain that a the original idea was the Assyrians' and that at that time Lebanon formed a part of that Empire, this gives them some sort of ancestral claim over our birthright.
Never! Let the FFA ban the public consumption of baklava at soccer matches for all I care. Our community will not take this lying down. We have lost too much as a people to suffer this final assault upon our culinary integrity. It is time we joined forces with our Turkish brethren and burned the pride of these upstarts in the oven-kilns of their own presumptuousness. What will be next? Boureki? Kataifi? These are sacred symbols of Hellenism that cannot be so blatantly abrogated by those among us with lesser cutting skills. We will julienne them, we will grind their pride in the mortar of our righteousness with the pestle of our indignation. Now join me for the national anthem: "Σε γνωρίζω από την κόψη, του σπαθιού στο Ιμάμ Μπαϊλντί," or my particular favourite Christakis classic: "Παίζουν τα μπακλαβαδάκια."

First published in NKEE on 5 June 2006


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Saturday, October 30, 2010

"What can you say about the Apodimoi? They hear the word Greece and burst into tears. Instead of us weeping for living inside Greece, those wankers weep for living away ."
Harry Klynn.

In the haunting poem , "O γυρισμός του ξενιτεμένου" (The return of the Migrant,) George Seferis movingly describes the confusion and anguish experienced by a person returning to his home after having spent time abroad, in the form of dialogue between him and one of his friends. The friend asks him: "Old friend, what are you looking for? You have returned after so many years of nurturing your own visions, under foreign skies, far from your own place?" The returning migrant then relates his confusion in noticing that the dimensions of everything have changed: they seem smaller, different and what is more, they appear to be sinking into the ground. Just before his oldest friend in subsumed into the ground himself, he offers the following advice: "Consider old friend, in time you will get used to this. Your nostalgia has created a non-existent land, with laws that have nothing to do with the earth and its peoples." The response of the migrant, is not to admit that the mystical place of his homecoming, nurtured over many years of pain does not exist. Rather, it is to allude to the fact that he is probably in the wrong place and that here his dreams run the risk of being run down: "I can't hear anything anymore. Even my last friend has sunk. It is strange how everything is foreshortened every so often. Here, thousands of scythed chariots pass and reap."
It is not surprising that a homeland like Greece can evoke such passionate longings among those that have left it. Homesickness is after all a universal affliction. What is surprising is that it exists among persons that have never had Greece as their homeland and indeed in many cases, have never even seen Greece. For some reason, the conglomeration of elements and events that coalesce around a consciousness of identity seem to sustain and differentiate people of Greek background from the society and the people that live around them and this has been the case from the foundation of the first Greek colonies around the Mediterranean, (though in that instance, these colonies, being autonomous and in the large part not subject to the rule of other nations, were 'Greece' forming part of the Hellenic world) to the present day.
Preservation of links, whether physical, or emotional, with the Ur-heimat, is not always a pursuit of self-indulgence. Historically, it is a pursuit that has been fraught with danger for many of those partaking in it. I remember meeting a school-teacher in Cheimarra, Northern Epirus, who spent years being harassed by the Communist regime because of her courageous decision to teach her students in Greek (this was at a time when according to the regime, there were no Greeks in Cheimarra), and even more bravely, given that after 1967, Albania called itself the first Atheist state and unleashed a wave of persecution against all forms and manifestations of religion, she openly proclaimed her belief in the Orthodox faith. Many of her colleagues, who did the same, endured twenty year sentences in gruelling labour camps. I was most moved also to listen to her story of how she would organise clandestine 25 March celebrations, banned not only for their nationalist but also 'imperialist' connotations.
In Russia, those Greeks who have chosen to cling to their traditions, rather than becoming Russified endured persecution and harassment during the Stalinist era, culminating in the mass deportation of Pontian Greeks from their traditional homeland around the Black Sea region and their relocation to Central Asia. Even there, the Greeks managed to cling to their traditions and maintain a love for their indentity. They established schools, clubs, theatrical groups and even sent each other cards at Easter featuring the Parthenon. In the surviving ephemera they produced, one can see the Ur-heimat they constructed for themselves - a place where ancient glory abounds, people are rational and cultured and where one will not be considered a foreigner anymore. As an aside it would be interesting to see how the perceptions of a host culture about one's culture influence the way one sees one's own culture (for example Russians tend to hold Greek culture in high esteem and thus there is real incentive there for Greeks to see value in retaining it, whereas Anglo-Saxon culture tends to be disparaging about Modern Greek culture, creating a complex among some descendants of migrants) and this is something that bears further examination.
Considering the manner in which such Greeks have clung to their culture despite privations, and most often than not, totally alone and unaided by the Greek state, one would think that it is incumbent upon the Greek State and/or better of Greek communities in the diaspora to protect, assist them and ensure easy access to the Greek metropolis. However, this is not always the case. Two years ago, I stood witness to the harassment of Vasilis Bolanos, the heroic mayor of Cheimarra, who has endured imprisonment for his assertion of the Greek identity of his town, by ignorant Greek border guards who would not allow him into Greece. That was an administrative and genuine mistake on their part. What was not a mistake was the contemptuous and aggressive manner in which he was treated, because they considered him, as a foreigner and thus inferior - at least until their superior was called, whereupon they magically transformed into fawning and obsequious peons.
The recent cases, featured on Athens radio program "Sto Kokkino" of the disturbing way in which the Greeks of Marioupolis - a region that houses a significant Greek population in the Ukraine, are treated by the Greek State in general and their current Greek Consul is also thought provoking. In particular, a 73 year old woman who was dreaming of going to see Greece all her life, had bought a passport and a return ticket, was denied a visa for no reason whatever. "Go and apply after ninety days," was the official response to her agonised question of "Giati? Giati?" She then proceeded to tear up her passport in front of them because there was nowhere else that she wished to travel. The aggrieved lady had always wanted to see the Greece that neither her parents nor her grandparents ever had the chance to see but had always dreamed about.
Despite the fact that most latter generation apodimoi are NQR Greeks who do not speak the language, or comprehend the manifold nuances of modern hybrid Greek culture, they have a love for their Ur-heimat that it as all-encompassing and unconditional as it is unreasonable. If the Greek state is serious about harnessing the diverse skills, life-experiences and fervour of Greeks abroad, it could start, by making them feel part of the same entity, members of the heimat, rather, than treating them variously as foreigners, yokels, sources of exploitation or burdens. Facilitating access to the homeland rather than restricting it would be a logical consequence of this.
There is undoubtedly a hysteria within the Greek psyche that causes a need for differentiation, a need to both be foreign and exclude the foreigner that has not been studied adequately. If we are to be considered foreigners, not only by the denizens of our Ur-heimat, (for to all intents and purposes, the Greeks of Greece do not accept us their own people) but also by their head franchisors, then we deserve to be told. It would be refreshing to finally accept that we remain Greeks, away from Greece, not for any altruistic purposes or for the glory or benefit of the Greek state but rather, for ourselves alone.

