For half a century he kept it as a “holy grail” in the closet of his house. Every now and then he changed the slag killers, took it out for a while, just enough to air it out and then put it back in its place.
All these years he was silent and is still silent. He had bought it in Mignon – khaki military jackets and trousers were in fashion then. And listening to his dramatic “voice” on the radio from Friday to Saturday night Polytechnic”, saying “there are injured, there are injured…”, calling for doctors to hurry, he put on his coat and ran immediately as he specialized in child psychiatry, he had the knowledge to provide medical aid.
Arriving in Stournari, he ran into an elderly doctor he knew, a pediatrician to be precise, who, unable to bear the suffocating atmosphere from the tear gas, pinned the Red Cross badge on his arm and told him “you come in, I can’t” .
The armband with the red cross served as his “passport” to pass through the area and reach the emergency clinic. Perhaps he protected him in what followed, since as he says “they didn’t hit doctors”.
“And they didn’t kill you?” was the spontaneous reaction of my then four-year-old daughter.
“And they didn’t kill you?” was the spontaneous reaction of my then four-year-old daughter. Fifty years have passed. M. M, walked in silence, with indelibly “etched” in his memory the details of his participation in the events and the mess in the closet – amanati of the rebellion.
He recovered it these days, fifty years later, and “brought it to light”, on the occasion of the anniversary, but insists that he does not want to reveal his name and talk about his participation in those historical events.
“An empty garment, with the bracelet of the offering, from that Greece, which was still worth it,” he told “K”.
I didn’t speak, I don’t intend to speak, I don’t consider myself to have been a “hero”, a normal reaction was, in line with my ideology, the Hippocratic Oath
M. belongs to those many, the overwhelmingly many, humble anonymous, who did their duty towards the Republic, but never tried to redeem their participation in careers and still insist on dignity.
“I didn’t speak, I don’t intend to speak, I don’t consider myself to have been a “hero”, a normal reaction was, in line with my ideology, the Hippocratic Oath, my character, the “Mario” who suffered, even now suffers, to make, and not be able to complete”.
Instead of further explanations for his long silence, he referred us to “beloved Manolis Anagnostakis” and his related lyrics: I am afraid of the people who for seven years pretended they hadn’t taken a nap and one fine morning – in the middle of July – went out into the squares with flags shouting “Give the junta to the people.” I am afraid of the people whose nest is soiled now struggling to find stains in yours. I’m afraid of the people who used to close your door in case you give them vouchers and now you see them at the Polytechnic depositing carnations and crying…
