More on the Greek Crisis:
It was Sunday, July 12, the night that one way or another, the fate of Greece, and some have said Europe, would be decided. I was at the bar where I DJed most nights, the Black Rooster—a stylish jazz bar in the old Venetian quarter of Chania, Crete—and there was only me with Anna and Giorgos, the bar's owners.Photos of Young Greeks Protesting the Bailout
What Greece's 'No' Referendum Vote Means for Europe
Do Greeks and Germans Actually Hate Each Other?
Originally conceived as a means to end centuries of conflict, the European Union, and the smaller Eurozone, which shared a common currency, had begun to fray at the edges, especially after the global financial collapse of 2008. Greece hadn't yet recovered, and was still mired in deep financial depression, with 26 percent unemployment and 50 percent youth unemployment, and little prospect of those numbers changing much for years. For months, Greece had been locked in battle with its creditors, seeking better terms that might fuel growth instead of further deterioration.What Anna wanted was out: out of the euro, out of Europe, and out of the coming decades of debt slavery.
That Europe isn't Europe anymore is a common theme in many of the conversations about the crisis.
As the conversation progressed, it struck me that it was John who was really angry, not Anna. This was her country, after all, and she was watching it die. And while I sympathized with their point of view, in the end, all John and his wife were protecting was a sunny holiday getaway from the icy north. The three of us talked about the failures of the Greeks over many years to tackle corruption and a failed civil state—all undeniable—and the impossible demands of the creditors. Whenever I defended Greece or criticized Europe, John shot back with rising anger, contradicting almost everything I said. One of the demands—a rise in the sales tax on island restaurants—would be a crushing blow to the economy. He insisted that the tax here was already 23 percent, the highest rate the creditors were proposing, but I suspected it was lower. It seemed a small point to me, but Louise began searching through her purse, then jumped to her feet and dashed upstairs and returned with a handful of receipts, which she assiduously examined. One she believed was from a local restaurant, though she wasn't sure. She claimed it showed the higher tax rate, but I didn't bother to look at the receipt. All I could think about was Europe, and how instead of ideas, hopes, ideals, it had become imprisoned by its own depressing fixation on numbers.All I could think about was Europe, and how instead of ideas, hopes, ideals, it had become imprisoned by its own depressing fixation on numbers.
Anna remained jubilant—that night she couldn't have cared less about losing the bar. "Maybe," she shrugged when that possibility was brought up, downing a shot of tequila, "but we Greeks have gone through much worse, much, much worse. Remember this: Whatever happens, Greece survives. It has for 4,000 years and will for another 4,000." She was right, of course, but I was thinking more of my friends. There was little comfort in Greece surviving if they were going to be sacrificial lambs to the edifice of a technocratic Europe. In these last days, as I watched Anna and other friends, I had a distinct impression of watching a people preparing to go to war. And many, not only Giorgos, said as much. "This is war, baby," Anna told me, "war for our country, war for our lives, our future." In the past, such disputes almost certainly would have found their way onto the battlefield, but what replaced this—the bureaucratic lack of finality to anything, the endless fudges, the continual pushing the problem farther down the road—was less a solution than a mask for much deeper problems, ones few wanted to look at directly.A couple days after the referendum I visited the beach at Nea Chora. Over winter, violent storms, the like of which even the old-timers couldn't remember, battered the island and wrecked the beaches. Despite this, Nea Chora, was packed with tourists, elbowing each other on what was left on the beach, and all seemingly indifferent to the world that was crashing down around the ears of their Greek hosts. But for the first time in weeks, I'd begun to see locals with a spring in their step, their faces bright and confident and happier. Many really had found their sense of pride again. It was good to see after watching so many distraught faces for so long, and I couldn't judge one way or the other on the merits of it—the seemingly willful decision to potentially crash the country if that also meant crashing Europe with them.On Monday morning, July 13, we learned the details of the deal Alexis Tsipras negotiated with the creditors after 17-hour marathon talks, where one observer described the prime minister as looking like a "beaten dog": far more, and far more biting, austerity measures; massive tax increases; cuts to pensions across the board; the loss of all valuable national assets; the loss of the nation's ability to write its own legislation without approval; and only the suggestion that debt relief might one day be discussed. Some of the demands were positive, and may yet help the country tackle a longstanding culture of corruption and nepotism. But taken together, they mean years, if not decades, more of ruinous economic difficulty. That night at the bar, I asked Giorgos, who was drunk and grinning ironically at the new situation, if he had a name for his new country. "That's a very interesting question, Ranbir," he said, and told me he'd think about it. He walked away, returned, opened his mouth, said nothing, walked away again. This happened several times. Finally, he returned triumphant. He had decided on a new name for the country, and letting his rich voice boom across the bar, he told me what it was: "Fuck You, Everybody!"At the beach, the sun was high, the water pristine and bathtub warm, and children shrieked in joy as they ran in and out of the shallow breakers. No one seemed to notice that half the beach was missing. I wondered if next year, after another winter of crushing storms, whether they would notice if the whole beach had disappeared.Ranbir Singh Sidhu's first novel, Deep Singh Blue, will be published by Unnamed Press and HarperCollins India in 2016. He is the author of Good Indian Girls, a collection of stories. He is on Twitter."Remember this: Whatever happens, Greece survives. It has for 4,000 years and will for another 4,000."