First published in NKEE on Saturday, 30 October 2010

Saturday, October 23, 2010

“There is hopeful symbolism in the fact that flags do not fly in a vacuum”
Arthur C Clarke.

It is questionable whether the Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic is a state. Most countries around the world do not recognize it as the entity having sovereignty over the former Spanish colony of Western Sahara. Currently, most of its territory has been occupied by Morocco (and Mauretania between 1975-1979) since 1975, who in defiance of agreements brokered between it and the POLISARIO, the Western Saharan independence movement, refuses to hold a referendum in the territory in order to determine the extent inhabitants’ desire for self determination. Instead, Morocco has constructed a 2,700 km long sand wall, across the country, in order to divide the portion of Western Sahara it holds, from the 20 or so per cent controlled by the Polisario, which is mostly uninhabited.
While the West generally disdains from characterizing the POLISARIO as a terrorist organization, it is generally circumspect and reticent with regards to recognizing their claims to statehood. The Obama administration in the United States, recognizes Western Sahara as part of Morocco. Australia, on the other hand has a slightly more subtle approach. While not recognizing the Sahrawi Arab Democratic Republic, it does support the principle of self-determination for the Sahrawi people.
It is easy to sympathise with the Sahrawi Arabs, who live in an isolated and desolate corner of the world. For a quarter of a decade, they have been victims of an interminable war and suffered loss of life and livelihood as a result. It is for this reason admirable that the City of Yarra council recently flew their flag at their municipal offices, at the request of members of the community. This is a heartwarming display of solidarity towards a people who, to all intents and purposes are relatively unknown and/or are ignored by the rest of the world.
The Republic of Cyprus on the other hand, could be said to be Western Sahara’s counterpart as well as opposite. Both countries are former colonies of European powers. Both have been invaded and occupied by foreign aggressors within a year of each other and both remain divided. However, instead of being divided vertically, as in the case of the latter, the former is divided horizontally. Furthermore, rather than being isolated, Cyprus is at the crossroads of three continents, has historically been a trading and cultural entrepot and looms large in the history of the world. As well, the republic of Cyprus is considered by all countries in the world, except for Turkey, to have de jure sovereignty over the whole island. Cyprus is thus a member of the United Nations, since 2004, a member of the European Union and a member of the Commonwealth.
Considering then, that the republic of Cyprus has been a state since 1960, a half a century, the City of Yarra’s refusal to fly the flag of the sovereign Republic of Cyprus in commemoration of its independence, fifty years ago, at the request of the Cypriot Community of Melbourne and Victoria is mystifying. This is especially so, given that other municipal councils, such as that of Whittlesea, Nillumbik and Mornington seemed not to display any reluctance in accommodating the CCMV’s inoffensive request.
Western Sahara’s flag, is purely political, being that used by the POLISARIO armed political movement. It sports the Pan-Arab colours of black green and red first flown by the kings of the Hejaz, in the same design as that of the Palestinian flag, with an added red star and crescent to symbolize Islam. Upon independence, the black stripe on the top of the flag will be replaced by the green stripe at its base. The flag of Cyprus on the other hand, is meek, mild and peaceful, being merely the map of the island on a white background, symbolizing peace, above some crossed olive branches, symbolizing even more peace. It is a flag designed by the recently departed Turkish Cypriot painter İsmet Güney.
So why is the City of Yarra so reticent about joining it its Greek and Cypriot ratepayers’ commemoration of the independence of Cyprus? Yarra Councillor Geoff Barbour’s assertion that the council did not want to exacerbate what could be a controversial issue for the local Cypriot community and there was little information provided about the full diplomatic background to the situation is disquieting and, in light of the council’s apparent condoning of the Polisario cause without too much hesitation, appears disingenuous. After all, anyone with publicly funded access to the internet can in five minutes learn that Cyprus is a sovereign republic to which Australia has accredited a High Commissioner. One can also discover that the occupied north of Cyprus, which is run by a puppet administration known as the Turkish republic of Northern Cyprus, is recognised only by Turkey, the country that invaded Cyprus and installed that regime there. Another five minutes of the councillors’ time would permit them to learn that the 1960 independence of Cyprus was the result of the Zurich Agreement, brokered by Britain, Greece AND Turkey.
Yarra Council CEO Andi Diamond’s comment that “council receives similar requests from time to time but does not always accept those this instance, Council declined the request to fly the flag,” underlines the arbitrariness of its decision. This decision insults the significant number of ratepayers of Greek and Cypriot extraction who live, or own property in such suburbs as Richmond, Collingwood and Fitzroy. For many of those ratepayers, the independence of Cyprus is an important historical event and the council’s arbitrary decision not to accede to a reasonable request to fly the Cypriot flag is insensitive, deeply hurtful and makes them feel that the Council does not respect their ethnic background.
It would be interesting to know the real reasons behind the decision. It would be assumed that the good councillors may have feared pressure or a backlash from the Turkish community. This could be understandable, given the Turkish government’s recent refusal to grant visas to Australian archaeologists – an act that has been linked to the Fairfield City Council’s sanctioning of the installation of a monument commemorating the Assyrian genocide, in Sydney. If this is so, it is a most misguided decision. The independence of Cyprus is not a disputed historical fact. It is an undisputed historical occurrence of great importance to a prominent Australian community. Whether certain persons consider this historical event to be fortuitous or not is irrelevant and the Greek and Cypriot ratepayers of the City of Yarra would be most interested to understand why the flying of the flag of a stateless people is less controversial and offensive that one of a recognised nation state, of which a significant amount of ratepayers derive an ethnic and cultural affiliation. It would also be interesting to know how many of the fifteen Western Saharans resident in Australia according to the last census, are ratepayers of the City of Yarra. As an aside, it is worthwhile to note that the chair of the Australia Western Saharan Association, Georgia Vlassopoulos, is of Greek origin.
The probability of the placid and Cypriot government denying entry visas to the ratepayers of the City of Yarra in protest is quite miniscule. Yet the concept of a local statutory authority having the power to arbitrarily honour one ethnic minority over another over the most flimsy of pretexts is of great concern. Greek and Cypriot ratepayers of the City of Yarra are entitled to a full and frank explanation of the circumstances that led the City of Yarra to dishonour their national day and not to be insulted by a blanket assertion of the Council’s discretionary decision making power. Failing that, Greek and Cypriot aggrieved ratepayers should express their dismay in the one place where their voices will be heard the most – the municipal ballot box.
We leave you know with the following words of advice from Norman Thomas: “If you want a symbolic gesture, don't burn the flag; wash it.” I say keep the flag flying, pay your rates, and, if the mood takes you, affix the Cypriot flag upon your letter boxes.

