Apostolos Kouroupakis
There’s been a lot of talk about the death of Grigoris Afxentiou in recent days. And while it would be enough for anyone genuinely interested in learning what happened in Machairas in March 1957, and forming their own view, to read the relevant literature, whether right-wing, British, leftist, centrist, or from any other perspective, many instead watch a podcast by an ignorant MEP and then exclaim, “Here’s the truth they’ve been hiding from us.”
Of course, from that podcast one cannot learn history, or, in any case, what Grigoris Afxentiou had in mind, what drove him to join the struggle, and ultimately to sacrifice his life. One can, certainly, get an idea and begin one’s own journey into the fascinating world of History. A podcast does not bring spring; it usually only opens doors that were already ajar—just like Phidias Panayiotou’s podcast—because it didn’t say anything truly new. But for something genuinely new to be said, the science of History requires thorough study of sources, detachment from the present, and avoidance of rhetorical questions, because if many planted it and it never sprouted… well. Mr. Panayiotou, of course, knows very well how to stir the waters, provoking intrigue and leading many to believe, through brief discussions on complex topics, that he is finally exposing dark secrets, revealing the truth.
Unfortunately, we live in an age of effortless, shallow information, in some ways returning to the “So-and-so said,” which the Enlightenment and its advocates fought to dismantle. Since there are brave debaters and daring politicians—see Phidias Panayiotou—we are inclined to listen and believe them. Naturally, we should listen, but if we want to get anywhere, we must continuously exert effort and also listen to others—especially when it comes to matters that are inherently mysterious, that were never clear from the outset, and that are difficult to investigate.
We live in an age where a video of a few minutes and a statement taken out of context can spark sterile and meaningless conflicts. We live in an age where we very easily speak of censorship, of lack of freedom of speech, while simultaneously, in the ocean of the digital world, thousands of theories circulate about thousands of topics. A recent example: the catalogue of Cyprus’s participation in the Architecture Biennale. There too, there was talk of censorship, even though the book continued to be sold—granted, its withdrawal was a mistake and a condemnable move, mainly a misstep by the deputy ministry, but it was not censorship. Yet in our country, we are not accustomed to constructive dialogue; we have not learned to discuss and disagree. We have gotten used to preemptively attempting to deconstruct the words of others because we decided early on that we would disagree. Public discourse—scientific, political, café-style—is always dominated by binaries: Grivas and Makarios, Left and Right, loyalists and non-loyalists, and so on… so it is easy to find the right words a priori.
And I wonder: amidst this whirlpool of information, in which historians, historical researchers, history enthusiasts, and our academic institutions—the University of Cyprus, the Cyprus Academy of Sciences, Letters, and Arts (does it really function as a supreme intellectual institution?), the Open University, TEPAK, private universities—are involved, where is the effort to organize a serious discussion, in which issues concerning the country’s past, affecting its present and likely its future, are put on the table? And since the topic arose from what, in my view, is a minor issue—how Afxentiou died (minor because he remained in his hideout and gave up his spirit)—if we are so concerned with whether the EOKA struggle of 1955-59 was useful or not, let a conference be organized. A serious one, however, where anyone who wishes to speak, following scientific methods, can test their arguments and research.
In closing, what Mr. Panayiotou ultimately achieves is not uncovering truths, but turning public discussion into a modern-day spectacle, full of rival factions and shouting matches, like a political circus. And, of course, creating contemporary “heroes”—which is the only thing that truly worries me.