First published in NKEE on Saturday, 23 October 2010

Saturday, October 16, 2010

'Epos,' whence the word 'epic' comes, is most often applied to the superhuman efforts of the Greek soldiers who, commencing October 1940, checked the Italian invasion and liberated large swathes of Greek territory in Northern Epirus. Ancillary to this great epic, is that of the brave western allies, mostly British, New Zealand and Australian, who at great personal risk, remained in Greece after the German invasion, to fight the Axis powers and assist the local population.
One of the epics that tends to be forgotten is that of the Assyrian levies, a force originally formed by the British in Mesopotamia, in order to assist their control over Assyrian dominated swathes of northern Iraq, after the first world war. A parachute regiment of these levies fought with distinction in Greece and Northern Epirus, even seeing action in the beginnings of the Greek Civil War, while earlier, other companies of the levies fought with the British in the Battle of Crete.
The Assyrian parachute regiment was originally formed on the 6th January 1942 from volunteers at RAF Habbanyia in Iraq to safe guard against Axis infiltration through the Caucasus.Lectures were given to the regular Levies on the need to establish a parachute company and volunteers were called for. One thousand volunteered for the task and were put through a rigorous selection process. After two weeks of gruelling training the 1,000 volunteers were filtered down to 200. By December 1942, parachute training had commenced from Vickers Valencia's, the only Aircraft available. The Valencia was so outdated and slow that it was nicknamed the "flying Pig" by the RAF.Group Captain Newnham, an experienced parachute instructor recalls his first experience with the Levy paratroopers, in suitably colonial disdainful manner:
"It was interesting to be in the aircraft with these brown skinned descendants of the mighty Assyrian Empires which had faded into the limbo of antiquity hundreds of years before the birth of Christ. Apparently these selected specimens had lost none of their ancestor's courage, for they showed no hesitation at all in leaving the machine. Indeed I learned at a later date that throughout the entire training of the company only one man had been killed as a result of an accident and there had never been an instance of a refusal to jump or a request to be taken off parachuting".
As well as parachuting, the company was also trained in demolition and small arms, akin to a commando unit. After seeing action in Palestine and Italy, the paratroopers were commanded to join a force thatwas to attack and capture the Northern Epirotan town of Agioi Saranda on the 9 October 1944. The commandos and the partisans were to attack from the north and the Levies were to be landed by Infantry Landing and attack from the south and secure point 264, the prominent feature overlooking the town.
On the 9th at 1:30 the company paraded opposite their Landing Crafts and were issued with rum rations. Sergeant Hormis Youkhana recalls:
"The transports dropped us off on a beach. Near the town of Saranda. We stayed there the first day. On the second day my platoon was engaged in ambushes of two German motor transports. On the third day, we bordered boats and made our way to another beach two hours away, behind the German positions. Then the order came to attack. When we attacked, it was uphill all the way. Our Major warned us that we would be under mortar fire. Just as he said, on the way up we were bombarded heavily, but thankfully, no one was hurt. We advanced very fast, we were like mountain goats, we actually crossed the enemy lines. One of the men from the other platoons fell into a German trench. Two men from our platoon were killed that day.
The landing was silent and the visibility was ten yards due to bad weather, it was raining which helped to reduce the chance of being observed and also to muffle the sounds of disembarkation.Thirty minutes into the advance, a German machine gun opened up from the left flank, 1st platoon engaged the machine gun post and overran the position capturing several prisoners. To appreciate the difficulty of that task, one needs to keep in mind the Germans had four years to dig-in and strengthen their defences, and they were literally looking down on the Assyrian platoon that had to approach them from bellow".

It later transpired that the German commander had seen the landing but decided, that his men could have breakfast first and be ready to fight the enemy on full stomachs. Little did he know that the Assyrians, whose abode was the mountains of Iraq where expert mountain climbers and the mountains of Agioi Saranda, presented little difficulty. Setting off at a jog they outstripped their British officers and caught the German garrison who were just finishing breakfast. After a brisk firefight, the Germans surrendered and the Levies settled down to their breakfast. Unfortunately, the Germans were not the only people taken by surprise. The Royal Navy and the RAF had not realized that the mountain was in friendly hands and attacked with naval gunfire and rockets. Khamshi Schlemon Bukko was dispatched with a patrol to contact the Commando and get them to send a message to HQ that the objective had been captured and would they please ask the Navy and the RAF to cease firing. Seeing troops coming from the direction of the enemy, the commandos opened fire. Bukko was hit but had enough strength left to call out "Stop shooting. We are British". His cry, in a Syriac accent, was greeted with derision and another burst of fire. "British are you? Not b...y likely". Eventually the commandos saw their error and ceased firing. Henceforth the Paratroop Company sardonically referred to themselves as experts in combined operations, having been shot up by the Navy, Army and RAF in a single operation.
Having liberated the town, to the jubilation of its Greek inhabitants, the company was next deployed to Greece to take action against the ELAS. Originally requested to guard prisoners, they were next assigned to clearing and occupying several blocks of houses including a church bounded by M. Botsari and Kiriakou Roads in Athens - this being the beginning of the dirt street fighting marking the 'Dekemvriana' the commencement of the Greek Civil War. In doing so, they came under fire by ELAS forces and soldiers were killed on both sides:Benyamin Shlimon, a private at the time recalls the incident:
"It was very dark, we started crossing a road, Lt Peterson was in the lead and followed by Sgt Ismail Nissan, the rest of us waited to be called to cross. As soon as Lt Peterson was halfway across, machineguns opened up from the other side, we pulled back just in time, we pushed hard with our back on a wall, but we could see Lt Peterson he was laying in the middle of the road, he had been hit and wasn't moving, we tried several times to get to him but failed every time, the enemy fire was very heavy."
After being asked to intervene in the Civil War and experiencing discrimination by the British, the Assyrian paratroopers become increasingly disillusioned. As Benyamin Shlimon comments:
"After our experiences in Athens we became very upset about our dead and wounded, we knew the widows would not receive any help from the British and our wounded would be discharged to fend for themselves. The British commando receives much better pay and if he dies his family wouldn't starve, we didn't want the same pay as them but we wanted things to be a little fair, we didn't want our widows to beg for food if we die, after all we were fighting as hard as the commandos and dying just the same, so we made our feelings felt to the British officers and they didn't like it."
It appears that the British were considerably lacking when it came to looking after their colonial troops. Parachute Sergeant Hormis Youkhana describes his experience after being wounded in Albania:
"After I was wounded in Albania I was told by the doctors that I would need two years of physical therapy to heal, but I was discharged after six months medically unfit. I couldn't get a job after that, they wouldn't even have me working in the camp kitchen."
The Assyrian levies, formed with subtle hints given by the British that participation in them would ensure the granting of an Assyrian homeland, and having played a decisive role in putting down the Nazi-aligned Rashid Ali rebellion in 1941, were eventually disbanded after the withdrawal of British troops from Iraq in 1955. Victims of weltpolitik, like many other small nations of the world, their small contribution to the liberation of Greece, ought to be remembered.

First published in NKEE on Saturday 16 October 2010

Saturday, October 09, 2010

Some years ago, I was asked to present a talk at a conference on the topic: "Who are the Pontians?" I thought to facilitate a closer understanding of the Greek persons who hail from the Black Sea region by illustrating the talk with slides of famous Pontians that a non-Greek audience could relate to. Having rejected such august and renown personages as Stelios ('Stelaras') Kazantzidis and his equally melodious compatriot, Panayiotis Psomiadis, the iconic mayor of Thessaloniki as being too specific in their appeal, and decided against commencing with pictures of the famous but nonetheless obscure to a modern audience kings Mithradates (who was more Persian than Greek) and Alexios Komnenos, or even saints such as Theodore of Amasya, whose statue stands atop a column in Venice, I decided upon a ruse, in order to capture my listeners. Flashed upon the screen at the commencement of my talk then, was a photograph of the leggy supermodel Heidi Klum. I contended, based upon spurious conspiracy theories garnered from various internet sites, that she was of Pontian descent, that her baptismal name was Heidoula and that she enjoyed the music of. Stelaras. As a result of my bold and completely spurious assertion, my audience resolutely refused to believe my next assertion, which was that among various emperors, conquerors, men of letters and the like, the Pontians boast among their most famous sons, an astronaut.
Nonetheless, it is absolutely true. Fyodor Yurchikhin (Grammatikopoulos), was born on 3 January 1959 in Adjara, an autonomous republic of Georgia, to Pontic Greek parents Nikolai Fyodorovich Yurchikhin and Mikrula Sofoklevna Yurchikhina, both of whom now reside in Thessaloniki. After graduation from high school in Batumi in 1976, he entered the S. Ordzhonikidze Moscow Aviation Institute He finished studying in 1983, and is qualified as a mechanical engineer, specializing in airspace vehicles. In 2001, he graduated from the Moscow Service State University with a Ph.D. in economics.
After graduating from the Moscow Aviation Institute, Yurchikhin worked at the Russian Space Corporation Energia from September 1983 until August 1997. He began working as a controller in the Russian Mission Control Center, and held the positions of engineer, senior engineer, and lead engineer, eventually becoming a lead engineer for the Shuttle-Mir and NASA-Mir Space Programs. In August 1997, he was enrolled in the Energia cosmonaut detachment as a cosmonaut-candidate. From January 1998 to November 1999, he completed his basic training course. In November 1999, he was qualified as a test cosmonaut. In January 2000, he started training in the test-cosmonaut group for the International Space Station Program.
Yurchikhin was a crewmember of the International Space Station assembly mission sts-112 conducted using the Space Shuttle Atlantis. During the mission the shuttle crew conducted joint operations with Expedition 5 by delivering and installing the third piece of the station's 11-piece Intergrated Truss Structure. Three spacewalks were required to outfit and activate the new component. Yurchikhin also transferred cargo between the two vehicles and used the shuttle's thruster jets during two maneuvers to raise the station's orbit. His STS-112 mission was accomplished in 170 orbits, traveling 4.5 million miles in 10 days, 19 hours, and 58 minutes.
As a result of his amazing endeavours, in 2003, Yurchikhin was awarded the Hero of the Russian Federation medal, the Order of Friendship medal, the NASA Space Flight Medal, and the title of Russian Federation Test-Cosmonaut.
In 2007, he became commander of Expedition 15 to the International Space station. His flight began on April 7, when he launched from the Baikonur Cosmodrome in a Soyuz TMA-10 spaceship. On October 21, he returned to Earth after spending 196 days and 17 hours in space.
On May 30, 2007 Yurchikhin began his first spacewalk from the Pirs docking compartment a airlock. He and fellow cosmonaut Oleg Kotov performed a 5 hour and 25 minute spacewalk, during which they installed protective panels to shield ISS from space debris.
On June 6, 2007 a second spacewalk from the Pirs docking compartment airlock was completed. The two spacewalkers installed a section of Ethernet cable on the Zarya module, installed additional Service Module Debris Protection panels on Zvezda, and deployed a Russian scientific experiment. Yurchikhin and Kotov returned to the ISS after 5 hours and 37 minutes.
On July 23, 2007, Yurchikhin participated in his third spacewalk along with NASA astronaut Clayton Anderson. During the spacewalk, Yurchikhin and Anderson removed and jettisoned the Early Ammonia Servicer installed a television camera stanchion, reconfigured a power supply for an antenna assembly, and performed several get-ahead tasks. The spacewalk lasted 7 hours and 41 minutes.
As if this was not enough, on June 16, 2010, Yurchikhin along with NASA astronauts Douglas Wheelock and Shannon Walker lifted off aboard the Soyuz TMA-19 spacecraft from the Baikonur Cosmodrome, for another bout as ISS maintenance. Soon after, on July 26, Yurchikhin performed a spacewalk outside the space station. During the spacewalk he outfitted the Rassvet module's Kurs automated rendezvous system, installed cables and remove and replaced a video camera, the spacewalk lasting an arduous six hours and 42 minutes.
Cosmonautical endeavours not withstanding, Yurchikhin has made history in other fields as well, notably the initiation of the first Pontian to Pontian inter-space communication. This cosmo-historic event took place at 10:45am, on 24 June 2010, when interplanetary Pontic titan extraordinaire Peter Jasonides, received the following telephone call, reproduced in full (and in Pontian), from Yurchikhin, who was at that very moment observing Australia from space:
- Έλα Παναϊώτη.
- Ποίος εν;
- Εγώ ο Θόδωρον είμαι. Είμαι απές στη διαστημή το πλοίον και ελέπω σας αυκά σην Αυστραλίαν. Απάν α' σην Αυστραλίαν είμαι σ' α' τώρα και ελέπω αυκά!
- Τρώω την Παναϊας Θέδωρε. Α΄τώρα επαλάλωσες΄με. Α΄τώρα θα εβγαίνω οξουκά και θα τσαϊζω. Βγάλον έναν φωτογραφία την Αυστραλίαν από εκεί απάν, και στείλον α΄τέν σ΄ο σπίτι΄μ. Θεόδωρε, να εν τ΄εμέτερον η Παναϊα με τ΄εσέν.
- Να είσαι καλά Παναϊώτη. Να είσαι καλά.

This mind-blowing conversation proves two things: Firstly, that if there is any incentive in becoming a cosmonaut, surely it lies in being able to make unlimited and expensive long distance telephone calls to all and sundry. Secondly, that this is the stuff that Pontian anecdotes are made of, viz: "What did one Pontian say to the other Pontian when in space?"
As a result of Peter Jasonides' relating the contents of the conversation, I drew him into a heated discussion as to the theological implications of his exclamation: «Τρώω την Παναϊας.» For if one is to assert that they eat the Theotokos, is this not blasphemy of the highest order - tantamount to postulating that the Theotokos is of the same nature as Christ and can be offered as communion to the faithful? Peter's response to this is that this is but one of many strange, inexplicable but thoroughly colourful Pontian phrases that pepper the dialect, in order to show enthusiasm and /or disbelief. Another, «τρώω τα κάκαλα'ς» is just as disturbing. Perhaps, in keeping with our space motif, we can introduce astronomical expressions such as «τρώω τη μαύρη τρύπα'ς» which is also disturbing, but topical.
That Yurchikhin, Pontian cosmonaut can reach the stars and then remember to phone his Pontian friends and rejoice in their mutual Pontianism is a marvellous thing. It proves that diasporan Greeks are able to succeed in diverse walks of life and can provide inspiration for multitudes.
As the diatribist dons his gravity boots and attempts to orbit around his own periphery, an observation, from the perspicacious Karl Jung: "Space flights are merely an escape, a fleeing from one's self, because it is easier to go to Mars or the moon than to penetrate one's own being."
After all, it gets lonely up there in space. Ας εμέν το Διατριβιστήν, shαιρετίας.

First published in NKEE on Saturday 9 October 2010

Saturday, October 02, 2010

"I kiss her photo, light the candle , prepare the incense... and let it burn .I tend to the flowers. The familiarity of ritual frames me, in my shadow of sorrow." Dina Dounis, "Visiting my mother."

When I was little, the world was young and no one died. I was destined to live with all the people I knew around me forever, in a cozy cocoon of inevitability. In that world, the past and present had melded into one and life offered the possibility of endless summers seated under orange trees, watching nonchalantly as titan progenitors worked in their own gardens of Eden, as they had done, since the dawn of Time.
I had no conception of a graveyard until my grandfather died. We buried him in a hole in the ground in an area of the cemetery, that fittingly, was new, the rows of tombstones, grey, forbidding and final, positioned respectfully some distance away. I remember at the funeral, looking at the layers of clay at the sides of the pit converging into a brooding darkness and being seized with an indefinable terror, as the coffin sank lower and lower into it. Oil and wine was poured over it and then, we all took turns covering it with soil. When we went back a few days later, it was to a mound of crumbled, eroding clay, dumped unceremoniously around a flimsy wooden cross. My grandfather was no more.
My grandfather's grave faces East, something that was of immense consolation to my grandmother, who fretted that in Australia, people had no knowledge of the fact that they should lay their loved ones towards the East, in order that they should arise at the time of the General Resurrection. In those days, before graves were lined with concrete foundations, one had to wait some months before erecting a tombstone. My father constructed a wooden border to delineate his father's grave, and a wooden box, in the shape of a church, in which to house a καντήλι and a θυμιατό. Prior to that moment, I had only ever seen such items in front of an iconostasis and I would wake up to the smell of incense and the sound of my grandmother murmuring prayers as she censed every room. When I asked her what she was saying she would smile and reply mysteriously: "These aren't things for children to know." Now I had to know, because I was charged with the task of censing my grandfather's grave and in the knowledge of it, and the fact that eventually, I would lose all my beloved progenitors, I lost my childhood forever.
When we finally had the tombstone erected, it was bi-fold. On one side was my grandfather's photograph, his name, spelt incorrectly in Greek and his date of birth and death and on the other side, a blank, black piece of marble, brooding and terrifying in its nullity. "That's where my photograph will be," my grandmother would say as she would view it, having first, washed down the marble, polished it to a brilliant sheen, arranged and re-arranged the flowers from her garden with meticulous detail, crossed herself and kissed her husband's picture. "You will come here and remember me and tell me what you are doing. And make sure you don't leave anything out. I will know already."
My sister and I do remember. We wash and polish our grandparents' grave in the same manner that my grandmother did and we bring them flowers from our garden, because to place bought flowers on the grave of those who worked in Eden would constitute an inversion of the natural world. Having lit the votive lamp, censed, crossed ourselves, kissed their pictures and mumbled messages to them under our breaths, we make our way past the Southern Slav families, laying out feasts for their dead and through the maze of graves that have sprung up since their demise. Familiar names and faces, seen over years, meet our gaze from the expressionless tombstones. On one side, the face of a teenager, killed in a road accident, smiling, oblivious of the cruel abrogation of his right to potential and chance and flanking our path out of the cemetery, the numerous graves of relatives and friends who have in the years since, become citizens of the necropolis - their tombstones both denoting but also muting the vibrancy of their lives and hushing up their legacies. We watch with amusement as older ladies scurry from one grave to another, their experienced eyes assessing the magnitude of expense lavished in construction, the level of unkemptness, drawing conclusions as to the frequency of familial visits and archiving this information for the use in gossip sessions later on. We watch also with understanding, as these ladies have been born and brought up among the ruins and graveyard of an entire civilization and their natural, matter of fact acceptance of the process of death and its accoutrements, one which derives from the Orthodox tradition, in which death is merely a part of life and a window into another world, is thus unsurprising. There is none of the Western or even ancient Greek abhorrence of death, or shunning of its realms and territories within their psyche.
During my university years, I would occasionally walk across the street to Carlton cemetery and search among the old graves, for those of the founding fathers of the Greek Orthodox Community of Melbourne and Victoria. Having found them, I would marvel at their age and their remoteness from the present. If those stones could speak, it is doubtless that we would have much to learn and yet there they remain, old and mouldering, denoting a long gone presence to descendants who no longer exist and to their descendants, who have no idea of their significance.
While walking through the cemetery, viewing the eroded state of other nineteenth century tombstones, some of them architectural masterpieces of a bygone ages, when people troubled over tombstones and did not merely mass-produce them in blocks of angular marble, and which have had corners snap off, or which have almost completely sunk into the ground, one is struck with the realization, that in times to come, the crumbling inscriptions on no-longer tended graves will be the final testimony to the presence of a Greek-speaking community here. It is for this reason that the Nazis were obsessed with desecrating and destroying Jewish cemeteries and the anguish of the Jewish people, who saw their ancestors' tombstones used as building materials, throughout Europe - even in Thessaloniki can therefore be understood in this context. Our ultimate future then, is a litany of incomprehensible hieroglyphics to a people who will not even know how to read our names. Community leaders will do well to take note of that.
A while ago, a member of the community suggested that it would be of value to begin the process of photographing Greek-Australian graves and compiling a catalogue of them. Not only would this preserve the memory of persons, it would provide a valuable historical record as to our changing burial customs and attitudes towards tradition. It would, also provide an eschatological dimension to our own sense of identity and possibly cause us to view ourselves and our community differently. As a corollary, it may be time to consider the planning of a trust, charged with the task of identifying and preserving, Greek graves of historical significance, lest they be effaced from memory and our consciousness forever.
Every time my heart is heavy, or I am about to embark on a new course in my life, I am drawn to my grandparents' grave. As I light the censer and watch as the scented fumes rise high into the sky, in the directly opposite location of their corporeal manifestation, I know that nothing is gone when it can be remembered and I know who I am, as my name is there, on my grandfather's tombstone, written, in stone.

First published in NKEE on Saturday, 2 October 2010

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Sunday, October 11, 2009

Progressive regressive ahead behind forward backward

Antonyms? Yes. English Class? No.

What is “going ahead” and what is “going behind”?

In class 11, I studied that there is no absolute motion, always “relative” ie with respect to someone.

But is it important what motion wrt to is? Is the observer so important…well yes..

Its responsible for 90% world problems as I see now.

Now when we see our best friend Pakistan’s Flag…all we are drawn towards the Green and the dear chanda mama and Islamic ideology, Right. But as one of friend pointed out, what does the white strip *mean? Peace? [LOL] No. It signifies the hindus and other minorities living in Pakistan [calls for a bigger LOL, but its so damn shocking I cant laugh]

Yes, absolutely correct, the Pakistani Flag back in 1947 took into account that Pakistan is a country for Hindus too. And few people are aware that Pakistan was born as a secular nation, just like my dear India in 1947, but as we actually go AHEAD in time to 9 years later in 1956, Pakistan became a Islamic entity.

So, what is it? Whose wish was it? Jinnah? Mr. Jinnah was unaware on 14th August 1947 that Ramzan was going on, didn’t have a speck of hair on cheeks and most importantly wanted a “secular” Pakistan. But see, as time progressed, people in Pakistan or powerful people of Pakistan, with “vision” and all, made it an Islamic Republic. So the question is in the period 1947 to 1956 and beyond did Pakistan move “forward” or “backward”?

Its heartening to know that united Muslim majority snatched a secular country from British but they needed Islam to run it. Just like u need a starter to start a bike, but u need the petrol to keep it running? Huh.

So as I said in beginning going ahead/behind is actually relative to who sees it. Millions all over America and Europe see it as going behind, and millions in Middle east and Pakistan will see it a step forward. And if, if by any chance these two groups are brought to a table and told to create a common viewpoint, mindless Pseudo iraq operations and equally maddening terrorist attacks are waiting to open their wings.

Most of Indians, who proud themselves at so called Pluralism and Secularism and age old Unity in diversity would pick Pakistan and taunt it till last breath that in past 60 years, every moment, it has only moved backward, from being a secular republic in 1947 to Swats ,FATAs, Peshwars** of 2009.

But what we too realize that neither is our country is going in correct direction. 1984, 1992, 2002 witnessed mass murders of the century in our secular republic. Naxalites are on a rise, and beheading of a Police officer shows their courage. MNS, BJP, RSS, Shiv sena and even the INC all are today trying latest votebank divison techniques. So, was the Marathi manus sleeping for 60 long years and suddenly realized that “Oh, there are north Indians snatching my job,land, purse, clothes, food and what not?” One day Raj Thakery woke up realizing Shiv sena wont satisfy his hunger for power. He sketched Marathi manus plan and showed what power MNS has by chakka jams, taking a random north Indian taxi driver and kicking him back to allahabad. And forcing K.J. for use of “Bombay” in Wake up sid. Seriously, if I were KJ, I would have renamed the movie to be Wake Up Raj! God damn wake Up! What BJP does in Karnataka and Orrisa is a clear violation of all human rights, but still the culprits walk free in secular india. So, the point is, take any of these people, Raj thackery or Modi [aka Chotte Sardar] and as them their viewpoint on Islamaziation of Pakistan, they will scream, fight, run, and be the first one to say what Pakistan did in 1956 was clearly a mistake and Pakistanis pushed themselves 500 years by becoming a Islamic entity.

So, Mr. Raj, what you did, was that even slightly progressive?

As I said its all about, where you stand and what viewpoint you have.

If god forbid tomarrow india becomes a hindu nation with help and support of BJP and all, you may see it as a long due step or a disaster. In 1937 you may have seen Hitler’s anti-Jew actions as total idiocy or immediate necessity for establishment of German Empire. It all depends on your viewpoint. That is, is this action going to take us ahead or behind? It depends on you. The Observer.

People say that invention of a time machine is long due. But I think it was invented long back. Islam revived Arabia of frequent bloody wars, established peace and when terrorist [even whole nations ] justify killing of innocents from Quran, they indeed travel in time, they think they go forward in time and we think them living centuries behind us.

We have one mind, but we can use it both ways, to prove any event takes us backward or forward.

The catch is who chooses what.

* some people may argue that according to modern meaning, the green represents prosperity; white symbolizes peace; the white crescent represents progress; and the white star represents light and knowledge. This is called BEING POLITICALLY CORRECT and nothing else.

** Peshawar once a blooming tourist destination, has suffered almost 6 attacks per month in 2009

aritra raymukherjee said...

Send it to a newspaper editor, Times of India or Indian Express... And see, what comments they give to you.

saloni said...

cool dude!!!i never thought that u can write even in this way and on this social issue...gr8..this article must be publish in pakistan atleast,so that they would remind again wat the actual meaning of their obtained independence...fully agree with Aritra,seriously send it to any news editor...

Pulkit Garg said...

i m totally impressed yaar..........such a gr8 article .....i really loved it ...

shakir said...

nice artcle.
gr 8 job keep it up.

shivam said...

"Its heartening to know that united Muslim majority snatched a secular country from British but they needed Islam to run it"

you produce good statements.nice article
keep scribbling

harsh kumar said...

i see a very thoughtful and intellectual approch abt this article. why r u in engineering?
come on gentelman!
plz welcome our next
chetan bhagat!


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Kissed By A Demon Spy: A Novella - Sharon Kay

As a teen, Garnet was kidnapped and made a sex slave to Drant at Stroehm. Now that she has been freed, she goes back to her village where she meets

Aden, the local innkeeper that has a secret life.

It was nice to hear Garnet’s story after she helped Brooke and Kai’s escape in Book 2 of the Solsti Prophecy, Wicked Waves. Kai sent some friends back to free Garnet in Kissed By A Demon Spy. After everything that Garnet went through, she deserves a second chance. She is a wonderful mother to her son, Dash. She is brave and does what she believes is right.

I really liked Aden. He is a spy and top scryer for the Deserati demons. He hires Garnet to work for him at the inn as a cook. The two develop an attraction to one another. Garnet is embarrassed of her past, and Aden is sensitive and able to get her past that. Aden is a great role model and father figure for Dash. He is a caring individual who complements Garnet. I was happy that as, Garnet and Aden’s relationship grew, they learn to trust one another.

Kissed By A Demon Spy has a wonderful plot with a lot of excitement. Nothing is easy and a lot is worth fighting for.

Sharon Kay wrote a remarkable story with a sensitive subject matter. No one should have to be subjected into being a sex slave. In Garnet’s case, she had a warranted happy ending. Kissed By A Demon Spy in a heartwarming story that can be read as a stand-alone but is a perfect companion piece to Wicked Waves.

Complimentary copy provided in exchange for an honest review.


text:
Bottom of the Ninth - Jami Davenport

I was anxiously awaiting reading BOTTOM OF THE NINTH about Zeke, the third Wolfe brother.  I was not disappointed.  I loved this book. Jami Davenport continues to do a fabulous job with both her character and plot development.  This contemporary sports romance takes place in Seattle.  It is suitable for adult audiences.

 My heart went out to Zeke.  He is the youngest of the Wolfe brothers. He was left to fend for himself with his father after the brothers moved out of the house to pursue their sports.  I couldn’t believe the secrets he suppressed.  It is understandable why he did not want anything to do with his brothers, but I was glad fate intervened, and they were thrown together.

Paisley Madison is an admirable heroine.  I love that she took care of her late sister’s kids: Brayden, Sophie, and Sadie.  She has a good heart.  I love how Paisley and her charges came into Zeke’s life.  She is determined and strong willed. Zeke and Paisley are perfect for each other.  Zeke, Paisley, and the kids all needing each other to heal.

I thought the old house aspect of the story was clever.  I like Zeke’s agent, Al Greenburg, and was glad he hired Paisley.  I also, appreciated that he picked up Zeke’s brothers as clients.  One Big Seattle Family was brilliant.

I enjoyed the plot and like how it tied in with Isaac Wolfe’s story MELTING ICE and Tanner Wolfe’s story BLINDSIDED.  All three of the brothers of the brothers had a horrible childhood; turning against each other.  I love that they were given an opportunity to talk things out and reconcile.  I also, appreciated Paisley’s story and the similarities that the characters experienced, especially Zeke and Sadie.

BOTTOM OF THE NINTH by Jami Davenport was a heartwarming and exciting read.  The story is well-written and has a great flow.  This novel had me experiencing just about every emotion.  I loved the characters and the plot.  I highly recommend this read to anyone that enjoys sports romances.  To fully appreciate this story; I suggest reading the books in order, or at least reading MELTING ICE and BLINDSIDED first.

I voluntarily reviewed an advance reader copy of this book.


text:
Blood Beyond Darkness (Darkness Series Book 4) - Stacey Marie Brown

In the last book of the Darkness Series, Ember is faced with difficult decisions, having to make sacrifices to save the world.

Ember is a captivating heroine.  She has grown a lot throughout the series.  She has dealt with many emotional issues.  So many things have gone wrong for her.  I really wanted to see her happy and successful.

I still love the back and forth dialog between Ember and  Eli.  They have such a wonderful chemistry: I never tier of it.  Even when they are  mad at each other, it is obvious they love each other.

The pixies are great.  They really add humor to the story.  I especially love the battle of wills between Eli and Cal.

Stacey Marie Brown did an exceptional job creating Blood Beyond Darkness.  I felt numerous emotions throughout the novel.   There were so many unexpected twists and turns.  I am really sad to see this series end.

If you have not tried the Darkness Series, I highly recommend it.  Each book is well-written and original.  I felt invested in the characters, cheering them on.   This mesmerizing fantasy and will keep you entertained.


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Horizon Payroll Ltd

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John German Estate Agents Lichfield

John German Estate Agents Lichfield

Category: Estate Agents | show me more

Address: 29 Bore Street
WS13 6LZ

SALES: 01543 4... SALES: 01543 4...
LETTINGS: 01543 4... LETTINGS: 01543 4...

 Website: www.johngerman.co.uk/branches/estate-agents-lichfield
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 Estate Agents, Letting Agents, Property Valuations, Property Surveys

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Business Profile

About us We've been passionate about property for over 176 years and have built up a wealth of knowledge in our local areas.

Moving isn't always easy, therefore by choosing John German as your estate agent you can trust us to help you every step of the way; providing you with support from start to finish.

For those looking to buy, sell, rent or let, we have 9 branches across the Midlands all offering a great range of property services:

RESIDENTIAL SALES - Properties for sale, free property valuations/appraisals, advice on moving and sales progression: With no hidden charges, you'll have nothing to pay unless we sell your property.

LETTINGS & PROPERTY MANAGEMENT - Properties for rent, full management, rent management, letting only and easy agent switch: If you are a landlord, we have a variety of options to help take care of your property investment. You can also track your let 24/7 through our online platform, My Property File.

RICS CHARTERED SURVEYORS: We can provide RICS Homebuyer Reports to assist with your decision on whether to buy a property. We also can help with valuations for Inheritance Tax, Capital Gains Tax, Estate Planning (wills) and Matrimonial purposes.

FREE INDEPENDENT MORTGAGE ADVICE: Getting your finances in order before you start your property search is really important. At John German we can put you in touch with independent mortgage advisors who will provide advice on your acceptability and the amount you can borrow.

If you need any property related advice, please feel free to get in touch, this is what we do and we love it!

Testimonials are curated by John German Estate Agents Lichfield and are not independently reviewed or verified.

"' Excellent Service! '"

"" They went above and beyond the service that I was expecting from an estate agent. Marketed my house well, received an offer within a week and a half of putting it on with them (I had the house on with another agent for 3 months and not even an offer!) Continued working for me after the offer was accepted. I knew that even when I didn't get any answers from my solicitor, they were able to give me more information with what was happening with my house and the chain. ""

Ms Wendy Nugent on 6 September 2017

"' We would highly recommend using this company if you are selling your home . '"

"" Very professional company they certainly know and understand the local area. They made the marketing and sale of our house quite quick and painless for us . We would certainly recommend using them ""

Mr & Mrs Reid on 27 September 2017

"' The best estate agent in town '"

"" Staff were honest and helpful in all the dealings they had with us. Never thought I would say that about an estate agents. They are a great team. ""

Mr Leytham & Mrs Leytham on 17 September 2017

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Groups edit mode

(Bernhard Kleine) #1

I installed the snapshot of 12.2.2017 (JabRef_windows-x64_4_0_0-dev–snapshot–2017-02-12–master–99d055efd). I wonder where I can deselect “groups edit mode”. Left and right as well as double clicking on it does not work. There isnot any entry in the configuration. And the up and down arrows in the same field and the cross to delete the group menu do nothing with respect to the edit mode.
I ask since working with groups within the edit mode change some assignements and troubled me.Therefore, I started jabref with deselecting the edit mode in the options menu in the group panel. This now seems lost.
Can you please point me to the solution of this issue, i.e. deselecting the groups edit mode.

I have asked months ago how to start jabref not with the groups editing mode not selected, but I didnot get any response.
Thanks Bernhard

(Tobias Diez) #2

There is currently no way to disable the edit mode in the development version. The only solution is to reset the preferences. Or you wait a few days (weeks) until I removed the edit mode completely.
But note, that in the current development version the functionality of the edit mode is already disabled (only the red highlight is still present).

(Bernhard Kleine) #3

Thank you for your answer.